We were Dreamers once

[Ad Absurdum]

What if I still dream though

[Sekot]

it is a metaphor

[Ad Absurdum]

Are we human or are we dancer?

[Sekot]

Labour is blossoming or dancing where
The body is not bruised to pleasure soul,
Nor beauty born out of its own despair,
Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil.
O chestnut tree, great rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?

-among school children; yeats

[Sekot]

"Oh God, oh Gooood!"

He grunted underneath her as he thrusted into her. She gripped his chest, her long fingernails drawing blood as they were pulled back to her. Grabbing her thighs tighter, all he could think about was how badly he wanted her to scream his name. Her long, golden hair fell about her face and shimmered in the lamplight. He sat up, pulling her closer with one arm and steadying himself with the other. She ground herself upon him, moving her ass with skill he had never come across before. His lips met her tits, kissed between and upon them. He sucked on her erect nipples, nibbled at the skin. She screamed in pleasure, slapping him across the face teasingly. He tried to look up at her, to meet her gaze but her eyes were never able to meet his own, always strangely hidden. Their moans were joined, coming quicker and quicker as they neared their respective climaxes.

He picked her up and threw her down, grabbing her by the wrists and extending her arms as far as they would go. He slammed his cock into her, satisfied with every scream that came with his bottoming out. He felt her clench around him, felt her muscles tighten.

He looked up at her, helpless and slave to her. She brushed her hair away from her eyes and stared down at him as she teasingly slid until the head was just barely inside her. Slowly she slid back down, totally in control. She stared at him with eyes that burned like stars. Golden orbs of incandescence, her spirit churned like an angry storm between them. He felt himself growing closer, whimpering for sweet release. Her body had become warm, sickeningly warm. The heat caused him to sweat, to become slick and weak. A smile crept across her lips, white teeth bared like a predator ready to deliver a final blow. "Are you ready, David?"

As he came in her, she bucked harder. His vision blurred and she became a painful light, an explosive point of energy engulfing him.

He awoke to the sound of metal screeching against metal. Steel blue light spilled out from the small crack beneath the curtain covering the solitary window to the cabin. Freezing wind blew from it, seeping through the poor insulation and ruffling the heavy cloth. David exhaled slowly, rubbing his eyes as his conscious self slowly came back to the world of the living. He sat up and groaned as the sheets stuck to his stomach. He ripped them off and used them to clean up the mess his quickly softening member had left. He hadn't had a wet dream since he was twelve. Of all times it had to happen on a train with no shower.

Rising from the bed, he pulled away the curtain and stared outside. Nothing but empty fields greeted him. Barren trees moved in a steady winter wind, the sky above an overcast grey as it threatened snow. "To all passengers, this is your operator. I apologize for the inconvenience, but we have hit a delay. We expect to have to stay in our present condition for a few hours before we can continue on..."

The words were drowned out as David turned to face the mirror over the small sink. Turning on the faucet, he attempted to wait for hot water. His image within the glass was a haggard one. He had not shaved in three days, his eyes were marked with purple bags, and his hair was in desperate need of a trim. And a comb. And a wash. This journey, which had promised to be a day or two in length, had quickly become delayed over and over until an entire week had been consumed. He wondered, not for the first time, if the destination was really worth it. Was the promise of an actual job worth the stench and discomfort? He could have gotten off at the last stop and worked as a janitor, or, hell, even walked and he would have made it faster. David stuck his hand under the running water and pulled it back almost immediately. His fingers stung from the icy temperature, the cool air of the cabin not helping. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed the soap and a washcloth that was still somewhat clean and attempted to wash himself as best he could. The dried ejaculate on his lower abdomen proved to be stubborn, but with heavy scrubbing he had finally cleaned up his mess.

"We will be offering refreshments..."

He grabbed a pair of boxer shorts and lifted them up to his nose to test. He gagged and threw them into a corner. Instead he just grabbed his shorts and a shirt and pulled them on, hoping that no one noticed. Surely the others had to be in a similar state anyway and they'd all just joke about it over coffee. He took one last look in the mirror, ran a hand through his hair, and unlocked his door. Across from him, his neighbor was doing the same. For a moment, the two stared at each other from across the narrow passage. David smiled at her and motioned for to pass. He had forgotten her name. She smiled back but quickly turned and began walking. David watched her go for a moment, she appeared so much like the woman in his dream. But her hair was a dirty, sandy blonde. Not the radiant corn-colored hair of his succubus. And her eyes were an almond brown. Pretty but hardly god-like. That didn't stop him from staring at her ass or from wanting to ask if she wanted to join him in his bunk for a different kind of refreshment.

As if she could read his thoughts, she turned her head to look back at him. He quickly averted his eyes, but not before he caught a glimpse of the icy glare her face had hardened into. His cheeks burning, he kept his head down as he followed the other departing passengers into the next few cars. Food had been laid out, cold cuts and cheeses with barely fresh fruit, stale donuts and hardened bread. Coffee, tea, and various forms of alcohol had also been put out. Most of the passengers were gathered there, filling cups with mostly alcohol and maybe a splash of mixer. The food remained untouched. The neighbor girl and her friends had already grabbed a table and were talking amongst themselves, breaking the absurd stillness with loud bouts of laughter.

"Is that him?" he heard one of them say.

He didn't turn as he poured a generous amount of vodka into his tin glass.

"Shutup," the neighbor girl whispered.

More laughter.

"He's got some muscles to him."

He had grabbed some orange juice and was about to pour it.

"A nice ass too."

He gulped down the vodka and poured himself some more.

"You should ask him over," the one male party member said.

He quickly poured in his juice, only realizing after he had finished that it was cranberry instead of orange juice. He hated cranberries. He took a sip, the tart taste tickling his tongue. Turning, he caught the eyes of all the friends arrayed at their small table. Four altogether, three women and one man, all gazed at him with a collection of emotions ranging from hunger to annoyance. He tried to turn away, to focus his attention elsewhere. But the smallest of the four, a petite girl with a large chest and equally large ass, got up from her seat and brushed past him to the drink cart. He felt her hands as she drifted past, lingering too long on his body. Despite the cold and his still muddled brain, he felt his body react with the want he secretly desired. An image flashed before his eyes, his mind reeling from the sudden shift. Her face beneath him, her mouth around his dick, her voice muffled as he fucked her.

She was now standing in front of him. Her hazel eyes staring up at him over the rim of her own tin cup. She smiled, "And what is your name, cutie?"

"Uh...its...um.."

He stuttered, unable to catch his tongue. Images flickered like torn film reel. She laughed, "Well, Um, come join us. We're looking for someone new to talk to."

Before he could refuse, she pulled on his arm and forced him to follow. Her grip was steel, her innocent demand hiding a stronger underlying will. Powerless, he followed, apologizing to the few strangers he bumped into in their shared haste. The other three waited expectantly, silent with all attention aimed at him. "Josie, why didn't you tell me about him?! I've been so bored stuck in my car, we could've used the fun."

Josie, his neighbor, rolled her eyes, "Because I knew you'd act like this and I don't want this ride to be any more miserable than it already is."

"Yeah, Amy, one day you're as warm as a desert and the next your as cold as my ass is against this window," the guy said.

Ignoring their comments, Amy flicked her hand as if to both swat her friends away and as means of introduction. "So you know my name now, Amy of course, and we've also got Josie who I'm totally sure you've met before." She winked. "We've also got the ravishing Miss Audrey and the always obnoxious Kevin."

Audrey, the last woman to be introduced, blushed and stared into her drink. Kevin smiled even wider, which until then David thought impossible, and lifted his cup in mock salute. "And you are?" he asked, his vowels just a little too long and his "r" just a little too soft.

"My name is..."

"Um," Amy cut him off with a giggle.

Kevin glared at her briefly, but soon enough his eyes were glued back to David, or David's chest rather. "She likes to think she's smarter than she is, please tell us your name. I'd very much like to know."

"David," he said.

"So much better than Um, don't you think girls?" Amy said.

"Sure," Josie said as she took a large sip of her drink. Audrey still refused to look up.

Audrey bound with one limb for each bed post. Her mouth gagged and a blindfold covering her eyes. Her moans as she demanded more from him. He was between her legs, teasing her with his tongue.

"So..."

"What?" David glanced out the window at the now falling snow.

"Where you headed?" Amy placed a hand on his shoulder, motioning him to sit.

"Somewhere I can find a job," he answered.

"What kind of job?"

"A paying one."

"Not one for many words, are you? What else is going on in that mind of yours? Must be interesting."

Josie with her face smashed into the pillows, screaming.

David coughed as Amy's hand slid down to his bicep, her soft hands warm. "Not much, I can tell you."

Kevin laughed and downed what remained of his drink. "Someone like you could get a job anywhere doing anything you wanted. No need to take Train 12 to do that."

"No joke, we've been stuck on this train for years now. Few get off anymore."

"Isn't that the world we live in now? Livin' on trains till we die."

"I mean yeah, but don't you wonder what'd be like to wander out there and enjoy some actually fresh air for once."

Kevin's lips against his neck, his teeth biting gently, his hands caressing ever lower.

"Oh stop it, Josie, you love this train as much as the rest of us. Where else do we get to meet Davids?"

Amy laughed again, her voice trickling water. Her hand was now on his thigh, slowly sliding inward. He felt warm as he sipped again. He caught Kevin's eye, both of them looking at one another unblinking. His blue eyes looked so large, so devastating in his pale face. "Josie," he said, breaking the impromptu battle of wills. "Josie please, be a dear and grab me a refill. I know you probably need one too."

Josie said nothing as she grabbed his cup. "You need one too?" she asked David.

He offered her his cup as well and with yet another roll of her eyes, she took it and left. Audrey, up to his point having said nothing, watched Josie go. There was a longing to her, but she merely bit her lip and returned to her previously quiet state. David wondered if her neck hurt from all that looking down.

He whipped her, heard her scream, beg for more. He whipped her again, playfully. Amy was next to him, underneath him. Her lips pressed against the tip of his cock.

"Someone seems to be enjoying the attention," Amy said, her finger tracing the line of his hard dick in his pants.

He hadn't noticed it, hadn't felt it, until she was touching it. Suddenly he was aware of what little he was wearing to hide it. He looked around, but no one else seemed to be paying any attention. Groups had broken off and they were all talking quietly amongst themselves, ignoring the five of them. Josie returned and placed his cup in front of him. Kevin said nothing, but observed instead as he waited for what David would do next. Amy leaned forward, pressing him further down so that her lips were against his ear. "I know what you're thinking, maybe you'll get a chance later."

Quickly David grabbed his cup and tipped it back, swallowing what he could as fast as he could before setting it back down. The world looked very blurry at that moment. Even Josie was smiling now as she took a more conservative drink. Kevin was laughing, pushing Audrey and saying something to her. Her shoulders shook as she too broke out into a smile. "Come on, let us get out of here," Kevin said.

David was floating, his head a cloud. He rose slowly, unaware of the obvious bulge in his shorts. Amy was fast, she slithered past him and stood right in front of him. She stepped backward, his dick pressing into her just above her ass. She looked back and up at him, her gorgeous mouth blowing him a kiss and giving him a wink. Josie and Audrey were slower to rise, but they followed suit with Kevin bringing up the rear. As a fivesome, they wound their way between the disparate groups of passengers and through the door that led to the next car. David had never gone this far, was unsure of where he was being led as all living quarters were behind them, but his feet moved anyway. He was pretty sure more than one hand had reached out to grasp at him, to grope him. But as soon as his mind caught on to what his body felt, the hands had disappeared. No one spoke, instead moving by instinct and memory.

Through several non-descript freight cars they moved, the rooms dark and often only a light to guide to their way. After what felt like an hour they stopped. Giggles and hushed words were spoken between the four companions stepped beyond David and gathered at the door. It appeared larger than the others, made of heavier material and with many locks. The fluorescent light behind them dangled precariously and cast a sickly light upon them all. Paler than before, David's interest faltered. But, as Audrey and Josie went to work on the door, Kevin and Amy turned on David. Amy was sultry, was living water as she moved closer so that her tits pressed tightly against his chest. Kevin moved up behind him, grasping David's neck in his strong hand. He pressed himself firmly against David's backside, his hardness readily apparent. David found himself wanting it, backing his waist into the other man. Kevin groaned in his ear, matching David's as he felt Amy's hands slide into his pants.

"Are you ready?" Kevin asked, his voice heavy.

David did not get a chance to answer for the doorway opened and the five of them stepped over the threshold. As quickly as they were through, the door shut and locked. The sudden brightness caused David to shut his eyes and raise his arm. It was no longer cold, but instead humid and warm. In the air was the scent of cinnamon, of roasted fruit and smoked meat. He heard voices, but no words came to him. Instead it was a feeling of warmth that washed over and into him. He felt hands grasping him, pushing and moving him. He fell backward, his eyes opening just as he landed. Soft. Hairy. Furry. He gathered his self, looked about. He was lying in a pile of furs in the center of the vast space. Around him were tables and lit braziers. Flames reached upward toward the glass ceiling that stretched into glass walls. Nothing covered the walls, so his view of the outside world was completely unhindered.

Mountains rose ever upward on either side. Close to the treeline, the jagged tops were covered in layers of untouched snow. The sky, still overcast, hung low enough that he felt he could reach out and touch it. The train itself wound itself in both directions, as far as they eye could see until both ends faded into the fog. "As you can see, Train 12 will take a long time to reach any destination."

"Lucky for you, we've got someplace we can stay to pass the time."

"Someplace you will enjoy very much, if those pesky thoughts of yours are any indication."

The voices came as much from in him as around him. He turned his attention toward a table not too far away. Kevin sat with Amy, their faces melted together in a passionate embrace of tongues. Josie sat on the table itself, her legs crossed and a wine glass in hand. Audrey lay resting on the floor, hair hair splayed wildly about her. She was looking at the sole sculpture in the entire space. Crafted out of marble, it depicted four figures twisting and entwined within and upon each other. David found himself entranced by it, staring at it until the forms changed shape before his eyes. Parts of them appeared human while others appeared very different. And they would morph, transform into something new. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a string instrument had begun playing. Accompanied by other musical pieces, it was folk in nature. No others were present within the cavernous space, but still he felt as if he was being watched. The statue itself was watching him, watching them.

David felt lips pressed against his bare chest. He looked down to see Kevin tracing his tongue down his abdominals toward his pant line. His member ached, demanding attention. Amy slid next to him, licking his ear and pressing her naked breasts against him. He leaned back, lifted his hips so that his shorts could be torn away, finally releasing his cock to open air. As soon as it was, a mouth was on it. He gasped, twisting in pleasure. Amy straddled him, facing away so that her ass was up against his face. Eagerly he licked at her, felt her hips buck as he teased her clit. Another body leaned in, joining his tongue in pleasuring Amy. He felt his hands groping flesh, teasing yet another warm opening. Gasps and moans filled the air, mixing with the intoxicating music.

Amy moved and he felt something else pressed against his lips. He opened his mouth and took Kevin inside, felt the warm skin sliding inward. He refused to choke but gagged anyway. Kevin laughed before he was silenced by Josie's kiss. Amy grabbed hold of David and pointed him upward. He felt her warmth as she fed him to her. David thrust hard into her as Kevin did to him and she half screamed and half laughed.

"Oh sweet Hunter, what ever will we do with you?"

A whisper left in his ear, toying with his attention as it was consumed by the scent of bodies and sex.

Something hurt.

Kevin stepped back so that Josie could place herself over David's face.

Something felt heavy on his hips.

"It was so easy," a voice boomed and the room became warmer.

"Who'd have thought we'd ever trick a Hunter like this?"

The voice sounded ancient, held an age to it with all the weight that implied.

"After all who could resist us?"

More voices, voices upon voices. Within the speech was a history.

He opened his eyes as suddenly he was without feeling. Floating naked within space. Exposed.

The first thing he noticed was that the statue had become plain. All the detail, the twisting of forms, had become still and faded until all it was was a stone blob. Night had come. The fires within the braziers had grown so much brighter. "Your heart burns, Hunter, does it not?"

It did. His chest ached. Something danced on his tongue, a memory of a taste. Poison. "Ah-h, there it is."

Amy was the first to materialize. Or what was once Amy. Now it was a grotesque, obese monster. Two pairs of gigantic breasts sat above a rotund stomach. Barely contained in a piece of dirty cloth, no, not cloth but flesh. Still dripping blood. Small rivers of it dribbled down her body and her exposed parts. Rivers of it ran from between her legs. He heard a wailing, a distant crying and realized it came from within her. Her stomach moved. Upon her face she wore a mask of hair. Tangled and damp, it ran across her nose and mouth and around her neck. Only a pair of reddened eyes wide and angry peered at him.

From behind her came a cowering figure. Audrey, frail and thin with limbs far longer than human. She was bald, her skin cracked and sloughing. Four eyes glared at him, four eyes like beady sunbursts as they caught the light of the fiery braziers. "Sweet Hunter, we could have had so much fun. We could have added you to the flock."

Josie was next. Stepping from behind him, her bone-exposed fingers tracing long lines down his chest. She was tall, her legs bent and broken but spindly. Her hair was wild, spinning in the air as if caught in a mysterious wind. Around her neck was wound a uterus, around her waist a belt of umbilical cords. Her breasts were exposed but the nipples were cracked. Bite marks and claw marks were etched into the skin around them.

Kevin's voice was loud. Was laughter that shook him, that penetrated him and made him hollow. "Witch Hunter, how does it feel? To be caught by the prey you were sent to kill?"

At first, as he materialized before the trio, he appeared as he was before. A man. Naked. His body glistened as if covered in oil, every muscle pronounced to extreme. His skin was the color of gold. He turned, and as he did his image shifted. It melted and shimmered like water over glass. His eyes, the only pair, were black. Deeper than black. Within them was absence, hungering for something to fill them. His nose and mouth were flat, gone, nothing but skin. He spread his hands wide and in one palm was his voice and the other his will. Upon his head were curving horns, bony prominences that wound around one another. His body was flayed and scarred and tattooed. He had been castrated, no more than a bloody stump between his legs. Blood seeped from the corner of his eyes, dripped from his anus and spilled onto the floor in an ever-evaporating pool.

David whispered an incantation, willed the nanites in his blood to action. Nothing but echoing silence and a pounding pressure in his ears. "That won't work here," Amy sputtered. A long wail escaped from within her. She lovingly placed a hand on her belly, "There there, my loves, not yet."

"You came to our Train, our Home," Josie and Audrey spoke in unison. "And sought us out, how should we repay that?"

"A slave! A slave?" Audrey mumbled.

"A child-bearer?" Amy pondered. "I have so many to share."

Kevin closed his Will but lifted his Voice. "Silence."

A sudden and deafening stillness fell.

David whispered another incantation. Whispered another and another.

"Will they come for you?" Kevin asked, his voice trailing into a thought that wormed its way into David's head. Images of his friends, of fellow Witch Hunters, were picked apart and identified. "So many names, so many faces. Will they come for you, my dear? Or will they leave you here?

"Do they even know where you are?"

David felt the air being sucked out of him, felt himself bleeding out. Even then, he remained painfully, unwillingly erect.

"Shall you sire my children?" Kevin asked. "For, as you see, I cannot. How did it taste, in that dream of yours? All I have are memories, do you still yet taste the flesh of my cock, or do you only taste blood?"

Josie laughed and spread her legs to reveal her cavernous vagina, "Come boy, come in me again. That dream of yours this morning was hardly enough to satisfy me."

"I need them, I need them!" Amy cried, moving closer but hesitating.

"What if you had killed us, taken us away from those who rely on us? Do you think this Train, that any Train, works without their Witches?"

"What a foolish order, what a foolish idea."

"Let them come." "Let them come."

"You will be here! You will be here!"

"Touch me!"

Amy reached forward and grabbed his hand, placing it between her legs. He felt a warm coolness, a squirming movement and something licked his hand.

"We will have you, we need more children!"

Laughter. Echoing laughter.

[Sekot]

I felt their weight pressing on me, cold and eternal. Stone pressed unevenly against my back, against my spine. I was profoundly uncomfortable, but still unable and unwilling to stand. Slowly I raised my hand to my face, waxy skin pulled on by frigid digits. I picked them up off my eyes, turned them between my fingers. My fingertips ached and burned with their touch, and all I wanted was to throw them away. Slowly my eyes opened, parting the darkness and finalizing my entrance into this new world. Pale light moved upon the vaulted church ceiling. Images were painted on its surface too shrouded to fully see. I caught sight of cherubs and angelic wings, of smiles and similes.

I heard voices as if from a distance, muffled. They spoke a language I did not recognize, but the meaning was still clear. They were discussing me, my arrival into this temporal place. I grew angry, but I didn't really know why. There I continued to lay, stubborn and rebellious. I felt footsteps, heard them as an echo in the ground. They stopped. I could feel the expectation, I could feel the patience. It hung in the air like a heavy weight, the crushing pressure right before a storm. A Florida morning in August.

A face poked out from above me, that same pale light moving delicately across her face. Her large lips parted, speaking to me. But I don't hear them as instead I am overcome with relief. I turned onto my stomach, sprang forward and upward with arms ready to catch her and pull her close. But I only moved through air. Still air. Cold. I turned and he is waiting for me. Behind him is the altar, the church organ. From there the pale lights comes. A dancing fire of ghostly yellow that gives off a sweet scent of foreign incense. He is a silhouette against that light, his face an impassive shadow. Dressed in onyxian clergy robes, his waiting is smothering. I look in my hand, finally, after the burning has grown too much to bear. Within I find two coins staring back up at me. My face is embossed upon them, a date glows softly like embers. Angry, I clutched my fingers into a fist, felt the burning. I throw them at him, screaming.

I felt their weight pressing on me, cold and eternal. Stone pressed unevenly against my back, against my spine. I inhaled slowly, as if catching my breath for the first time. It smelled like cinnamon. It smelled like warm days. It smelled of memories I find I am forgetting. I rose, the coins tumbling down my face as if they were copper tears. I sat there, looking at nothing but my face that looked right back at me. Caught in this recursive game, I refused to move until their surfaces had lost their shine. The voices grew louder, insistent. Slowly the edges began to chip away, to age. My face lost its definition, faded into a green crust.

I felt their weight pressing on me, cold and eternal. I ripped them from my eyes and tossed them away. They clattered into a distant corner but as stars they shown from the shadows. I felt the pulling, the quickening separation of my consciousness as this world struggled to reset itself, rejecting an outcome that was not intended. I could see him, standing behind the altar. That sickening fire lit his face, roared in anger at my refusal to just accept this fate that was being handed to me. And what I saw in it was not fury, not pity or joy. It is time written in flesh. Inevitability stares back at me.

I take one step, my bare foot touching lightly against the stone floor. Hesitant. I shouted at him, folded my words into weapons. Sweat dripped down my nose, slipped into my mouth. All I could taste was the bitter salt, the sharp tang of my own fear. With every slung insult he stands as if unaware. And maybe he is. Maybe he doesn't see me at all. Then why am I here?

I turn, face the opposite direction. Two doors. Two massive gates made of petrified wood that might as well be made from the stone in the walls. I run to it, or try. For every step I take, my mind is pulled backward, rooted. She is shouting at me, from somewhere. I can here her voice and my name. I continue running. Only running. I ran until I could feel blood on the soles of my feet. Wet. Sticky. My chest burned. Hungered. The pale light had become blinding.

I felt their weight pressing on me. She was whispering in my ear about how everything would be alright. A memory. Not present but past. Everything was going to be alright, she said. You just need to close your eyes and sleep a while. I'll be here when you wake up. Just sleep.

And there were tears. Her tears or mine?

I pulled the coins from my eyes. Felt the terrifying weight in the palm of my hand. Two coins. Was that all it took? Was that what I was worth? Why two and not more? Why not just cover me in coins and then I could buy my way back?

Two coins lay in my hand, with all the weight of eternity. Written on them was a face. My face. Who had put them there? I closed my eyes and raised them to my forehead, choking back a feeling that had gathered in my throat. An aching had begun to dwell in me, a fading want that left only a strange emptiness. Not emptiness. Knowledge. A knowing.

She was smiling at me, tears in her eyes. Everything will be OK, she said. I'll meet you there, you just wait for me, OK? Please?

Her hand is a warm day, her scent like cinnamon. The light that was pale is now radiantly orange. It sits like a setting sun over the grassy field. The wind runs through her red sundress and tousles her curly hair. Her brown skin is soft and comforting. A special kind of laughter, a voice and a small hand offering a flower. We look at our child, our son, who is telling us about this gift he found for mommy. She takes it from him, thanking him, and places it behind her ear. She glances up at me and I wink at her. Though I can't see her blush, I know she does.

He is there. Face shrouded once more. His hand is raised, palm upward. I place the coins there, felt the weight lift from me. I wondered if I'd be scared, if suddenly the world would just end.

Instead, he stepped past me and I follow. From his waist he takes a great many keys. Their rattling is rain. The click of one within the lock is a gentle kiss on my brow.

He turns back to me as the great doors swing open. And bows. Now that dread creeps back in, that settling fear. Outside there is only black and white. Sand and dunes that stretch for constant miles against a black sky. A black river runs through it. A boat. An oar. And he is there. Waiting. Inevitable. Patience. And I can't breathe.

I don't want to go.

Just wait for me, I'll see you soon.

I step outside. Over the threshold. There is no temperature, no warmth or cold. It is just right. It is all just right. Too right and never wrong. But now I can't turn back, there is no pulling of my mind into a redo. There is no tumbling end over end as I contemplate the whys or why nots. Did I accept this, just now? Has my crossing over this literal and metaphorical line marked the no turning back? Or was it when I paid him? I gave him all that I had left, two measly coins. I gave him my life and this was what I received.

I walked with a briskness I did not expect I had. I did not bow my head and I grasped his hand with all the strength I could muster. I lifted my foot off that sand and stepped into the boat. There I sat.

[Sekot]

Father and Mother watched their sleeping baby in the crib. They smiled at one another. Whispered things to the little boy, and spoke to each other about their dreams for the child. The baby cooed and laughed in that angelic way all children do. Skin the color of coffee and cream, soft and smooth, with overlarge brown eyes that gazed upon the world in innocent wonderment and awe. His legs kicked at the air, drool dribbled down from the corner of his mouth. Father tried to get him to speak, but Mother reprimanded him. She gave him a loving punch on the shoulder, told him the baby was far too young for that yet. Father only laughed and said he knew, but it never hurt to start early. Unbeknownst to them was that cloud of dread, that swelling sweltering heavy foreboding that comes with such sweet beginnings.

There was a crash from the floor below. That heart stopping shattering of glass against a hardwood floor. Pause as the heart starts back up, as pupils dilate and time slows. Mother clutched Father's hand, too tight. He didn't notice, already turning toward the open door to their beloved nursery. The walls were painted a bright and cheery yellow, said to be comforting for little baby boys. Now it had become too bright, too garish. A coward's color. Father inhaled through his nose, gathered his wits, and left. Mother looked at her baby boy with tear filled eyes and brought a hand to her mouth. She reached down and picked him up to clutch him tightly against her breast. Innocent to the world around him, little baby boy struggled against his mother. There were shouts. She didn't want to leave. She couldn't leave. Not with him.

There was a bright flash of light behind her. A gust of wind blew her auburn hair about her face. Vision obscured, she screamed and attempted to protect her boy as best she could. There was a stillness then. A quiet. The air was filled with static, and her ears buzzed. She turned slightly, eyes wide. A metaphorical window had opened over the real window. A rectangular portal that showed a world of broken concrete like so many shattered bones. Of burning buildings and towering clouds of smoke. Baby boy looked with her and giggled in the way babies do. Within the portal was a figure, towering. She, or was it he?, was dressed in a gown of flaming flowers. Red-orange highlights had been painted on her skin, shaded into the contours of her face. Glittering eyeshadow towered above crystal blue eyes. Her comically large lips parted into a smile full of ivory teeth. Her hair too was on fire, billowing in the stale wind that seeped over the edges of the window.

She took a step, the dress parted around her slender leg to reveal a black leather knee high boot with six inch heels. Mother would have laughed if she had not been so terrified. A drag queen.

"My deeaarrrr, I have come to save you!"

The voice was lilting, sing song and over emphasized.

"Well, not you per se. You're a lost cause, dear. But that pretty boy, I can save him."

More crashing from downstairs, louder shouts. A gun fired.

"They'll be here soon, love. Please. Give me the boy."

Without Mother realizing it, the drag queen had come right to the edge. There was a scent that wafted toward her, one of honeysuckle and lavender and tangerines. Mother looked down at her baby boy who looked up at her. She gazed into his eyes and feared. She felt the tears dripping down her face, heard her sobs. But all that was removed. All she could do was look at him, love him.

"We don't have much time."

Suddenly serious and oh so close. She felt a hand against her back, gentle and comforting. Footsteps were coming up the stairs.

"He's a very pretty boy. But the men that are coming, they are the bad guys, dear. They won't be kind to you, and I fear they've already murdered his father. They'll come for us all, eventually. But not if I can help it. Will you let me?"

Mother shut her eyes tight. She sobbed again as the queen placed another hand on her arm. She opened her eyes and looked toward the portal. Within another figure looked back, a handsome young man. Strong jawed, broad shouldered, with coffee and cream colored skin and overlarge brown eyes. He smiled at her with the same smile Father had given to her on their wedding day. His curly brown hair waved gently in the suffocating breeze. He nodded.

"I...apologize for the triteness of it all, really. It can't be helped. We need you to understand the gravité of the situation."

Mother looked toward the door where a black clad soldier pointed his weapon inside. He hesitated, concern written across his face. The drag queen waved a hand flippantly and the soldier's chest exploded into a cloud of glitter. "It doesn't really look like that, mind you, but I thought it best to shield you in your final moments."

Mother looked back at the portal, her grown up baby boy looked so grim, so sad. What a handsome young man.

"Take this, dear."

Mother looked at her hands, a cold weapon where her baby had been. The drag queen had taken him, he had been so quiet. Not a cry escaped from him as he slept against a gilded shoulder. The drag queen turned in a flourish. The portal disappearing in a flash of light.

[Sekot]

Lightning flickered into life. Its many fingers arced through the clouds to meet another flash of a twin bolt. Thunder rolled, dampened within the cab. Sera was once again praising Jardinian engineering. She only wished Jenka had been engineered as well. He stood on the bow of the rocking ship, naked as the day he was born, with arms spread and head tilted upward. He continuously adjusted his footing against the rocking of the ship and the torturous wind. Rain pelted him from every conceivable angle, even bouncing off the deck and splashing upward. He had to be hurting, she wondered. Cursing under her breath, she flashed the deck lights once more. He turned to look back at her, smiling like a madman. "Get the fuck back in here!" she shouted.

It was useless. The same sound dampening material that lined the cab walls kept her voice locked within just as it kept the thunder locked outside. The world outside was a strobe light. And there Jenka was, shouting it all down. Idiot. There was a sudden shift in air pressure, Sera cursed again and frantically adjusted. The nose of the small air-rider dipped downward. Jenka slipped, disappearing onto the deck. The ship was righted and buffeted. The yoke jerked itself out of Sera's hands more than once as she was distracted silencing alarms and adjusting instruments. Briefly she noted Jenka's head popping back into view, his normally bushy hair plastered to his face like a dirty mop. Another smile. It was infectious, Sera found herself shaking her head and smiling back. She gave him a thumb's up but her work wasn't finished yet.

The door to the cabin slid open. Jenka slipped inside just as a pearl of thunder ripped through the silence. Sera shouted in surprise, slamming the emergency air-lock. She heard a different, deeper shout cut off in mid yelp. "You could have sliced me balls off," Jenka reprimanded her as he passed through the electromagnetic barrier.

She looked at him but quickly turned away, her cheeks burning. "Put some goddamn clothes on then maybe you wouldn't have to worry so much."

Jenka laughed but made no move to cover himself. Instead he stood next to and behind her, his dangly bits hanging just within her field of vision. "You wanna run? I'll pilot for ya."

Sera shook her head, "You'd have us both killed. You know you can't fly for shit."

More laughter. Always laughing, he was. He disappeared into the back of the cabin and she heard the rustling of clothing. Outside, the normally yellowed clouds were turning a sickly green. Shards of ice began to click against the thick glass windows. "You came back in at the right time," she said.

Jenka slid into the copilot's seat, running his long fingers through his wild hair. He nodded, "Still thinkin' about it."

"Don't you dare," she said as she locked the doors to emphasize her point.

The pair were quiet for several moments. Sera found herself marveling at the patterns the lightning made in the clouds. Like so much fractured glass, tendrils of electric energy snapped and met in explosive nodes of light. The boiling clouds buffeted and bustled their little ship. Wind tore at the edges at frightening speeds. When they returned to New Cleah they'd have to do some extensive repairs. That is, if they made it back. Not for the first time Sera pondered their near-suicidal decision. Storm Riders never penetrated this far into the Jardin wilds. Not while riding an actual storm, they didn't. "Do you think we'll find it?"

Jenka chewed on his lower lip, "Course. Not like we gotta choice anyways, yeah?"

Sera didn't say anything. The sky had completely shifted in color and ferocity. The clouds had begun to shear, the wind had become brutal. Pellets of hail smacked loudly against the deck. Sera slowed the ship, diverted some of the energy to minimum shielding. Sparks skittered over the hull with each impact of ice. Alarms sounded, air pressure had become volatile. "We gotta descent, ya know."

She had already started. They entered into a nosedive, slicing through the air to get out under the cloud barrier. The lightning had stopped. Beyond the hail, there was an eerie stillness. Its not liked they weren't trained for this, but it had always been named 'Worst Case Scenario'.

"And here we are bout to throw that rule book to the dogs."

Could he read her mind? She acknowledged her fear, loosened her grip a little on the yoke so that feeling could return to her fingertips. She glanced at Jenka briefly, she caught his eye and he flashed another smile at her. "Don't ever stop smiling, ok?"

He nodded. Blushing again, she gritted her teeth and yanked back on the stick. The ship leveled out just as it burst from the cloud cover. Instantly she regretted her decision. She wanted to turn back, to turn up and away and return to the floating city she called home. Under the clouds, little light penetrated. A sinister grey covered brown-grass fields. The plants themselves, even the trees, were bent and bowed in reverence, their flexible trunks capable of spending days in such positions. "Oh shit," Jenka whispered.

The first thing, as if in rejection of the world around her, Sera noticed were the beasts. Towering septapedal animals with hides several feet thick withstood the onslaught of wind and rain. Their heads were bowed as they grazed, ignorant or uncaring of the catastrophic storm about them. She marveled at them. It was one thing to conceptually understand that such beasts had roamed these storm-ridden plains for millenia, it was another to see them amidst a category eight storm. Well, what their instruments had read as a Cat8. As her brain slowly registered the horror they had crawled into, she wondered if they just couldn't calculate that high.

The clouds themselves rotated slowly, like gigantic wheels of machinery with all safety measures turned off. No rain or hail fell beneath the cloud wall, the wind simply turning it away without effort. Ten fingers dipped from these machine-clouds. Ten rotating, klicks-wide tornadoes that danced upon the plain. More alarms screeched in the background of her mind. Somewhere Jenka was shouting at her. One twister was coming dangerously close, its surface black and violent. Two more were spawned about it, dipping down and then up as they too struggled to touch ground.

Jenka slapped her. "Wake the fuck up!"

Her hands were moving. Every muscle moving acting out of memories drilled into her drill after drill. The engines whined at her as they struggled to keep up. The ship rattled as the wings caught too much friction. Jenka had already started making adjustments as well. They began to slow, allowing the wind to push and pull them, using the minimal amount of power required to keep them afloat. Lights in the cab dimmed and then shut off as more power was diverted to shields. The hull had a constant shimmer as wind threatened to tear them apart. "Fuck, you woulda thought you never been in a storm before."

His words stung. She should have known better. She would kick herself over this later, however, as now their lives depended on their training. The little ship danced around the incoming tornado. The beasts below stood unaware of the forbidding threat barreling upon them. She was jealous of their obliviousness. Sweat trickled down her nose. Her bodysuit clung to her. Instrument readouts danced on the ship's HUD and was reflected in her personal version. A combination of drugs were injected into her system from the seat upon her behest. Both her and Jenka began to slip into a Rider's Trance. His fingers danced as they made adjustments. Sera could feel the ship about her, feel the wind outside and together they flew.

Dancing dancing little ones

The words were like a shock through her enhanced mind, her attention struggling to remember what they were.

Little birdies little birdies

Her vision had blurred. The ship saw for her and her mind read the feedback. But even in the limited visual state, there was something out there. Beside her. Between her and Jenka.

Spinflyspin little birdies

Electric laughter

spindiespin fly little birdies fasterfly before you die

The ship was torn sideways. It had begun a dangerous spiral as it lost control. Sera heard herself scream as a tornado came too close. It tossed the ship aside, flinging it back the way they came. Somewhere something snapped and hissed. She heard Jenka swear but then lost sight of him. Shields failed for a brief moment. There was a flash and a flicker. Jenka was gone. She screamed again. Shields snapped back online, the howling wind silenced. Her eyes widened. Too late a wall of churning clouds rushed at her. She was thrown back in her seat as the ship was wrenched from the air and pulled inside the twister. Engines failed and died as safety protocols automatically kicked in. Leaves and small rocks were all that were pulled from the ground below, but they were like knives. They shattered upon impact, but the tinier pieces managed to slip in through the holes on the passenger side. They tore into her suit, drawing little droplets of blood that hung in the air as she was dropped.

Somehow she lost consciousness.

When she regained her senses the storm had passed. On autopilot the ship had turned on its distress call and turned back to the mothership. Sera rubbed her eyes, coughed. She tasted blood on her tongue. A tooth was loose. Every muscle ached as she slowly came back to the world of the living. In horror, she turned her head. Two large holes had been opened on the passenger side of the cab. The copilots chair was in tatters, pieces of leather flapping in the wind. Shielding sputtered as it tried to cover the holes, but the ship had lost too much power to keep it going. She killed it, letting the whining engines have what power it could to keep them afloat. Blood was splashed between the holes. She wondered how much of it was hers. Wind whistled loudly, a comforting memory of a home she wished she had never left. Her mind played over the words she had heard in the storm. They had come so close.

[James]

So I read your last three things, Sekot. We talked in Skype that you were interested in feedback about styles rather than plot so I'll try and keep locked on that. I will say that even though the three stories look quite different at first glance, you can definitely tell they were all written by the same person. There's a lot of overlap, I think.

"I felt their weight pressing on me...": For first person, it's strangely... formal? "Finalizing my entrance into the world" is just a weird phrase. Like, I think it's kind of cool and I like it. But I'm not sure I could read something at length with that type of tone. I also think you must feel the same way because the prose become more personable as we went along. And towards the end it became a much better read. Your writing is quite dense and I almost feel that shorter paragraphs help you.

Drag Queens: I felt this read better. I think if you're going to throw the word metaphorical around (and you have in both stories so far), third person works better than first. First person invariably asks the question "who the fuck thinks like this?" that third person doesn't. This prose is a little more direct while keeping the great descriptions you have going on and that appeals to me. But who knows? Perhaps I just really like magical drag queens?

Don't fly naked in a storm: I feel like we're coming down a level of density with each story. The flow here is a lot smoother, you've still got the descriptions that work brilliantly (clouds rotating like the wheels of a machine), but less of that philosophical flavour the other two stories had. It's probably the most "normal" of the lot and I really liked the bravado of "I've got a cool scene to tell you about, let me describe it with minimal fuss".

Personally, I think the sweet spot in terms of the style and voice of the prose is somewhere between Drag Queens and Storm. Don't be afraid to get weird, embrace the weirdness, but try to keep the prose the least dense you can manage. Basically, I liked the way Storm read the most, but I could have totally handled more of the quirks of Drag Queen being thrown in the mix.

Uh, I have no idea if this is helpful?

[Sekot]

Feb 26, 2016 23:04:51 GMT -5 James said:

So I read your last three things, Sekot. We talked in Skype that you were interested in feedback about styles rather than plot so I'll try and keep locked on that. I will say that even though the three stories look quite different at first glance, you can definitely tell they were all written by the same person. There's a lot of overlap, I think.

"I felt their weight pressing on me...": For first person, it's strangely... formal? "Finalizing my entrance into the world" is just a weird phrase. Like, I think it's kind of cool and I like it. But I'm not sure I could read something at length with that type of tone. I also think you must feel the same way because the prose become more personable as we went along. And towards the end it became a much better read. Your writing is quite dense and I almost feel that shorter paragraphs help you.

Drag Queens: I felt this read better. I think if you're going to throw the word metaphorical around (and you have in both stories so far), third person works better than first. First person invariably asks the question "who the fuck thinks like this?" that third person doesn't. This prose is a little more direct while keeping the great descriptions you have going on and that appeals to me. But who knows? Perhaps I just really like magical drag queens?

Don't fly naked in a storm: I feel like we're coming down a level of density with each story. The flow here is a lot smoother, you've still got the descriptions that work brilliantly (clouds rotating like the wheels of a machine), but less of that philosophical flavour the other two stories had. It's probably the most "normal" of the lot and I really liked the bravado of "I've got a cool scene to tell you about, let me describe it with minimal fuss".

Personally, I think the sweet spot in terms of the style and voice of the prose is somewhere between Drag Queens and Storm. Don't be afraid to get weird, embrace the weirdness, but try to keep the prose the least dense you can manage. Basically, I liked the way Storm read the most, but I could have totally handled more of the quirks of Drag Queen being thrown in the mix.

Uh, I have no idea if this is helpful?

It helps a lot. I asked you because I needed it

The Death story was entirely intentional in the over-the-top dramatic sense and I could never keep that going for any consistent length of time as it wears me out. Unless I've got a playlist specifically built around that sort of...feeling it just won't work. And as you noticed I kind of lost track of my music and lost my place in writing it, hence the shift in voice toward the end. Now, while that might make it better, the thick and dense style is what I was going for and I get increasingly frustrated when I can't keep it up. Though, on a re-read, it doesn't translate as well the feeling I get when I'm writing it so I need to work on that.

As for Drag Queens, that style will never get used unless its in specific circumstances. It was something I experimented with, and I'm glad you liked it. I'll see if I can't work that kind of whimsical, absurdness into more writing.

And the third style, that's how I wrote my 15k word story that I eventually stopped. It just flows better in a quick rough draft prose/story way.Its objectively a better of way of writing for me, but at the same time I'm bored with it. I want to push myself and I feel that the first story does that better in terms of establishing this poetic/prose-y way of writing that I -want- to do but am not necessarily -able- to do. At least, not for any meaningful length of time.

But thanks, it helps me cause I push back on what you put down, causes me to reevaluate my writing, and then focus on more. SO yeah, super helpful.

[Sekot]

She bathed as light flickered outside her window.

El-Izabet

Her eyes flew open

Ah-ha i know yourname

Electric laughter.

elizabet elleezabett

Taunting.

She stood, water trickling down her contours. Every hair stood on end and she felt suddenly cold within the humid space of her private bathroom. More light. And more. A storm. The city itself was moving toward it. The great batteries must need recharging. The light that spilled underneath her curtained windows was jaundiced. She could hear the wind howling even through the thickened seals. She clicked her back molar with her tongue, HUD flickering to life upon her cornea. No advanced warning. The lamps in her bathroom flickered then went dark. Power outage-as-conservation. Emergency diversion.

New Cleah always skirted storms, they were never hard to find after all. But emergent diversion into the middle of one? Never. They were always planned. The people were always given advanced warning about these diversions, had them down to a schedule. The light outside began to dim. She pulled the plug allowing the still-scalding water in her tub to drain. She stepped out, not bothering to dry herself. Cold, she walked to the window and pushed the button at the side of the window. The curtain rose quickly, offering her a view of the outside world. The sky was already darkening, The clouds moved too quickly, Sera was sure she could feel the city slow beneath her feet as it struggled against the gale. Rain began to fall in thick little drops the size of stones.

A person was caught in the storm fall below her apartment tower. In the walk, he struggled. Wind tore at his clothing, great rips were torn in the fabric that then flapped madly and wildly about him. Confused he stumbled. Confused he fell. She watched as he was slowly picked up and dropped several feet back. Then picked up again and taken away. The wind should not be that strong. Not here. The city slowed further. Her stomach wrenched at the deceleration. Sera wanted to vomit.

I found you elizabet

That's not my name, she thought to no one. Lightning flickered along the walkway, creeping tendrils of electric feet. A pattern was traced upon the concrete and stone. The sky grew darker. Impossibly dark. There was no night in a bi-star system. But this is what she imagined it to be. Dark. She had never seen a mountain, but she suspected, from what she had read, that these clouds were thicker than they. More electric feet, teasing out something, teasing. Little balls of energy bounced through the streets, stopping at doors and moving on. Her stomach dropped as the voice replayed in her head. That sound she had heard, when Jenka died, was looking for her. There was something in that storm. The city had not diverted. The storm had grown around her.

There was a jolt, a sudden sensation of falling, and everything was righted. Her HUD screamed at her, little emblems blinking in all the corners. Emergency Shelters were activated. Power outages wracked the city. All civilians were to find shelter somewhere, anywhere. And one alert she had not seen but had only been taught: Storm Riders report to your ships.

She had no ship. She had no boat or purpose. Not that she could understand what the Riders were supposed to do in these type of situations.

little girl littlegirlwherayou

She watched as a Rider in the distance spiraled upward into the clouds. It disappeared behind a bench, its wings in outward position. It racketed, wrenched and ducked. The colors on its surface gleamed Jek and Dri. She wanted to scream. She slammed her fist against the window, de-eming them as best she could.

hungryhungry What dances in the distant spaces between the cliff faced mountains but the innocence of a destructive monogramic nightmare species

A sudden burst of clarity that left her nauseous, she vomited into her tub.

quick quick quick fasterfasteryoudont get it i want it iwantit faster i neeitditneitdit. FAfsteATERarf.

Lightning flickered. It was fast. Too fast. It dropped from a cloud, touched a Clean tower, and then arced back toward the Rider ship. It span. It racketed.

Lightning flashed from a central, then a peripheral. All three coalesced. She could only watch, helpless. Jek had to be the pilot, Dri the the rider. They were the best. Dre predicted weather like nobody else, and their bond was historic. But even they struggled as the angry points of white light arced toward the tiny ship. It followed, spiraled around itself as the ship spun. It touched a tower as they doubled back, lept off it faster and faster and faster.

watchme are you watching me i candoiticanwin

SPIRAL HUNGER SPIRAL

DANCE

She heard the words on the tongue of the ancient gods. Beating stronger in her heart as she knew it was alive, a god amongst the storm. Only legends, fairy tales told of beings within the electricitiy, within the wind. A voice carried like a whisper across vast plains, a strange sensation of eyes watching you as you slept, a darkening at the corner of your vision as a distant storm gathered in intensity. A sudden shift in pressure or a nitrogenic smell as you woke up. A cluster of fairy tales.

But this.

This was it.

She watched as the ship slowed. As the wind in that particular spot intensified exponentially. Bits of metal flew off in sparks. LIghtning flashed upon it five times in succession. Then ten, each finger multiplying as it touched. The ship fragmented, but still it was tortured. It was eclipsed in a flash of light, even as the city tipped upon itself and suddenly she was driven from its view.

[Sekot]

She descended stairs dressed in white fire that snaked tendrils of code. Her hair shifted in myriad fractal patterns, flickering like neon lights. I took her hand and electricity arced between our fingertips. She smiled at me, or did she scream?, and together we ascended the stairs. She whispered into my ear about the end, end of the night and end of us. A shiver ran down his spine as her knife-like fingers dug into his back. His vision blurred, colors erupted into vomitous spirals and nauseating squares. He took in a breath, straightened as they passed through the threshold. Faces turned, simultaneous aldulterers. Picasso faces gestured violently.

The ship heaved, waves dripping at the floor-to-ceiling glass superstructure. Lightning danced along the edges of the curtains. Thunder clapped in the hands of the audience. She grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him, pushing him backward and off his feet. Tumbling, I smacked my head against the icy floor. Bones snapped. Grimaced. I rose upon my heels, towering over the heiress. An angry eye stared back, gleaming with an intense dislike that stopped gods cold. But me, I devoured it, slavered over it. Acidic spit dripped down my chin and seeped into my shoes. Acrid stench drifted from between us as the air itself was set alight.

She backed up, raking in the light to billow outward as if she were a cloud. The mist superheated against his skin, searing flesh in great rivulets of scarred tissue. He became hunched, chest heaving. He extended his arms, and I grabbed her from the fog. Strangling her in my immense grip. Together we tumbled, her dress wrapped around me to choke and devour.

[Sekot]

The elevator beeped with each floor it hit as it descended upon ancient tethers. Flickering, sickly yellow lights behind barely-there numbers marked the passage. Nik waited, back pressed into the corner, arms folded across his chest. The overhead lights too flickered as they dangled from decayed wires. He ignored them, so used to their haphazard presence, and instead watched as news headlines rose upon his corneas. Voices whispered in his ear, more riots in the down, more thugs and beggars making noise. "Five dead in brutal hijacking of family vehicle, pacifists giving chase for eight hours."

The elevator beeped one last time, the steel doors shuddering open. Nik stepped out, a handful of others stepping in. The line wound its way out of the depot and into the alleyways. Nik made little to no eye contact as he exited. He pulled the respirator out of his bag and hung it around his neck, the stuffy air already threatening to smother his lungs in ash and dust. Above, the vents wheezed and grunted as they struggled to recycle dead air. The light was sparing, old lamps barely lit the walled in alleys and left many alcoves dark and uninviting. Nothing marked the crossroads, no numbers marked the doors. People stood outside and in, the reek of alcohol and raw sewage pungent past many an open door.

Like the others, Nik walked via memory toward his place of work. He kept his head down, took an occasional breath from the respirator as needed. A few glanced his way, even fewer would give a slight nod. Whispers stopped as he walked past only to start up again once they thought he was out of earshot. Passing one alley, a small crowd had gathered around a fire. An acrid, unmistakable stench of burnt flesh hung in the cloying air. Nik stopped, knew better but did so anyway. A lady, bent from age, turned her head. Her little eyes glittered in the bright orange light. She pointed a finger, said something. The others turned too, moved to block his view. Though they did not advance, their intention was clear. Keep moving. Or else.

The makeshift hospital was not much further. It occupied a fairly open space, or what accounted for open in the claustrophobic downs. Betn and singed walls marked the skeletal structure as a remnant of a past life. An artifact of open sky. Now stained sheets and shattered walls made a roof over an overcrowed and understaffed emergent care center. Such hospitals were rare, the practicers who staffed them even rarer.

[Sekot]

She rose from her seat at the end of the long, onyx table. Her black dress slipped around her shoulders, slowly sliding until it touched the floor. A plumage of ashen feathers sprung from her collar and arranged themselves decoratively around her head. "Empress?" she cooed, her voice a lilting bass.

At the opposite end sat her highness, draped in white. Radiant and resplendent, August Body of the Holiest Empire. Her silver hair was pulled back tight, her features sharp and accentuated by metallic blades carefully constructed to follow the lines of her skeletal structure. Her eyes had been replaced with orbs that glistened their own ghastly light that shown and sparkled. "And what shall I address you as, filth?"

The woman in black bowed her head, her fiery hair rotating about her as if caught in a vicious storm.

"I'm sure if you thought, for a moment, you might recognize me."

Her image shifted, sharply contorting the space about her for a moment. No sign of recognition appeared on Her Highness' face, but a coldness became palpable.

"I see. So we're gonna do this the hard way."

Her Highness sat.

The woman in black waved a hand, a panel of the wall slid away. Outside danced the evercity. Lights spilled into the darkness of space, diffusing into the emptiness to establish a weak halo around what little atmosphere still remained. The Five Sisters had begun to set on the southerly horizon, their ghostly paleness slipping away just as the billowing Father rose in the south. Between them glistened a handful of presences, slipping amongst the distant stars. Dread Naughts. Massive in size. Hulking behemoths of tortured metal and grotesque manpower. Their hunger radiated from them, their avaricious attention drawn toward the up and the down.

"Your Highness, we declare war."

The majesty merely altered the angle of her head, a mechanical function more bird like than human. Space between the two grew hot, heavy, choking. The woman in black pushed back, her aug form shimmering like water in the furnace. "Who," her voice sang like a thousand fountains of purest water, "is this we?"

The question shook the floor and brought gravity to a weightless world. The woman in black merely smiled and batted her eyes.

The silence grew, insidiously. A heartbeat, a wardrum of nothing heralding, echoing the same presence as the Dread Naughts.

Nik stepped out of the shadows, head bowed. Her Highness did not register his presence, her gaze fixated on the woman in black. Still, he felt, the stillness settled. The sea grew still even as the storm clouds gathered.

Lightning clapped.

A brilliance blossomed in the spatial darkness. Rivaling the brightness of the Father, white and red plumed outward as a Dread Naught's reactor consumed itself to manufacture a miniature star. Her Highness slowly turned her head, frustrating itself within the physical frame it still rested.

"We've grown tired of you," the woman in black spoke. "Its time we made a statement."

A flash of light. A tear in time. The woman in black caught the bolt in her chest, her flesh exploding outward. In a pyre she was gone.

[Sekot]

Adrian's grip tightened on the hilt of her blade, still holstered but safety unlocked. She could do it, she thought. This was her time, her moment. Her crechesuit tightened around her. The comforting presence of its semiorganic fibers stilled her racing heart. She could hear the voice of the stillmother in her ear, a memory pulled from the servers to remind her of her place. But she had grown too stubborn, had enjoyed the mothers' attention too much to turn back on it now.

Her eyesight adjusted, targeting the exposed portion on her target's slender neck. Pale skin that almost glistened above the collar of her ivory gown and beneath her immaculate blond hair cut short. Adrian took a step, silent as the space outside the suite. The Father had reached its peak, orange-blue light bathed the room. Her Highness was radiant, more apparition than corporeal. Adrian's suit shimmered as it reflected the environment around it, hiding her from radiological view. All Her Highness had to do was turn and she could see her, but she so rarely used her eyes any more. No longer did she gaze longingly at Adrian, or her people, but instead her mind appeared elsewhere. The brilliance of her golden gaze had been averted, and its absence broke Adrian's heart.

Adrian came closer. She made no sound, the suit itself breathed for her. Slowly her weapon slid of its sheathe, the blade so thin it was translucent. It gave off its own ambient hum, a sound normally so delicate it registered barely as white noise. But within the suite it was almost deafening. This was it. With this final act she'd be free, her sisters would be free, and the stillmothers could finally rest. Her Highness glowed, became so large within her mind that she consumed her vision. She shimmered incandescent.

"So you've awakened."

The voice was a gravity well. Sudden and forceful, it crushed her perception and contorted the space about her. Adrian was standing at the window, looking out across the cityscape. Towers rose and fell, a neversleeping populace moving through tunnels and in shipping lanes. Lights that never stopped shining. The Father watched them, bestowed His Light upon them. With His presence, He shielded them from threat, but in repayment consumed what atmosphere they had. But this was not what was before her. What should not have been. She turned, but instead she was back at the window.

There was a stunning sensation of deja vu, a sudden rush of vertigo, and for a moment Adrian saw both the Father, the cityscape, and Her Highness at the window all at once.

"You're handling it better than most."

Her Highness turned, hands clasped gently before her. On her face she wore a smile, perfect teeth with perfect lips. A scar here, a mole there, all carefully constructed. She was like them, her people, blemished and bio.

"You're a lie," Adrian spoke through clenched teeth.

Her Highness still consumed her thoughts, but the presence was reversed. She was a weight that bared on her, that flattened her into submission. She refused, of course. But she only looked down at the still-crouching woman. Golden gaze warmly bestowed and coldly taken away was now so fixated upon her that she wanted to hide. To run away, to murder herself with the weapon she carried so that she could escape it.

"A lie, to whom? To you? I have never lied to you, you just could not see the truth. Until now."

Adrian looked up at her, met her gaze somehow. She held it, tears stinging her eyes.

"I can see that you hate me, despise me. Such is the path you all eventually take. It is a requirement if you are to become who I need you to be."

"And who is that?"

For a moment, the facade faded. The perfect complexion was lost and replaced with an authentic one. More bio than its predecessor, still the same but somehow different. The smile was genuine. Almost kind. So why was the face she looked upon one full of such hate, fear. Only eyes peered from behind the impenetrable mask, blue irises rimmed with reddened skin.

"My dear Adrian, you and I, we are sisters. All you born to the stillmothers are my sisters."