The House Of Whoosher... ;-)

[guru]

Possession part 1

---

"Hi, Guru. I missed you."

So the swordswoman spoke English after all. Guru's suspicion kicked into overdrive wondering why she kept this hidden until...

Odd choice of words -- acting so familiar. Odd how something about the voice sounded familiar. One more mystery. If she wanted to be a mystery, he was determined to see right through her.

"I know maybe you don't see it now, but it's me ... Yana. Who would have guessed in a thousand years I'd get to come back!" Those last words she exclaimed with child-like glee. Glee combined with an unmistakable Russian accent.

Eyes are the window to the soul. And Yana had special eyes to go with her special soul ... born with Schmid-Fraccaro Syndrome ... Cat Eye. Phalon had normal irises. At least she did earlier when Guru had the closest possible look. Looking again, Phalon had cat eyes. So what happened?

"It's so strange -- coming back from the dead. But you know that. You've done it more than once."

"That..." 'How did she know?' "...is different."

She took a step closer. He considered the option of taking a step back. And she noticed.

Persistent as ever, Yana reached out to him. "You look so tired. You need to take better care of yourself," said the voice from the face of the woman who at first meeting held a sword to his throat. A big beaming smile threatened to break out across that face, but somehow was kept under control. She knew the situation required a certain delicacy of touch ... and after twenty-four years without a physical body, touching was high on her to-do list.

After twenty-four years of skeptical investigation, Guru habitually doubted any bold declaration of fact that wasn't accompanied by some kind of evidence. He made no attempt to disguise his doubt.

She decided to keep reaching out with words ... seeing as how things weren't going quite as planned. Obviously it would take time for anyone to adjust to what was happening. Even him.

"I saw you, you know. I saw you standing over me in our cabin. I heard you cry for me, and I wanted so much to go back to you. But I couldn't." Her voice cracked ever so slightly as she fought the memories and pushed them back into exile. "It was my time to move on to another place. I don't know how to describe it - like being nowhere and everywhere at the same time. But always feeling far away."

Guru wasn't sure what to believe. So he waited for a good opportunity to ask a question.

She didn't keep him waiting long. "And I've been in contact with spirits ... far older and wiser. They answer questions and pass on knowledge when you are ready. I asked them about you..." She paused. Not even blinking.

This open invitation would be obvious from a million miles away.

He considered carefully, then threw out his question as a challenge. "Tell me something ... am I evil?"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"I don't know why I'm still alive. I don't know why immortals go around cutting each other's heads off. You claim to have knowledge from the other side." This time it was Guru who stepped forward. "Tell me. Am I supposed to be evil?"

"You're supposed to be the man I love."

With those words he could feel his heart breaking, but he still wasn't convinced. In spite of how badly he wanted to believe.

Yana knew well his look of inner turmoil, and she always said the right thing to snap him out of it. "I remember the poem you wrote for my birthday. Would that convince you? Mmmm, it began...

      'Violets are blue, roses are red,
      If I mention your age, you'll put knots on my head...' "

Stunned silence. It was true. Yana stood before him in a stranger's body.

[guru]

Possession part 2

---

A step closer.

"Have you ever noticed how the simple act of breathing feels so good? It's true how you miss the simple pleasures."

Whenever life got too complicated, Yana liked to talk about simple pleasures. It was her way of maintaining perspective in a confusing world. The simple values and virtues are more durable, and complicated things have a way of breaking.

"Remember when we met? In Rome ... you saved me from those criminals. I tried to tell you fate brought us together, and you called me a silly girl! And when we married, you wrote the most beautiful music."

Guru looked at the floor. He could not reconcile that face with the words coming from it. Softly he spoke, as if to nothing more than a memory, "I used to lie awake at night ... put my ear close ... and listen to you breathe. That was the most beautiful music to me."

A firm bite on the lip kept it still. For the moment.

A step closer.

But not bridging the gap between them. Something was wrong, and a sudden chill ran up her spine like a blast of cold air. Forgotten was that delicacy of touch.

"We are together again after all this time. I expected you to act a little different." She took another tentative step forward. Into the chill.

Be careful what you wish for. Guru knew the old saying but never applied its wisdom to his search. Despite being in someone else's body, Yana's presence was undeniable. Facing her forced him to finally face the ugly truth at the heart of his obsession ... the pain he shared with no one. The pain that now exploded.

"You don't understand! I swore I'd protect you, and I failed! Now you're back and I'm supposed to feel ... what? ... giddy like a teenager? Well, I don't. I feel ashamed! I failed you when you needed me most."

The dam was breaking. He couldn't hold back anymore. The burden of his secret guilt weighed him down, but it also made him strong. Now without that burden to carry, he felt weak. And it left him defenseless against her next move.

With all the passion and fire of a love that knows not the surly bonds of space and time, Yana fell forward to collide with him ... to melt with him and become one again after so many years. At that moment she felt like he did most of the time - that words were clumsy things always getting in the way. But there was more she needed to say.

"Death is supposed to be tragic. That way it teaches a lesson. The lesson is to love every moment of life... and love everyone in your life. The way you loved me." Her entire being was one big nerve ending, and she tingled with every little sensation. "I always knew you loved me, but not how much. Not until I crossed over."

Guru would have surrendered his immortality for her. He truly loved her that much.

They stood there in silence for a lover's moment, neither wanting to move. Finally Guru broke the silence with a question: "Remember what you wrote on the back of our anniversary photo?"

"Home doesn't have to be a place -- sometimes home is a person." She trembled involuntarily with the significance of that simple statement. The first time she said it was in their conversation that ended with a marriage proposal.

And Guru remembered.

A little closer. A little softer. The words were familiar, but everything else was different -- the feel of her hair, the shifting of her weight, the way her breathing reacted to a caress. Most obviously her height. Guru had to tilt his face down only slightly to meet Yana's lips, but this woman's head tucked neatly under his nose.

For a moment he toyed with the notion of agreeing to the arrangement. The years were taking their toll, and there had to be some kind of end to this endless quest. Twenty-four years of searching ... twenty-four years of charlatans and fake mediums ... twenty-four years of false hopes.

And twenty-four years of inventing devices to detect paranormal phenomena. His most widely-accepted gadget was the laser thermometer. By focusing two laser beams he could measure the temperature of any location in a room to within one degree across the head of a pin.

Complicated devices, complicated plans - he simply wanted Yana back. And she came back on her own. Came back to him. Was this proof that love survives death?

If love survives death, then what else? What about evil?

Take the body and run. So simple. But that would be evil. And maybe the fact that he even considered it was evidence of the evil he may have been born to commit. Maybe he really was.

He didn't feel evil when he said, "She has a home ... and a family ... people who love her very much." His voice trailed off to a whisper. "How would you explain our good fortune to them?"

As close as they were - tangled in a desperate embrace - he suddenly felt a million miles away.

Yana felt him slipping away. They found each other in this life, but how could they be sure to find each other again? Her arms tightened around him with all the despair of their long separation. "You know what you are! You could live forever! Is that how long you want me to wait for you?"

"You and I don't make that choice. Even if it takes a thousand years..." And once again words failed him. But he never lost sight of the big picture. If you love someone, uplift them. Never let them trade their immortal soul for mortal joy. "We don't have the right to make someone else pay the price for our happiness."

From behind a stranger's eyes the light of recognition began to glow. They could meet and fall in love again ... in another life. But only if they were the same people they were before. An act of evil - no matter how tempting - corrupts and changes the soul. Possibly beyond recognition.

Yana stared at the bloodstain on his shirt ... and wondered how much suffering he had to endure without her there to make it all better. "So we travel apart for a while. As long as we're on the same road, we'll be together again."

"Some roads are harder than others."

"But all roads lead to love."

A beautiful thought, but Guru knew the truth. One road is a dead end.

"Too many have died already. And one more life is hanging in the balance. Every time I'd look at you, I'd see the woman who died so you could live. How can I ... how can we ... live with that?"

Damn his logic when she wanted to be purely emotional!

There is good and evil in this world. And there is a greater good for those with the courage to seek it. After all the nights they sat by the fire telling tales of courage and honor, how would she want her tale to be told?

She used to playfully stand on his feet to kiss him. This time she stood on his feet to reach. Their last moment together for a thousand years ... and at the other end Guru would be there to meet her. Yana quieted her mind. It was time to be at peace and say goodbye.


Suddenly Phalon was aware of a tongue slowly trailing along her bottom lip.

[Phalon]

She’d been alone and without memories….no memories of who she was, where she’d been or how she’d got there. No conscious thought. Nothing. She had little recollection of it now - that dark, hollow place…except for the vague echoes in her mind of bloodless screams and peals of shrill maniacal laughter. Hers? She wondered. Or were they those of the lost souls condemned to wander endlessly through eternity without direction, without hope, and without reprieve.

She’d been granted one; a reprieve, and was delivered from that place and into another. She understood none of it - where she’d just come from, or where she was now. In a complete state of disorientation, she was still alone and in the dark.

And then….a tingling; prickling along her spine and up the back of her neck.

She was suddenly folded in warmth, and it embraced her as if it were a solid entity in itself, instead of merely a degree of heat. She leaned into it…slid her arms around it. Grasping, her hands found hold, and she clung tight, fearful that this sensation would end…just another form of torment to tease her before she’d be sent back to the black emptiness filled with only screams. Safe…comfortable, and she felt she belonged here.

Then a thought occurred to her…perhaps this was it…perhaps she’d finally crossed over. She must have died again and was now allowed to take her place in the Elysian Fields…for surely pleasurable comfort such as this was only reserved for the afterlife.

An airy veil fell about her face; a filmy curtain softly lying against her cheek. She moved a hand to brush it back and found her fingers entangled in a luxurious mass, both slightly coarse and silky at the same time. And it smelled good. A sensual pleasure and she let her fingers weave their way down the length of it, until she couldn’t stand the thought of it slipping away. Clenching a fistful, she brought it back to her cheek and held it there, not willing to let go.

She wanted to cry out in pleasure – that if she couldn’t return home, at least she’d made it to her blessed paradise. She might have died falling through the earth outside that damnable house, but her soul had been able to move on. Her lips were held silent though, by the beauty of the force surrounding her - soft, yet firm, and she yielded to the pressure, eagerly drinking in all that it offered, and it responded by offering more…

Wait a moment….hold the Tisiphone….STOP. …lips held silent…soft, yet firm…and she eagerly drank in all that it offered? ‘Come on, Phalon’, she thought to herself, ‘what is really going on here?’ She was fully aware now; coming into herself, and her mind and body were hers again; together and whole. She first opened one eye, then the other, and discovered this was certainly not the Elysian Fields as she’d ever imagined them.

There was no tangible fortress of security surrounding her, shutting out the empty condemnation of the place before this…no eternal veil of the after-life cascading over her… She found herself entwined with Guru in an embrace, and held by a kiss. One hand was tangled in his long hair, and the other…her other hand held the firm curve of his b-b-b-B-By the Gods!

What in Hades name was going on here?!

“Ew Smphf umphf uh Bhwahkuh.” Her voice startled him, and his eyes snapped open. Standing nose to nose, blue eyes looked into glowering green.

Phalon had no idea what had just transpired between them – between Guru and Yana. If she had known; if she had any idea of what he’d just sacrificed, she would have behaved differently – without anger, without indignation. But Yana was gone and Phalon was without memory that she’d been there, in her body. Only a thin residue; a small bit of her was to remain within Phalon for a short time…a childhood memory…his favorite color…until even that too would be lost. And her language…

Her mouth free now, she flung on him the epithet she’d only been able to mumble just previously with his lips pressed to hers. The sound of the words, foreign on her tongue, astonished her. “You Son of a Bacchae! What in Tartarus do you think you’re doing?!” Her thoughts, her words, but spoken in a language she didn’t know.

That’s when he realized Yana was truly gone now, and he was left standing in front of this woman glaring at him with green eyes not nearly as soft as they had been minutes ago. When she was Yana. He’d just made a decision that tore his heart in tiny little shreds. He was tired. He in no way wanted to deal with accusations at this time. So he said simply the first thing that came to mind, “Phalon. Get your hand off my butt.”

She understood the words, and it wasn’t anger that caused her face to turn red as she quickly withdrew her hand.



DISCLAIMER: No fantasy/action show episode titled “The Quest” was maimed during the writing of this post, and any similarities between the two are purely intentional. The gripping rear ending, though, was manipulated by the writer in order to get it firmly in Phalon’s grasp, butt she let it slide through her fingers leaving her empty-handed.

[dixielandyankee]

She gazed at her reflection with a satisfied sigh. The young ladies’ maid stood behind her putting the finishing touches to her intricate hairstyle. She blinked slowly, a slight shiver creeping down into the small of her back and she ran her tongue over her lips, feeling suddenly out of place.

“Are you feeling well madam?” inquired the maid. “Can I get you anything, a drink perhaps? You look beautiful madam."
Titania shook herself almost imperceptibly; drawing over her a countenance of serenity she met the young girl’s eyes for a brief moment before the girl cast her eyes to the floor in a manner befitting a servant. Then Titania’s liquid blue eyes creased slightly at the corners and warmed.

“I am very well Lucy, do bring me my cloak.” As she spoke she cast her eyes once again to the looking glass, drinking in her own reflection narcissistically. The candlelight shone on her long golden tresses wound intricately about her head and twinkled off a hundred tiny pearl beads hanging like drops of water from the coils. She lifted her chin and angled her head taking in the fine line of her brow and jaw, her high cheekbones and peach-like skin. The blue of her eyes was offset by the midnight velvet at the neckline of her dress, a contrast to the creamy skin of her collarbone, which plunged into the barely-visible valley of her breasts. Her full lips parted in a smile revealing neat, uncommonly white teeth.

“Yes, I am very well indeed” she mused as the maid returned with her hooded cloak. Titania stood and the heavy layers of her silk dressed hushed around her, Lucy wrapped the matching blue velvet cloak almost reverently around her and fastened it at her throat with a sapphire brooch, pulling the hood up and resting it gently over her mistress’ head. She stood back to open the chamber door and ushered Titania out into the corridor and down the stairs to the waiting carriage.

“Have a good evening madam”, the girl said as Titania swept past her taking the groom’s offered hand and stepping up into the carriage. Then the door clicked shut behind her and with a whip crack the carriage moved off.

As she leaned back against the wooden panelled exterior she felt that sensation again, like there was something very wrong, like she wasn’t supposed to be here, extravagantly dressed on her way to the theatre. She pulled her right glove off, holding her hand in front of her face, scrutinising the lines intently as though she feared they might warp and change before her very eyes. It seemed as though she didn’t fit inside her own skin and she thought she could hear whispers behind her eyes. But as quickly as the feeling had overtaken her, it disappeared and the sounds of the London Streets seemed to drown out the possibility that it had ever been there at all.

The lanterns were being lit as they sped along the wide thoroughfare and the hoarse cries of the street traders reached her ears even though the darkness was drawing in. The evening atmosphere was different to the day where the market traders would hawk their wares, the streets lined with tables full of fine and coarse cloths, barrels and crates of fruit and vegetables brought in from the surrounding countryside and pigs heads and trotters and skinned rabbits hung from the rafters of the stalls.

At night there was a change and an air of mystery seemed to overtake the city; the kinds of people who trade under cover of darkness would emerge from their secret boltholes to mutter in dank corners. As the horses drew up to the entrance of the theatre the footman jumped down to open the door and, placing a silk-gloved hand in his, Titania slide gracefully from the dim interior and into the bustling street. Suddenly she realised that she had forgotten to replace her other glove, having removed it to study her hand so carefully on the journey and she called back to the footman.

“You there, fetch my glove can you, I’ve left it behind,” she cried, fearing that the coachman might move off before the offending article could be retrieved. She turned to receive it from him but her way was blocked by a tall figure in a long coat that spoke to her in a low voice from under the brim of a large hat.

“Tell your fortune m’lady?”
“Oh,” he took her by surprise, “no…I’m sorry…no.”
“Come m’lady, cross my palm with silver and I’ll tell you you’re future.” Repeated the figure, stepping a little closer.
“No, no” said Titania firmly, “ I have nothing for the likes of you, please step away from me immediately.” She stepped back, trying to manoeuvre herself away from the man and she looked round for the footman to help her. She saw, however, that other dark and ragged strangers had moved in between her and the carriage rendering help impossible.

A slight young man with baggy sackcloth trousers, a red necktie and a wide-brimmed hat stood idly by the head of the horses. She wasn’t sure what caught her eye about him and it seemed ludicrous to her that, in this situation, her eyes should be so drawn to him. She stepped back further and bumped into something solid, she gasped and whirled round.

“Your purse m’lady and no one gets hurt.”
“No. Who do you think you are? Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” she breathed.
“Oh yes madam” murmured the swarthy stranger, “I do. Your purse, if you will."
Looking to either side of her she saw that there was no escape as the gypsies closed ranks. She fumbled at her belt for the cloth bag that held her coins and as she did so her hand closed over another pouch that hung beside it. Her heart pounded, the blood thundering in her ears as she paused, her hand frozen at her waist. She wondered if she dared…who would see if she drew it forth. In an instant she knew she had no choice, if she as to escape then the decision had already been made for her. She drew the pouch slowly from her belt and held it out in trembling hands towards her attackers.

“Take it,” she said bitterly, “it’s all I have.” The man chuckled and made a bow to her.
“I promised you your fortune in return madam, and I shall tell you now that your future looks suddenly bright.” He reached out his grubby paw for the purse and as he did so Titania mumbled something unintelligible under her breath and with a quick flick of her wrist she threw the pouch with all her strength at the man’s feet. A loud crack rent the air and there was a blinding purple flash followed by billowing smoke. The gypsy clutched his eyes and staggered back into the throng taking several bystanders with him.

Titania ducked swiftly sideways to make her escape but the noise and commotion had startled the horses and as she dove down the horse nearest her reared straight up in it’s harness, dragging it’s companion up with it. There was a rush of air past her face and hooves beat the space around her ears, her foot caught in her voluminous skirts and she pitched forward onto the cobbles, the frantic horses’ feet looming above her. Prostrate on the ground she squeezed her eyes shut waiting for the impact as the horses came crashing down upon her.

There was an impact, and it knocked the wind from her. A body shrouded her and words she did not understand issued forth to the horses in a low stream. Their feet clattered o the cobbles near her and through one peeping eye she saw their trembling knees and heard their snorting breaths as they capered on the street. Lips ducked towards her ear and said firmly, “Don’t panic. Just run.” All of a sudden the heavy warmth on top of her disappeared and she was hauled unceremoniously from the ground, her silk skirts trailing roughly through the dirt and water. She forced her legs to follow suit, staggering in her impossibly delicate slippers along the busy street.

As they dodged through the crowd the passers-by were a blur and she trusted inexplicably, instinctively, the slender hand that guided her until finally they dived into a dark alley off the main thoroughfare. Titania wheeled round, pressing her back against the cold, damp bricks of the wall, panting she said “Please, take the money…take whatever you want, just let me go!” A pair of amber eyes faced her, glowing like a cat’s in the dim light.

“Peace!” snapped a gruff voice, “I have rescued you. Do you really think I intend to rob you with the same hand?” It was the youth who had stood with the horses, a young gypsy lad who had thrown himself on her prone body and led her a merry dance through the streets of London. Who knew what he meant to do with her now. She was a lady, but not unwise as to what a rough young man might want from a beautiful young woman besides her money. She shivered and drew her cloak about her, turning her cheek against the stone she pleaded, “Please don’t hurt me. I know what you would do with me and I suppose I cannot stop you, but please don’t hurt me.” The eyes regarded her curiously and the figure stepped back. Raising a hand to his wide-brimmed hat the lad removed the article from his head, shaking loose a mane of dark hair, which fell, in waves below the shoulder.

“Tell me”, the girl uttered, “what is it you think I would do with you?”
“Oh” gasped Titania, “but you’re a…you’re a…” and with that the world seemed to collapse in on itself to a pinprick in her vision and she fainted clean away.

It came in flashes, interspersed with blinding white light that made Dixie’s wince. She saw the cosy room of an inn. A grubby gypsy girl sitting across the table from her. A flash. The same girl, dressed now in a gown, seated on the parlour floor next to her chair, her skirts spread out around her following words on the page of a book with her finger.

[dixielandyankee]

Another flash and Dixie saw herself in a summer meadow where she lay in the long grass gazing up at a cloudless sky. She felt a laugh build within her and she squeezed the hand she found so tenderly placed in hers, turning her head on the soft earth to gaze into the golden eyes just inches from her own. White light, which faded into…

A dark chamber, bathed in moonlight from an open casement, the embers burning low in the grate as she sat dozing in an easy chair. Roused by a small hand on her shoulder, the rustle of a skirt by her ear and the brush of silken hair against her face, amber eyes half-lidded as she turned in her chair to stare into them. They blinked and slow smile spread across the lips of their owner. The dark-haired girl tilted her head to return Dixie’s gaze. She knew the girl, better than she knew herself, but the memory seemed distant, not in the room as she was now but lifetimes away. Long fingers slid from her shoulder to the hot skin of her neck, finally twining themselves in her loose hair. Dixie sighed deeply, letting those fingers draw her closer to the waiting smile, her heart racing and her body trembling. She drew a shaking breath as the gap between her lips and those of her companion was bridged, gently and encouragingly at first, and then more deeply.

Dixie closed her eyes tightly and let it happen…let the dream envelop her and slide under her skin. A shiver ran down her spine and, after what seemed like decades, she slowly opened her eyes. The half-lidded ones still gazed back at her but the room was all wrong. In fact, the room was not a room at all; she was back in the meadow again…no, not the meadow for the sun was not shining and the sky was dappled with tree branches.

Her focus reeled back to the eyes before her and the lips locked with her own and she broke from them with a gasp. Scrappy’s eyes widened in consternation and she pulled back from Dixie in equal alarm. Dixie opened her mouth to speak, to apologise, to question…but she found that there were no words to ask, or to explain.

[TamiZ]

A brisk wind blew up the sinuous drive, preceding a low rumble that disturbed the deceptive silence. From the road below came a vehicle slowly picking its way among the pockmarks that scarred the once grand lane. A light dusting of dirt on the vehicle’s otherwise immaculate paint, splintered the rising sun’s reflection. Emerging from the lane lined with dead trees that once stood guard over the grounds, the vehicle, a tan Subaru Outback, seemed to sigh in relief at finally reaching its destination. Circling the fountain in front of the manor, the vehicle ended its journey when it finally came to rest in one of the parking areas near the old carriage house. The driver turned off the engine and silence descended. Even the wind momentarily stilled.

Noiselessly, the door opened and a cowboy boot crunched down on the loose rubble that littered the drive. A worn leather travel bag blew up a cloud of fine dust when it was tossed to the ground. The wind picked up again when a moment later, a figure climbed out. Long black hair swirled around before the wind died down again. Dark brown eyes squinted towards the sun now fully visible above the hazy horizon. Taking a deep breath, the young woman slowly stretched the kinks out of her back. She shook her head as she shut the vehicle door and shouldered her bag. With a muted curse, she walked over to inspect the fountain that had once been the glorious centerpiece of the property foregrounds. She could not remember any signs of neglect the last time she had been to the house.

Years of disregard had taken its toll on the fountain. Algae and moss had claimed the formerly pristine Italian marble. Nimble spiders danced upon the thick water; a frog jumped from the frozen arms of a silent nymph to disappear below the murky green surface.

The frown that slowly formed upon the woman’s face, however, turned into a smirk as she looked up at the manor’s façade. She chuckled under her breath. “All right, you win,” she said aloud. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she approached the house for a closer view. The mammoth wooden door was intimidating, but comforting like a loving giant. “Hello, Orion. Hello, Calliope,” she whispered. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and held her arms wide to her sides. Opening them palm up, she waited. She was not disappointed when her pets greeted her.

From the façade above, her beloved pets Orion and Calliope came alive. As pets, they were not as handsome as show dogs, nor as noble as purebred steeds. But as gargoyles went, they were grotesquely beautiful and loyal without fault. Malory chuckled as Orion and Calliope stood on their hind legs to take their treats from their Mistress’ hands. Once the treats were eaten, the gargoyles sat obediently at Malory’s side. Her hands rested lightly upon their smooth heads. She looked up at the house and sighed. Her fingers began to tap against the gargoyles’ short horns. “Here we go again,” she mumbled. “Why don’t we see what the Fates have brought together this go ‘round?”

With a flick of her wrist, Malory silently ordered the gargoyles back to their sentry posts on the front of the manor. She closed her mind off to those that might invade her thoughts. She reached up and caressed the ornate iron knocker before opening the great portal.

When she entered into the great hall, the mammoth door closed with a muted whoosh. Memories of times before passed quickly behind the walls of her mind. She reached into the inside pocket of her faded denim jacket and withdrew a crisp card… it was her invitation to play in Hell. “And I had been getting so bored,” she said to the great hall, which echoed her footsteps as she entered the room. With each step, fingers of anticipation began to tease along her long spine. She suddenly cracked her neck; the popping seemed unnaturally loud in the silent house. Finding a sudden bounce in her step, she began to reacquaint herself with the house and to search for the others that had been invited.

[Scrappy Amazon]

I awoke to find her sea blue eyes regarding me in apprehension. As if she was waiting for some form of anger or fear to play across my face. But the warmth that was spreading from my lips throughout my body left me feeling anything but angry. I tentatively reached out to touch her face. To my surprise she didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry.” She said. Her eyes deepened to a sadder silvery blue.

“Don’t be. I’ve wanted to do that almost since we first met.”

I curled my fingers under and trailed my thumb down her cheek to her jaw line. A soft sigh escaped her lips and I felt a slight tremor shake her body.

“Are you cold?” My concern for her safety and well being was clouding my desire now.

“Yes.” Her slight smile turned to a grin. “And no.”

I leaned in and gently pressed my lips to hers. Her breath was warm and I could feel her pulse quicken under my fingertips. I pulled back slightly and broke the contact. I only had to wait a half second for her lips to part slightly. The kiss deepened as our tongues explored and dueled each other. With indescribable sweetness we tasted what was offered freely, and without fear.

With tenderness and a new sense of our souls we parted simultaneously, puffs of steam escaping into the cold air, as we attempted to return our breathing to normal. “We should get back to the house.” I sighed. “It’s cold out here and I’m anxious to find out what happened to Phalon. She saved our butts you know.” I looked into her eyes again. Putting on my best, ‘I’m serious.’ look, I said. “You don’t have to tell me now, or even exactly what happened, but I need to know some things. We need to talk about it so that we can decide what to do about this crazy bastard.”

“Ok, but let’s get back to the house first.”

“Agreed.”

We scrambled off the alter and I straightened out as best I could while slipping on my gloves. I watched her stretch out aching muscles from the corner of my eye, not wanting to be too obvious in my admiration. I offered her my trench coat and we headed for the house. The trek back through the woods was quiet. Nether of us wanting to break the comfortable silence. Her warm hand entwined with mine. My thoughts danced between her and Phalon.

My anxiety over Phalon was increasing as I noticed that the sun was considerably higher in the sky than it had been when I had entered the clearing. I berated myself for forgetting her. Dixie was my main priority but Phalon was family. The trees loomed over head like silent sentinels. Guarding our backs as we walked on. The heavy wet cold air blanketing us in a fine mist and making it a little hard to breathe.

I quickened my pace and we made good time back to the house. As we walked up the path I noticed a new vehicle in the driveway. It was a rather large and jacked up truck. “Man this guy’s got you know what envy issues.” I smirked at Dixie.

I let go of her hand as we approached the entryway. I threw open the heavy wooden door and stepped in. Expecting the usual cold entrance I got instead an even colder welcome from a new guest. I squinted my eyes slightly to get a reading from her. A gunmetal grey energy surrounded her. “Not good.” I whispered to myself.

“Who are you?” I inquired of the lanky brunette as I stepped defensively in front of Dixie.

[Phalon]

note: This post was written jointly by both Guru and myself.



Guru needed to verify a suspicion -- namely that Phalon's eyes had returned to normal as proof of Yana's departure. But the dim light did not allow for it, so instead of confirming whose soul now occupied the body, he offered a bargain.

"Talk to me. Now I know you can. Let's make a deal -- I won't be afraid if you won't."

She understood....understood the words he spoke, but not why she understood them. How could this be, her knowing their language? He stood there waiting for an answer to his question, and she could think of nothing to say other than, "What happened?"

"You fell ... from up there." Guru motioned with his eyes. He made a special point of not moving his arms in the semi-darkness. He didn't want to make any move that might make her nervous. "I came through the tunnel following the sound."

She remembered now; remembered falling through the earth thinking she'd be buried alive....and prior to that, remembered being entranced by the swirls of golden light coming from the diamond. But she had no remembrance of whatever had taken place afterwards; nothing but a blank spot in her mind. So he found her in the tunnel. What then?

Still feeling humility by the position in which he brought attention to where she'd had her hand placed, she asked hesitantly, "So...uhm...how exactly...did I...uhm....you know…my hand, your..." She laughed with embarrassment as she felt her cheeks redden again.

"You don't remember? Anything?" His suspicion was confirmed by the look on her face. Slowly ... ever so slowly ... too slowly to be noticed ... he leaned forward. The sun was gradually intruding on their dark domain, but wasn't yet giving enough light for Guru to see what he wanted to see: her eyes. Yana’s cat’s eyes, or round pupils which would confirm Yana’s absence? "Maybe I could tell you on the way to the house?"

The house. A place that seemed to Phalon to be a direct link to Tartarus, and she grew more uneasy thinking about it. She supposed though, it was better than being stuck underground in the dark. A way out of this tunnel? She wondered if he knew one. "Lead the way", she said, adding, "And no, I remember nothing after an encounter with that beast and his servants, and being pushed under the ground. The beast….the one with the sword…. Do you know of who I am speaking?" His reaction told her he did.

Instantly the hair stood on the back of his neck. He knew that beast very well. And it must be the same one ... the one from the Kalama River ... the demon driving good people to madness and murder. Until a defense was found. Then in a fit of rage it manipulated a local geological instability and unleashed fire from deep within the mountain.

The world remembers Mount Saint Helens.

"We gotta get out of here. Back to the house and find the others. Safety in numbers -- we need to stay together."

Guru considered climbing out. She could stand on his shoulders and lift herself to the surface, but there was no way she could reach back down and lift him. The tunnel was open .... and pitch black. Darkness was the least of their problems at the moment.

Guru extended his arm and pointed a finger, noticing how she made no adverse reaction. "This way. We go to the house and make noise so everyone can find us." He stepped forward into the chill of pure darkness. Without thinking, he spoke again, "Hold my hand so we don't get separated."

Phalon understood nothing of what happened since she’d washed up on the shores of this place…understood nothing of what her purpose here was. So many questions: many of them revolving around this person standing there, offering his hand to her. And still no answers. By taking his hand, perhaps she’d be given some of those answers; an insight into what he was thinking.

And he was right. They needed to get out of the tunnel and back to the house. She took his hand, and as he started to lead her into the darkness, she froze. What she gained from the contact answered one of those questions - the question of what happened after she'd fallen through the ground, but answered it only partially. She was allowed a glimpse into what took place, and it perhaps left her with more questions than it answered. She'd been possessed by a spirit; her body occupied by another while she'd been in that black void of screams.

"Who is Yana?" she asked.

[Becka]

She kept hidden behind a tree. What am I going to do now? I can't believe I did nothing to stop that monster. How am I going to fix this. She heard a twig snap to her left. She went deeper into the woods to hide behind a tree. She saw Scrappy and Dixie walk by and knew she couldn't come out or they would know something was up. What am I going to do?

[TamiZ]

Before she could even make her way across the great hall, however, the main door opened. Malory stopped and slowly turned to face the force behind it. She was somewhat surprised to see two women enter together. Their expressions bespoke of guarded weariness. For a moment, the one that led them into the house paused; her eyes narrowed in suspicion. The woman with the bright golden eyes, like those of a cat, instantly intrigued Malory. She presented with the posture of a weary hero who was willing to fight yet one more fight. She practically leaned forward as she seemed to ready her body for another confrontation. Malory wondered if the woman was about to hiss. And then her curiosity was appeased.

“Who are you?” the aggressive one asked.

Malory studied the other women. Cat’s Eyes emanated strength and courage. Malory was not sure about whether or not the courage was foolish, but she decided to err on the side of sensibility when Cat’s Eyes subtly revealed the handgun she carried. The taller one reflected serenity and curiosity. They were both slightly tattered in appearance and the scent of the forest of beyond clung to them.

Noting the protective stance the fiery woman took in front of the quiet blonde, Malory briefly wondered about the relationship between the two women. Hoping to put Cat’s Eyes at ease and diffuse the tension in the room, she quickly began to work her charm.

She slowly approached the two women. Her stride was loose, her boot heels barely scuffed against the dusty marble floor. She extended her hand, palm up before offering it for an introduction. “Hi, I’m Malory.” She flashed the invitation that she carried in her other hand. “I guess we’re here for the same thing.”

It took only a moment for her to realize that the other woman was not going to accept the handshake, so she slowly let her hand fall to her side. “I just got here myself,” she continued, smiling easily out of habit. “But from the looks of you two, I’d say you got here before I did. Unless of course, you hit the interstate during rush hour on a Friday night with the home team playing.”

Still, there was only a silent response. She stepped forward a half step and the blonde in leather moved even closer to her companion.

Malory sighed as she pocketed her invitation. She raised her arms, palms up. She fought to keep her own temper in check, as she was becoming irritated at the chilly reception. “Look, I’m not armed and I’m being civil here. Is everyone here like you, or are you the only one lacking manners?”

Cat’s Eyes grunted in response. With every passing moment, Malory could sense the rising ire of the other woman. It was then that she noticed how truly ragged the woman was looking. Focusing, Malory could smell the blood and sweat that clung to the other woman. Malory softened her tone. “I swear that I mean you no harm. Can we start over here? I’d hate to have to call you ‘Hey You’ the whole time we’re here.”

Extending her hand once more, she smiled. “Hi, I’m Malory, and it’s nice to meet you.”

[guru]

(Written by Phalon and Guru)

The Light of the Spirit

"Yana is my wife. ...was my wife. Her spirit was just here inside you. That must be why you don't remember our conversation."

His wife. That would explain….a lot. Words in the dark, and Phalon could not see the man who spoke them. Was he telling the truth, she wondered?

Her hand in his, she took a step back, pulling him again into the thin shaft of light coming in from above. She needed to see him….by seeing his expression, she thought, some of those earlier suspicions she had regarding him might be eased.

It was obvious he still held suspicions about her also, for the sudden movement caused him to let go her hand and take a step back – and she needed that physical contact to help her understand him.

A length of his hair had fallen across his forehead and over his eye, hiding it. Hoping she didn’t startle him further, she gingerly reached up and brushed it away; wanting to see his face…as if by merely looking at it would reveal whatever secrets he kept hidden.

She kept her hand there longer than the simple gesture should have taken; her fingertips at his temple and so slight her touch that it might have been a strand of his long hair she’d just brushed back from his face. The touch told her what she wanted to know; what she needed to know – that what he said was true. The soul that had been inside of her was his wife.

He’d mentioned conversation – one between him and Yana. Touching him had enabled Phalon to catch just fragments of it, and one of those fragments answered a question she’d had nearly since first coming in contact with him.

“I saw you, you know. I saw you standing over me in our cabin. I heard you cry for me, and I wanted so much to go back to you. But I couldn’t.”

What Phalon offered next, she offered with hesitation, speaking slowly and quietly, unsure of the reaction it would produce. It was personal, it was horrific, and she could not believe that he’d….

“As you held a framed picture, I held a sword to your throat….partially because I saw a vision of you with a bloodied sword in your hand, standing over a woman……what was once a woman. I’d thought that you….” The image was too vulgar to speak, so she didn't complete the thought. “Yana,” she said - not posing a question, but confirming to herself out loud that the woman had been his wife. In the dim light, she saw a tortured expression cross his face. Her hand withdrew and fell ... into his.

“I’m sorry….” And she was; sorry she’d thought he could do such a thing; sorry for all he’d lost. And sorry for all he’d just now given up….again.

His grip tightened ever so slightly. "And I thought you were a ghost. Wait a minute - you were! Something is messing with your life, too."

Suddenly a powerful emotion swept over her. But Guru's facial expression never changed. Well-practiced, she thought, at hiding emotion, and wondered if he was hiding something now. She closed her eyes ... and became a small child wrapped in the warmest blanket. Strong arms enveloped her like a fortress, protecting her from all the evils of the world. This was a good place.

She opened her eyes. This was a dark place. All that remained of the fortress was the one hand in hers.

It was enough.

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee’s stomach rumbled for the umpteenth time as she made her way through the maze, lighting the torches to her left and right with the two lit torches she had in her hands. Hopefully they would stay lit and give her a visual of where she had been, and where she hasn’t been. She had grabbed these last two torches from the wall before they could go out, and they had remained lit throughout her journey. She took a couple of torches from their perches and laid them on the floor, so that if the ones on the walls went out, the ones on the floor might remain lit, just as the ones she were holding. She held out the two torches in her hands so that they would keep at bay whatever might be in the tunnels to her sides as she rushed past. She stayed to a straight line until she hit a dead end, then she would work out in her mind which path to take… the one to the right, or the one to the left.

scratch… scratch… scratch… Joxcee ignored the noises that sounded like rats trying to claw their way through the walls, and kept on finding her way through the tunnels. Don’t think… Don’t think… Don’t think… She played this mantra through her head, trying to drown out her fears. As she came to another dead end, she looked to the tunnel on the left, and to the tunnel on the right. The one to the left had lit torches on the walls, and three lit torches laying in the middle of the pathway. The tunnel to the right had light showing brightly at the far end. She studied the glow, wondering if it was from lit torches, or something else. There are some things worse than death… like dying slowly without food or water. Better to get skewered and get it over with. With her mind made up, Joxcee headed toward the strange light. The closer she got to it, the more it looked like daylight. Strange… why would there be an opening to the tunnels, exposing it for anyone to see? That would defeat the whole purpose of having them hidden underground, wouldn’t it?

As she slowly moved forward, Joxcee thought she heard voices. She froze. Now what do I do? Get skewered or die of hunger and thirst? I really don’t want to get skewered. Joxcee took a few steps back. I don’t want to die of hunger and thirst either. She took a few steps forward. Shadows moved through the light, but the forms were indistinguishable. She couldn’t tell if it was of human shape, animal, vegetable, or some kind of alien. She watched it as she strained to make out what the voices were saying. Her stomach growled, and she prayed it hadn’t been heard by whatever was up ahead.

[Phalon]

Looking at Guru, Phalon was confused by this wave of emotion she felt. Relief….a sense of relief that she wasn’t alone; a tender companionship, and she hadn’t felt this since she was plucked out of her world, and thrown into this one. She and Scrappy shared a companionship of course; they were family. But theirs was a camaraderie that had been always marked with urgency; some dark malevolence that forever pervaded their conversation: the beast from both their pasts.

She felt none of that urgency here with her hand in Guru’s, and even given the situation in which they stood, she didn’t particularly feel the desire to move; not wanting this feeling to end. She felt warmth. She felt safe. And for the first time since coming here, she felt that perhaps things would turn out alright.

An aura of light appeared, surrounding him. His silhouette dark against the radiating warm glow made him appear otherworldly. The way he looked now caused her to once more ask a question of him that she’d posed earlier; the same question she’d asked him in the cottage when she watched his shoulder heal itself. She’d spoken Greek then, and he hadn’t understood. Now he would. “What are you, Guru?”

“I….”

Again, the question went unanswered. The light surrounding him flickered and shifted, and she realized it was not emanating from him at all, but rather was coming from the tunnel beyond where he stood. Any explanation to her question would have to wait as she cut short whatever he had to offer by whispering, “Wait…”

She started to reach to unsheathe her sword from its place on her back....then thought better of the move, while offering a silent thank you to Yana for leaving behind her language. Whether it was intentional, or not; the gift enabled Phalon to quickly whisper a warning to him….for how ironic it would be if the other gift; the one they both gave her – her life back – were to be taken away by a movement misconstrued and seen as a threat by him.

“Before you hurl any more lightening bolts in my direction…,” Slowly, she started to draw her sword while continuing, “and try to blast me into oblivion – again, let me say that something is headed down the tunnel our way.” Though she spoke in a whisper, the words sounded sharper - more harsh than was her intent, and she realized that beneath whatever feelings she’d just had for him, there was still the underlying emotion - perhaps rightly so - of wariness within her.

Instantly he was standing beside her; his own sword drawn, and they stood together waiting…and ready for whatever it was advancing towards them.

The lights flickered….moving forward…stopping…and then retreating, before advancing again. Watching this hesitation; the indecision of whatever – whoever - carried the light, and it suddenly dawned on Phalon that she’d seen something similar to this last night...on the walk from the house to the cottage. She dropped her sword to her side, smiled, and placed a hand on Guru’s forearm. “Joxie,” she said.

She felt his poised tension relax just as they heard a low rumbling sound, and again he stiffened, his sword ready to strike the growling beast in the tunnel.

She knew that sound, and with a low growl of its own, her stomach replied to the other in commiserating sympathy. Phalon laughed. Turning to Guru, she said, “I think it’s time to get back to the house. Whatever else lay in this tunnel, it would seem as if nothing is more pressing right now than a couple of angrily hungry stomachs.”

[LoyalMinion]

His sense of satisfaction was disintegrated; turned to dread when his Master found that the plan had failed. It had been too easy earlier, and Aiden felt that he should have taken that as a warning that things could take a turn for the worse. And they had. As soon as the woman fell through the earth and into the tunnel nothing had gone right.

This made the Master angry- and that was nothing Aiden wasn't familiar with. But there was something else; something that disturbed Aiden more than the fury of the one he served. It was his sense that the Master's power was somehow diminishing that alarmed him now.

There were times he had seen a similar weakening of power, and it was those times that the Master had disappeared; sometimes staying unseen for days, weeks or even months. It was during these times that Aiden felt abandoned; left to wander the house and grounds listlessly until the Master returned. And he always did return; more powerful and fierce than before he'd left, and Aiden was always there waiting, eager to serve. He knew nothing else; had no other purpose - the Master was his life. He was sure at one time he did have a life outside of this, but servitude had been his sole duty for so long that he could remember nothing else. He could not even remember how or why he came to be here.

The Master would not be leaving this time though - of that he was sure. Furious that he hadn't got want he wanted, the Master was calculating ways to get what he so craved: their power, and Aiden knew that this time he would not stop until it was complete. He grew cold thinking what would happen if his Master was again denied. So he refused to think about it.

If he had thought about it, Aiden may have realized that there are things on this earth that have power to overcome evil, and that one of those forces was starting to grow here, in this house. The two at the altar; they were still alive, and instead of their bond being severed as it had in their past lives when the beast destroyed them then, now it grew stronger......and the beast; weaker. The two in the tunnel; the captured spirit released and given another chance at life, and the one she was reunited with; her immortal husband...they had resisted temptation; a devised evil disguised as a new life together....and again the beast's power weakened. And the body they'd been given - reunited with its rightful soul, and instead of the suspicion and hostility that had been there prior, a warm emotion started to grow in its place....and the beast grew weaker still.

Aiden didn't realize it though; he had something - someone - on his mind.

And if he had realized this, he would have understood why his master's power was just about to grow a bit more pale. With an uncharacteristic smile on his face and an unfamiliar tenderness in his heart, Aiden reached out to her; the girl hidden behind the tree.

The beast watched and grimaced in pain.

[Scrappy Amazon]

I watched warily as she stuck out her hand one more time. What she expected I have no idea. But I wasn’t going to play along. There was something wrong about her. I didn’t know what it was but I could see it in her aura. I could smell it. It clung to her like smoke from a raging forest fire. Dark and acrid. A precursor to something devastating and life altering. This wasn’t just another guest. She had a purpose.

I smiled at her but didn’t take her offered hand. Instead I entwined my fingers in Dixie’s. Protecting her as much as I could just by force of will. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your hand. I haven’t had a shower yet this morning and we’ve been doing some real dirty work already. You’ve missed a lot.”

She dropped her hand unceremoniously then stuck the ends of her long graceful fingers into her jean pockets. “Sure, I understand.”

“My name is Scrappy, and this is Dixie.” I held up our grasped hands, “We were just coming in to look for the others. Have you seen anyone?”

“Actually I just got here myself. I was about to have a look around “

“Well, I’m thinking we should see about getting the servants to start some breakfast. Wherever the rest of the group are they are going to be hungry when they get back. Agreed?”

“Servants? I wasn’t aware there were any servants here. I mean, no one greeted me. But I guess I could eat. It has been a long drive.”

“The servants just sort of appear when you least expect them. They seem pretty harmless though.” I ran my free hand through my hair. A habit I couldn’t seem to rid myself of. “Unlike most of the other sh!t in this house.” I said with a tired sigh. I watched her to see if what I had just said registered. She didn’t even blink. This woman was definitely going to be trouble. “Why don’t you lead the way. We’ll catch up in a few”

“And which way would I be going?”

I squinted slightly again, trying to catch the deception I knew was there. The gunmetal grey that circled her swirled and roiled, a slight sulfur tinge beginning to creep through. I knew she was lying, I just couldn’t figure out what about. Exhaustion and stress form the previous day was clouding my ability and I just couldn’t seem to make it clear. My fingers tingled and my brain was fuzzy. “Through there.” I indicated a large hallway just past the staircase.

“See you in a few. Nice to meet you both by the way.” She smiled the “something’s not quite right” smile and made her way down the slightly hidden staircase toward the kitchen and dining hall.

I turned to the beautiful woman standing beside me. “That one’s going to be trouble.” I sighed and looked into her weary eyes. I reached up with my unoccupied hand to gently touch her face. “I know you’re tired. I am too. We just need to get through breakfast then hopefully nothing else will happen and we can have some down time.” I could see the tears forming. “Baby I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She lowered her head and whispered “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

It stung. Like an ice pick through the chest. But I understood why she said it. She needed someone to take her hurt out on. Question of the moment was, was I strong enough to let her? I took a deep breath, squeezed her hand and reached out to lift her chin so I could see her eyes. The tears were there now, running down her cheeks. I wiped them away with my thumb trying to send as much strength as I could through my presence alone. I leaned in and place a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“You’re right. There are a lot of things in this world I have no control over. So I guess I should say that I promise to do my best. It’s all I have to offer. You ok with that?” She answered by leaning in and embracing me. Placing her head against my shoulder, I felt her sigh. “Come on. Let’s go find the others and keep an eye on the newbie.”

She nodded and we headed for the dining room hand in hand.

[TamiZ]

Four Walls Foreshadowing a Soul

Malory walked in the direction indicated by Scrappy. She glanced over her shoulder along the way to see Scrappy and Dixie whispering to one another. When they were lost behind the corner of a short hall that Malory turned down, the lithe woman stopped.

If things felt more wrong than she had anticipated, the cast of players drawn together could prove to make things even more wrong if Scrappy and Dixie were any example. She knew all of them had special gifts, not just those two. She, however, never knew the specifics of who had which gifts. The specifics in Scrappy’s case were irrelevant, though. She was like a modern-day warrior woman. She wore her distrust and vigilance like a second skin too tough to breach. She almost balked at the effort it would take to hold herself together long enough to prove herself worthy of their trust.

The words of the earlier conversation replayed in her head. The tension and distrust fairly sizzled from the newcomer. It was enough to affect the tenuous hold Malory had on her own emotions. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached out to place her palm flat against the wall of the hallway. The house spoke to her, calmed her. Memories that the house held sacred were like a picture show, flickering in rapid motion that at once soothed her with its familiarity, but also agitated her with a rising desire.

But the house was not strong enough. There was a curse of evil that had diseased its soul. That evil was beginning to bleed through Malory’s disintegrating web of self-control. She knew it had been a risk to come back to the house while the evil was so strong, but at the height of its strength, the evil was the most vulnerable in its foolish arrogance.

Malory took a deep breath as she heard boots begin to scuff across the main hall. She opened her eyes and let them adjust to the fluctuating essence of the house. She continued on to the dining room. When she entered, Mrs. Peacock was entering from the serving side of the room. Malory stopped and held her breath until Mrs. Peacock looked into her eyes. Memories of other times played at the edges of her vision, but she focused on the housekeeper. “You must be busy these days,” she commented softly with affection, “I was expecting to see you when I pulled in.”

Mrs. Peacock snorted with subdued laughter. “Don’t tease me, child. You know it has been difficult to hold the house together with HIM loose upon us.”

Malory was about to reply when she felt, more than heard, Scrappy entering the room. With a casual turn, she turned to face the warrior. Malory cocked her head and with an engaging smile, remarked, “I thought I was going to have to send out a search party for you.” Malory looked over her shoulder at Mrs. Peacock. With her eyes, she beseeched the housekeeper to play along with her just one more time. She could not afford to lose her band of contestants so early into the game. She needed her house back; her soul was bare threaded already.

She cleared her throat as she turned to face the pair of women that were looking at her with an edge of distrust. “I believe you said something about breakfast?”

[TheBurnoutKid]

Catch sat in a darkened corner of the dining room, shuffling her cards on a scuffed, round, wooden table. She had only arrived early this morning, and the rumbling in her stomach was beginning to become a dull pain. Every time she laid down cards from her tattered tarot deck they said the same thing…something unnatural permeated the walls of this house, something dark and deeply rooted. Something taking root in those who stayed here.

Catch was anything but average looking. With her sharp, high cheek bones, raven black hair, well-muscled physique, and startling green eyes, most would think she was hard to miss…especially being nearly 6’1. However Catch had an affinity for darkness, for shadows, and for being invisible.
She hadn’t been noticed by many, something she wasn’t altogether surprised by. As a lonely wanderer, she settled in a town for maybe a week or two before quickly packing and leaving for the next town. She had been traveling for so many years now, she was beginning to wonder if she was ever really looking to settle at all. In every town she encountered new evils, new places of darkness. They attracted her like a moth to the flame.
When she had heard of the contest being held at the House of Whoosher, only a few days travel from where she had been staying previously, she couldn't resist the temptation. However she found herself extremely fashionably late to arrive. So late, in fact, that she ended up bribing Mrs. Peacock for admittance, giving her some piece of expensive jewelry or another in order to join the other guests.
Everyone here was jumpy, as if waiting for an active volcano to erupt. As she sat there, watching the conversation between Mrs. Peacock and a couple of other tenants, there was an air of tension and distrust. Catch tried to remain invisible in the room, sinking back into the shadows, slipping a thick rubber band around her tarot cards and slipping them into her back pocket.
“Don’t tease me, child. You know it has been difficult to hold the house together with HIM loose upon us.” Mrs. Peacock snapped.
As the days rolled by Catch picked up traces of the presence in this house, fragments of the entire story. The suspense was killing her…what was it in this house that had her fellow travelers walking the grounds in such a tight posture? What made everyone around her divert their eyes to the ground, their ears pricked, their hands balled into nervous fists? She didn’t know, but she was dying to find out. Whatever it was, it was avoiding her. It wasn’t the first time her own power had made something else keep its distance, but for some reason this time it felt different. It didn’t feel like it was hiding…but rather…watching. Waiting. Holding out for the exact moment to strike. She liked that. It made her stay here that much more interesting.

One of the women at the bar, she believed her name was “Scrappy”, searched the room, as if sensing her presence. Her eyes fell upon Catch, but quickly snapped back to Mrs. Peacock. She could feel it, too. Catch almost wanted to talk to her, reassure her. However Catch hadn’t spoken to anyone in so long, she wasn’t sure she knew how to socialize anymore. She stood from her chair and noiselessly exited the room, her green eyes darting about the hallway as she made her way back to her own room.

[Phalon]

Swords drawn; held motionless and ready to defend, they waited for the bearer of the flickering light to advance upon them…and they waited….and they waited for what seemed to Phalon to be an eternity.

Intuition, her ability to sense things, or just a kinship of hungry, growling stomachs – whatever the reason, she knew the one holding the light was Joxie, and she’d told Guru so. He seemed, however, hesitant to trust her instinct. And could she blame him? He knew even less of her than she of him – but her sight - what Bhen Rudha referred to as her “keening” and Zena; her “mind-trips” - gave her cognitive glimpses into his life, and with each touch she found herself wanting to know more.

She glanced at him now standing beside her. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, and she could make out some of his features: the high line of his cheekbones; his jaw, firmly set in determination; the long mane of hair that she’d had her fingers entwined in earlier - when she was Yana.

When she was Yana…she had her hands on him; his arms around her; their lips together in a kiss…how right had it seemed to her as it was taking place. She had thought then that she was experiencing the joys of the afterlife….and he thought she was someone he loved. A very sensually tactile experience and hers was a life that had always revolved around physical contact – her touch. It was the very nature of her being, and the knowledge that it provided lent her insight into the human spirit of those around her. She not only relied upon it – she reveled in it…she thrived on it. But the feeling she’d had when she was in his arms had nothing to do with her “Sight” – and she could not deny to herself that it was a very pleasurable feeling; one, she realized, she would not mind experiencing again.

In the darkness, she smiled.

And later, he’d offered his hand to her; just a small precautionary gesture to help them out of a potentially dangerous situation. She knew it meant nothing to him. It meant everything to her. She thought about how alone she’d felt here until then, and however small that gesture was, the warmth she felt with her hand enveloped in his seemed to melt all the cold isolation away. Remembering it now, she felt that warmth again, and her fingers began to tingle with it.

But wait…..

No. Her hand was tingling – that was true; grown numb from having held her sword ready to strike in one position for so very, very long. Never easing her grip on the sword’s hilt, she stretched her fingers one by one; individually wiggling them to try and get some of the feeling back.

The light ahead of them flickered, and was reflected in the silver of her ring as she stretched the finger she wore it on. It caught her eye, and as she watched, the fire from the torch seemed to grow within her ring; the knots becoming alive with dancing flames. Orange, gold, carmine, pink and blue; the colors grew brighter and more intense until she was not really seeing them with her eyes; but instead, they were a swirling blur that existed inside her head until it exploded in a blinding white-hot burst of light behind her eyes.

When the light faded, the blur remained just on her edges of her peripheral sight; the center of her field of vision seen with clarity that could not be possible in the darkness of the tunnel. When she heard the dull thud of her sword dropping to the floor without realizing she’d let go of it, she knew her mind was about to take her elsewhere.

It began slowly; forward motion that took her away from Guru, and past Joxie….yes, it was Joxie holding the torch…before the journey on which her mind took her gathered momentum, sending her down the tunnel in fast motion. With a dizzying speed she made her way through the tunnel that was a confusing labyrinth of twists and turns. The tunnel ended at a set of stairs, but her journey did not stop there. Up the stairs, through the back of the bookcase which held her beloved Zena Scrolls, into the library, out the door, down the hall, past a dark figure slinking from a closing door, through that door, and deposited with a screeching halt at a table. She’d arrived in the dining room just in time for breakfast it seemed, and Damn it to Tartarus, being present in the room only in her mind; she could not eat once again. Back in the tunnel, she was sure both Guru and Joxie were hearing her stomach grumble with increasing loudness.

In this room though; in her mind’s eye; she was staring over heavy black boot-clad feet propped up on the table, at a woman she’d never seen: a woman whose young appearance was betrayed by eyes that told a different story; a story perhaps as ancient as Phalon herself.

[Scrappy Amazon]

Dixie and I entered the dining hall hand in hand. As we came around the corner I thought I caught Mrs. Peacock and Malory trade a few words. I couldn’t quite hear what was said but the whole exchange between them seemed familiar to me. Too familiar to have just met. I passed it of as Malory’s impeccable charm, and Mrs. Peacock’s infallible ability to be unruffled at anything.

I had to laugh at that. “Mrs. Peacock, unruffled. *snort* Ok get a grip Scrappy.”

“What was that?” Dixie asked.

“Nothing, just amusing myself.”

Dixie just nodded at me as Malory addressed us. “I thought I was going to have to send out a search party for you.”

“Hmmm....I’m sure.” I squinted my eyes again just enough to blur out her form and “see” the energy swirling around her. The gunmetal grey now shot with red whorls was getting more intense. The red now overshadowing the grey. “I see you found Mrs. Peacock. Shall I introduce you or have you met?”

Malory cocked her head to the side a little and grinned at me, “I introduced myself already thanks. Couldn’t wait for the two of you all day now could I?”

“I suppose not.” I took a few more steps into the room. I addressed Mrs. Peacock. A formidable woman to be sure but I wasn’t intimidated by her. “Have you seen any of the others this morning?”

“No madam I have not. I was just coming out to make the table ready before breakfast. Will the others be joining you?”

“I hope so. We seem to have become separated early this morning.” I sighed at the news and ran my fingers through my tangled hair. “Thank you Mrs. Peacock. That will be all.”

I had spent the early part of my childhood living the life of Riley. We had servants in every corner of the manor. The air of superiority I had surrounded myself with then was a little rusty but came as naturally to me as breathing. Even after spending years traveling the road going from hell hole to roach motel. It was an easy role for me to fall into.

For a split second she looked to Malory. Almost as if she were looking for verification from Malory that she was being dismissed. When Malory didn’t acknowledge her she simply curtsied and said, “Thank you madam. Breakfast will be served shortly.”

I watched as she made her exit. As I turned back toward Malory I felt a chill run up my spine. As though I were being watched and someone was breathing on my neck. The last time I felt that in this house, an ethereal sword was stuck through my back shortly after.

Dixie must have felt it as well because she squeezed my hand. As I turned and scanned the corner over my shoulder. I thought I heard the sound of cards shuffling. I could see a shadow out of the corner of my eye. But when I moved to look directly at it, it disappeared. Only a slight breeze blowing through the heavy drapes across a beat up old fold up card table.

“I’m seeing things.” I sighed to myself. “You must be really exhausted. Focus now, sleep later.” I mumbled. I shook off the unease and turned my attention back to the newbie standing in front of me. “Shall we sit and talk while we wait for breakfast?”

Malory nodded and began make her way to the end of the huge dining table. I watched closely as she reached the head chair and placed her hand on the back. She began to pull it away from the table then hesitated and looked up to see if I was watching her. She opted instead for the chair to the right and settles herself into it like she was hugging an old friend.

I grabbed the chair directly across form her, leaned back, and propped my feet up on the table. Totally uncouth and rude but I didn’t care at this point. I began unconsciously playing with the heavy silver ring around my neck, as I tried to focus on what Dixie and Malory were discussing. The weather, their respective travels to and from this place or that. Nothing big enough to keep my exhausted mind from wandering.

The fidgeting was a habit I had developed as a child. Like running my fingers through my hair. It was comforting, and occasionally I could get brief images of my mother. I missed her sometimes. I missed the feeling of family. The grounding it could give. Roots, someplace you could always go to without fear of rejection. But my parents were dead and I had no family. That is until recently.

My thoughts turned to Phalon. I wondered what had happened after she left the clearing. I was getting seriously worried now. I was about to suggest that Dixie and I go out and look when my head began to pound. I could almost hear whispering from somewhere but I was sure it wasn’t anyone in the room. It was almost like the fuzzy sound you get in between stations on a manual dial radio. I reached up and rubbed my temple to sooth the pounding some. It didn’t help.

Noticing my sudden distress Dixie put her hand on my arm and whispered in my ear. “You ok Babe?”

“Yeah. Just a headache is all.” I smiled and patted her hand while she continued her conversation.

Suddenly the whispering became clearer. I could hear every word as though it had been spoken directly in my ear. “Scrappy. Get your feet off the table. Have you no manners?”

“Yes ma’am.” I mumbled as I sullenly dragged my feet to the floor.

[TheBurnoutKid]

Catch watched the clouds roil overhead from the window in her bedroom, her heavy wooden trunk sitting idly on her bed, her long black cloak thrown carelessly over a chair. A sullen darkness overcame the Whoosher house. Catch had always been one of those people who’s mood had been affected by the weather, perhaps because she’d been traveling for so long. When it rained, she knew that something could occur that would force her out into it and moving along to her next destination, wherever that may be. She sighed, pushed her hair back from her face and clicked open the little metal locks on her trunk, throwing it open on the bed. Inside there was an assortment of jewels, tarot cards, dresses and shawls, runes, and faded photos of her family. A family she hadn’t seen for many, many years.
She picked up her most recent photo of her mother, smiling in her weathered lace dress, her hair pulled back into a bun, her high heeled ankle boots laced carelessly, and her nose ring glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Catch realized in that moment that she couldn’t remember the scent of her mother anymore, the sweet smell of her freshly washed skin, or the smell of her after a long days work downtown. She sighed and slipped the picture in her back pocket where her tarot cards still rested. Those memories were a part of a world she no longer belonged to…and wasn’t so sure she should.
Suddenly, she heard a creaking and the sound of footfalls outside her door. They were heavy and quick, as if someone were holding races in the hallway. Catch at first was surprised, her eyes widening in the dark, searching the shadows of her dimly lit room. Then, she smiled. Finally, she thought, whatever it is has seen fit to come for me.

Catch had seen many things in her time as a traveler, had managed to see a lot of evil and a lot of supernatural happenings…but the Whoosher house was different. It was smart. Whatever lie inside of it waited for her, begging her to make the first move. Catch’s smile spread wider as she pulled a ruby-encrusted dagger from her boot, sauntering to her bedroom door. She whipped it open, her eyes darting from side to side. The footfalls had ceased, and the house groaned as the wind outside pressed against it ever so slowly. Catch took one last look behind her before stepping out into the hall, closing the door, and making her way down the stairs to the main floor. As she soundlessly descended, she could hear voices coming again from the main dining hall. They didn’t sound unnatural, so Catch remained undeterred as she held her dagger in a striking position. If the house wanted her to make the first move, then she wasn’t about to disappoint it. She took a quick glance into the dining room to see nothing but Mrs. Peacock and a couple of the other adventurers blathering on about one thing or another. Then, she started to sneak away from the dining hall and into the darkness.
As she moved, she felt a presence behind her. Her ears pricked up, and she could barely hear the littlest footsteps following her down the hall. She smiled again, moving only slower, and then slower as she held the dagger close to her chest, waiting for her moment to strike. She finally came to a slow stop, waiting a beat before turning around, hoisting the dagger and completely scaring the wits out of another Whoosher house tenant.

[Phalon]

note: this post and the post following were written jointly by Scrappy and myself.



“Get your feet off the table, Scrappy. Have you no manners?”

“Yes ma’am.” Scrappy mumbled as she sullenly pulled her heavy motorcycle boots off the table. Suddenly realization hit her that the voice in her head was not the voice of her long dead mother but of Phalon, her newly found family member. She sat up a little straighter and gripped the ring harder trying to focus in on the voice so as not to lose her again. “Where the hell are you? And are you ok?”

The readiness in which Scrappy removed her feet from the table made Phalon laugh; the scene played out so reminiscently of exchanges between her and her mother during her all too infrequent visits home. She made a silent vow to herself that if she ever got out of this place, the first thing she’d do was visit home, walk in the door and sit down, promptly lean the chair back; balancing it on two legs with her boots propped on the table, just to see her mother’s look of exasperation before breaking into a huge smile at having her nomadic daughter home if but for just a brief time…. If she ever got out of this place…

She saw through Scrappy’s eyes that Mrs. Peacock had entered the room, trailed by several other servants carrying trays heaping with food. Phalon was glad for the diversion - she didn't want to think about the possibility of not returning home to her family. She turned her attention to answering Scrappy's question.

"Fine; never better. Pfft.” If she had been physically present in the room instead of in Scrappy’s head, Scrappy would have seen her eyes roll in exaggerated sarcasm. “Hey, what's in that bowl, and does it taste as good as it looks?"

Scrappy watched with interest as one of the servants placed a bowl of gray goopy looking stuff in front of her. The servant carrying the bowl accidentally brushed Scrappy’s hand where her jacket didn’t quite cover, sending a chill up her arm. She shook off the odd feeling and addressed Phalon once more. “Looks like oatmeal. And it’s got, ewww, raisins. Kind of reminds me of dead flies floating in....well let's just not go there. And do you always think about your stomach first?"

Scrappy's eyes lit up as a large platter of fresh fruit was put in the middle of the table. "OOOhh...how about some cherries?!" She reached out, grabbed a handful, and began popping them in her mouth, surreptitiously spitting the pits at the bowl of goop in front of her. “What do you think of the newbie?”

"Ick.... Not the “newbie”; your spitting. Stop that. Someone else might want to eat that oatmeal stuff, you know.” Myself included, Phalon thought. “Even my Amazon friends, who are sometimes perceived as barbarians, don’t have mealtime manners as atrocious that”, she laughed again. It felt good to talk about something other than the weird goings on in the house. Thinking of which…

“I see you made it back to the house okay with Dixie; I'm glad for that.” She added, watching one last cherry pit sail through the air, “…and I see the experience has left your sweet disposition in tact.”

From outward appearances Scrappy merely seemed like she was eating cherries and observing the current conversation. “Yeah, Dix and I made it out ok, thanks to you. There will be some hurt in her for a while. She hasn’t told me what exactly happened but we’ll see. How did you do that anyway? Never mind, you can explain later when I see you.”

Phalon hoped the hurt was not a lasting one. She hadn’t had much contact with the tall blonde witch, but had felt during their brief encounter that she was a kind soul. “As for the newcomer?” Phalon continued answering Scrappy’s question, “Hhmm....I think she may be someone other than who she presents herself to be. I'm not sure yet – I’m in kind of a difficult situation in at the moment to get a good read on her. I'm sensing though, that you are not too sure of her, either. And that you’ve refused her offerings of hospitality? Make a gesture of peace, Scrappy. Offer your hand to her in a welcoming way.”

Mrs Peacock and the servants continued to arrange platters and bowls of food on the table. “And yes...food right now is forefront on my mind...and eating is the first thing I’m going to do once I get out of this damn tunnel. That’s were I….we; Joxie and Guru are here too; are: in a maze of tunnels which runs under the property and into the house.”

Turning her attention back to the thing foremost on her mind at the moment, she said, “Oatmeal is not good, eh?” It didn’t look bad to her – not worse than anything she’d ever cooked, anyway ...aside from that gods-awful fish stew that brought her here, of course. “How about those things over there? Pastry of some sort?”

“Oh...and Scrappy?” she added. “Remove your glove when you take her hand."

It took only a second to assimilate what Phalon had just said. When she had finished Scrappy had a few of her own things to say. “Now wait just a damn minute. You may be older than me, by a long shot, and also part of my family, but you are not my mother. So stop critiquing my manners and lay off. We have more important things to deal with than my table habits….Pastry? Where?

As for the newbie, her name is Malory, and by no means do I trust her. There’s something wrong with her energy. She’s hiding something. Something big, I just haven’t figured out what. She has a shadow that swoops off her back like a cloud. And while we are on the subject, what makes you think I want to be touching her without my gloves on? I’m already exhausted. If I happen to have a vision I’d probably pass out.”


“I may be older than you by a long shot? Pfft. That’s some kind of joke about my age, isn’t it? I’m very perceptive, you know, and I can sense when I’m being harassed.” Phalon’s laugh rang in Scrappy’s head like some insidious chiming alarm clock that wouldn’t turn off. It seemed continuous and she was having too much fun joking with the woman whose thoughts she was sharing. “And as for your manners; they could use some improvement. Spitting into food is just plain rude. As is ignoring someone who for whatever reason is trying to be hospitable.” There was that word again: hospitable. Strange, Phalon thought, to use it when referring to the woman with the old eyes: Malory; and she wondered why she chose it. Hospitality; it implied a welcoming of a guest into one’s domain, and she suddenly she wondered who the guests really were in this place, and who was the hostess.

Now, it became more important that Scrappy reach out to the woman. “Your gloves; they inhibit your “sight”, don’t they? The reason you wear them.” Phalon thought of all the times she wished she could tune out what others were thinking; what they experienced in their lives, or would experience in their days ahead. Sometimes it was overwhelming. But the ‘sight’ was part of who she was, and without it she would not be the same person. She learned to live with it, and to use it. Eurayle had taught her that she could learn from it; that though she couldn’t always control it, she could accept it for what it was: a gift; not a curse. Scrappy, she thought, seemed to view it as the latter, and Phalon realized that perhaps it was because she’d never had anyone to teach her otherwise. How could she have, the only person in her life that knew how to focus it was her mother and she had died too soon for her to have passed her knowledge on to her child.

“Scrappy – how is it that we are having this conversation here, inside your head? We share the same ability – it manifests itself in different ways, yes – but it is the same ability none-the-less: we both “see” into the lives of others. And since I’m here, inside your head with nothing better to do, wouldn’t it stand to reason, that should you choose to offer your hand, that I’d be with you when you “see” into Malory’s life?"

“Look,” Scrappy replied, “I don’t normally get images from people anyway. And when I do, it’s rather painful. So, I’ll say it again. I pass. Besides, I can see enough of the energy surrounding her to know I don’t want to know what’s going on inside her head. So either tell me how to get you out of wherever you are, or buzz off. I’m not in the mood for all these head trips.”

[Phalon]

Scrappy began to slowly unclench the fingers surrounding the ring, essentially severing contact with the ancient Greek. But Phalon wasn’t willing to let go that easily. She called out one more time before Scrappy attempted to cut her off.

“But I do Scrappy - get images from the people I touch. Your ability might not be quite the same, but think of what we can accomplish pooling our power; working as one mind. Malory belongs here, in this house – I can feel it. And I don’t mean as a guest. The house accepts her in a way that it does not you or I, nor any of the others. I believe it’s important we find out why. And right now, from where I am, I can’t do it alone. I need your help. Trust me, Scrappy. We can do this together.”

She felt Scrappy continue to slip away from her, and Phalon’s thoughts again turned to her own past; to the seeress, Eurayle, her great aunt who essentially saved her. It was Eurayle who pulled her from the brink of madness on which she was teetering after Athan’s death; after the avenging killing spree she went on following his death, and when the visions began to take over her mind. It was with her knowledge of the “sight” and guidance that helped Phalon accept what she’d done, and who she was. She wondered if Scrappy accepted who she was. Once more she tried to reach out to the younger woman.

“It is painful for you, Scrappy, because you fight it - you are afraid of it. You have not accepted what you can do; I can feel that. I will be there with you during this. I promise you will not be alone.”

“Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you”, was Scrappy’s retort. “As for your promises, please, I don’t accept promises from people anymore. They always get broken. And one more thing. I have been through enough in my life to teach me to not be afraid. Of anything. If your intention was to call me a coward the least you could do was do it to my face.”

….Silence

The door to Scrappy’s mind slammed shut leaving Phalon on the other side.

[TamiZ]

After settling down at the dining table, Malory began to relax in the presence of her new acquaintances. But just as she felt a thin blanket of comfort settle upon her, she straightened in her chair. The comfort dissipated to mist and her skin felt as if it were crawling upon her bones. She remembered feeling the same long ago. That was a different time, though, and different circumstances. Her thoughts carried her back to another time. This was the New World, she reminded herself. This was not a witch trial in 17th century Europe. She was not watching a loved one being condemned to death. She was not running in her own shame and fear of yet another condemnation.

She felt Death laughing at her and her pretense. Then she felt His putrid presence.

It was as if worms were suddenly burrowing through her peace of mind. The worms were the harbingers of Death and the Underworld. They were the minions without eyes or ears. They were the ones that greeted all impure souls and ushered them to their rotted final rests.

Malory fought to maintain a façade of calm as a sudden explosion of voices erupted in the room around her. She casually glanced around the room, missing Mrs. Peacock’s look to her. She saw no other spirits in the room other than the sort of living flesh and the fresh shade of one that had been in the room but was suddenly not. She looked over to Scrappy and Dixie to see if they were hearing the voices. Dixie was watching Scrappy, who was mumbling to herself. The woman dropped her heavy boots from the table and sat up a bit as she played with the knotted pendant around her neck. As Malory focused on trying to hear what the other woman was saying, she realized that the pendant was actually a ring. She had seen the design before… many times.

The memories, however, would not come to her; the voices were getting louder. They were like calling of the Banshees or the Sirens. Neither were a heralded welcome. There was not one distinct voice, they were jumbled and combined, a white noise gaining volume with astonishing speed. They became the voices of the worms that were gnawing into her skin with razor-sharp teeth and slowly devouring her. She attempted a mantra to overpower the white noise, but nausea began to roil in her stomach. Suddenly, she stood up at the table. “I’m sorry,” she blurted as she began to wring her hands.

Scrappy was frowning as she spit a cherry pit into the bowl before her.

Malory swallowed hard against her body’s reaction to the evil torment. “I’m not feeling well right now. It… it must have been the long drive.” She shuddered as the bile began to rise in her throat. She groaned aloud when Mrs. Peacock touched her crawling skin; the woman’s hand melted into her bones and she knew the aching pain of death known a century ago. “Oh, gods,” she whispered. “Forgive me, but I must get some fresh air.”

Ignoring the reactions of those around her, Malory stormed out of the dining room and through the halls. Her boots echoed like the staccato of a dying heart. The rhythm was discordant and she swore loudly as she burst through the portal to the outside. Her hands found the roughness of the sturdy walls as she leaned into the exterior of the house. Her chest heaved as she took great breaths in an effort to regain her balance. She barely managed the strength to walk around the manor to find a moderately private shadow. She slid down the face of the wall, ignoring the scrapes that were etched into her skin.

Propping her elbows on her knees, she rested her face in her palms; her long fingers massaged her temples. Thankfully, the voices were muted and carried away upon the wind that continued to whistle through the forest and past the house. Finally in control again, she took time to ponder the strength of the demon that possessed the house. She started when a nudge brought her back to the present. Looking to her side, she frowned and quickly glanced up to the ledge high above her head. “You know better, Orion,” she chastised her pet. “You could be seen.”

Orion sat on haunches and cocked his head in confusion. Malory sighed as she looked to her right to find Calliope edging close to her Mistress’ side. Reaching out, Malory accepted their concern and let them nuzzle into her sides. “What am I going to do, guys?” she asked softly. “I can’t fight him myself. I’ve waited too long this time,” she admitted finally to herself. “I need them and their power, but they are worse than the Witch-bishop when it comes to their suspicions.” Malory rested her head back against the house. “I have to prove to them that my purpose here is benevolent.” Looking askance at Orion, she smiled lopsidedly. “I don’t suppose you would have a suggestion, would you, my handsome little devil?”

She sighed when Orion scraped his teeth across her fingers, looking for even more affection from her. “You, my overgrown pet rock, are beyond spoiled.” Looking at Calliope on her other side, she sighed again. “And you’re at least twice as smart as Orion, Calliope. You know better than to find me without my calling you.” Malory patted both pets before using their strong bodies to push herself up from the ground. “All right, the two of you, up you go.” She raised her hands and watched as the gargoyles once more took their places upon the ledge overhead. Once they were settled, she closed her eyes and straightened her spine. She repeated an ancient promise.

“I promise, I won’t fail this time. I won’t run. I will remain and finish what I started. Forgive me.”

She would have prayed that she would keep that promise this time, but she knew her prayers fell on deaf ears. She was soiled, impure. She had fallen into disfavor. She had erred. Instead of the prayer, she repeated the promise. It became her mantra.

Away from the din of the voices, she was able to gain control again. She was afraid that her lapses were coming with greater frequency and were requiring more strength from which to recover. She stifled the doubt she harbored about her ability to survive the battle this time around. “No, matter,” she whispered. “I’ve called them here, the least I can do is my best to make sure none of them die this time around.”

Squaring her shoulders, she was about to walk back out into the sunshine to enter the house once more, when she was abruptly brought up short.

[Freebird]

Freebird stood very still and quiet as she listened to the voices.
Voices of people she didn't reconize.
Then she started to follow the voices.
As she walked down the long dark tunnel as if in a daze or under a spell, she felt nothing, no cold, no warmth...
nothing. It wasn't until she tripped over something that she noticed she didn't have a light with her.
And she didn't know how far she had gone, or where she was.
She had noticed a door upahead, going toward the door she hoped it would lead her to a place she knew.
When she opend the door she was in the hidden room in the main house the picture had been moved off the desk to the wall across the room,
Her stomach started growling and so she headed for the kitchen.
She saw people she knew. and some she didn't.
Hello she said as she went to the fridge.
She noticed some nasty looking stuff on the table with pits in it. Oh gross she said that's awfull what is it?
Scrappy laughed and said oatmeal.

[Phalon]

“…..still all our demons are laughing.”


Hhmph. ‘Afraid of nothing.’ Pfft. Everybody is afraid of something, and she knew Scrappy was no exception. Scrappy, Phalon thought, is afraid of herself. It would be so easy to simply walk away and let her figure it out…or not…on her own. Phalon thought of Euryale again, and what would have became of her without the old seeress there to guide her when she’d needed it – someone who knew how to use the gift – someone with the knowledge and willingness to help? But Scrappy was a grown woman who could obviously take care of herself. More than once she’d expressed to Phalon her desire to be left alone, and though Phalon felt that perhaps she had much that she could share with Scrappy; teaching her how to use her power without experiencing the pain; what could she do if the woman refused her offer of help?

Shut out by Scrappy, she was again engulfed in darkness – not the darkness of the tunnel she shared with Guru and Joxie – but the darkness of her mind. Not unpleasant; it was the void between unconscious and conscious thought – between where her mind took her during her visions and before she returned to the awareness of her physical surroundings. The transition between the two was an easy one – never painful as Scrappy’s was – though it often left her somewhat disoriented, and exhausted afterwards.

In this transitional state now, and bracing her mind for the reentry into the world outside her head, she saw that the darkness was broken by a thin shaft of light.

A door stood before her; thick, heavy, impenetrable, and the dim glow came from beneath it. The door, she realized, was the same one – the door to Scrappy’s mind – that had moments earlier been slammed shut. Now though, the door was tangible – one she could open at will, or leave remained closed. She chose to open it.

The handle turned easily – she was surprised by that, expecting it instead to be locked – and as she pushed the door open, the creak of its rusty hinges echoed loudly in her mind.

“Scrappy?” she inquired, stepping into a poorly lit room. Stale, putrid air filled her lungs as she spoke, making her gag. The sickening stench caused her bile to rise in her throat with a sudden wave of nausea, and she fought to keep it down. She heard an incessant buzz, and realized it was flies covering the filth in the room. The din filled her ears, threatening to make her lose whatever little control she had over keeping herself from vomiting.

Emptying her lungs of air, she slowly exhaled through clenched teeth, and began to breathe in short, shallow breaths from her mouth in an attempt to refrain from smelling the foulness that permeated the room.

Once she regained control, she moved further into the room, and in the far corner saw a figure hunched in a chair, rocking back and forth so slightly that the movement was almost undetectable. “Scrappy?” she asked again. “Is that you?”

Crossing to where it sat, she stood in front of it; not sure if it was a man or woman. Long, gray, matted hair hung like a veil across a face that was even made less visible because its head hung limply from its neck as would a discarded rag doll’s that was flung in a corner. The person was covered up to its chin in a soiled woolen blanket as if it were cold, though to Phalon the room felt uncomfortably warm.

She had to be mistaken. Whoever this poor decrepit creature was, it could not be Scrappy. But when it lifted its head, and the veil of hair shifted revealing eyes sunken in deeply wrinkled pasty skin…eyes that were once a bright amber color and alive with fire, but now a pale washed out yellow…Phalon shuddered with recognition. How could this thing be Scrappy?

Its mouth moved as it tried to speak, but the sound was barely audible as if it hadn’t uttered a word in a very long time. Phalon, though repulsed, leaned in closer to hear the raspy whisper. It smiled wide; a gaping hole devoid of teeth save one in the front; gold filled and hanging from blackened rotting gums. Again Phalon tried not to recoil in disgust.

“Ah…Phalon, you’ve finally come. I wondered if you’d ever have the guts to show yourself.”

“Scrappy….”, her voice trailed off, not knowing what to say. “How did…What happened to you?”

“You should have helped me, so long ago, in that house.”

“I tried…”

“You should have tried harder! You – the proclaimed seeress; the one with great wisdom granted from visions inside your head. Could you, O Great One, not see then, what would become of me?”

A venomous hiss entered her head, as Scrappy began to fling thoughts into her mind.

There's nothing to me now. An empty shell unfolded.

You left me alone with my “gift” as you called it; left me alone in that house with it…and with him.

How long will this go on? Do you think you can save me from living this way?

“I wanted to help then, but you would not let me.”

She remembered thinking if Scrappy didn’t want her help, why bother? Guilty, Phalon silently implored her,

Will you forgive me?

“You took the easy way out, Phalon.” Scrappy read her thoughts. “You simply walked away instead of teaching me what you knew. If you had insisted…well then…maybe things would have turned out differently.”

I don't know how to love. I just know how to live.
All I feel is hate.

The words bit into Phalon’s mind; into her heart; her soul.

Will you forgive me?

“I did not die in that house….like the others.”

“No!!!” Phalon sobbed. She sank to her knees, shaking with disbelief. “What you’re saying can not be true.” She ran her hands through her hair, her fingernails digging into her scalp. “All of them…Dixie, Joxie, Guru…everyone else….dead?”

Scrappy threw her head back and laughed toothlessly; the sound like poison entering Phalon’s blood; making it run cold. “Yes, all of you: dead. You’re forgetting someone, aren’t you? What, Phalon, makes you thing you made it out of that house? I watched you all die…only I was spared. Rendered helpless by him, I could do nothing. Imagine how that would feel, Phalon…..imagine what that would do to a person. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish that I had died with the rest of you.

But I had what he needed….the power…and he got what he wanted. Why he chose me, over you, I don’t know. Maybe it was because I fought against it – what you once thought of as a gift, and I; a curse - that he saw me as an easier target. Again…if you had helped me….perhaps neither of us would be in the state we’re in. I suppose I should be grateful to him in a way, for when he was done, never again would I have to experience the pain of seeing others’ lives in my head. The only pain I feel now is my own…completely mine.”

The two conversations…both accusatory; the one spoken by the hag in the chair, and the one inside her head, came in rapid-fire succession, and Phalon felt like she was drowning in them both.

All I feel is hate.

Will you forgive me?

No. I can't live this way! All I feel is pain.

Will you forgive me?

Her pleas went ignored as Scrappy continued, “You see, I’ve no need for those damned leather gloves anymore. Remember his sword? Much like the one you carried, wasn’t it? A lot of good it did you….in the end”, she laughed again, mocking Phalon. “Awww…Phalon, don’t look so sad. You died valiantly…”, she continued with heavy sarcasm, “…still fighting with your dying breath along side the others.” She pushed the blanket from her lap, letting it fall to the floor, and held out her arms as if to embrace Phalon in a comforting hug. This time, Phalon could not help but shrink back in horror. “Look Phalon….no hands”, and she grabbed Phalon by the shoulders, pulling her in close with two fleshy stumps where her hands should have been….but weren’t.

You've finally seen all that's left of me.

The laugh that followed, shrill with insanity; the one Phalon heard until now just on the outside; pierced the barrier and filled Phalon’s mind.

So hard to see. So hard to breathe. Will you forgive me?

The hollow laughter continued only inside Phalon’s head, but the screams that echoed throughout the tunnel were very real.

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me….

She fought to breathe, and struggled against the grip on her shoulders. She tried desperately to find a hold on reality. “Phalon?”

Instead of stumps grasping at her, trying to pull her in; supporting hands now gripped her shoulders, offering to steady her. The voice she heard was not the raspy hiss of the thing that Scrappy had become, but though still a whisper, was soft and calming. “Phalon, what’s the matter with you? Are you alright?” That she was having difficulty comprehending the words didn’t matter. Instead, she focused on the eyes belonging to the voice that delivered them: clear and blue.

Looking into those blue eyes, she wanted nothing more than to collapse into his arms and forget everything….but she could not. There was someone in the house who needed her help, and no matter how little it was wanted, was going to receive it.

note: the thought conversation in this post written in italics, and the opening quote were taken, out of context, from a song titled, “Forgive Me” by Godsmack.

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee stood there for what seemed like days… weeks… months, but was really only a few seconds. Come on Joxcee, you can’t just stand here in this one spot for the rest of your life. Make a decision and go with it. Joxcee bobbed her head back and forth from one direction to the other as though she were watching a tennis match.

“Eenie… Meenie… Minie… Moe… In which direction should I go?”

Joxcee stared at the lighted path behind her. Okay… so I guess I’m gonna backtrack a little. No harm, no foul. There’s bound to be a path I haven’t taken back there somewhere. She stepped around the flames as she passed the torches in her way, searching for a path that was still dark. Finally finding one, she held out her two torches in front of her and started down it, lighting the torches on the walls as she went. She placed a torch on the floor every ten steps or so. Hmmm… Something’s not right here. Joxcee stopped and glanced up and down the walls on either side of her. Ooooh… I know… there are no openings… no other paths that lead into this one. It must not be a part of the maze. Now… is that good? Or is that bad? Okay… I’m going to choose to believe that it’s good. It is good. Don’t think about the fact that I can be trapped without an escape tunnel. It’s all good. Yeppers, all good.

Joxcee moved quickly to keep from being in a vulnerable position for too long. The path led her to a stone door, where she pressed her ear against it to listen for anything inside. All was silent. Okay, Joxcee, now all you have to do is figure out how to open it. Heh! Just knock on it and see who answers, why don’t ya. Joxcee shook her head against her inner voices. By the gods, how come no one has put me in a mental institution yet?

“Because you were needed here, that’s why.”

Okay, and why am I needed here? What does this place have to do with me? And why did I let Kym talk me into taking her place? Joxcee rolled her eyes. Yeah, like I could take Kym’s place.

“You didn’t take Kym’s place… it was meant for you to come here all along. She was never needed.”

The hairs on the back of Joxcee’s neck tingled as they rose straight up into the air. Was that voice in her head, or did she actually hear it spoken aloud? She held out the torches as she spun around in a circle a couple times. There was no one in the tunnel with her. The floor, walls, ceiling and door were solid, but how thick they were, she hadn’t a clue. Perhaps a voice could find a small enough opening to travel through. But then, how could the voice know what thoughts were going through her head?

Rock scraped against rock, as the door began to move. Joxcee backed up. Friend or Foe… be ye friend or foe? A deathly fear seized hold of her, and her feet took off in a mad dash back down the path whence she came. She found herself back at the very spot where she had hesitated just moments before, but she did not stop, for she knew that ‘it’ was on her heels and any stumble or misstep would be the end of her.

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee neared the flickering light and shadows that she feared going toward just moments before. What was there couldn’t be any worse than what was coming up behind her. But if it was, she hoped she could get the two entities to fight and kill each other and not her, like Gabrielle had done in Dreamworker. The path straight ahead was dark, and the openings in the walls on either side were also dark, the only light source came from the opening just up ahead of her. And since she couldn’t take the time to light torches as she rushed by them, she decided quickly that it would be best to go toward the light that was already available. Yeah, go toward the light, goofball. Just like the psychics tell the ghosts to do. Don’t fret about what’s in the light… or you just may embrace the demon out to devour you whole.

The torch in each of her hands fought against the flow of air as Joxcee ran at the maximum speed her feet and legs would allow. The light the torches gave wasn’t helping her much anyway, so Joxcee threw them back behind her and kept on going. If she couldn’t see in the dark, maybe ‘it’ couldn’t either, and with her great sense of hearing maybe she had the advantage when there was only darkness. She turned into the lit opening and saw the funny talking woman with her sword and the unibrow with his sword. Sheesh… I wonder what they’re overcompensating for? Joxcee mentally rolled her eyes. Who cares, just get past them and let them deal with what’s on your heels… while ‘you’ get away. Thank you Xena for your great advice to Gabrielle.

Joxcee came close to skipping a beat when she noticed the huge pile of debris behind the sword-wielding duo, but she knew she couldn’t afford to slow down, not when there was nothing between her and ‘it.’ The sunlight coming from the opening overhead had a soft, welcoming glow, and Joxcee’s heart ached to be on the ground up above, safe and sound. She raced past the unibrow guy and gypsy lady and climbed the large mound as fast as the sliding and shifting earth would allow her, hoping she could make her way out of the hole. Why these two hadn’t done so already didn’t even enter into her brain, she didn’t have the time to weigh all the pros and cons of her situation, only to try and fail, or hopefully to succeed.

“Aw Crap!” It was fail. There wasn’t anything for her to grab hold of or cling to in order to climb out. “Now what do I do?” Joxcee dug along the top of the ceiling looking for an opening to crawl through. It was her only hope. “Aw… Hope… Don’t catch up to me just yet, darling. Give me time to find another opening, will ya?” She ignored the other two in her deep concentration to find a way of escape. Carrying on a conversation would only distract her and waste valuable time. She worked her way across the top of the pile and discovered a small opening. “Thank you, God!” She pulled out dirt, rocks, twigs, roots, and stuff she didn’t recognize as she dug the hole bigger and deeper, forming a rabbit den that would hopefully lead her to the rest of the tunnel on the other side of the mound.

Joxcee made small piles under her belly and then pushed them out with her feet as she worked her way deeper into the rabbit hole. She screamed as something grabbed her foot then released it to scrap out the dirt she was pushing out with her feet. It had to be one of the other two helping so that their escape could go faster. At least she hoped it was one of the other two. Sheesh… there’s that word again… Hope. It just doesn’t give the same warm-glow feeling that it once did, not after Gabrielle went and used it to name her evil spawn. Joxcee kept inching forward. If it wasn’t going to pull her out and rip off her head, she wasn’t going to stay still long enough to give it time to change its mind.

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee dug deeper into the burrow, praying that the thing chasing her wouldn’t catch up before she managed to come out on the other side. What on earth would she find there, she wondered. Would it even be of this earth? Oh no. Don’t even go there, you sorry excuse for gray matter. You’re supposed to be on my side, helping me to survive, not serve me up on a platter to those out to devour me. ‘How to Serve Man’ Well, you served him roasted with an apple in his mouth, that’s how. Or perhaps deep fried and smothered in ketchup. Maybe covered with onions and dripping in gravy.

The commotion behind her didn’t even register as Joxcee’s hand reached out into a pocket of air. A sudden bit of cave-in dusted her face and choked the air from her lungs. It might have been worse if she hadn’t been beneath the tunnel’s ceiling that had remained intact in the semi-collapse. She fought for a good, clean breath of fresh air as she leapt from the tunnel like a baby from its slippery passage, and rolled down the mound of debris and along the floor. Once at the bottom she leapt to her feet and began dusting herself off, coughing nonstop as she did so. The small bit of light coming from the hole she had just fell from flickered as forms moved toward the opening. She hoped those forms were the unibrow and the gypsy, as they were undoubtedly the lesser of two evils at this very moment. And if it was them, they were between her and whatever it was after her. And you should keep it that way, you know. If they get out of there and get ahead of you, you’re a goner for sure.

Joxcee felt for the wall and worked her way along it in the dark, going as quickly as she could; there was no time to dawdle now, or to let the fear of the dark hold her back. She felt an opening, and looked into it, more pitch-black to struggle with. She rolled around the corner and placed her back against the wall before rushing forward and crashing into the wall across from her. From there she rolled back around the corner and worked her way down the wall toward the unknown. She could hear breathing and footsteps behind her, but the dim light from the hole only hid the forms in shadows, and thus she wasn’t quite sure if what was behind her was the real unibrow and gypsy, or the evil entity masquerading as them. She kept moving forward, keeping as much of a distance as possible, at each opening she rolled around the corner and rushed into the far wall, then rolled around the corner and again crept along the wall. The light grew dimmer and dimmer, and soon all that was left to her was her hearing and her imagination. She could certainly do without the imagination at the moment, but her drive to move forward kept her from paying it any attention at least.

Funny, but if nothing was coming up behind her, she’d be frozen to one spot, praying to be rescued, and here she was taking action like it was always her first impulse. She would laugh at that thought if she didn’t fear giving her position away, but as it were, she was maintaining as much silence as possible. Evidently so were the others, but her ears were picking them up just fine and she knew they weren’t very far from her, so she couldn’t afford to stop to get her bearings. Another opening, and as she rolled around the corner she noticed a glint of light which appeared to be coming from beneath a door. Was that good or bad, she wondered. Light, good. Dark, bad. Well, that answered that question then. She raced for the light like a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby, praying it was where she would find a safe haven. Instead of pausing to peek at what was on the side where the light was coming from, Joxcee shoved through and kept on running, she raced through the living room of the cottage and ran out the front door. She didn’t stop once she was outside either, she galloped down the path and made her way toward the front gate; she was not staying here one minute more.

[dixielandyankee]

Dixie pulled her legs up against her chest as she sat on the dining room chair. Despite the mountains of food which had appeared, courtesy of the creepy servants Dixie couldn't bring herself to be hungry. She allowed her eyes to close, shutting herself inside her body for just a moment. She felt guilty that she could not tell Scrappy what had happened to her before the altar, but the words would not come. She knew that Scrappy would understand and would wait until the time was right and she could let the hurt come out. She opened her eyes again and noticed that Scrappy was muttering low under her breath, sensing now was not the time to disturb her she turned her attention to the stranger at the end of the table, the one with the raven hair. She had 'not trustworthy' written all over her despite her disarming smile and charisma. Suddenly, without warning the woman paled and pushed her chair back from the table. She excused herself and ran from the room.

Dixie frowned and turned her eyes back to Scrappy..."What do you make of that?" she queried. Scrappy didn't reply, she had a glazed look on her face. Dixie uncurled herself from her chair and went over to her friend, pulling out the chair beside her and reaching out to touch her on the shoulder. Scrappy jumped about four and a half feet in the air and put a hand to her pounding chest, "Sorry honey, you scared me!"

'I scare myself sometimes' thought Dixie. "What were you thinking about?" she asked.
"I wasn't" replied Scrappy, "I was talking to Phalon...although I'm not quite sure how and I don't know where she went."
"Can we talk? About the altar...well, what happened on the altar more accurately?"
"Uh,sure" replied Scrappy, her eyes cast down to her boots she flushed appealingly. "I've never...um, you know...not with a, um, another woman...you know"
Dixie couldn't help a small grin at Scrappy's nervousness.
"It's ok," she offered "it happens. I, uh...have actually...you know, been there, with someone...a girl who was very special...for a while at least, she was very special to me. I won't tell you a lie. Perhaps I shouldn't go into it, I wouldn't want to assume anything, you know, about you and I and the way we feel and what the future is going to be for us."
"It's ok, I think. I think I have some things to learn about you." reassured Scrappy.
"It was when I was young...well, younger at least. We were in college, she was studying Classics...a PhD in Classics and I was a first year student. There was just something, you know, something I'd never had with anyone, never felt before...certainly not for a guy. I was always a little different," she gestured to her Wiccan 'utility belt' with a wry smile. "She was so normal, from a loving family. Her father was a lawyer and her mother was ones of those women, you know, who stay home and ...bake pies, or whatever. She made me feel like I was as good as a daughter to them. And my mother was gone already. Goddess bless my dad for the job her did but there's certain things about a mother's love you can't replace. The thing was that she couldn't tell them, about herself...about us and what we meant to each other...we had to keep it a secret. She always said that we would tell them, that I was the love of her life, for always. How naive I was...how gosh darn naive..." Dixie paused, drawing a deep breath as tears threatened to grip her throat and prevent her from talking further. Suddenly finger tips as soft as a whisper touched her chin, lifting her head upwards she was met by warm amber eyes. Scrappy gasped slightly as her bare flesh touching Dixie's skin allowed her to be bombarded with a barrage of pictures and emotions from inside the young woman.

A younger Dixie stood in front of a taller woman with dark shoulder-length hair and matching eyes which were fixed on her face with a chilling coldness. Dixie's young eyes were filled with tears as she pleaded with the girl. "Please, I can't help it, it's just who I am. The powers are a gift, I didn't ask for them, they're just a part of me.'
"The powers? The powers?" cried the dark haired girl. " Have you any idea just how completely ridiculous you are? You're pathetic...a ridiculous, pathetic...liar, basically." she stormed. " What kind of idiot do you take me for? Are you actually suggesting that you have magical powers? Have you lost your gosh darn mind? I don't know why things happened around you like they do, you must just be really great at manipulating the people you love...or claim to love. I can't believe I even considered that you would be the sort of person I could introduce to my parents as my partner. They've been as taken in as I have by your lies and it would break their hearts to know the truth. You're just a...crazy freak... who's so insecure with their own life you have to create this fantasy world for your self. I don't want to see you again, evere, it's so over!" Turning on her heel the girl pulled a ring from her finger and strode away.
"Please, wait," Dixie cried after her "Amelia...Amy...darling please. you know me, you know I would never lie to you...I would never lie to you", Dixie's words were swallowed by an uncontrollable sob as she sank on her knees to the ground, "...I would never lie to you, I love you."

The scene was come and gone in an instant and Scrappy drew her hand away from Dixie's face. "She didn't believe in your talents. She couldn't see that within you there could be something extraordinary that she didn't understand. And she hated you for it. I'm so sorry Dix" Scrappy said in a comforting tone.
"It was a long time ago, it was the only time I've ever...been close to anyone like that, if you know what I mean. I came to realise that she would never have been proud to be with me...she didn't have the courage to face the extraordinary things within herself and to stand up for them so she would never have been able to accept and defend mine. It's ok now."

Dixie took a deep breath and looked up into Scrappy's tired and grubby face. She had not realised how close their faces were, their noses just inches apart. Dixie felt a tingle building low down in her stomach and her breath quickened. Scrappy shifted slightly in her chair and cleared her throat, almost imperceptibly, her breath seemed to catch and she said hoarsely "You are the most exquisite, extraordinary crazy freak I've ever met." She leaned in towards Dixie, her breath warm on Dixie's face.
"And you," Dixie murmered, moving to meet Scrappy half way, "take my breath away." Their lips met, gently but firmly and Dixie slid from her chair onto the floor between Scrappy's knees as the seated woman brought her hands up into Dixie's hair, pulling her in closer as they explored each other's mouths.

A voice made them jump apart with a start.
"Ahem. Could I interrupt you for a moment?"

[Phalon]

Joxie was nearly to the house when Phalon and Guru emerged from the cottage, following her. She had run past them in the tunnel and it seemed she had not stopped running since. She ran as if she were being chased, Phalon thought, and knew, although neither she or Guru saw anything following her, that there were things here –very real things – that did not have to be seen that could strike terror into one’s soul…and Joxie was doing everything she could to make sure none of those things would catch her.

Crossing the thresh-hold of the cottage door, Phalon paused, temporarily blinded by the bright sun after being in the dark for so long. Squinting her eyes against the light, she stepped off the large stone slab that was the cottage’s entrance and bumped into Guru, who had paused too, adjusting his focus.

With the contact, one word resounded loudly in her head; a word painfully filled with his emotion…Yana. She looked up into his face. He looked tired; deep lines running across his forehead and she wondered if they ever eased at all – if the furrows were present even while he slept. But though his weariness showed, all of his pain she felt poured into his wife’s name was kept concealed. Years of practice, she thought; of doing whatever it took to forget the horror he’d witnessed. If she didn’t have the ability to feel his thoughts, she might think he was thinking about the weather for the expression he kept on his face. She knew though….and wanted to reach out and comfort him, but refrained; feeling his thoughts too personal for the intrusion any contact would bring. “Uhm….sorry”, instead she offered her apology for running into him.

“Come on. Let’s get back to the house”, was his simple reply.

He kept his eyes straightforward as they walked; silent, his thoughts kept to himself. The emotion she felt for him that had started to grow when they were in the darkness of the tunnel did not diminish any out in the light of the day, but she pushed it aside now, walking beside him in silence. She turned her thoughts to Scrappy. She had to get through to the woman somehow; make her realize the danger she was in….they were all in, if she did not accept Phalon’s help in learning to control her ability. It would be difficult – even though the time was short since they’d met, Scrappy, she knew, was as stubborn as the Amazon, Evergreen, could be. She’d have to find a way to gain her trust…to get her to listen - even if it meant doing so forcibly.

Their pace was brisk, and it was not long until the heavy wood door of the house stood before them; oppressive. She had not once glanced at her beloved sea on the walk from the cottage, she realized, and that, for some reason bothered her. It was the gateway back home; the thing that separated this place from hers, and by not staring into it every chance she had, she felt as if she were betraying those she loved on the other side of the vast expanse, letting them slip from her thoughts if only but for just a moment. Stopping at the door, she sheathed her sword at her back and stole a glance at the sea over her shoulder, making a silent vow to them, and to herself, that she’d get back somehow….whatever it took, she’d find a way home.

“Are you coming in”, he asked as he held the door open, impatient to get inside. Her stolen look had taken longer than she’d thought, she realized. She shifted her glance to his eyes; cold almost; and as always, showing no emotion. She paused for one more look over her shoulder before turning to face the house and all that its walls contained. “Yes”, she sighed. He turned away from her to enter, and following him in, she repeated her thoughts aloud under her breath with firm resolve, ‘When this is over; when it’s done…I’ll do whatever it takes to get out of this damned place.’ And staring at the back he’d turned towards her, she added, ‘and when I do, this will all be forgotten; all memories of it left behind.”