Name: Louise Tempest. Call her Temp if you wanna keep your face pretty.
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Appearance: Look for the short young woman in a tie, with a messy flop of hair, freckles covering her cheeks, and a mouth full of curses. She'll be easy to find – brawls tend to be hard to miss.
Occupations (Former, Current or otherwise): Clock Maker Enforcer Bartender
Assets: A Reputation A Sharp Suit Some Busted knuckles
Personality: Temp lives up to her name – loud mouthed, short fused, and always ready to crack a bat over some kneecaps. It's easy enough to write her off as a violent lost cause, a grown-up delinquent that you'd do well to stay far away from. Most do. Temp knows she has issues – anger issues. Her first instinct when faced with anything even mildly inconvenient is to resort to violence. Whether she's throwing fists or words, she tends to set people off. That's fine, she tells herself. Who needs them anyway? Not Temp, no sir.
If asked, she'd say her strengths are that she's quick on her feet, tough as nails, and unwilling to put up with anyone's shit. And she is all these things. But she's also brave, pragmatic, clever, and curious, with enough determination to see through any challenge. And while she loves a good fight, her anger is more often than not fueled by a strong set of morals that her grandpa wove into her like a seam in a coat.
History: Temp grew up in little town called Dodge with her grandpa, a tailor named Gabriel Fournier. He was a harsh old bastard, chewing out her ear whenever she got into fights or ran around in the suits he made. But he took care of her -- cleaned up her cuts and started leaving out suits that just happened to be her size. He tried to teach her tailoring but she just kept on stabbing herself with a needle and throwing tantrums. He'd just about given up on teaching her a trade (because Lord knew she needed a trade to support herself -- no way in Hell anyone was ever gonna marry her) when the two walked by a clockwork shop on their way to a concert being held in the town square.
Louise -- Gabe didn't care what the brat wanted to call herself, her mother had named her Louise -- paused mid-step to look in through the shop window. The sunset made the ticking clockwork gleam, and she took a step towards it, eyes watching the steady tick, tick, tick, of the gears. Her grandfather had a fine metal pocketwatch sure, and she'd always had a passing interest in it; the delicate gears and tapes, the steady clicks of time. But seeing it all up close like this… how did it work?
Gabe watched as his granddaughter stared in open curiosity. An idea formed in his head.
Within a month (it'd taken much negotiating and pleading, what with her reputation for trouble) she was made an apprentice clockworker under Finnegan Choq, owner and operator of the shop Choq's Clocks. The ticking brass of gears and clockwork became home.
Her grandpa will always be first in Temp's heart. But she managed to make room for old man Finnegan once she started learning from him. Gabe passed when she was 18, a month before she graduated from her apprenticeship, and that… well, if that wasn't a kick in the shins. Temp grit her teeth and told herself to fight through it. She'd make her old man proud. She’d thought she’d made Finn proud. But the day he told her she’d completed her training to become a fully fledged clockworker, he sat her down with a sigh.
He said that it was best if she went her own way. She was talented – talented enough to start her own shop if she wanted. But she brought too much trouble to keep her around the shop. Finn had kept her as an apprentice out of respect for Gabe, but there'd been too many fights, too many mornings of fixing broken machines and cleaning metal shards from her knuckles.
Maybe she hadn't made anyone proud after all. Maybe she wasn't capable of it.
Temp hasn't dared open up a clock face since Finn dumped her. Instead, she ran into the arms of her other love: violence. The alleys and bars of town were chaos in those weeks following her graduation. It was a common occurrence for the sheriff's deputies to throw her in a cell to cool off for a night or two. It wasn't long though, before someone decided to put her fists to good use.
Sasha, the owner of the seediest bar in town, had been trying to get Temp on her payroll for the better part of three years. But Gabe would never hear anything of it, always grumbling about how Temp could do better than some half-brained bouncer. But Gabe wasn't there to tell her no anymore. And thus, Temp became Sasha's right hand, breaking up fights (with a little too much gusto) and tossing out drunks. Sasha tried to get Temp in on the more questionable work she did – shakedowns and intimidation. But Temp always told her to piss off when she tried.
A couple years later, something dark grabbed hold of her dusty little town: a creeping, crawling sickness that moved through the town like curling vines, ensnaring everyone it could manage to wrap itself around. First you got sick. Then your spirit dwindled, your eyes dimmed, you coughed and vomitted and couldn't get out of bed. Then you died. After enough deaths with no sight of a cure, there was a panic. People started fleeing the town in droves. Temp was one of the last holdouts, jumping on the final rickety wagon out of the dead town, helping a kid up to his mother when --
Finn. Where was Finn?
She couldn't stop herself from running back to his shop. He'd been fine the last time she'd seen him from across the square, he was healthy, why wasn't he –
Finn was sitting at the front counter. He was gazing down at an old pocket watch. Temp recognized it. He'd always fiddled with it, but no matter what it never worked. He glanced up at her before turning back to the device in his hands.
"I'm sick," was all he said. Temp felt something break in her. She immediately opened her mouth to argue, to yell and scream, but he silenced her with another look. "I've had a good life. Long. Get out of here, kid. Grow older than I did." He held the pocket watch out to her – something to remember him by. In that moment Temp was gripped by burning rage.
What right did he have? Who said he could pretend to be some dying, benevolent grandfather to her, imparting this last gift? He'd thrown her out like she was nothing, after all she'd done. She'd trusted him, relied on him, and what had he done?
Temp hated him. She hated him and she was glad he was dying.
Hot tears pricked at her eyes.
She looked at the watch in his crooked, wrinkled hands. Her fingers twitched to take it.
Then her hand snapped into a tight fist and her jaw clenched shut. She spun from him and ran out the door, slamming it behind her.
Temp tells herself she doesn't regret it.
Additional Info: Terribly superstitious. Blame her grandpa.
Do you have a personal story arc prepared: In the works
Tell Me About Yourself ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Alyssa Koharu Kasprzak was born in Naha to an Okinawan mother and an American father on a work visa teaching English. Her childhood was spent moving between Japan and the US, and thus she's spent most of her life feeling like an outsider. She keeps her head down, her thoughts to herself, but also has a penchant for asking for forgiveness rather than permission - it usually works out... when she doesn't get caught. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
Work History ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ After graduating high school, Alyssa moved back to Japan to pursue her dream of making manga. Her first real job was as an editorial assistant at Shonen Spirit (where she picked up the nickname "Kazu" after many, many failed attempts by her coworkers to pronounce "Kasprzak") fetching coffees for the editorial team. Then she was promoted to checking for typos, and then for minor continuity errors from panel to panel. After a few years of proving her worth and working her way up, she was finally named lead editor for one of Shonen Spirit's new series, Umizoi no Tamaki, published internationally as Tamaki by the Sea. She hopes that if all goes well and Tamaki is successful, she'll be one step closer to publishing her own series.
References ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
(List characters they know and have some kind of relationship with. Can be PCs or NPCs) Character: Relationship
Uná walked into her dorm room and sat down at her desk. Pulling out the card she turned it over in her hands. Opening the drawer she pulled out the device that Sena had given her. She was going to see Jasper to see if, by some fluke, Jasper could get into it. Tilting her head back Uná blowing out her breath in a sigh.
Meanwhile, Aya walked down from the other end of the hallway. She rubbed at her neck, stiff from hours spent bent over, writing in her notebook. She flexed her hand, wincing slightly at the cramp. No one had seen much of Aya the past few days, other than class time. Any break she had was spent in the library, researching, writing, fretting over the knowledge she had been unwillingly made responsible for.
But knowledge was useless if she did nothing with it.
Aya bit at her lip as she approached her door. She was tired, barely eating, and in over her head. And still, the world around her spun on its axis, as if nothing was amiss. No one seemed to care about the AD’s disappearance. Sena Yüksel still walked the grounds like she belonged. Uná hadn’t had any more incidents. And shame still filled Aya whenever she caught sight of the security guard, Mr. St. John.
The only thing different seemed to be the abrupt end to her one on one tutoring sessions with Professor Everose. This, at least, she understood.
Aya opened the door to her room to see Uná already there. She made her way to her bed and collapsed in it.
Uná looked over as the door opened and Aya flopped down on her bed. She looks really pale and I think she's lost weight. I promised this was a safe space and that I wouldn't press her, but I'm worried.
Turning all the way around to face her friend Uná gave Aya a worried look. "I know I said I wouldn't push but something feels like it's bothering you? Maybe? I mean I notice things and you look paler and thinner. Are you eating and getting outside for more than five minutes a week? I'm just worried. We could have Dr. Sena take a look and see if she recommends some over the counter vitamins or something. She's pretty cool."
Aya breathed a sigh, ready to wave her roommate off with a tired excuse and a guilty conscience. Her eyes snapped open though when she heard the doctor’s name. Suddenly awake, Aya sat up in bed and looked at Unà.
“Dr. Sena?”
Uná nodded. "Yeah. Her last name is complicated and actually pretty cool sounding when she says it. I haven’t yet mastered it. It's better than Dr. Y. That sounds silly. I officially met her on Wednesday. She works with the Dean. Speaking of the Dean, Professor Everose got into some sort of trouble. Rumor has it that she was unprofessional with a student. I don't believe that drivel for a minute. What do you think actually happened?" Uná tilted her head thinking and tapped her chin with the card Sena had given her.
Aya’s mind spun as she spoke. She pressed her lips together, not knowing where to even begin.
“Uná,” she started, voice low and serious. “I… I need you to trust me. Dr. Sena is dangerous.”
Uná took in the serious gaze of her best friend. "I trust you. Is something going on that I should know about Aya?" Uná looked concerned and serious.
So much. Aya rubbed at her eyes. She took in a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again to look across the room at Uná, she was still torn. “My-” She cut herself off. Tried again.
“I’ve… never fully explained what I can do, yet. It’s complicated. And it keeps… evolving in ways I don’t know how to predict. But essentially, it’s…” Aya’s heart rate spiked, the words precarious on her tongue. It was small and petty, and she was well past the point of denial.
But saying it - explaining it - admitting it - only made it all the more real. It was a threshold she’d never had the guts to cross.
"Freaking terrifying?" Uná nodded. "I mean it must be if you don't talk about it. Don't talk about it and it's not there. Like when you were little and scared of monsters under the bed. Don't talk about them and they're not real. If the world was that simple."
Uná smiled sadly. "Trust me I get it. I don't want to be a mutant. I want to be some long lost princess. But what girl doesn't? But I'm a mutant. Orphan mutant that was adopted by a great couple but I'm still a mutant. I accept that. You did too. Neither of us really wants to use our powers but we have to learn to control them, or they control us. I'm not happy with that outcome."
Aya looked at Uná, long and quiet.
“Uná, the monsters aren’t under the bed anymore. I’ve seen them. Dr. Sena is one of them. Don’t trust her, and please don’t be alone with her.”
Aya knows something. Something really frightening. Uná swallowed. But why isn't she telling you what she knows? She blinked. What was that?
A little panicked at the waring thoughts in her head Uná pushed it to the side for now. "I'll be careful. I mean it'd be weird if you don't like her and you say she's dangerous. It's just… well she agreed with me about the meds that the Dean had me on. Said not to take them, that I can learn to control my powers myself. Maybe that was a ruse? I'm confused but if you say she's dangerous then I trust you."
Aya opened her mouth to respond, but then she froze. Her mind caught up to what Uná said.
“The dean’s been making you take medication? For your powers?”
Uná nodded. "It was before Sally got transferred just after that fight with Isaac and meeting Nathan. Almost right after that. Pretty close to when I first started school here. It helped me control them while awake. It was fine until..." She shrugged after thinking for a few seconds. "Well I can't entirely remember but something went wrong and they didn't seem to be as effective."
Aya’s heartbeat seemed to be the only thing she could hear.
“They haven’t worked since that night at the club. Since Avalon. Right?” The night was still a misty blur, but still, Aya knew that it’d been a starting point for this new danger that slowly crept its way around them. The Sluagh. Her vision. The climbing buzz of tension she felt between the realms.
Uná looked surprised. "Was I that obvious? Oh no! Did I have a dream about something personal?!" She was bright red and a bit horrified if that was the case. "Please don't tell me I dreamt about Nik and you were ringside seat for the fantasy!"
Aya blinked, then let out a sharp, startled laugh. She clapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders still trembling, and eyes full of light for the first time in days. She shook her head, quickly calming. “No, nothing like that.” Her smile started to fade. “It’s… the club changed things, and-” Aya pressed her lips together. “I… I don’t even know where to start.” She dropped her face to her hands to rub at her tired eyes.
“Uná, I have so many secrets that aren’t mine to carry. I don’t know who to go to, or if it’s even safe -” She looked back up at her roommate. “I know things that are dangerous in ways I don’t even understand yet. And if I tell someone - if I tell you - I don’t know what will happen.” Her voice started to tremble. Heat pooled behind her eyes. “But I don’t think I can go to Professor Everose, or the dean, because it’s - I’ve tried. And I-” The burn of her ‘test’ still ate at her, a consuming ache at being used and hurt and failed by her teachers. Tears were hot as they ran down Aya’s face.
“I don’t know what to do.”
As Aya’s words started to falter then she started to cry, Uná sat on her best friend's bed and hugged her. "I'm not sure what's going on but if you can't tell Everose or the Dean or me then maybe you can tell Nik or … no Cleo is scared of me. Mr. St. John? Or even one of the new people? Heidi is a good listener. Just don't pick Veronica. She's mean. That girl needs to get laid and chill out. Or have a good cry and get over it.”
Uná reached over for a few tissues and handed them to Aya. Wiping Aya’s face free of hair and cuddling. "I don't know what is wrong but I think we can fix it. There's no problem with no solution."
The familiar swell of shame rose in Aya’s chest at the security guard’s name. Aya didn’t know that she’d be able to face him after intruding into his past. But… maybe he was an idea.
Leaning into Uná’s hug, Aya sniffled. She was a good friend - maybe the best Aya’d ever had. She’d never really had more than acquaintances her entire life, consumed as it was with taking care of her father.
“Thank you,” she said, so soft it was almost a whisper. They sat like that for a long moment. Then, Aya found the courage to speak again. “There are… monsters out there. People. Agendas. I don’t know how much is safe to tell you. But there are things coming after you. I need you to be careful with who you trust… and what you think you know. The dean… I think he has some kind of power over our memories. I had nightmares after the club - vivid ones. The night after I woke up crying. But now there’s - it’s like I can only get flashes of what happened, nothing solid. I thought it was just trauma, but I don’t think it is anymore. Dr. Sena is dangerous… but I don’t know if we’re safe with the dean, either.”
Uná had a shiver run down her spine and a sense of foreboding filled her thoughts. "Yeah I'm scared now. If it's this dangerous you should tell St. John. He's security so he should probably know. I won't ask what the issue is with Everose but if you think we can't trust her either that doesn't leave many options. I think Tabby has connections to the X-Men. The tech guy… what's his name? Surge? No. But he works on the danger room programs. Maybe Tabby can see if he can … I don't know, talk to someone? I'm reaching here. Whatever. I support you all the way."
Aya stared at the carpet as she listened to Uná list options. She remembered the burning, inhuman rage she’d felt in St. John. It had consumed him. For all Aya knew, he was one of the monsters, too. Professor Everose wasn’t dangerous, but Aya didn’t trust her to protect them - not anymore. The rest…
She sighed, still leaning into the warmth of Uná’s hug. She wiped at a stray tear.
I want to tell you.
But something stopped her - it hissed threats behind the white mist of her memories. Her eyebrows pulled together, as her frustration spiked. What had it been? If she could just remember why she couldn’t tell Uná, then maybe…
Aya slumped in defeat. She had to do something. Who knew how much time she’d already wasted, fretting and researching? Maybe telling someone else really was the answer. But the last time she’d done that, it’d lead to her ‘test’. Her only other option was…
Going back to the Astral Plane herself.
Aya hadn’t used her power since Wednesday. She’d been too much of a coward. She pressed her lips together again, warring with herself.
“I want to tell you what I can do.” She was terrified, actually. But she wanted to give her friend something.
Uná nodded and waited. No pushing Aya has to tell in her own time.
Aya took in a deep breath, trying to figure out how to even start.
“It’s… similar to Professor Everose’s, actually. It’s why I had tutoring with her instead of going to the Danger Room.” Aya swallowed, her throat dry. “Ours isn’t the only plane of existence. I thought there were only two, but I’m… I’m not really sure. It feels like there are more, and there’s a realm that runs between planes, like a boundary. We call it the Astral Plane. I’m… I guess you could say I’m attuned to it. I can go back and forth to it, or sense activity from it… even get visions from it, if I concentrate.” Aya pushed down the memories of the ‘test’, trying to breathe. “It’s how I entered your dreams, the night of the club. I didn’t know I could do that until just then, actually.”
Uná blinked. "Sounds like surfing only cooler and way more complicated. I don’t remember you being in my dreams but I know you told me about it. That's way cooler than just dream walking."
Uná looked concerned. "Is it safe? Can you get lost in someone's dreams? If they wake up do you stay in their head? Dream walking and Astral surfing. That is really something."
Aya stared at the plain carpet of their tiny room, eyes distant.
“I don’t understand much about dreams yet,” she said softly. “But my power has risks. If I take someone with me, they could be left there. Or when I have visions… it’s like the boundaries between souls there are less exact. Permeable. It’s easy to lose myself. And then there are the other realms.” The only clear memory she had of that night was of the Sluagh plunging its clawed hand deep into her chest. “Things that know how to go back and forth like I do - they can hurt me.”
"Wow. That is… wow. That's a lot. I bet the Astral Plane has different rules than here too. Is there like - I don’t know - a rulebook? Or a set of laws maybe?" At first Uná was speechless. Then in true Uná form she started asking questions.
Aya shrugged. “We never really got that far in our lessons.” There was a wry bend to her voice. “I’m lucky I can even manage to stay standing when I go there. I used to just go limp.”
Uná bit her lip. "How are you going to exercise your abilities if you don't have the rulebook? Think we can get into Everose's office and search it?"
Aya let out a quiet huff that might’ve been a laugh. “I don’t think we need to resort to B&E just yet.”
How was she going to figure out her powers, though? Did she even want to? But even as she questioned it, Aya knew she didn’t have a choice anymore. For her friend’s sake.
“I’ll… I’ll figure it out. Somehow.”
"Yeah and I'll be right there with you. Just try and stop me." Uná smirked. "I think you should talk to someone you can tell everything to without fear of their safety. Besides that you know what I heard? I heard that Jasper can charge your phone and this I have to see. I forgot to bring my adapter for my iPod so I was going to see if she could. My parents are sending it but I want to use it in between now and then. It gives you the perfect reason to be away."
Aya smiled at Uná’s rambling, taking comfort in it. For a while, they were just two friends at boarding school together, chatting and laughing. The girls sat on the bed together until it was time to go.
Aya jumped when she felt the hand on her shoulder, turning with wide eyes to see Professor Everose. She'd found them.
They were in so much trouble.
Something shifted in her though, when the professor began to reprimand them. Suddenly, Professor Everose wasn't her mentor - she was just... a person who thought she was in charge of them. She thought she knew better. But what did she know?
Aya wanted to ask if she knew about the fire that was burning Mr. St. John from the inside out. Or where Professor Pierce was. Or if she knew about Avalon.
She didn't get the chance though, when Charles started mouthing off to a teacher. Just like that, Aya was herself again, looking at him with wide eyes.
"He means we're sorry," Aya cut in, looking between the two. "And it won't happen again. He saw me crying as I left campus and followed me." Technically true. "This week's just been... a lot for us. We needed some time away from campus, so we were just shopping. We're really sorry."
Aya blinked down at him, taken off guard by the length and frankness (and oddness) of his response. She tried to catch up. Then guilt pooled in her chest - she’d accused him of spying on her. Color rose to Aya’s cheeks. She felt foolish and paranoid, but given what she’d just gone through maybe it was warranted.
Still, Aya was eager for an excuse to not immediately think the worst of the people around her. Aya tried to reorient herself in the conversation, and the surprising turn it’d taken.
“You… are you asking me to help you fit in?”
“If you do not mind. If it is not science or some project I do not have a clue. I am not afraid to admit when I need help. It just happens so rarely.”
Finishing off his latte and standing up. “So where do we start? I assume you will say yes. Unless, of course, you find me too much a bore and a bother. In which case, you would only be exemplifying the reason I need help.”
He made a point not to bring up what might have been troubling her. She would bring it up when it was right if ever.
Aya scurried back a step to give the boy space as he abruptly stood up. “Hang on -” she started, eyebrows pulling together. She was reminded of the autistic boy she used to babysit in middle school - the bluntness, the lack of social graces, the way he didn’t quite seem to be meeting her eyes. Aya pressed her lips together.
She thought she might get whiplash from the odd turns her life was taking, but she’d never been able to deny someone help when they asked for it.
“Yes,” she finally said, “I’ll help you. But when asking someone for something, you should usually wait for a response first rather than just assuming. It’s polite.” She tried to make it as clear as she could without talking down to him. “We start with our names. I’m Aya.”
“My name is Charles. I am…” He stared at the ground for a second, shuffling his feet. Then look her straight in the eye's actual concern entering his voice. “...sorry if I was rude to you in any way. I do not know how to deal with people and...” His mouth hung open a moment as if he was going to say something and decided better of it. Closing his mouth and thinning the left side of lips gave the impression that whatever it was he had decided was not going to be received well. Looking away again he smoothed his face before looking back and continuing. “Anyway I am sorry. I shall try to be patient and attentive.” With that he stood there, feet shuffling with nervous energy, waiting for her next word.
Aya watched him, a soft smile slowly growing on her face. He looked so much younger suddenly, self-consciously asking her for help.
“Well, whenever you’re rude, if you just apologize and try not to do it again, it’s usually ok. So you’re already off to a good start.” The two stood there a moment, and Aya wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. Aya wasn’t even certain she fit in. She didn’t know how to help someone else with this. She glanced down at his attire, then back up again at his face. “Would you… like to go get some new clothes?”
“Yes..I think so. I had some pretty strange looks from the other students when I wore my lab coat. I think I need to be less formal. I know nothing of fashion or style, or even what that would mean for me.” He paused as if thinking of something else. Looking around they were mostly alone and no one seemed to be paying them attention.
He started towards the door of the shop. “I suspect we are not going to do that here.” He held the door open for her to follow. “Do you know many of the other students?” His voice gave gravity to the last question as if there was something specific he wanted to ask but did not know how to approach it. “Am I pushing again? On the compound where I grew up it was all science all day every day, and truthfully I did not mind that. It is just that the doctors did not allow for much interaction between the kids unless we were working on a project together. I want to know what that is like. I want to know more about you….and the others.”
Aya filed away the words compound and doctors away in her mind, trying to keep her face neutral as they walked. Had he grown up in a cult or something? She shook her head. “You’re not pushing,” she said, leading them to a department store. “There’s… not really that much to say about me,” she said. It was a normal response - one that she’d thought was true for years. Now though, they tasted like secrecy on her tongue. “I’m from Hawaii,” she offered. That was usually enough to sate people, but with his mysterious upbringing, who knew if it would stand out to him the way it normally did with strangers. “I’ve been at the school for a little over a month. I’m not really good at meeting new people.” She gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I guess I’m only close with my roommate, Uná. Everyone else seems nice, though.”
“Why do people always refer to where they are from as if it defines them? I guess I do it myself from time to time and I do not even know where I was born. I guess I could say I had fun when I worked with Isaac and Ben, we were all named after Science Fiction writers, but even that was only so long as we were working on a project. What were your parents like? What was it like to know them? If I am pressing too hard it is only because I am trying to understand why people act the way they do.” He paused for a second Uná, that was the little red headed girl from Professor Everose class. “What is Uná anyway? She is definitely not like anyone else I have seen at the school. I can not explain how I know this as we are not supposed to talk about that stuff in public.” His face took on a quizzical look. As if he were trying to make sense of something and did not have the answers at hand.
Aya stopped walking, looking up at Charles with wide eyes. He knew.
“What do you mean, ‘what is she’?”
Leaning in so no one else could hear. “I can sense molecules without the aid of expensive equipment and she feels different. Everyone else I have come across whether gifted or not has felt like what I would call human.” A question formed on his face. Perhaps not everyone at the school already knows about me? Why were they expecting me then? ” I am sorry if I was not supposed to know that. Perhaps, my curiosity has taken a hold of me. I do not mean to frighten you.”
Looking up at the store they were approaching, “So what are we looking for here?” He tried to change the subject, though it was obvious he wanted to keep talking about it.
Aya blinked, trying to keep up with the subject change. “Umm… just something that catches your eye. Comfortable, probably simple.” Aya chewed her lip as she looked through a rack of collared button-ups. She glanced up at Charles before looking away again. Eventually she said, “It’s ok that you know about Uná.” Aya had no idea if that was true. “It just… surprised me. I know, and maybe a few of the staff at school, but no one else does. I think some part of Uná is aware of it, but she doesn’t fully realize it yet.” It was almost a relief that Charles knew, actually. It meant Aya wasn’t alone. “I’m not sure if you should mention it to anyone else - not yet at least.” Then again, what would secrecy accomplish? It might keep everyone from freaking out, but didn’t Uná have a right to know? Didn’t they need to be able to prepare for whatever might happen? Something pricked at the back of her mind - why had she been so afraid to tell people? There was something she couldn’t quite grasp, hidden behind the mist clouding her mind. Aya pressed her lips together.
She pulled out a short sleeved shirt, a soft pale blue to match his eyes. Maybe a little to feminine for him, and it might just end up washing him out, but Aya held it up for his inspection anyway.
“What do you think of this?”
How could Uná not know what she was and why should he not tell her?
“I think it is a shirt. Do you like it? If so I will get it, but what should I wear it with? You still have not told me about yourself...not really?” Charles attempted a warm smile, and was almost successful. Nervousness shown through making it awkward at best.
He picked up a fedora from another rack and placed it on the back of his head so that the forward brim pointed up. ”What do you think, is it me?”
Certainly a statement piece…
“Maybe not,” she said, reaching to lift it off his head. “If you want to try a hat then we can look for something, but fedoras have a bit of a reputation… people can make assumptions when they see one.” putting the fedora back on its rack, Aya went back to the shirts. “For the most part though, clothes are more about what you like, than what other people like. You find something comfortable, that fits well, and that you think looks good on you.” Aya grabbed another shirt, a deep maroon color, and held it up in front of his torso. She put it back on the rack, instead pulling out a soft dark grey one. She held it out to him, looking at it against his skin. After a moment, still looking at the shirt rather than at him, she said, “I don’t talk about myself much. I’m more of a listener, I guess.” She glances up at him again before going back to the rack to find another shirt.
“You asked about my parents… my dad passed away in the Spring. He was sick for a long time before that, though. We were really close.” Aya pulled in a slow breath as she looked through the clothes. “My mom lives in Japan. I haven’t seen her in over a year, but we call sometimes.”
“You miss them. Is it strange that I envy that? I sometimes wonder who I would have been if given the chance. Instead I am who I was made into...a man of science more literally than anyone expected. Now I have the ability to...find myself, I guess is the phrase. Will I like that person?”
He looked down into his hands and saw he had picked out a few shirts. Mostly simple shades of brown, grey, and couple black, what surprised him was the light blue shirt she had first shown him. He did not remember taking it.
“This should be enough shirts for now. I guess pants, shoes, and a jacket or 2 should be next. He looked straight at her before continuing. “I have a feeling your story would be fascinating, I will try not pry too much if you do not wish to tell it.” He headed up to the counter with the clothes he had.
“Where to next?”
Aya didn’t say anything in response to Charles’ revelations. She couldn’t imagine the life he described. It was odd to be envied, though. Memories of her parents were scars, criss-crossing sensitive flesh, still painful, still ugly. But they’d been happy, once. She still loved both of them.
Aya supposed everyone wanted what they didn’t have.
She watched as Charles purchased his shirts, the clipped, clinical way he spoke making more sense the longer she knew him. The two made their way through the mall, going from store to store, finding clothes to suit his new life. It wasn’t how Aya pictured spending her afternoon, but it was pleasant in its own way - companionable. She almost felt normal. When he deemed his new wardrobe complete, they simply took to wandering the different shops. When they found the store with aisle upon aisle of bath products, Aya scanned the colorful bottles of lotion again.
Vanilla Dream.
Minty Morning.
Charles, watching the way she stared at the bottles, offered to purchase one for her as a thank you. She opened her mouth to decline, but something unknown stopped her. She looked at the bottles.
Ginger Blossom.
A soft smile curved her lips. She saw her father, hands dirty from working in his garden, laughing at his own jokes. Aya looked away, to read more labels.
Gentle Jasmine.
She picked up the bottle. Aya opened it, the soft scent wafting up to her. Memories of pikake lei made Aya smile. Something hers.
Aya looked back up to Charles, decision made. The two walked to the counter to pay, and she placed the bottle down for the cashier to scan it. Her eyes widened though, when Charles pulled an enormous wad of loose bills out of his pocket - 100s and 20s flashing openly through the store.
Aya didn’t move. She didn’t open her eyes. Her blood was stagnant in her veins, dark and congealed. Stiff. Heavy. Distantly she heard the dull screech of a steam wand heating milk for a latte. She felt the paper underneath her hand, felt the warm plastic of her pen. She remembered how to breathe. Her heartbeat was a slow, steady rhythm, no longer forgotten.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
It was almost disorienting to come back to her body - her mundane reality of an empty cafe and a half-drunk mocha. She blinked. Her hand twitched slightly, pivoting around the joint in her wrist. Aya tried it again. Her fingers moved, releasing their grip on the black envelope and it fell the short distance to the table.
Little by little, Aya broke the spell on her body. She flexed her fingers, her hands, her arms. She pulled her neck this way and that. All the while, that single, familiar truth sat with her.
I’ve died. It was simple. Somber. Maybe a little sad. But Aya couldn’t bring herself to dwell - not when she still had a job to do. The failure of her death pushed her forward.
Flipping the page in her notebook, Aya picked up the third envelope. She turned it in her hand, foreign trepidation staining her thoughts. (No. Not ‘foreign.’ Aya. She was Aya, sad, nervous, soft spoken Aya -) She took in another slow breath. It shook as she pushed it out of her lungs. Closing her eyes again, she placed the pentip against the fresh page. She slipped back into her meditation.
Nothing.
Not the nothing that came with the first two envelopes - just… nothing to find. Aya couldn’t have spent more than a few minutes meditating over the envelope, but she knew it was pointless. The envelope was lighter somehow, lacking some metaphysical weight.
Was she just incapable of seeing whatever it was? Was she missing something? Aya breathed in slowly again, and muscle by muscle she forced herself to relax where she’d unknowingly tensed. Her eyebrows relaxed. Her shoulders dropped slightly. Her fingers loosened their grips on the envelope and pen. Her toes uncurled in her shoes. With every breath, that stoic determination that’d so thoroughly filled her seemed to melt away.
It didn’t belong to her. She wasn’t dead, she was Aya. Another breath. Another heartbeat. The envelope remained devoid of anything to find, as little by little Aya remembered what it meant to be her.
When her eyes opened again she felt lighter somehow. As empty as the envelope. A sudden sense of vertigo hit her. She dropped the pen and envelope to the table, squeezing her eyelids shut and bringing a hand up to press into her temple. Aya rested her elbows on the table and used the heel of both palms to press into her eyes, palms cradling her forehead, fingers twisting in her hairline. Her jaw clenched before she forced it to release again.
Another breath.
Aya raised her head again, blinking with bleary eyes. She let her gaze wander, regrounding herself in reality. Two baristas behind the counter, chatting, making themselves drinks. The navy and white color scheme of the cafe. Another patron sitting at the only other occupied table. The music overhead had changed to something slow and acoustic, a gentle tenor crooning in Spanish. Aya looked back down at her notebook. There was a single splotch of ink, thick where she’d let the pen rest against the paper. The third envelope stared up at her.
Aya picked it up, holding it in the air in front of her face. She turned it, watching the way the silver lettering reflected the light. Aya wondered if it was even worth trying again. Was there something she just wasn’t getting about the envelope? She paused then. Did she even want to see what was in it? In the last one? She remembered the torrent of too many emotions, the fire, the confusion, the death. Looking into these envelopes was like drowning - waves washing over her, not knowing which way was up, water filling her lungs, making her lose herself until she no longer existed - and all there was, was the vast, consuming ocean.
What was the point of this exercise? Why make her see these things? What purpose could traumatizing her possibly have? Professor Everose had called this a test. Was it just to see if she could? Did they want to know how she’d react? Why would they want her to know how Mr. St. John had lost his family, or that Dean Ashford’s doctor was -
Aya froze. Her eyes widened. Dean Ashford’s doctor was a killer. She wasn’t even human, she was as alien to this realm as the dark man - Finvarra - and the Sluagh, and Uná. She’d taken it for granted when she’d looked into the envelope. It had been a fact as clear and familiar as the open sky. It was only now, when Aya was herself again, that the truth of it struck her. Aya felt her heart rate quicken, her breathing growing shallow.
She turned the page in the notebook to see what she’d written for the second envelope again. Her eyes scanned the words, flashes of memory replaying in her mind. She stopped when she reached the last line: ‘I’ve died.’
Her eyebrows pulled together though when she saw the character she’d written for the word ‘I’: 俺. Masculine. Authoritative. Her fingertips brushed over the kanji, feeling the edges where her pen had pressed into the paper. Who had she been?
Aya bit her lip. Then she picked up the second envelope from where it sat on the table. Her heart hammered in her chest, as she looked down at it, eyeing where the flap was sealed. Professor Everose had given Aya clear instructions not to look inside.
But obedience had already killed her once.
Aya’s slim finger slid under the flap of the envelope. The wax seal broke, tearing at bits of the fine black paper. Aya’s shoulders tensed at the sound, but she carried on. She slowly pulled out a cream-colored card. Her eyes scanned the words written. Then again. Then again, like it would help her understand.
Adam Pierce.
She felt her heart stop. Professor Pierce was dead. No… no that couldn’t be right. He had classes, he’d been there for the Danger Room conversation on Saturday, looming behind Dean Ashford -
There was a date and time written beneath his name. Saturday night. Aya felt like she might throw up. A hand snapped to her mouth to cover a shaking gasp for air, as tears sprang to her eyes. Professor Pierce was dead. The phrase circled in her mind, over and over again, like repeating it would make it understandable. Her eyes found the other envelopes. With a shaking hand, she lifted the first one. She already knew what it would say.
Coleman Lee St. John.
The security officer’s face flashed in her mind - his picture at his own funeral, surrounded by bouquets of white roses. Fresh grief pooled in her chest at the memory, only some of it hers. A date was written under his name, from a few months ago. She ran her thumb over the letters on the paper, feeling guilty.
She hadn’t had the right to see into his life like that. His family, his death, their grief, the fire... the fire. It had been filled with righteous hate, the burning need for retribution, smoke and anger and so much pain -
The third envelope was empty save for a blank piece of paper. Aya turned it over in her hands, eyebrows furrowed. It explained why she hadn’t been able to see anything. Why give her nothing though? To just… see where she went? A test? Confusion mixed with suspicion to form a growing distrust. Again and again, she came back to the same question.
Why?
The final envelope stared up at her from the table. It grew in her vision until it was all she could see. Aya couldn’t stop her hand from reaching out, fingers slow and trembling. She picked it up, crisp black parchment course against her skin. It felt… heavy somehow. It stilled her breath in her throat. The other envelopes and the revelations that came with them had been horrible - not just because of the pain and grief. Whatever sort of ability she had, it took something from Aya: her identity. It hid the boundaries between herself and the souls surrounding her, made it too easy to lose herself and take on someone else.
Whatever was in this envelope, it would take from her too - if she even dared to look. Professor Everose’s gentle face flashed in her mind again, smiling, guiding, soothing. She’d failed to warn Aya what this 'test' would really mean - which meant Aya would have to prepare herself, instead.
She pulled open the final envelope. Like the others, it held a single cream-colored card. Aya held her breath as she slid it out, letters slowly revealing themselves.
Avalon.
The word seemed to pulse. It echoed in her mind. Aya didn’t look away from it. She didn’t know how. She couldn’t stop her eyes from falling closed, card still pinched between her fingers. The world went black.
Darkness pulsed around her in a steady, living rhythm. Aya’s breathing slowed to match it, in and out. The push and pull of the darkness’ tide coaxed her deeper and deeper, floating far from the shore until it was completely out of view.
And then the riptide claimed her.
It was a city dipped in starlight - high towers of shining, black opal, colors like frozen firelight trapped in the polished stone, catching against motes of floating lights. Aya looked up as she spun, a laugh bright on her painted lips. Her gown rippled through the air. Her auburn curls, so carefully pinned up, bounced where they hung around her face. Lilting music filled the air, elegant dancers laughing around her as they spun and dipped and jumped. The very air was vibrant with energy, textured in a way she could touch, taste, smell. Aya looked over her shoulder at her dancing partner as her spin slowed, and her smile turned cheeky.
He was so handsome, it nearly broke her heart. He returned her smile, pointed teeth obsidian-black. He lifted a gloved hand towards her, in open invitation. Beckoning. Her eyes turned wicked then, mischief bubbling up like champagne.
Silly man, didn’t he know she wanted to be chased?
Aya let out a high giggle as she grabbed the fabric of her fine gown and turned from him, running into the night -
Aya let out a low growl as she grabbed the nearest object - a heavy, gilded candlestick, purple fire flickering above it - and lunged forward to strike the disrespectful, ungrateful, clumsy, useless, filthy servant. Hungry satisfaction shot through her body when she heard his sharp cry. The boy tried to raise a hand and her rage only increased. He dared try and stop her, his lord? Aya snarled as the candlestick came down again. Then again. There was a crack and the servant was on the floor but Aya didn’t stop, not as the whelp’s face grew more and more unrecognizable, not as slick, hot blood coated her fingers, her fine silks, her golden rings.
It was only when the flesh of her own hand burst open, the boy silent on the floor, that Aya finally turned away. An ill-aimed swing had caught her somehow. She curled over her hand, hissing in pain. The candlestick fell to the ground -
The cup fell to the ground, empty and forgotten. Aya tried to fight back tears as she leaned over her husband. She took a dirty cloth, stained from his sweat, and dabbed the running water away from his lips. He hadn’t left the bed in days. His skin, once a warm, burnished copper, was now dull and greying.
They were alone in their tiny house, him lying beneath the thin blanket on the one bed, her sitting beside his leg, leaning over him, a hand brushing against his sweaty forehead. The family that they shared the too-small home with had stepped outside as a gift to them - to give them this final moment of privacy.
He blinked up at Aya, eyes unfocused. She made a soft shushing sound, forcing a weak smile as a tear burned its way down her cheek. She wanted the last thing he saw to be her smile.
Aya ran her fingers through her husband’s dirty hair -
- Through her cat’s dirty fur, clutching it close to her chest like a lifeline. It was too weak to protest. Aya mindlessly scratched behind its ears with long, untrimmed nails. She rocked back and forth, back and forth, eyes unblinking as they stared at the ground in front of her. Pedestrians trying to go about their lives, pretend they couldn’t see her, gave her a wide berth. They had to be careful not to fall into her gravity.
A chip in her nail snagged against the cat’s fur. She pulled at it, but it didn’t loosen. She pulled again, harder. With a wet tearing sound, her hand came free, midnight blue fur still tangled around her finger. Smoke wafted up from the hole she’d torn in the cat’s flesh, shifting cerulean and bloody orange in the light of the city. It drifted up, around her face, filling her lungs -
- Filling her lungs with her own hot blood. Aya looked down, eyes wide in a frozen stare. The golden hilt of her sword, glistening with jewels and delicate engravings, was flush against her chest, blade piercing through her uniform, her armor, her skin, muscle, nerves, and sinew, to emerge again just to the left of her spine. Aya looked up at her killer. His eyes were wide and frantic - young. Angry. Skinny from a lifetime of malnourishment. They stared at each other a moment, reality still catching up with them. Then the boy tightened his grip on Aya’s sword and ripped it from her chest. Her blood arced through the sky as the sounds of battle echoed -
- Through the city to reach her room. Aya grabbed onto the windowsill with both of her little hands, pushing up onto the tips of her toes. She saw the glow of fire before she saw the city’s skyline, smoke heavy on the air even at this distance. Magic sparked over the fighting, neon cracks of color ripping through the night like lightning. Aya’s grip tightened on the windowsill as she tried her best to balance on her toes. Her mother’s grip on her arm was sudden and tight as she -
- Forced Aya to her knees.
Her grunt echoed through the hall, pain reverberating up her legs, bouncing off her other injuries. Aya clenched her jaw. She wouldn’t cry out, not here - in front of them. Her blood seeped into the fine indigo carpet. She hoped it left a stain. Someone was talking, reading off her crimes in an arrogant, derisive tone, but Aya ignored him. She ignored everyone in the grand, insultingly ornate room.
Except for him.
He stood at the end of the hall, back to her, on a raised dais beside two empty thrones. Even at this distance, Aya could see the care that had gone into crafting them. They were statues of solid gold, carved to depict tales of old - images of plants and flowers, cats and snakes, hunters, beasts, monsters, all finely formed on the shining thrones, with red velvet so dark it was nearly black lining the seats and backs. He had a single arm resting on the back of one of the thrones, fingers curled around the frame. A golden serpent lay on the back as well. It was impossible to tell where it ended and the chair began, as the snake wound its way up his arm, curling and heavy, like a golden chain holding him in place.
Finvarra.
Aya spit a thick wad of blood onto the carpet. A heavy boot slammed against her back. She fell to the ground, her lower jaw clacking hard into her skull. Her ears rang. For a moment, there was only blinding pain as Aya tried to remember she was still alive, still had a body.
Well, not for long.
She knew this was all theater. She was already dead. There’d be no trial, no opportunity for penance. The reading of her ‘crimes’ was a formality so they could all preen at each other that they’d given the mongrel a fair chance.
Aya didn’t care. Fuck everyone hiding in this golden palace, fuck the soldiers she’d killed, fuck him.
Her only regret was that she wouldn’t be there to see him fall.
Because his fall was coming. Soon. The bastard knew it, too. She could see it in the tense set of his shoulders, in the way these pompous rats flicked their eyes back and forth, trying to keep a smile on their lips.
When the soldiers heaved her to her feet again, her smile was half drunk with pain. A weak laugh escaped her. Then it grew. Even as it sent pain arcing through her lungs, her spine, her throat, Aya laughed. The people around her shifted uncomfortably, and even the man reading off her crimes grew silent. How fucking pathetic. They were clinging to some idea of status, of power, and they were too blinded by their goal to see that they’d all be in ruins before this war was over. Aya saw it. Finvarra saw it. His back was still to her, the coward, but it didn’t matter. Aya wished she could stay to watch his world crumble, he deserved to crumble, murderer, thief, bastard, Aya wanted to rip him from his golden throne herself, she wanted to -
The muscles in his back shifted slightly. His fingers flexed, curling tighter around the back of the throne. The snake lifted its head, forked tongue flicking in and out, tasting her blood in the air. Finvarra turned his head to look over his shoulder, meeting her eyes.
And suddenly all the layers fell away until there was only Aya. Ice shot through her veins. Finvarra turned more, standing sideways against the throne, with a slow, easy movement. His gaze never wavered.
Aya’s breathing quickened, growing more and more shallow. The last echoes of laughter that bounced through the hall shifted - it distorted, one voice becoming many, some high a bell-like, others guttural and monstrous. Aya swore she saw movement in the shadows. She saw a flash of fangs, familiar pink eyes, a hulking, skeletal form with daggers for claws.
Aya looked down, away from Finvarra. Golden serpents slithered their way up and around her legs, trapping them in place. Others wrapped heavy around her hands, up her wrists, tightening around her arms like chains, crushing, pulling, trapping. The snakes climbed higher and higher, wrapping tight around her chest and crushing her lungs. Aya’s breath was too shallow, too quick. Her head spun with terror as the snakes made their way up to circle around her neck. She couldn’t breathe. Her mouth gaped uselessly for air. They were choking her, she was going to die she was going to die she was going to die -
A golden snake pushed its way into her mouth. The plated scales were slick against her throat as it forced itself into her. She could feel it, a parasite in her body, as tears ran down her cheeks. She had to scream. She had to sob. She had to run. But Aya couldn’t move, trapped by layer upon layer of snakes, slithering their way up her body, chaining her in place. They climbed, until every inch of her was covered, from the ground to high above her head. Aya only had a sliver of light, stolen in the cracks between their bodies, to see out of. Finvarra still stood, unwavering. Then, that was gone too, and the world was black.
More and more snakes joined the colony, making it thicker, taller. The one inside her body began to calcify. As it hardened, Aya felt the rest of her body turn solid, too. Like a spreading virus, the snake froze the blood in her veins, hardened her skin. Eventually it passed beyond her, to the hundreds of serpents covering her. One by one, they all stilled their writhing, rigor mortis setting in. They were a single mass - Aya and the serpents solidified together to become something new.
A gilded tree shined against the black of the night, long, serpentine roots, and high, bare branches stretching in either direction. Gold dust glistened like starlight.
The snake inside her began to rot.
Black sickness ate at it, radiating from a single point. The snake withered, collapsing in on itself. Then so did Aya. Slow decay pulled her inward, turning her bones to dust, her flesh to dark gravedirt. The tree engulfing her followed. As steady as a clock, the tree rotted from the inside, wood becoming powder. The rot spread further out, finally reaching the exterior of the tree, collapsing it under its own weight - but when it came time, the gold dust didn’t move. It held its shape, a memory of what had once been, even as the tree deteriorated.
The last of the tree was gone. Dust hung suspended in the air, a gilded shadow of what had once been. And then it too fell away. Golden particles drifted through the black night, suspended in the sky like stars.
Aya sat in the cafe, feeling only half-conscious. At some point she'd dropped the envelope on the table. Her eyes were unfocused as she breathed, mind still trying to orient itself in reality again. Her head swam. She felt like she was still floating in that tide, useless against the current. In the fog of her mind, there was sudden clarity.
She was being mined for information.
The realization didn’t hurt at first. But slowly, like that icy chill that had already crept its way through Adam Pierce’s body, emotions built, each one anchoring her.
Sadness.
Hurt. She’d trusted them.
Fear. There was something undeniably dangerous about all that she'd seen, potent knowledge staining her.
Anger. They’d used her like a tool. She wasn’t a student, she was a crystal ball, convenient for pulling up whatever images might be needed, no matter what it did to her. Aya didn't have any tears left. She was too exhausted, hollowed out to make room for her visions and the souls that'd come with them. Her mind worked, detached from her pain.
Professor Everose had given her this 'exercise' but if she was just after the information, then she wouldn't need Aya - she could have these visions herself. She was older, more powerful, and wasn't trying to use this ability for the very first time. It'd certainly be more reliable than having Aya do it - unless she knew the danger of the visions and was trying to protect herself. That thought hurt. As painful as it was, Aya felt dirty for considering it, like it was somehow a betrayal. She didn't want to believe her mentor would do something so cold. Aya carefully packed the thought away, not eliminating it, but eager to move on to other ideas.
If it didn't make sense for this task to come from Professor Everose, then there were only two people that she knew of that could give the older woman a command, and one of them was already dead. But the question came back: why wouldn't Dean Ashford just ask Professor Everose to have these visions for him? Aya paused. How had he even known Aya would be able to do this? Before today, her power had been limited to traversing between the Astral and Material worlds, nothing to do with visions -
And then Aya remembered the first time she'd ever seen Finvarra. She saw roiling black smoke, and his dark smile. Aya hadn't told anyone about her dream, not even Professor Everose. But she'd seen Dean Ashford the next day. She'd spoken to him about her fears, about a growing sense of dread, but had that been enough for him to know she could do this?
Saturday stayed in her mind. The memories were clear, even when she'd been exhausted and disoriented. Even if she couldn't recall the details exactly, she could step by step walk herself through what she'd done. She couldn't say the same of the night before.
Aya had been more than happy to leave the events of Friday night unexamined and forgotten. She'd written off her fading memory as simply trauma mixed with adrenaline. But now, swallowing her fear, Aya tried to remember, really tried. She saw flashes - the club. The Sluagh. Fear. Pain. But the images were murky - covered over with a now familiar, vast, solid white mist.
She'd only begun to forget after Saturday - after the meeting with him. It was then that Aya realized she didn't know what his mutation was. Aya's heartbeat, already growing too quick, spiked. Aya sat at the table in the little cafe, looking down at the black envelopes, their contents spilled on the table. She tried to control her breathing.
Eventually Aya moved. Picking up her pen, Aya turned to a new page in the notebook and began to write. Her grip was too tight on the pen as she wrote line after line, flipping the pages. When she finished, she turned to the back of the notebook to see four fresh envelopes in the back pocket - the ones she'd been meant to turn in to Professor Everose. Aya pulled four pages from the notebook, folding them each into careful squares and slipping them into the envelopes. She pushed the opening flaps inside of the envelopes to keep them closed. She tore out the rest of the pages she'd written on, folding them and placing them between the pages of her own personal notebook. Then the rest of her belongings were in her backpack and Aya was pushing herself up from the table.
Aya winced as she flexed her hand, muscles stiff. Then she looked up and saw the other patron in the cafe. Aya realized she recognized him. He was a student, new this week (after Saturday, her mind whispered). She remembered passing him when she left campus, praying he didn't notice her. And now he was here. Looking at her.
Aya's heart was in her throat as her mind worked in overdrive. She stared back at him. Then she threw the food wrapper and the rest of her mocha in the trash, and marched up to the boy.
“Are you following me?” She’d meant for it to come out combative, but instead she just sounded like a cornered animal. Aya pressed her lips together, cutting off any more words. She stared down at the boy in his chair, knuckles white as she gripped the strap of her bag.
It didn't take Aya as long to find this time, now that she knew what to look for - that stillness at the center of her mind, the indefinable point that let the rest of the world melt away. Her body was unimportant. Sensation was still there - the weighty envelope in her hand, the tickle of her hair against her face, lightly blown by the AC, the smell of espresso and sugar, the dull mechanical screech of the coffee grinder underneath a singer's falsetto. But it was all as distant as the stars, faint against the light of a full moon.
The dark of her mind wrapped itself around her. She wore it like a shroud.
Hiding in shadows.
The pen slid across the paper, crisp Japanese characters forming. Aya laid in wait. There was that prickling at the back of her mind again - a misplaced familiarity. It was a different texture though. While with the last one it'd been all coal dust and smoke blackening her lungs, this one was smoother… sharp and precise, like the burn of ginger or a single, high note of a violin. It was in front of her - but there was something else too.
It was so vast as to be meaningless - like the ocean, or the sky, or time itself. Aya was nothing compared to it. She was a single candle, burnt out in an instant. She was atoms of stardust, floating through space. The universe carelessly breathed life into her, only to discard her a moment later.
She’d be dead for eons longer than she’d ever be alive.
A nebula pulsed into existence, throwing stardust against suddenly visible shapes - a man and a woman. Dense stars outlined them, contouring their forms, giving them color, life. There was an air of intimacy. The two fit together like a tree grown around a forgotten skeleton, her head against his chest. Aya’s mind sparked in recognition.
Finvarra and Sena, someone else's thoughts supplied. She felt her eyes narrow as she watched them, muscles coiled like a jungle predator.
Aya didn’t know when it began, but a slow iciness crept its way through her body. It started as pinpricks in the tips of her fingers, in the pads of her toes and the back curve of her heel. It spread like frost, seeping into her skin, crawling up her wrists and ankles like a reminder.
Finvarra and Sena, a tear between realms.
The nebula spasmed behind Finvarra, blindingly bright. For a moment, the two were gone. Finvarra was unseeable, but Sena -
Wings flashed in her mind. The sleek feathers rippled with color, shining under their own light. A bird flew, too quick to grasp, regal and mythical, vibrant motes of light lingering in its wake.
Finvarra’s eyes didn’t leave Sena’s face as two serpents like golden tattoos curled their way up his arms. They drew him back towards the increasingly frantic nebula. They warred for his attention, serpents and phoenix, both pulling at him in their own way.
The chill snaked its way up her own limbs. It was deeper than physical cold - it slowed her very soul, coaxing, whispering.
Golden snakes pull him away from her.
The nebula grew, writhing, throwing more and more stardust through the air. Just as it had made Finvarra and Sena visible, it seemed to outline their voices, snippets of words carrying over to Aya.
"Two more… Farplane."
For the briefest moment, before the nebula swallowed him whole, Finvarra finally looked away from Sena - to look directly at her.
Aya suddenly realized what the darkness surrounding her truly was: a death shroud. She was already cold and stiff, wrapped in her shroud with gentle hands, and encased in her coffin. All that was left was the steady march towards her grave.
All that was left was to seal her away under the earth.
Aya strode forward with sure steps. Her chin was high. She had a job to do - orders to fulfill.
The iciness had nearly reached her heart, claiming her fully.
Sena watched her, expressionless save for her eyes. They watched Aya with disdain. Unconcerned.
Iridescent embers, the colors of an oil slick on sitting water, erupted around them. There was the sharp call of a falcon, piercing like a dagger.
Sena. A flash of color and a raptor's screech.
Sena was gone. Aya was gone. There was that solid whiteness again, that’d met her with the last envelope. Instinctively she knew she wouldn’t be able to see anything more.
But one fact rang clear and somber as a church bell in her mind.
Aya thanked the Lyft driver as she climbed out of the blue sedan. It'd been a quiet ride - after taking a look at her red, tear-stained face, the middle-aged driver had seen fit to leave her to her thoughts. He barely looked back at her as she closed the door, no doubt eager to run from a stranger's problems.
Pulling her bag strap over her shoulder, Aya made her way into the mall. It was wide and open, more of an enclosed street than a single building. Shops lined the path, doors open, wafting their perfumes or music or flashing screens, beckoning potetial customers. Aya couldn't focus on any of them. She felt the phantom weight of the envelopes in her bag, making each step heavy.
Aya spent the next hour or so wandering the mall, trying to distract herself. At one point she meandered into a shop stuffed to the brim with bath products - candles and lotions, colorful loofas hanging along a wall, glittery soaps, and body creams in wide, pastel jars. Aya had never liked these kinds of stores. The warring scents were too overwhelming, giving her a headache. But today, Aya found herself wandering through bright aisles, fingers trailing along the glossy labels. She paused on a bottle of lotion labeled Vanilla Dream, with the word tester written beneath it in thick Sharpie. Aya looked down at it. She picked it up, popping open the lid and squeezing a small dollop onto her hand. She rubbed the lotion into her hands, continuing her walk down the lotion aisle, eyes scanning the labels again.
Minty Morning.
Aya put a small squirt into her hand and then rubbed that into her skin, too. She brought her hands to her nose and gave a small sniff.
Immediately Aya's nose wrinkled, and she pulled her hands away. It was an odd combination, the mint smell overpowering the sweetness of the vanilla. Embarrassment flooded her. Aya left the store, hurrying to the bathroom to wash the lotion off her hands. The scent lingered.
She eventually found herself in a small, empty cafe, soft indie music playing over the speakers. She stared down at the stack of black envelopes on the table. They seemed to stare back at her. Aya felt her anxiety building in her stomach, up her chest, clogging her throat, coating her tongue. She took another sip of her half empty mocha. The paper bag that had once held her breakfast sandwich sat in a ruined ball in her other hand. Aya tried to swallow, tasting the chocolate of her drink, suddenly too sweet.
She pulled Professor Everose's notebook from her bag, flipping it open. The messy words of her last, chaotic session gave her pause - she hadn't realized she'd written in Japanese. Aya stared at them a moment longer before flipping to a new page. She gripped her pen too tightly in her hand, tip hovering just over the paper. Aya bit her lip. Then she picked up the second envelope and closed her eyes.
@almalthia Professor Kaylee Everose's Office - 9:36 AM
Aya's gaze fell to the little black envelope in her lap as Professor Everose spoke. Her mentor's words washed over her. Aya thought she understood. Or didn't. She wasn't sure she cared. Her head buzzed from all the air she'd taken in while crying, her breaths too quick and sporadic in her flurry of emotions.
The adrenaline was gone now, though.
She wasn't paying attention to the professor anymore. Whatever explanation she was giving didn't really matter. When Aya asked why she'd just gone through that experience, her question wasn't, 'How did it work?'
It was, 'Why did you ask me to do that?'
Whatever Aya had just seen... it wasn't meant for her. It was too intimate - too painful. She felt guilty, like a voyeur peering in and violating someone's privacy. And the cost of bearing witness had been to relive the worst moments of both of their lives. Aya felt shattered, grief like fresh blood staining her skin. And Professor Everose sat across from her, looking at her tear-stained face, drinking her coffee, and talking about 'attempting another.' Warm, patient, compassionate Professor Everose. The woman who'd taught her everything she knew about controlling her mutation. The reason she'd stayed.
Aya sniffled. She thought she might start crying again.
"Could I please -" The soft words stumbled in her throat, catching on Aya's raw edges. She closed her lips. Swallowed. "Could I finish the test in my room? I..."
I need to not be here.
And the professor gave Aya that understanding smile that she knew so well. Aya's eyes dropped to her lap again. The professor gave her permission, with a gentle reminder to bring the results in an envelope back to her. Without another word, Aya grabbed the envelopes and the notebook, scooped up her bag, and left Professor Everose's office.
Aya pressed her back against the wooden door once it closed. She looked up to the high ceiling, tears burning her eyes again. Aya tried to blink them away, taking in another shaking breath. A dam broke and the high breath of a sob escaped her, but Aya was quick to clap her hand back over her mouth, eyes squeezed shut. A hot tear ran down her cheek. Her shoulders trembled with the effort it took to not break down again in the hallway. Aya opened her eyes, wiping the tears from her face. She swallowed her grief again.
She needed to go.
She couldn't be here - in this hallway, in this school, on this campus. Not right now.
The impulse was too strong to question. With barely a thought, Aya was walking through the building, praying she didn't see any of her classmates and have to explain why she wasn't in class, or why she'd been crying. Soon enough she was across the courtyard, front gate stretching high above her.
@almalthia — Professor Kaylee Everose's Office - 9:20 AM
The professor’s voice was a distant light in a midnight harbor, too far to be reachable. But still, Aya tried to cling to it. Her hands gripped tight over her mouth, as if that would stop her crying. Her muscles tensed, her shoulders pulled up tight as they trembled.
She was so ashamed.
Aya didn’t know how long she cried for, but eventually her tears slowed. Her shaking breaths hiccuped into her lungs. She tried to follow the professor’s instructions, counting out the seconds. Sifting through the memories was an agonizing process, as Aya tried to remember which tragic reality was hers.
Papa was still dead. Mama had still left, run away back to Japan. She didn’t have any brothers. Papa had died of lung cancer. There’d been arrangements of flowers from his garden at the funeral, colorful bouquets of red ginger flowers, ferns, and birds of paradise. He had green eyes that Aya had inherited, before her mutation turned her irises black. There’d never been a motorcycle accident.
Eventually, Aya opened her eyes again. Her muscles were finally relaxed, energy depleted. She sat in the chair, feeling numb and hollowed. She was scraped raw, from the inside out. Aya sniffled.
Some part of her told her to apologize again. She opened her mouth.
”...What was that?” Her voice was small and fragile. She looked up to meet Professor Everose’s eyes. ”Why did I do that?”
Hey Im Jordan
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