Eva’s an interesting sort of person, the quiet kind that you’d probably be more startled to meet in a dark alley at midnight than the creepy (though still really nice, don’t get me wrong!) Kaitlyn Winters. With her odd two-colour eyes, you’d not think that she would be the leader of a school’s big ‘bully group’, if that makes sense. Never mind the fact that she’s, you know, a nice person.

But she’s not entirely interesting because of her eyes. Evanthe is a strange example of a dual elemental, something not many of my friends in Karatela have ever seen before, or at least in person. If you’ve ever seen her fight, you’d definitely not want to get on the wrong side of her! We’re super lucky that she’s on our side, and even willing to help us on our mission.

Neve says I’m obsessed with her, but that’s a lie. If I were really obsessed, I’d do a load of dumb stuff like talking in way too much depth about the exact shade of blue her right eye is or how she looks like she could be a princess. Which she does, but I don’t exactly think about it too often.

Honestly, the best way I’ve heard anyone describe her is ‘electric’. That’s from Ash, to be clear, since nobody else here understands the word. They’ve got electricity, but an entirely different word for it. It’s weird.

But yeah, Eva is… well, she’s the sort of person you don’t think you could ever be friends with, the kind that floats above the water while you sink below. Something I know a lot about, of course.

It was the crackle of Jaden’s magic that woke her.

Ailya’s eyes popped open. There was no other sound in the world like that. The way the sparks flew from Jaden’s wand gave off a sound more powerful than fireworks, than a gunshot. It came from the way he flicked his wrist; she knew from watching him almost every day in the commons near midnight, ducking around in the shadows when he thought no one could see him.

Ailya rose from the bed and listened again. Another crackle. She grabbed her blue-rimmed glasses from her bedside table and shoved them onto her face, listening harder.

The noise wasn’t coming from the commons this time, though. It was coming from outside.

Jaden had been brave to venture out in the forest this time, Ailya thought, tossing on a sweatshirt and pulling open her door ever so carefully so it wouldn’t squeak. People often called her a goody-goody, but in her heart she had a strange curiosity for those who broke the rules. Like now, as she tiptoed down the winding stairs leading up to the doors of Nymph Hall, her feet silently pat-patting on the cherry wood. By the time she made it to the castle’s lobby, the crackles were loud enough to rattle the crystal chandelier high above her head.

She pushed open the grand bronze doors and crossed the drawbridge. It was chilly out tonight, the crisp September night air washing over her like a cool shower. Another crackle. Ailya pulled her sweatshirt tighter around her shoulders and picked up the pace.

She reached the tree line and hesitated, considering that the moment she crossed the threshold into the forest was the moment she risked being expelled. People had been caught wandering out after curfew before— especially Rian McKillian and his gang, who were notorious for his late-night trips to the dessert storage in the castle kitchens— but the forest was strictly forbidden to students. Still, she steeled her resolve and marched forwards. So much for being a goody-goody.

Another crackle, so close she could feel her own hands shake with the force of the magic. Only a few paces in front of her, a figure emerged, his back to her as he spoke, dark and low.

“What are you doing here?”

Aiyla froze. She stuck her hands farther in her pockets. She was afraid of lots of things, but the magic of Jaden Welsh was one thing she couldn’t afford to be afraid of. “I heard your magic.”

“And how would you know what my magic sounds like?” He turned to face her. She had forgotten the deep emerald of his eyes, the way his fists curled when he was angry. Perhaps she’d picked up on more than she’d realized when she was spying on him in the commons.

“I have ears,” she replied simply with a shrug. She could play this game just as well as he could. “And I’m more smart than I seem.”

“So I’m coming to learn.” He suddenly whipped his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at her. At the same time, she drew her own from her pocket, meeting his gaze. “You’re fast, Suhing,” he quipped.

“And you’re misunderstood.”

Ailya felt a flash of something as she watched his smirk falter ever so slightly. He recovered too fast for her to claim a victory, but it was enough.

Jaden began to walk left, and Ailya walked opposite as him, so that they both began to make a slow circle like two fighters in a ring. Neither of their wands fell an inch as they moved.

Jaden’s face twisted into a scowl. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Suhing.”

“Dangerous, or fun?” She met his scowl with a dark, delighted smile. “You have no idea how far I’m willing to go to destroy you.”

A crackle. Ailya barely jumped out of the way as a gold spark rushed from Jaden’s wand and whooshed past her head.

He raised an eyebrow. “Fast, but not clever. Interesting.”

Ailya mimicked his wrist motion almost exactly, and an equally strong silver spark flew from her wand and slammed him dead in the stomach. He stumbled, the wind knocked from his lungs, but didn’t fall.

“We play by my rules here, Welsh,” she countered, twirling her wand around in her fingers. “Now. Let’s talk about what magical secrets you’re keeping hidden in the commons at night. Then you can talk.”

Crackle. Pond. Night. A giant frog-like creature emerged from the padded water, its long tongue zapping a firefly. Then another. Then another. With each firefly it ate, it glowed a little more.

Dr. Elk had been studying the frog for some time. You are somehow both scary and beautiful, he told it, transfixed. From first sight, the creature had captured his imagination. Eventually he could do nothing but think about it, sketch it, photograph it, and study samples of its droppings for research. His team of graduate students at the Elk Lab were also fascinated by the properties of this frog-monster. Somehow, it could capture the iridescence of fireflies - its only prey - as its own. With each meal, it would grow brighter and brighter, and the glow wouldn’t fade. It seemed to defy all logic and all science. How could this creature digest the fireflies, but preserve their light? It could only be unearthly, perhaps alien. Dr. Elk took seriously the possibly that it was alien. That it was completely otherworldly, and not of Earth at all.

The holy grail was to get a DNA sample without killing the frog-thing: and so, he tasked his youngest and most spritely graduate student, Raven, to sample it.

As the sun set on a Friday night, Raven wondered how she had gotten to the point in her life where her weekend was spent trying to seduce a frog-monster to come a little closer. She brought with her fireflies she’d collected in a jam jar, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous about a tongue piercing through the darkness and grabbing it straight from her hands. She thought of her boyfriend’s comments about how he was only a phone call away should something go wrong. But she knew that if something went wrong, a phone call wasn’t going to help.

Besides, she was nervous about using her phone near the beast - after all, it was attracted to anything that glows. Anything in her possession must melt into the darkness if she was to be safe from the giant tongue that could poke through the air at any moment, hungry and insatiable.

Not wanting to be a moving target any longer, she popped open the firefly bottle and let them go by the pond. The creature emerged from the marsh water like a ball of white, frog-shaped light and ate each firefly one by one with ease, and now it was glowing so bright it might as well have looked something like a sunken, blazing meteor. The water rippled with its reflection.

Right then, her phone rang. The screen lit up, and she could see it was her boyfriend.

“Ugh, what timing,” she whispered to herself, feeling her pockets for the phone, hoping the noise wouldn’t alarm the frog beast. She had to turn it to silent, or off—

As she pulled the phone from her pocket, she suddenly felt a tongue wrapped around her wrist, then felt herself hurtling through the air, straight into the mouth of the frog, which was headed straight towards her like an endless abyss.

She tumbled down what felt like a slime-filled corridor, losing her phone in the process. What happened next, she could scarcely understand. Somehow, she was not inside the frog - no, she felt as though she was the frog. She could see through its eyes, feel through its skin, understand the vibrations it understood, hear the ultrasonic noises her human ears had never heard, and feel the water underneath her, and the lust for firefly flesh, all at once.

And she could see her human body on the shore, collapsed, then attempting to get up, then looking at her hands, then feeling her clothes, and it dawned on her that the frog was her, too, that she and it had swapped bodies.

I zapped my tongue out at my previous body, hoping to capture her and return myself to human form. But it was too late. The new ‘Raven’, the alien creature who could wreak havoc on the world, was gone, and she looked as human as anything else.

“Babe, you look traumatized,” the boyfriend said. “What did you see out there? Are you okay?”

He gave ‘Raven’, which was now me, a hug, through which I stared blankly at him. I had run here out of sheer muscle memory, and I hope it was the right choice, hope that this body had guided me in the right direction. It felt uncomfortable to be squeezed in this way and it was unclear as to whether it was intended as a threatening action. I stiffened until he released his grip. I could not overreact, or it would blow my cover. These rituals could well be normal communication between hominids.

This human brain was difficult to use. Thoughts emerged left and right, in a tongue that still felt foreign: I missed the stillness of the pond, of speaking in vibrations and scents and ultrasonic calls. But I must do my research on human society, and what better way than to blend in?

“I am...” the words came out, seeming right to my human brain. “I am...”

“You are what?” He said, eyes wide. “Traumatized? What the hell happened?”

There was a friendly-sounding phrase humans always would say to me. I will try that.

“Hello, big guy. How’s it going?” I said, hoping the phrase would be like a lullaby that relaxes him, so that he’s not suspicious. I could not help but think that he could from my eyes that I wasn’t really her.

“Big guy? You never call me that. I’m your boyfriend. Do you remember me? Is your memory shot? Did you hit your head, at the marsh, did that thing hurt you? Oh god, give me your phone, I need to call Dr. Elk and —“

The lights in this room were so distracting. I still wanted to lick them all, swallow the big lamp especially. The vibrations, too: I couldn’t feel them as well as I could in my original form, but something inside me was still attuned to the subtle whir of the room. It was driving me mad with a destabilizing emotion that human brains can’t process or understand, but my spirit could still recall it. It is the emotion of being pulled into threads, tiny threads, very very quickly, and aching to be re-spun into one piece.

“Or...” he said. “Maybe you should sleep for a bit, actually, that might help,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re safe. Can’t believe that asshole of a professor sent you out by yourself in the middle of the night— on a weekend, too—and it’s my fault, I should’ve come with you...”

He guided me over to a structure that felt soft to the touch. My human brain suggested to me a word for it: Bed. A place where humans go to sleep.

It would be difficult to sleep without out the soothing sound of water. Where I’m from, there’s many times more water than on Earth. In fact, there’s no land mass at all. I don’t know how these terrestrials can thrive on such little water. But from being in their skin, it seems surprisingly supple, not craving of moisture. How strange, how unlike anything I’ve ever known.

A fear of drought and dryness emerged in my human brain and I realized for the first time what “fear” was. I had heard humans recoiled from certain things, driven by the risks and negative possibilities, but it had never really made sense until now. But now I thought of what-ifs, what if the water on Earth dried up, what if, what if...

“I’ll drop you off at the lab tomorrow morning, so you don’t need to walk,” he said. “Just get some sleep and let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Dr. Elk thought Raven was acting a bit strangely at the lab the next day, but he felt no guilt when he grilled on whether she’d gotten the sample.

At first she said “No.” Then, seemingly after noting and analyzing his reaction, said “Yes.” “Which is it, Raven? Do you have the sample or not?” He said. She gave him a vial that contained what appeared to be some type of a keratinous substance. Upon further inspection, he even wondered if it was a human nail clipping.

“Is this a prank, Raven?” He asked, but deep down he knew that a prank was not like her, had never been like her. She was one of the best and she hardly ever even grinned when she was deep in thought, or in work. And she wasn’t the type to submit a fake sample... was she?

Only one way to find out. They studied it under the microscope, then later extracted and isolated the DNA, and in both cases quickly found properties that would be too strange for a human fingernail. Even a step above the DNA level - on the cellular level - it just looked... strange. It must have been sampled from the monster after all. Who knew it had nails?

The human form was not to my liking. It felt cramped and small, and I also didn’t like the constant emoting - the fear, the fatigue, the — what was this? Sadness? While interesting, these Internal sensations also required a certain effort to soothe and to contain. It was much simpler in the Marsh, and on my home planet, where life was languid and slow.

My purpose for coming here, of course, was to research humanity: and I feel, from the inside, that I understand them now. I already have much to share with those at home, much they will be intrigued by. They will touch my skin and imbibe all my experiences of Earth as if it were their own.

I will study them as a human for a few hours more, but that’s all I can spare before this body-swap becomes more permanent, and who would want that? I’ll call for a retrieval ship, and it’ll arrive in just a few hours, via teleportation. One thing these humans are especially bad at, probably due to their highly emotional and warlike nature, is inventing technology. Even though we do so much less at Home, we seem to get more done... our collaboration makes it possible.

Back at the Marsh, a group of beings who looked similar to me - well, to the beast I am now, not the ‘me’ I was - appeared not too far off in the distance. At the same time, I saw my body - my former body, Raven’s body, approaching the Marsh.

“Suck me in with your tongue,” ‘Raven’ yelled, “and we will be swapped again. You will be a human again. And I will leave, as they have arrived to collect me.”

I could still understand English, but I felt it fading a little. It required some effort. It because clear to me that what had happened was the sort of swap that would become permanent if left long enough.

That meant I could become fully alien, forever, always at peace, tranquil, free of all illness or distress or suffering, free of any sort of harm. This body was impenetrable, like living within a steel fortress, and so calming that nothing could disturb me. It had become a drug. I was perhaps now an addict. And I didn’t want to leave my cocoon.

I ignored my original human body and moved towards the aliens, who I felt certain would welcome me. A light went off in my former body’s eyes as I moved towards the teleportation technology, which seemed familiar and safe. My intelligence had expanded in the past several hours in this form, while the frog-spirit’s most definitely had decreased while it became progressively more human, more ‘me’. But even he could tell I was leaving, that I would make his planet my own, that I would never, ever come back. Even the thought of my boyfriend didn’t seem to rouse the old human feelings. All I craved was home, with the same intensity that a fish stuck on land craves for water.

I tried to stop her from moving towards the others, but she was too fast, much too fast. I felt, for the first time in my life, completely terrified. I would be stranded on earth, forced to live as a human... as she disappeared into the other world, I wondered if she would pass for me, if they would notice any change. My ability to call for them had already just faded, and her abilities were surely becoming more and more like mine.

Over time, I suspected that my fear of being left behind, of being abandoned here, would perhaps turn to “anger”, and I would be nothing but a violent, fully human echo of my former self.

I never seen a transition. I know I should look away, but peering creepily through the leaves at the ethereal being stepping into the almost still water was too captivating to let me close my eyes.

The setting sun seemed to drape the night over his brown body like melting chocolate over caramel. Where his feet touched the water, I could hear a gentle crackling and bubbling as glittering scales worked its way up his legs.

His neatly braided dreads floated gently in the water like an alive extension of him.

He lifted his arm just as something began to form between his fingers. A Triton! My jaw fell open. I couldn’t open my eyes wide enough to appreciate it.

Three pronged on one side, the Triton shimmered like diamonds glittering in the moonlight. I ached to be closer while simultaneously repelled by my own heritage.

My neck burned, indicating a natural warning that reminded me to run or prepare to fight. I’m barely a Hunter and I was simply supposed to report any suspicious behavior and radio in for backup. Not engage a TRITON!

I shook my head and looked again out over the water. A crown in that same diamond material was forming around his head and he was… oh no. He was looking right at me!

I couldn’t move. Dared not breathe.

All my Hunter training out the window as he disappeared beneath the surface of the water. No trace of him anywhere!

I eased from the brush and crept closer to the water. I had to see him, not understanding why.

Barely any ripples disturbed the surface and my dimming reflection peered wildly back at me reminding me to get myself together. I blew away a coil of my own hair and readjusted the cuffs clipped to my belt.

“No one has to know,” I whisper to myself as I turned to walk away.

Water splashed my face as something slender flew from the water just shy of my head. I barely had time to duck when I heard a thud a few feet beside me.

The sparkling Triton had impaled something large that lie motionless no more than a breath away from me. My heart sank at the sight. I didn’t even hear it approach.

“You know, for a Hunter, you’re REALLY bad at it,” a deep, sultry voice nearly whispered behind me.

I jumped. And turned to see the Triton standing at the bank of the water. Silhouetted in the moonlight, his dreads didn’t seem as alive as they were in the water.

His hazel eyes swirled and my heart leaped in my chest when he smiled his blindingly bright smile in my direction. My palms and arm pits started to sweat.

His broad shoulders and chest were decorated in what looked like diamond plaited armor that was tattooed with intricate patterns. His rank, maybe?

“Maybe if you spent just a little less time gawking at me, you could maybe keep yourself alive long enough to arrest me or call it in.”

My cheeks warmed and he burst into a hearty laugh that only deepened my blush and increased my desire to be near him.

“You’re under arrest,” I said softly, not trusting my my voice not to crack.

“And what are my charges, Madam Huntress?” he said, teasingly offering me both wrists.

I smiled, training finally overriding whatever feeling that overcame my good sense. “For the unlawful use of your Call on me.”

He raised a teasing eyebrow. And then cut his eyes toward the beast lying face down.

“AND the assassination of a Minotaur,” I added hastily, blushing again, realizing my mistake.

I quickly slapped his wrists in the cuffs feeling slightly triumphant. I wonder what the captain will think when I bring him in and I can’t wait to knock the smug grin off Tiffany’s face when I tell her I bagged a Triton!

“One problem,” he whispered, a knowing grin on his lips.

“What?”

“The Minotaur is not dead. I injected him with a high dose sleeping agent.”

I looked at the beast, noting a stunning lack of blood and subtle rise in its chest.

I frowned.

“And for the record, I never used the Call on you. I saw the Minotaur following you and figured you could use my help.”

My vision of a captain’s “good job” and imagined face of jealousy turned nightmare of ridicule and regret as I removed his cuffs.

“Happy Hunting to me,” I deadpan.

The mud had baked hard in the morning sun creating a hard, smooth outer shell. But now, in the cool of the evening, she cool feel the comforting warmth in her carapace dissipate. It was this that prompted her to move, to wiggle, to stretch her thin limbs to their capacity, till her clay armour cracked and the cool evening air crept over her.

Slowly, so as not to risk injury, she climbed from the ground and crawled, like a giant insect, to the water’s edge. The ground beneath her knees was a blanket of twigs and leaves - the debris gathered daily by the forest. Her cold skin split as small stones cut into her, imbedding themselves in her flesh. She did not grimace, she did not know.

Death has a habit of changing our priorities. Once breathing is no longer a priority there is little need to steel oneself and breathe through pain. Pain is a human concept. It is not for the undead to trouble themselves with.

By the water she carefully cleansed the dirt from her, once tanned, skin. Her fragility was clear: apply too firm a hand and her once firm and supple skin would peel away in the moonlight. One knee already showed the bleached bone beneath it and the wound where he’d stabbed her had grown loose and distorted over time. Yet cleaning was important. She would hate to be unrecognisable once found. She wanted her mother to still know her little girl’s face, even after all this time.

Once clean she lay bathing in the moonlight, silently listening to the water as it flowed and enjoying tickle of tiny feet that scurried across her on their nightly journeys. Murder had rather changed her perspective on fear. The fine, delicate legs of a spider were no longer a source of panic. Instead she watched with interest all the lives she had previously ignored. Life was so much more than human.

As the dawn threatened to rise her time to be discovered was up and so, with what dignity she had left, she began her journey back to the muddy pool in which she’d be left. What little muscle remained was weak and she struggled to haul her body back across the bracken. The difficulty was a painful reminder that, in a few short hours, once night had faded and morning broken, he would come from his house, through the trees, around the pond and, with a crackle, stand on the part baked earth of her grave - as if he knew that she could feel his weight. As if he knew that she was so much more than dead.

The mud had baked hard in the morning sun creating a hard, smooth outer shell. But now, in the cool of the evening, she cool feel the comforting warmth in her carapace dissipate. It was this that prompted her to move, to wiggle, to stretch her thin limbs to their capacity, till her clay armour cracked and the cool evening air crept over her.

Slowly, so as not to risk injury, she climbed from the ground and crawled, like a giant insect, to the water’s edge. The ground beneath her knees was a blanket of twigs and leaves - the debris gathered daily by the forest. Her cold skin split as small stones cut into her, imbedding themselves in her flesh. She did not grimace, she did not know.

Death has a habit of changing our priorities. Once breathing is no longer a priority there is little need to steel oneself and breathe through pain. Pain is a human concept. It is not for the undead to trouble themselves with.

By the water she carefully cleansed the dirt from her, once tanned, skin. Her fragility was clear: apply too firm a hand and her once firm and supple skin would peel away in the moonlight. One knee already showed the bleached bone beneath it and the wound where he’d stabbed her had grown loose and distorted over time. Yet cleaning was important. She would hate to be unrecognisable once found. She wanted her mother to still know her little girl’s face, even after all this time.

Once clean she lay bathing in the moonlight, silently listening to the water as it flowed and enjoying tickle of tiny feet that scurried across her on their nightly journeys. Murder had rather changed her perspective on fear. The fine, delicate legs of a spider were no longer a source of panic. Instead she watched with interest all the lives she had previously ignored. Life was so much more than human.

As the dawn threatened to rise her time to be discovered was up and so, with what dignity she had left, she began her journey back to the muddy pool in which she’d be left. What little muscle remained was weak and she struggled to haul her body back across the bracken. The difficulty was a painful reminder that, in a few short hours, once night had faded and morning broken, he would come from his house, through the trees, around the pond and, with a crackle, stand on the part baked earth of her grave - as if he knew that she could feel his weight. As if he knew that she was so much more than dead.

The crackling of fire transmuted into a hiss of dying embers with the toss of a bucket of water. The ears flicking out of the water, way back in the reeds, didn’t miss the sound. The merry band was winding down for the night, most of their whiskey drunk.

As their chuckles faded and snores grew the ears moved closer, rippling the deep reflected starry night. A head slowly emerged from the water, nostrils snorting steam. An older force than these sleepers knew raised her muzzle from the water. Hair streamed down her green black mane. Her hooves were silent on the sandy banks as she pick her way through their little camp. Their own horses whinnied in fright or snorted territorially. The quieted under her steady emerald gaze. They knew the Kelpie, knew this had been her domain since before the tallest oak in this forest was a sapling and that her name if she still had one was an ancient thing, not spoken in years.

Three horses but four sleeping figures. The Kelpie turned to examine the specimens that had happened upon her shore. Three men and a woman. The woman had a mop of brown curls and a bow lay within her reach. Her hand extended toward it as if she knew danger was near and already reached for it. She was curled up herself in the strong arms of a man who could have been a brick layer, a circus strong man or some more dark profession that required a strong hand. The Kelpie would not mettle with a man protected by so fierce a woman. A round man, in every sense of the word, lay at the other side of the dying fire pit, cradling a near empty bottle of ale. Not her taste and mayhap too heavy. But the last…hadn’t there been a fourth?

The clinking of a bridle sounded his position and she turned her head slowly. Ah, there he was. Young and slender with yellow hair down to his shoulders. One of the mares whinnied again.

“Peace, Rosemary,” the young man said. “We have a new friend here.” He spoke in a gentle velvet voice and clicked his tongue reassuringly.

“She’s trying to warn you,” the Kelpie said. He froze then but that was the only indication he gave that anything was out of place. Surely time and experience had taught him how to keep a straight face and accept the unusual and unexpected.

“From what?” He smiled as though they were old friends. She turned and walked toward him.

“Do you care for these horses?”

“I do,” he stated it, very matter of factly. The blue eyed mare snorted and tugged at her lead.

“You care for them well. She is most protective of you. Is she…’yours’?” It had been a long time since the Kelpie was so bemused.

“No,” he said. “None of them are ‘mine’.”

“Do you know how to ride?” She considered the bridle in his hands.

“Why don’t you come find out?” His smile was daring but it teased her imagination knowing what he didn’t know. She took a few more steps closer and lifted her head imperiously.

“Do you wish to ride?”

He lifted the bridle as if to put it on her.

“You do not need that,” she turned her head with a disgusted sniff. “It would not hold but I have no wish to pretend with you.”

He considered a moment and then despite the cream mare’s warning of stomping hooves. He threw away the bridle. The Kelpie smiled and turned so that he could mount. He alighted with a grace she hadn’t quite expected and grabbed a handful of her mane. The mare whinnied plaintively. The Kelpie looked up at the man knowingly, daring. He looked daringly back and kicked her with his heels. She let out a triumphant neigh as she charged toward the bank and dived into the water where the pseudo sky of stars swallowed them whole.

“I still hate you” I spat as he threw another log into the fire in front of us.

“As you’ve mentioned about five times now” he said sarcastically.

Slowly he walked up to me and adjusted the rope around my wrists until I could reach my food without any issues. Then he walked to the other side of the fire and sat down. The silence between us was painful, but well deserved. I listened to the fire crackle as I ate and I watched the light from the moon reflect from the waters of the pond.

As time passed I looked over to find Dex watching me with soft eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that, you lost that when you chose my father’s side over mine” I snapped angrily at him again.

“You know the decision was made based off of keeping you safe” he pointed at me with a stick he had been twirling.

“Oh don’t give me that, you know well enough that I can protect myself. You’ve seen it a thousand times”

“Dammit Wynn” he spoke angrily this time, “ I know damn well you can take care of yourself, but I refuse to take the the chance that Dahlia might be much more powerful than you. This is the only way that I can protect you.”

“I’m not asking you to protect me! I just-“

“Wynn” Dex said cutting me off as he spoke softer than before. He walked over to me and dropped to his knees.

He grabbed both sides of my face and tilted my head up to look at him.

“I can’t lose you. This is the only way that I can keep you alive and safe. Your father and I agreed to lock you away because if you died, we can’t live without you” he said hopelessly.

“Can’t you hear the problem with that! You are locking me away because of a what if! Please, let’s just go home” I cried.

“No” he said sternly.

It was then I knew that I had lost Dex. He was so focused on protecting me, that he was forgetting that I needed to live as a human being. This was the side of Dex that I couldn’t be with.

Quickly I leaned forward and kissed him catching him off guard.

Pulling back I rested my forehead against his as lies fell from my lips, “I’ll go. You and my father made a great plan.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that” he smiled while pulling me in for another kiss.

Again I pulled away from him and looked into his eyes.

“Can you lay with me tonight? So I can remember the way you held me while I’m alone for the next few years?” I pleaded.

“Of course” he beamed.

I laid down on the crunchy leaves beneath me as he spooned me from behind. His arm laid across my waist and I looked up at the night sky praying that my plan would work.

Soon I could hear his soft snores and feel his breath brushing against my neck. Slowly I turned on my back and laid still hoping my movement didn’t stir him awake. My eyes fell to the knife in his pocket and I lifted my tied hands gently to grab the shiny object. After a few precise tugs the knife was free and in my hands. Quickly I cut the rope and slipped the knife in my back pocket. With slow and gentle movements, I picked up his arm and set it across his stomach. Carefully I stood up making sure not to crunch the leaves beneath my feet.

I turned back to look at Dex as he still peacefully slept on the floor.

“I love you, but this is my fight” I whispered.

I turned back around and headed straight into the deep forrest. Once I was far enough away I broke out into a sprint because I didn’t know how long I had until he realized I was gone.

The light from the fire reflected back at me from the pond. The water was as still as the dead and the light danced across the surface. I knew the fire was a risk, every crackle and pop of the wood sounded like thunder in the silence of the woods. And the light it breathed into the darkness would draw the attention of anyone near enough to see it. Or anything. But it had been weeks since I had seen any sign of people and the nights weren’t getting any warmer.

I would have been better off sleeping in the dirt.

I thought it was the light playing tricks on my eyes. The fire was throwing shadows against the trees and I thought I saw something passing through the trees. I strained to see anything. To hear anything. But all I could hear was the crackle of the fire. All I could see was the shadows in the night.

Soon the smoke started to whisper to me. It crept inside me, curling its tendrils around my heart, and knotting them in my stomach. It crept into my brain and filled every crevice. Until all I could hear was the whisper of smoke between my ears, compelling me look. Forcing me to listen.

I thought the danger was in the woods. I didn’t realize it was in the wood.

I was frozen in place, held captive and captivated. The smoke was alive. Empires rose and fell within the flames. Millions of the dead ascended with the ashes.

Blood erupted from my nose in a crimson downpour.

I watched in horror as the smoke and fire showed me my place in the fabric of destiny. I was a stitch in the unraveling blanket of reality, just waiting to be ripped out by the seamstress of time.

My lungs burned and my breath gurgled in my chest. I fell to the ground. I closed my eyes, but the fire still flashed behind my eyelids. There was no escape. I welcomed death’s cold embrace.

Tomorrow you’ll become one. You’ll be his and he’ll be yours. I don’t want you to be his. I want you to be my mine. I want to be known for being yours. Even though you seem to love him, I can’t bear to see you with him. I want to see you with me. But I can’t tell you. Even though you make my stomach flutter and my skin burn and my heart melt. Even though I never want to hurt you and he does. Even though I know you’ll never hurt me because you never have. Even though I love you, I can’t speak the words. Not to you, not to anyone. Not even to myself. I get up and walk towards the glistening water near my cabin. It’s dark outside and no one is awake. Not even you, my lovely insomniac. It’s ironic how much you love the night. Seeing as your so bright yourself. Everything about you screams light and day and warmth. You’re eyes crackle like a warm fire. Your long, blonde hair lights up the sky. Your smile makes everyone around you feel like they’re walking on the sun. Your laugh makes people feel alive. It makes me want to be alive. I’m not like that though, I’m dark and lonely and rough. I’m the dark, cold, night air and you’re the lighting bug flying through it. Not even waiting to see if I’m okay. Not waiting to see if you’ve hurt me. But you never do, instead, for a moment, I’m left bright and warm and feeling loved and alive. How do you manage to do that? Run through life like your in a rush, but taking enough time as not to hurt anyone. You light the world on fire, but make sure nothing burns down. You burn a fire in my heart and make me feel alive, but just as soon as you come, you’re gone. Or do you just not realize what you’re doing? Are you so free that you don’t realize how entrapped by you everyone else is. How entangled in the chains of life I am. I need you. Like the moon needs the sun to shine. Like I need light to see. Like the night sky needs the lighting bug to light it up. I turn to head back in to my home when I see a streak of light. I think it’s you for a second. But as I look closer, it’s just a little lightning bug bumbling towards the glistening pond. Flying away from me. I sigh and walk into my cabin. It’s warm. It doesn’t make since. The fire I lit earlier has long since gone out. It should be cold. Bitterly cold, like me. And as I head towards the fire to investigate the warmth, I feel it. My stomach starts to turn and flutter and my skin starts to prickle and warm. You’re standing in my living room. Back turned to me. Blonde hair flowing down your shoulders. You light a match and throw it on the almost completely burnt out logs on my fire. I start to say that they probably won’t light when they instantly go up in flames. You turn and look at me and smile. “I love you too,” you say, walking towards me slowly. I furrow my brow and open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say. How did you know? I’ve never uttered those words to anyone. Not even myself. You finally get near enough to touch me and you take my hand. The smell of burning wood fills my nose, but I don’t care. I’m here, with you, alone. You’re all mine. Finally. “Forever,” you say as you smile at me, a tear running down your cheek. I reach up to wipe it away and as I do, I look behind you and see it. The flames. Wrapping around your head. Around your feet. Around you. Around us. You didn’t throw the match on the fire wood. You threw it on the cabin. I look at you, eyes wide and you just smile at me. And start to laugh, a warm, melodious laugh full of love and life. How are you laughing at a time like this? We’re going up in flames. They’re all around us. We’re surrounded by heat and fire and I feel like I’m melting. But I guess I always feel like I’m melting when I’m with you.