Birthright: Sheltering Tree

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Would you like to see the trigger warnings for this game? [[Yes|1]] [[No|2]]

Trigger Warnings: *swearing *player character death *deceased family member *murder *blood *violence *gore in the literal sense *explicit exploration of gaslighting *explicit exploration of parental control/manipulation *mention of emotional child abuse *kidnapping This list may be updated along with the story. [[Continue|2]]

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A [[beginning|4]].

Birthright: Sheltering Tree

by <a href="http://www.tumblr.com/sleepingcitadelstudios" target="_blank">Xiulan</a>

Many thanks to the interactive fiction community for the wealth of resources available. This would not have been possible without the efforts of *manonamora (https://manonamora-if.tumblr.com/, https://manonamora.itch.io/twine-sugarcube-guide) *HiEv Heavy Industries (https://www.patreon.com/HiEv, https://www.patreon.com/posts/general-twine-23769265) *ChapelR (https://twinelab.net/custom-macros-for-sugarcube-2/#/ *Chris Klimas (https://chrisklimas.com/)

//My dear,Forgive me for the circumstances behind this letter. As a family, we are no good at goodbyes. You used to cry bitterly when you left my home at the end of ever summer, your flushed and damp face pressed against the glass as you watched my garden disappear into the distance. You looked so small and tragic in spite of the ring of cookie crumbs around your mouth."Cookies for breakfast!" I declared on the last day of your first visit when you burst into tears at the thought of leaving. And cookies for breakast it was on the last day of all of your visits.This letter is the best goodbye I have at hand. I have been ill for a while, now, and by the time you receive this letter I shall be [[dead|5-7]].//

“Just five miles to go. We’ll be there by dusk.” It takes you a minute to respond to Jack, your friend and traveling companion. You have been staring into the woods outside the window, listening to the crunch of gravel and the sound of cicadas crashing against the car like waves. Hazy memories from childhood crowd the edges of your consciousness. You can almost feel them, a soft flutter of pale and insistent moths, before you blink them away and sit up from your half doze.“I can’t wait to get out and stretch my legs. This road feels like forever.” You groan theatrically, making Jack laugh as he starts flipping through radio stations. “Pretty sure it’s mostly nothing out here. Withe doesn’t even have a sta—“ and you are interrupted by a voice cutting through the static.“—in the sky //hiss// five stones //more white noise// falling slowly //a wave of dense static// and it is eighty seven degrees on this lovely summer evening in everyone’s favorite town of Withe. Next up we have Chopin’s Nocturne Opus Nine, Number 2, as performed by Gaspar Cassadó on the cello and Otto Schulhof on the piano.” The soft crackle and mellow tones of a vinyl recording fill the space and you and Jack share a look of surprise before he reaches over to turn up the volume.You lean back in your chair and look his way, taking in his brown hair lit gold by the setting sun and the slight bags under his mossy green eyes. A week ago he was sitting across from you at his kitchen table while you clutched your aunt’s letter and fought back bitter, remorseful tears. Somehow he had talked you into letting him keep you company on your trip to Withe to meet with the executor of your aunt’s estate.//There is not much other than my house and the bookshop, the letter read, but I wanted to leave you more than happy memories. Whether you choose to leave or stay, I hope to give you a little extra freedom. If the city gets too stifling you will always have a sanctuary out here in the big green. It comes with a few responsibilities, but nothing you cannot handle. If you need anything at all I recommend consulting Felix, my executor and bookshop manager.//The name has a familiar ring to it but you cannot recollect why. It is not that you do not remember any of your childhood, it is that you do not remember most of it. Trying to recall things often felt like putting a puzzle together around gaping holes made up of missing pieces. Still, what memories you retain of your time in Withe are happier and more distinct than the rest of your younger years and you cling to them in adulthood like you would a favorite plush toy, no matter its loose stitches and patches of worn away velveteen.A sound draws you out of your thoughts and you look up to see Jack pulling over to the side of the road near a sign marking the entrance to Withe, population five thousand and three. Two trees are carved into either side of the sign, their gnarled trunks posts driven into the ground and their branches twined together to form the sign’s border. Jack turns to face you with a serious demeanor, his eyes slowly scanning your expression before he speaks.“How are you? You’ve been quieter than usual. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to but I’m here if you need anything.” Your breath catches around the lump in your throat as you meet his gaze and you gather yourself and try to muster a reply.[[You are not sure how you feel.|7a]] [[You do not really want to talk about it.|7b]]

“I don’t know. There's so much I don’t remember. I have nothing but good memories, but most of them— it’s like they happened to someone else.” You let out an awkward laugh and sink down into your seat before looking out the window. “It’s been so long.” Fifteen years, in fact. But if you said that out loud you would have to explain why it has been fifteen years since you have seen your beloved aunt and you were not ready for that conversation.“Hey, you don’t need to force it. There’s plenty of time to work through things.” Jack’s eyes find yours again and his smile, bright and warm, chases away a little of your buzzing tension. You return it with a tentative smile of your own and as Jack restarts the car and pulls back into the road you rest your head on the [[window|8]] and close your eyes.

You open your mouth and find your response stuck in a suddenly dry throat. A part of you wonders if it is not too late to turn around and go back to your cramped apartment and your call center job, except you sublet the apartment and took a leave of absence from work.“I don’t really want to talk about it. I’ll be fine.” You force the words out and hope that your tone matches them but you know better when you see Jack wince and look down at his hands before he reaches for the keys in the ignition. He is never fooled by the forced casualness you assume when overcome with emotion and this time is no different.“Um—“Jack pauses starting the car and you sense the soft pressure of his regard as you tug at a dry sliver of cuticle skin.“Thanks for coming with me.” The words tumble out in a clumsy rush and you raise your eyes to see him giving you a kind smile as he pulls out into the road. The loose skin you have been tugging at gives and you are left with a stinging hurt as you stare into the woods, their shadows deep and [[encroaching|8]] in the growing twilight.

“I don’t think $name’s going to make it a week here. Fifty says $name takes one look at your scowl and leaves town, inheritance or no inheritance.” The owner of the voice flops down into an armchair, one leg extending to rest on a nearby table. Long auburn curls frame a sly, freckled face graced with a pair of dancing gray eyes. “You don’t know that.” A slender figure turns away from the window and marches over to separate table and foot. He perches on the edge of a couch, after, the glower of his pale blue eyes contrasting with dark hair and rich brown skin. His heel, muted by carpet, taps— once, twice, three times, and stops. “What, and you do? In case it’s slipped your mind, it’s been fifteen years with no contact. You two might be the same kids from way back when in your head but so much life has happened since then. Look, Felix, we have to be realistic.” The heel begins to tap again, once, twice, and then Felix leans forward, his words a quiet hiss as he glares at the person in the armchair. “I believe. Marion believes— believed in $name. Say what you want but even you have not glimpsed that future.” He rises from the couch and moves to look out the window again, his posture radiating tension. “It’s about time I left for home, I think. Remember what I said. You pined for three years straight, last time.” Felix turns to reply with a snarl but the [[door|9]] is already closing and he sighs instead, his shoulders sagging. *You’d better be right, Marion.*

“That is a large number of novelty lawn gnomes.” You close the trunk of the car and turn to see Jack engaged in a tense stare down with the closest two foot high lawn ornament, a faded and scowling gnome with a drooping red hat and a pitchfork in its hand.“There should be eighteen of them, or at least there were the last time I was here. Aunt Marion always did like to make a, um, strong first impression.” You look up at the snug two story bungalow surrounded by ragged patches of half-wild garden. The siding is a worn and faded blue and you spot at least two crooked shutters but the house is just as you remember and you catch yourself waiting for the front door to open and reveal your aunt, her arms open in welcome.//Not this time.// Your heart clenches as you step onto the deep wooden porch and set your bags to one side. There is a note slipped into the gap between the screen door and frame and you pull it out and unfold it to reveal a line of text. //Check the mailbox.// You lift the lid of the metal mailbox next to the door and find a key and a letter addressed to you in the same cramped and angular handwriting as the note.Stuffing the letter into a bag, you unlock the door and carry your things through the living room, up the stairs, and down a narrow hallway. You hear Jack behind you and call out to him over your shoulder. “The bedrooms are down this hall and to the left. You can take the nearest one, mine is further down.”When you reach your room your hand hesitates on the door knob before you turn it and when the door swings open your eyes widen. Things are exactly as you left them from the posters on the walls to the too small clothes hanging in the closet. The overstuffed bookshelf is dust free and the curtains are parted to let in the last of the daylight and you flop back on the bed and stare at the ceiling like you are thirteen again with an interminable stretch of quiet summer ahead of you.You see a shadow from the corner of your eye and feel the bed sink under another body as Jack joins you. You both lie there listening to the muted rattle of the ceiling fan and you almost give in to the urge to nap.“Don’t get too comfortable. I’m about to order pizza.” Jack rolls to face you, a teasing glimmer in his eyes. “Extra mushrooms, right?”“Don’t you dare!”Jumping off the bed, you toss a plush dragon at him and start unpacking your bags. “I’ll meet you downstairs but I need to find something first. And no //mushrooms//.”You pull the letter out from between the pages of your tattered copy of Elizabeth Hand’s Wylding Hall and unseal the envelope. A single [[crisp sheet of heavy paper|10]] slips out.

//Dear $name, I hope this letter finds you well and that your trip was uneventful.As you know by now, your aunt has appointed me executor of her estate. Please do not trouble yourself as everything can be handled at your convenience. I have enclosed the number of the estate lawyer for any questions you might have in the meantime.I have taken the liberty of stocking the house with any necessities you might need including food. Feel free to contact me, I am at your disposal. You can reach me at xxx-xxx-xxxx or in my apartment above the bookstore.Yours truly,FelixP.S. : The oven is off by fifteen degrees.//[[You hear a sound|11]].

“I found some cookies in the kitchen. I think they’re homemade?” Jack walks into the living room with a blissful expression, half a cookie in his hand.“Cookies? The letter did mention food and other necessities. It wasn’t very specific. Where in the kitchen are these cookies?” You look over at him and grin when you see his mouth full. “Never mind, I’ll look for them.”It does not take long to spot a transparent jar full of cookies sitting on a counter near the stove. You grab a couple and take a seat at the kitchen table, running your hand along a familiar dent in the wood as you take a bite. The cookie tastes fresh, the right combination of soft and chewy and crunchy. It is studded with chocolate chips and chopped bits of walnut and tastes exactly like the cookies your aunt used to bake for you.You squint at the letter in your hand as you [[puzzle|12]] over the presence of your favorite treats and your aunt’s relationship with Felix.

“Room for one more?” Startled, you look up to see Jack has joined you on the front porch and you gesture toward the weathered cane chair next to yours. He lowers himself with a sigh and the both of you sit there with nothing but the night sounds between you.“What are your plans for tomorrow?” You returned his tired smile with one of your own and his eyes, darker in the evening shadows, hold yours until you look away, a sudden and surprising warmth in your cheeks. Resisting the urge to cover your traitorous face with your hands, you try and focus on the conversation instead of your sudden lapse in composure.“I think I’m going to hit up the bookstore first to talk with Felix about the next steps. I should go through Aunt Marion’s things soon but I’m not ready for it yet.” You catch your hands tightening on the chair arms and take a deep breath and release your fingers. “What about you?”“I read about a hiking trail a few miles outside town. Figured I could drop you off at the bookstore and hike for a couple of hours and pick you up for lunch. How does that sound?”“I’d like that. Thanks so much for everything. I mean it.”He reaches over and touches your wrist, his fingers hot against your skin. “You’ve already thanked me more than once. Besides, I brought my laptop and I’ll have all the time I need to write.”“True. I’m glad you have a chance to get away for some uninterrupted work. You’ve been so busy lately.” You fall silent wondering how much work you have ahead of yourself and the exhaustion washes over you, weighing down your eyelids in spite of your best efforts.As you begin to yawn, Jack stands and offers his hand and pulls you up. “C’mon, let’s get some sleep otherwise I will stay up all night eating those cookies.”“You’d better hope my aunt willed me the recipe otherwise you’ll have to find a way to cough up those cookies. Intact.”Jack lets out a hearty laugh in return and follows you inside where you part ways. You have little trouble falling asleep, the fluffy comforter pulled up to your chin and the scent of lavender tickling your nose. [[Something in the night wakes you|13]].

…and you sit up in a sweaty tangle of sheets, groggy and disoriented. Slipping out of bed, you grimace at the shrill creak of a floorboard underneath your foot as you move to open the window halfway. There is a step behind you and a tall figure stands at your side followed by the steady pressure of a hand on your shoulder. You lean your cheek into the hand, your eyes focused on the dark and tangled patch of trees that borders the back of the house. The normal forest noises have ceased, replaced by the clamor of something large crashing through the trees in the distance.Next to you, a hushed voice sings //Again they’ll turn me in your armsTo a red hot brand of iron,But hold me fast, and fear me not,I’ll do you no harm.// ^^1^^ You raise your hand to your face and it comes away wet with tears. The voice stops and you hear the crashing again accompanied by what sounds like the baying of hounds and you feel the hand on your shoulder tighten as you try to turn your head.You try to turn your head.You try to turn.You try.Hot liquid drips from your nose and you raise your hand again. This time, it comes away smeared with blood and your ears ring, drowning out the baying. You struggle to close the window but the hand continues to hold you in place.“No, my treasure.” The voice murmurs in your ear. “Not this time. This time you face it. [[No more running away|14]] or closing your eyes.” A shining cup appears in front of you and the hand moves to grasp the back of your neck as the cup is brought to your lips. “Drink.”Whatever is in the cup flares through you, burning all the way down to your feet while you scream and struggle to escape the inexorable grasp of your companion. The pain fades to a dull ache and you hear the clatter of the cup hitting the floor as your eyes shut of their own accord and you crumple, the world around you whittled down to the sensation of velvet against your cheek and arms hoisting you into the air. ^^1^^ //Source: The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, 1882-1898 by Francis James Child//

It is almost nine-thirty when you are finally driven from your bed by the squabbling of house finches in the tree outside your open window. You pause, frowning, and shut it.Stumbling into the bathroom following a furtive dash down the hallway, you stand in front of the mirror, fretting over your reflection. Your skin is dry in places and you doubt the dark circles are a trick of the light. “The first night is the hardest,” you tell yourself as you brush your teeth and splash water on your face.Feeling a little more refreshed, you follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen where you see Jack washing dishes and a table set with a simple breakfast of bacon and eggs with toast and jam. You grab a towel and begin drying dishes but Jack shoos you away, saying, “Sit down and eat. I’ll join you as soon as I finish.”You pour coffee into an oversized mug and settle yourself with your phone at the kitchen table. The food is delicious, Jack’s food is always delicious, but you end up scrolling through headlines and chasing bits of food around with a fork.“Did you sleep well?” Jack refills your coffee and takes the chair across from you, lines of concern etched between his brows.“I had a very strange dream, actually. It’s sort of fuzzy but I think I heard the neighbor’s dogs. Don’t worry, I’m a little tired but I’ll be fine.” The coffee is dark and smooth and bracing, fizzing through your veins and taking the edge off your fatigue.[[Try to remember the dream|14a]]. [[Shake off the uneasy feeling|14b]].

“Well if you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. My sleep was dull and dream free.” His tone is light but his expression remains sober as he waits to hear what you have to say.You stare at the surface of your coffee as you think back. “A noise woke me up in the middle of the night. Probably the neighbor’s dogs but I was standing by the window and listening to a large *thing* moving through the trees. And there was someone with me.” A pressure in your skull builds into a throb behind your eyes and you barely hear the scrape of a chair before Jack is pulling your hands away from your face, his grasp indomitable yet gentle.“$name, your nose is bleeding. Lean forward, I’ll be right back.” Jack returns and presses a tissue to your nose, his other hand soft against the side of your face.“I’m sorry, I didn’t—““Why are you apologizing, it’s a nosebleed. It’s not your fault. Here, let’s replace that.” He exchanges the blood soaked tissue for a clean one and you hold it in place, your fingers brushing against his briefly.“Thanks for that.” You relax, relieved to find your nagging headache gone.Jack looks down at his hands as he dries them. “No one is saying you have to go to the bookstore today. We can stay in and binge watch a show with our pantry full of snacks.“That sounds incredibly good right now, but I’m ok, I promise. Besides, once I meet with Felix I’ll know what I need to do next.” With every minute that passes the dream and accompanying dread loosen their violent hold on your psyche and by the time your nose stops bleeding you are ready to wash up and leave for the bookstore. [[Your old haunt|15]]

“Well if you want to talk about it I’m all ears. My sleep was dull and dream free.” His tone is light but his expression remains sober as he waits to hear what you have to say.“I think the coffee you made chased the last of it out of my head with my headache. Thanks for breakfast.” You smile at him over the rim of your mug.“I’m glad you’re feeling better but call me if you need to leave early. I’ll be right back, I need to grab some things for the hike. There’s a travel mug by the coffee pot if you want to take some with you.”A warm glow fills your chest that stays with you as you lock up and join Jack in the car and you find yourself looking forward to your meeting. Coming back to Withe and staying in this house surrounded by mementos and ephemera and the mute, etiolated presence of the dead gives you a peculiar [[solace|15]].

The exquisite silver bell above the door gives a melodic jangle as you let yourself into the bookshop, taking a deep inhale of old book smell and coffee. Nostalgia overtakes you as you run your fingers along gilded spines and you jump when you hear a voice call out to you by name.Turning, you see a figure striding out from behind a tall wooden counter before stopping a few feet away from you, his icy blue eyes shrewd and assessing. His simple white dress shirt and dark slacks hang a little on his wiry frame and his sleeves are rolled up past slender brown wrists.You take a small step forward. “Are you Felix? It’s nice to finally meet you.” You hold out your hand and he gives it a cursory shake, an indecipherable expression on his face.“Yes, I’m Felix.” He is stiff and frowning and you are not sure what to make of what looks like consternation.“I was stopping by to set up a time to meet and discuss things. Your gaze travels from his frown to the empty bookshop. “I can come by later if it’s more convenient.”Felix walks past you and flips the sign on the door to closed. Are his shoulders always that tense? “Follow me,” he says, and you trail after him into the back of the bookstore and up a cramped staircase where he unlocks a door leading into an apartment that comprises the upper floor of the bookstore.The last time you were here this second story was filled with dusty boxes of overstock and you would spend slow summer afternoons reading while nestled in a three legged armchair that had been propped up with more books. It is far different now and you pause at the threshold of a space transformed.Mid morning light filters through a wall of lush, glossy plants and the wood floors gleam under scattered multicolored rugs. “Sit down, I’ll make some tea.” Your host gestures at a chair in a corner of the room and disappears behind a swinging door.[[Follow Felix|15a]] [[Sit down|15b]]

You follow Felix through the door, ignoring his offer of a seat. Curiosity sends you further into this apartment with its taciturn inhabitant but it is your old relation to this place that makes you bold.His back to you, Felix begins making tea with precise and practiced movements in a spotless kitchen with faded linoleum and brightly painted cabinets.“Did you bake the cookies that were left at my aunt’s house? They taste exactly like the ones she used to make for me.”Turning away from his preparation, Felix leans against the counter and folds his arms. “I did. Marion found out I’d gotten into baking and she wanted to pass on some of the family favorites. I’ve made copies and can give you the originals.”You consider his offer before you give an emphatic shake of your head. “Aunt Marion wanted them to be in the hands of someone who would love them and use them and I am a terrible cook. She would be happy to know that those cookies are being made.”“I hope so. Thank you,” he answers simply, pouring steaming water into mugs on a tray. He adds a plate of cookies and lifts everything in one smooth, strong motion and you hold the door open for him, following to sit on the other side of a scuffed and dented coffee table. [[You take a sip of tea|16]]

You sink into the depths of the armchair and survey the fastidiously neat room while you wait for Felix. Next to your chair is a sagging bookcase packed with double stacked rows of volumes that all look like they have been read multiple times, some of them held together with rubber bands and tape. Across from you, a scuffed and dented coffee table that shines with polish divides the snug living area. On the other side is a frayed couch, a fuzzy emerald blanket draped over the back.Your fingers pull at a loose thread on the chair arm and you stop and focus on the texture and pattern of the upholstery. You find the worn spot on the chair seat when you move to one side but when you look for the books propping up the back corner of the chair you see a mismatched leg screwed into the frame. This piece of your old life has been taken and restored but everything about the way it feels and what it evokes is the same.The door swings open to reveal Felix with a tray that he carries to the table. Removing two steaming mugs and a plate of cookies with careful, methodical motion, he sets the tray aside. [[You take a sip of tea|16]]

“How much do you remember?” His questions jars you mid sip and tea scalds your tongue. One hand joins the other to wrap around your mug as a faint shiver of unease raises the hairs on the back of your neck.“I don’t understand, remember what? About what?”“Your summers here in Withe of course. Silky hair falls over his eyes as he sets his mug down and rests his elbows on his knees. “How much do you remember?”You pause and take another sip of tea, tasting the mixture of chamomile and mint with exactly half a teaspoon of honey. Your aunt used to make this same tea on nights when you could not sleep and the two of you would sit on her front porch drinking and talking until your eyes refused to stay open.“I remember this.” You wave the mug in his direction and take another sip. “I remember watching old movies on weekends and roaming the woods and reading in this armchair. I remember wanting to eat dinner three nights a week at that one diner with the best burger in the world.”“The diner’s still here. The burgers haven’t changed, either." Felix stops, his frown making another appearance as he stands and grabs a folder from the bookcase behind you. He sits back down, shoulders sagging a little as he examines the blank front of the folder. Your eyes wander over the planes of his face, a puzzle your brain keeps trying to solve. At first impression, he seemed cold and severe, but here his face looks tired and sad.“Mar— your aunt, she took care of all the necessary planning with her lawyer. This holds her will and the key to her study.”It is your turn to stare at the folder, a mix of anger, regret, and sorrow swirling through you, suffocating you with their burden. Your breath shortens and your palms begin to sweat as you struggle against the panicked loneliness that wraps your heart in a gelid embrace.You blink and Felix is next to you and pulling you into a hug. “She would be happy to know that you’re here,” he murmurs, his soft baritone muffled against your hair.After the initial shock of hearing about your aunt’s death, a numbness had settled into the empty space in your chest, clawing its way in so deep you thought it would stay forever. Yet here you are, crying on Felix’s shoulder as reality asserts itself.You step out of his arms and scrub at the tears left around your eyes. “Oh wow, I’m so sorry.” You start to sidle toward the door leading downstairs, avoiding his gaze.“$name, wait.” Felix moves closer, his hand reaching out halfway then dropping to his side. He walks back to the table and grabs the folder. “Take this. You don’t need to look through it tonight.”“Thank you. I really mean it." You clutch the folder to your chest as you descend the stairs, Felix a couple steps behind.When you reach the ground floor you halt in the middle of the bookshop and look out into the quiet street drenched in sunlight. The sickening rush of emotion from earlier has subsided and you bite your lip, regretting your outburst.“Are you free tomorrow night?”Felix is flipping the shop sign to open after unlocking the door and he hesitates for the briefest of moments. “Yes. Why?” His eyes flick to yours, a friendly glimmer lurking in their blue depths and belying the austerity of his expression.“Let’s have dinner! My treat. I’ve been wanting to thank you properly for all your help.” Your words tumble out in a nervous rush and you give him a stiff smile as you shift your weight to the other foot.“I would like that.” Felix gives you a disarmingly wide and sweet smile in return. “I’m sure you’ll have some questions I can answer then.”He holds the door open and with a small wave you are on the sidewalk, plotting a course to the [[cafe|17]] where you and Jack are supposed to meet. A summer breeze keeps you company, teasing at your clothing and bringing with it the smells of chlorophyll and wet earth.

The cafe is a cheerful yellow building framed by two massive black oak trees. The trees you remember but the cafe is new. You are texting Jack as you walk up the scuffed porch steps and nearly collide with a tall figure leaving the cafe. One long fingered hand curls around your arm, keeping you from going any further while a pair of keen gray eyes study your face.“Best to watch your step, //stranger//,” the person says, their tone honeyed and lilting and at odds with the almost painful dig of their fingers.Stunned, you freeze in their grasp as the fragrance of petrichor and pines envelops you. They lean closer, one auburn curl almost brushing your cheek as their hand moves to the side of your neck.The chime of your phone snaps you out of your daze and you jerk out of their hold and take a step back, one hand reaching up to rub your arm. “Don’t touch me, asshole.” You are shocked to hear a bright peal of laughter as they make room for you to pass.Your hand is reaching for the [[door|18]] when you hear your name. Not bothering to turn around, you stop, a queasy sort of curiosity holding you back.“I mean it. Please, take care." You find it impossible to tell whether it is courtesy or warning you hear in their voice. And with that, they leave you alone with equal parts confusion and annoyance, their footsteps so light you almost miss them before they fade away completely.

You step into a dazzlingly bright area cluttered with small tables, most of them filled at this hour. A short and curvy woman with deep bronze skin and curly black hair pinned into a loose bun is taking orders at the counter, her mahogany eyes twinkling over a buoyant grin.Recognition strikes you at the sight of your old friend Sin, short for Tamsin. Her family moved into the large blue house across the street from your aunt and the two of you were close friends for a few years until her family left town suddenly with no word of where they settled.“Welcome! How can I help—“ Tamsin trails off, surprise spilling over her face. “$name! What are you doing here? Lee, take over for me, will you?” She darts out from behind the counter and seizes your hand, towing you through a short hallway and into a back room.“Sin! When did you move back? It’s good to see you.” You hug her and she returns it with a fierce squeeze.“I moved back and opened up this cafe a couple years ago. I’d hoped to see you but your aunt told me you didn’t visit anymore.” Tamsin stops and gives you a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry about Marion. How are you holding up? Do you need anything?”Your smile fades. “I’ll be fine. Really. I could probably use a little more sleep but I’ll settle for extra coffee.”[[Tell Tamsin about the disagreeable stranger|18a]] [[Keep silent|18b]]

<<set $askTamsin to true>> “I had a bizarre encounter with one of your customers earlier. They were tall with red hair and a big problem with me, I think?”Tamsin erupts with laughter, tries to speak, and laughs again. “Oh my gosh, that would be Pell. They have a big problem with a lot of people but they’re not as bad their first impression, I promise.”You try not to look //too// skeptical. “I’ll take your word for it but I’m going to avoid a second impression since life is so short and all.”You sit down with coffee and [[wait|19]] for Jack and Tamsin rushes away to handle a sudden influx of hungry people.

You consider telling Tamsin about the irksome meeting with the gray eyed stranger but you brush it off. Withe may be a small town but you doubt you will be here long enough to worry about seeing them again.You sit down with coffee and [[wait|19]] for Jack.

“How was your meeting?” Jack slides into the chair across from you, jarring you out of your reverie.“It wasn’t much of one, honestly. I, um, started crying after Felix gave me some paperwork to look at and then I kind of ran out on him. I’m supposed to have dinner with him tomorrow to discuss things and I’m a little embarrassed.” You give him a sheepish glance.“Does your mom know you’re here? I’m surprised she didn’t come with you.”“She and my aunt hate— hated each other, like, absolutely loathed each other. The reason I was allowed to visit every summer was that my mother had a guaranteed three months without me and didn’t have to pay for a nanny.”It is difficult for you to refrain from rolling your eyes when Jack’s expression turns somber. “Look, it’s in the past and you don’t need to feel sorry for me.”“It’s not that at all, I—““$name, you going to introduce me to your friend?” Tamsin casually plops down next to you and directs a bright and curious look at a flustered Jack.You make introductions, relieved at the interruption, and the three of you spend the next half hour chatting over more coffee and for the first time since you arrived in Withe the tension that has been coiled around you unwinds and drops to the floor in an invisible heap. Jack’s quiet support, Tamsin’s laughter that bubbles up from deep inside her belly— you can almost feel them in your hands, glowing talismans keeping you anchored to this happy reality.You decide to take a walk, after, possessed by the desire to shake off the sleepy and relaxed mood of the morning. It feels too close to [[vulnerability|20]] and you are paradoxically filled to the brim with an unspecified agitation.

The woods are full of virid summer growth and the kind of humidity that pushes against you and into you, weighing your lungs and feet down. The forest floor is thick and spongy with humus and you imagine it honeycombed with sticks and bones and creeping vines held together with moss and mold.You step off the path and pausing, wiping sweat from your forehead while you listen to the background scream of cicadas and the occasional bird. Closing your eyes, you think about being back here, back here for good, even. In comparison your home, a day’s drive away, might as well be something you read about in a book or saw in a painting on a gallery wall. Lacking the gravity of Withe and its environs, it is a graphite sketch on tissue thin paper, growing fainter as the forest tugs at your consciousness.The birdsong wavers and fades, followed by the breeze among the branches overhead. Neither truly registers until the cicada song cuts off like it has been sliced away with a knife and a pressure starts to build in your ears. Your vision darkens a little at the edges as your ears let out a throb and you gasp, reaching for the nearest tree and seeking to concentrate on the scrape of bark against your skin.Hounds bay somewhere in the trees ahead and a shiver wracks you as you look for a way back. Spotting the path a few yards away you struggle toward it as the baying grows louder.//Get it together, $name.// You strive to focus on putting one foot in front of the other but every time you look up the footpath leading back remains out of reach.Ten minutes pass and the path has disappeared to be replaced with a dense, unfamiliar stretch of forest. You can hear movement around you, frantic dogs and the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats. Someone is yelling but you cannot make out the words over the sudden ringing in your ears that is so loud you clap your hands to your head trying to shut it out. Warm liquid drips from your nose and you taste salt and copper when it reaches your lips.Another shout, this time closer, and your arm is grabbed and yanked. “$name!” You stumble after the person dragging you, too disoriented to protest. They stop every so often to listen for the hound’s pursuit then continue in the opposite direction.A branch rakes your collarbone and you halt, reclaiming your arm and leaning against a tree. “I can’t. Give me a second to rest, please!” You are out of breath but the ringing in your ears is starting to ebb and you scrub at the dry crust of what you suspect is [[blood|20if]] on your lips and chin. You look up, squinting as an afternoon ray of sun slants across your face.

“Pell? Are you following me? And why are we running like this? I mean, it’s just dogs.”Their eyes widen a fraction and they respond with the same strange tone they used when you first met. “Because they’re not dogs, you fool, and we need to leave now.” Genuine fear twists their features.You try to parse “they’re not just dogs” but give up, instead pinching yourself in case this is another nightmare.“Ow.”A choking noise comes from Pell and you recoil when you spy the ominous glitter in their narrowed eyes. One hand snakes out and their fingers interlace with yours as they hiss “This is not a dream, come //on//,” and the two of you flee while the hounds draw closer.There is little room for thought beyond the ache in your side and the growing alarm creeping through you at the increasing urgency that laces the barks and howls following you. One shoe slips on a stone and you trip and Pell clenches your hand in a punishing grip, keeping you from falling.“Not much further,” they say, looking you over before they are once more dragging you through twisted undergrowth.You hear the sound of running water and Pell slows their steps until the both of you are standing in front of a swift and narrow stream. The water is clear and shimmering with reflected sunlight as it slips over and around rocks studding the stream bed and you are filled with a wild desire to sink to your knees and lap up the water.Dropping your hand, Pell turns and peers into the woods behind you. //Not much further//, you tell yourself, as the hounds let out deep, hoarse barks and the trees sway with the passing of mute and agitated birds.“Cross the water and follow it downstream to find your way out. Now go.” They start to walk back into the forest and you grab their sleeve, bringing them to a reluctant standstill.“Aren’t you coming with me?” Tamsin had not vouched for them exactly, but you doubted they deserved being left alone here to face whatever was coming after you. “What are you going to do?”Pell stares at you in wild confusion and rips their sleeve out of your grasp. “I’m going to let them know their prey has given them the slip. But I can’t do that if you. Refuse. To leave. //Go//.” They stalk off without a look back, leaving you to pick your way across the water and listen for sounds of [[pursuit|21]].

“You!” Standing there and looking down at you with a bland expression on their face was the last person you wanted to see, the awful cafe customer from earlier. “Look, I don’t know why you’re dragging me around the forest. Would you point me in the direction of town?”“Listen, you need to come with me.” They take a couple steps closer, one hand reaching out for you, their face pale and tense. “It’s not safe right now.” A short, sharp bark comes from the trees nearby and they look over their shoulder and turn back to you, their posture now entreating. “Please.”“I think I’ll be ok by myself, thanks.” It was not worth the risk, accepting vague and questionable aid from an obnoxious stranger who has dragged you this far with no explanation. You start to back away slowly, your hands held out and open, placating. Your head is pounding again and your vision clouds and you clench your teeth while you focus on staying upright.They reach out for you again, saying your name, and you flinch and break into a hectic run, ignoring the branches marking your skin as you fight your way through them. You push through the sudden sickness and the old primal fear of being hunted.Rejecting your instinct to find a burrow large enough to hold you as you wait out this pursuit, you run. And stumble. And run again. You can hear the dogs drawing closer accompanied by the hoofbeats from earlier and you freeze, heaving great burning breaths as your legs shake. If you can find the horse, you might find a rider and with that, a way out of here. You run toward the hoofbeats, your heart pounding along with your headache.Spotting a clearing up ahead, you muster one last burst of speed and nearly fall past the tree line. The sun blazes overhead with no canopy of leaves and branches to soften it and your eyes water as you scan the area.Your gaze alights on a towering figure atop a massive horse in the middle of the clearing and you approach with apprehension as you mark the thick and oppressive stillness blanketing the area. Your footsteps thunder and your breath roars and the rider waits, growing ever larger and swallowing your perception. You fail to notice the faraway voice calling your name from the trees.The rider raises one black gloved hand as he looks down at you with dark, laughing eyes above a rugged, bearded face. Parallel lines of scar tissue cut across one cheekbone and his nose and you shiver a little thinking about what it must have felt like fresh.“There you are, little beast.” His strangely familiar and mocking inflection lulls you and you take a few steps closer even as a tiny voice inside you urges circumspection. You wish you could afford it but you are so lost.The gloved hand reaches out and the genial expression on the rider’s face stretches into a white toothed grin as he looks past you.“So it was you leading my hounds on a merry chase. What a lucky day to encounter the pair of you.”You open your mouth but whatever you might have said is knocked out of your head with your breath and you stare down at the spear lodged in your chest, cold radiating from the point of contact. Time slows as you reach for it with a sluggish motion but in one swift movement the rider and horse shift sideways and the spear pulls away as you crumple to the ground.“Gabriel, no!” A shape moves to block the light and you recognize the person you ran with earlier as they press a cloth against your chest. You want to say that it hurts but the cold has reached your neck, freezing your voice. Shaking fingers brush the side of your face and they whisper your name but your focus is locked on the fading tangibility of your body around you. You try to take in air even as a part of you understands that this desperate fight is over and [[darkness descends|badend]] around you like a curtain as your eyes flutter shut and unconsciousness overtakes you.

Somehow you make it. You set foot on sidewalk and almost collapse out of equal parts exhaustion and relief as your breath comes out on a sob. A mere couple of blocks lie between you and the relative safety of four walls and a roof but making it to the doorstep is another thing entirely.“Just a little longer, $name. One foot in front of the other, you’ll be there in no time. It’s fine. It’s totally fine.” Of course it is not fine and you do falter but you manage to convince yourself that the pavement is as good a place as any for a brief rest. You start to sink into a crouch but jump at the blare of a horn followed by the slam of a car door.“What happened to you? Where have you been?” Jack is next to you, half holding you up as he examines you with alarm. “Can you walk? It’s a few steps to the car.”“I’m a little wobbly but I can walk.” You shiver and lean on your friend, avoiding his questions. You are unsure if you can even answer them properly and your mind wanders back to the very real dismay emanating from Pell. Another shiver travels up your spine and Jack pulls you [[close|22]].

Hot cheese burns the top of your mouth as you dig into still steaming lasagne. The burnt spot in your mouth feels raw under you tongue but you relish the homey comfort of the dish.You think about how to frame your experience this afternoon while you twirl the cheese around the tines of a fork. In retrospect, your time in the woods, while terrifying, resulted in nothing but a bloody nose and sore feet. There was Pell, but irrespective of whatever it is they want, you are fairly certain they do not intend to harm you. At least knowingly.“Hey.” Jack puts down his fork and addresses you, his tone cautious and subdued. “What happened out there? You were gone for hours. And the blood on your face—“You touch your face, feeling for the crust you had washed away. “There were a bunch of dogs chasing after something and I got lost when trying to avoid them. I ran into someone from town and they helped point me in the right direction.” No need to elaborate on a cryptic Pell forcing you to run through what felt like half the forest.Jack leans back in his chair and looks at you for a long moment while you occupy yourself folding and refolding your napkin. “And that’s all?”You scowl a little, mentally kicking yourself over taking Jack up on his offer to accompany you. He can read you better than most and you fret over what he might see in you here in Withe, your defenses and routines [[compromised|23]].“Yes, that’s all. I’m still here, aren’t I?” You reach underneath the table and run your fingers across initials you had carved into the wood years ago. “I need to do this. For my aunt //and// myself."

The front door closes behind Jack after a late breakfast and you are alone in the house for the first time since you arrived. You amble into the kitchen and heat a mug of water as you play with the key to your aunt’s study. It is worn and unassuming although when you hold it up to the light you detect a faint scrollwork along its bow.Setting it down you grab your hot water and lower a teabag into it, inhaling the oolong and rose scented steam. Your aunt always said the blend was good for lengthy days and bright nights when focus and clarity were needed. Like now, you think, as you pick up the key and mug, taking care to tread on the outside edge of a creaky step as you head upstairs.You ascend to the secret heart of the house and face the red painted door that stands between you and a cramped and cluttered room lined with floor to ceiling bookcases. Your aunt called it her nest and it certainly was, the years marked out in new accretions on the shelves that surround a heavy wooden desk and chair. Across from the desk is a velvety couch and lamp where you once sat as your aunt poured tea and told stories.You turn the key in the lock and the door groans inward and you are buffeted by the smell of old books and incense and dust. Sunbeams cut through wooden shutters and fall across a three foot tall ball jointed doll positioned carefully on the chair behind the desk, its hands folded neatly in its lap.Moving closer you reach out and tug lightly on a wavy lock of impossibly silky silver hair framing a delicate porcelain face. It is clad in a gently ruffled blue silk tea gown with dramatic lace-embellished sleeves and tiny white boots.The face is long and pale and foxlike with straight, dark lashes that almost brush the tops of its cheekbones and a glacial expression that is slightly undermined by its eyes being hidden behind closed lids. You lean in to brush away a small hair and discover it is an artfully placed vein along its temple.Straightening, you turn and begin your search with the filing cabinet tucked into a corner between two bookcases, flipping through bundled receipts and puzzling over the doll. It is a small and fascinating detail in the hodgepodge of things that constitute your aunt’s estate and you regret the brevity of your stay. Any mysteries will be effectively laid to rest once you leave.Your wrist aches a little and you can see faint marks from Pell’s grasp, can feel the bruising grip of their cool fingers as they draw you after them. You may have put on a bold front with Jack but in truth you have been on edge since your time in the woods.“What have you gotten me into, Aunt Marion?” you mutter as you peruse a folder filled with what looks like property boundary surveys covered in spiky, complex symbols.“Nothing you can’t handle, my dear.” You reel as if struck by the crisp, recognizable utterance that comes from the direction of the chair. //The doll.//The file in your hand drops and spills its contents on the floor as your head turns, a voice inside you screaming at you to stop, to run away, to //wake up//.The gaze that meets yours is tawny and filled with something sharp and ambiguous. You stumble backwards, unwilling to take your eyes off this porcelain horror talking at you in your dead aunt’s voice. Fumbling with the handle of the door behind you, you blindly pull at it, wondering why it refuses to give.“I can’t buy you any more time, $name.” You give up and sag against the door, suffused with helpless shock as you take in the doll’s words, that familiar voice.It is your aunt. It is your aunt when you asked her why you had to leave at the end of every summer with a mother who picked you up like a punishing habit. It is your aunt when you fractured your wrist falling out of bed during a [[bad dream|24]]. You begin to shake.“Aunt Marion?”

You are in the kitchen rummaging through the pantry when you hear the doorbell chime over the music coming through your headphones. You allow yourself a tiny sigh before you straighten your shoulders and answer the door.Felix is standing on the porch looking almost as stiff and disgruntled as the day you met. As the day you met for the second time, you remind yourself. Something stirs in your subconscious but it dissolves as soon as you blink and you are left standing there awkwardly, your mouth dry.He clears his throat and takes the smallest step forward and you open the door wider. “Sorry, I’ve been distracted. [[Come in|25]].”

“I started going through my aunt’s study today.” He shoots you a look that you can feel on the back of your neck while you fill a teakettle. You hear the rattle of mugs and the clink of silverware and take note of Felix’s familiarity with this kitchen.Before long, you are seated across from each other and Felix is pouring tea while you tear open a wax paper packet of thin chocolate glazed gingerbread cookies studded with flecks of preserved orange.“How well did you know my aunt?” The mug pauses on its way to Felix’s mouth and his frown deepens as he considers your question.“We were friends and business partners. Marion made a habit of checking on me after my parents died and I started helping out at the bookstore to repay her.” One hand passes over his face as he sets his cup down with the other. “If you’re asking if we were close, yes, she was like a second mother to me.”“Were we—““We were amicable.” A fire lights behind his eyes in contrast to his brusque manner but it dies as soon as it appears as Felix assumes a carefully neutral expression and busies himself pouring more tea.“This is not exactly why you called me here though, is it.” You tense at his words, sensing the tacit dismissal of your shared past. //That’s fair//, you think.“No, it’s not the primary reason. I called you because—“//I have a talking doll claiming to be my aunt and I need to know if this is real? Like that would go over well.// You take a slow sip of your tea to buy time and burn your tongue.You stand abruptly, nearly knocking your chair back. Your body is incapable of remaining still, your limbs restless and tingling with the urge to run out the door and away.“Felix.” He is hovering by you now as he stares down at you with an expression of worry. “[[I need to show you something|26]].”

You approach the doll, Felix a couple steps behind you. You resist the urge to make excuses and usher him out the door and instead clench your jaw, trying to quell the tremble in your limbs. Swallowing, you speak, not daring to look at Felix who has come to stand beside you.“Aunt Marion? Felix is here like you asked.” The single sound in the room is the tick of a clock on the wall and your hands clench, nails digging into your palm as the time drags.//Click//.The doll’s eyelids snap open and you let out a breath you did not realize you had been holding. Felix shifts closer, your shoulders nearly touching, and you are grateful for the small comfort of his proximity. You are surprised when you notice his composure that holds even as the doll begins to speak. //He’s not surprised at all.//“It’s so good to see the two of you together again.” Her voice is lively and affectionate and her gracile porcelain hands accompany her words with surprisingly fluid gestures that belie the stiffness of the doll’s limbs.“Aunt Marion?” Your voice cracks a little on the second to last syllable. “Is it really you?Felix is the first to answer. “That doll contains part of your aunt’s soul and most if not all of her memories. He meets the unblinking stare of the doll with shocking equanimity. “For all intents and purposes, you //are// Marion, aren’t you.”“Of course I am. I don’t see why I wouldn’t be. As to whether I am the //same// Marion, we’ll save that for another day.”You stand there, paralyzed by the thoughts and questions racing through your head. Things are much different now that you have an outside party to confirm that you are not, in fact, hallucinating your aunt as a talking doll.“You shouldn’t have done this.” Felix’s voice is harsh as he stares down your aunt, eyes flashing. “The sheer fucking cost—““You know why I had to do this. You of all people would know. And before we waste any more time with this back and forth there are things we need to address as I have to rest. Things that happen to directly affect $name."They turn to look at you and it takes every bit of self restraint you possess not to explode in frustration and confusion. Letting out a breath, you take a seat in a chair across from the couch and wrap your arms around yourself.Muttering something about tea, Felix disappears into the kitchen, leaving you alone with your aunt. You find it difficult to confront her fixed expression and look at the floor instead.“Aunt, what is going on?” You try to suppress the lost quavering tone behind your words but your voice betrays you.“I’m so sorry, kiddo.” The words fill you with a crushing dread, like a door opening in the night and all you see is a long shadow stretching across the floor.“I don’t understand, why are you sorry? What is happening? //What are you//?” You raise your head. “And what was Felix talking about?”“First things first, $name. There is much you don’t remember and more you have to learn. You need to be patient and willing to accept your reality.” Apprehension steals your breath at your aunt’s words.“Here.” Felix is pushing another mug of tea into your hands and you accept it with a murmured thanks as he sits on the edge of a nearby lounge.“Ok, I’m ready to hear what you have to say.” You set your mug down firmly and sit up straighter. “I would love for someone to explain why all of this isn’t some nightmare I will be overjoyed to wake from.”Your aunt nods. “I can do that.” And she [[begins|27]].

//Once upon a time, there lived a king who ruled over an old, vast city with his beloved brother as prime minister. Both strove to be wise and just in their dealings and the people of their kingdom saw many peaceful and prosperous years during their reign.An alchemist from a neighboring kingdom traveled to the city in search of a rare flower that was said to grow in the very utmost reaches of the hanging gardens that festooned the city. It was written that this flower, in the right preparation, could rouse those near death and even, it was whispered, revive the newly dead. The thing the alchemist knew for sure was that he had to possess this flower as his wife of twenty years was declining.Thus the aged alchemist found himself and his aching joints slowly scouring the city looking for the bloom of his miracle. He sat in the backs of taverns listening to the sodden murmurs of those nodding sleepily over their drinks and sought the company of those even older than himself who recounted stories of their youth and their parents’ youth.It took him months to follow threads of rumor and the alchemist encountered one dead end after another but he persisted in his search, his beard growing longer and his steps slower. He collected friends along the way who aided his search or fed him in exchange for his knowledge and tales of far off places. It was one such friend who one day passed along word of a hidden garden at the end of a twisting alley in a portion of the city that was partly abandoned and scarred by fire.Following shaky lines on a hand drawn map, the alchemist turned the last corner and found himself lost in the riot of blossoms and scent that was a garden unlike any he had ever seen. He wandered manicured paths curving around beds of plants good for cooking and healing. Many were not even native to this area and he speculated on how it was they not only survived but thrived in this hidden patch of earth guarded by high walls and a rusting iron gate.Plant by plant he explored the garden, occasionally halting to make a notation in his journal or pluck an herb to press between its pages. Reaching the end of one pathway, he found himself in front of another gate, this one propped open with a craggy stone. He could see more garden beyond and, thinking nothing of it, slipped through the gap.The alchemist smelled the rare flower before he saw it, recognizing it immediately though he had only read enamored descriptions penned by passionate botanists. Just past a large shrub lay the source of the alluring fragrance, a lissome figure seated on a curved stone bench, reading.Pulling back, the alchemist observed the scene as he recalled one interpretation of the legend surrounding the flower. An academic from a far off university writing for a niche magazine with an audience of one hundred and fifty seven subscribers alluded to her theory that the plant was, in fact, a person. The alchemist had previously ridiculed the idea but as he gazed at the man sitting in the sunny patch of garden, his olive skin and golden hair glowing in the afternoon light and an unearthly perfume radiating from his person, the alchemist could indeed believe that the object of his quest was there, warm and beating inside the body of the prime minister, the king’s beloved brother.//Your aunt pauses in the middle of her story and you wonder what she is thinking behind her fixed and flawless features. Felix is staring off into space, his expression shuttered while a muscle in his jaw jumps and flutters.[[You would not be able to murder the prime minister, even to save the one you love.|27a]] [[Of course you would kill him to save your lover.|27b]]

“What happened? Did he murder the prime minister?” And unspoken but on your mind nonetheless, *Was it worth it*? You turn the thought over and over like a coin in the hand.“What do you think happened?” Your aunt’s voice is soft and casual. What did she mean when she said this had to do with your life?You down the last of your now tepid tea. “Nothing good, obviously. I mean, either he kills the prime minister or his wife dies, right?“What would you have done?” Felix questions you this time as he takes your mug and refills it. You did not even notice him leaving to fetch more tea.“If I were the alchemist?” You run a finger along the chipped rim of your mug, considering. “I don’t think I could have killed him. Uproot a rare and treasured plant to save my lover? Sure. But murder someone? No. And I hope my lover would understand that. You trace the pattern in the carpet with your eyes. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t be [[tempted|28]], though.”

“Wait, what happened? Did he kill the prime minister?” And unspoken but on your mind nonetheless, //Why wouldn’t he?// You turn that thought over and over like a coin in the hand.“What do you think happened?” Your aunt’s voice is soft and casual. What did she mean when she said this had to do with your life?You down the last of your now tepid tea. “I think I understand a little of what went through his head, seeing the object of his desire in that form and feeling the comforting weight of twenty years with his wife slipping through his fingers.“What would you have done?” Felix questions you this time as he takes your mug and refills it. You did not even notice him leaving to fetch more tea.You run a finger along the chipped rim of your mug and consider how to phrase your answer. You raise your eyes and catch Felix looking at you, his gaze speculative and intense.“[[I would have done it|28]]. Plucked the flower, so to speak.” You pause, self conscious, wondering if you have been too honest. “If I were the alchemist.”

//The prime minister looked up from his book, his eyes narrowing when he spied the long dagger as it caught the light. His throat spasmed, prelude to a shout, the alchemist thought.Before the sound could follow the blade followed faster, sliding across skin and parting it with startling ease. The alchemist started to cry as blood warmed his hand but he set his jaw and continued with his grisly task, pulling anatomist’s tools from his person and setting to work. His hands shook as he listened to the man dying beside him and he jerked his head up now and again, listening for passersby or guards.It took longer than expected, the extraction of the minister’s heart. The alchemist considered it as it lay in his grasp, coming to the conclusion that there was nothing flower like about it. Shuddering, he placed it within the padded recess of an unadorned wooden box and rose to his feet, his mind already filled with thoughts of his wife and what they would do with their stolen time together.“Stop.” The alchemist flinched, clutching his prize to his chest as he slowly turned to face the grim sight of a bearded man standing there with wild eyes and a drawn sword. In his rush to capture his desire the alchemist had neglected to consider and plan for the possibility of being thwarted, his exit blocked. There was little use venturing deeper into the garden as the swordsman looked more than capable of overtaking him.“Please, my wife is dying and I can save her with this. If you let me go, I’ll do anything. I will face my punishment, but let me see my wife once more!” Still clutching his wooden box the alchemist fell to his knees, his head bowed in fear and entreaty. He trembled as he listened to the man walk closer.“Do you know what you have done?” One boot tip connected with the side of his face and the alchemist fell over, curling around himself and the heart as his head spun and ached.“One life in trade for ruin is what you have wrought, destroyer. Unfortunately for you, your quest ends here. Unfortunately for me, I have bad news for my king.” He bent down and pulled the box from the old man’s desperate grasp and left the garden, the anguished cries of the alchemist fading into the distance.Everything changed after that. The murder of the king’s brother, the priceless jewel of the kingdom, was viewed by scholars as the event that warped the very magic that shaped their everyday lives. The bright and searing lines of power that veined the landscape turned dark and stagnant and using it accelerated the rot that spilled over into the physical world.Rumors and unease swirled among the populace in the days leading up to the prime minister’s funeral. They were fed by the spreading decay and the absence of the king who had confined himself to his chambers ever since the news of his brother’s death. The one person seen passing through those doors was a formidable figure known as Gabriel, a close and trusted friend and adviser to the two ruling brothers and Master of the Hunt.On the day of the funeral, Gabriel, accompanied by a tall, veiled woman, entered the king’s chambers, locking the door behind them. In the city streets, the people reveled, mourning the minister’s death and celebrating his existence with mingled tears and laughter.The funeral procession at dusk was, in contrast to the events of the day, a silent and solemn and smaller ritual as select mourners gathered together, the only sounds their steps and the rustle of clothing as they followed a packed dirt path lit by lanterns and perfumed with incense.Every so often portions of the crowd would break into song, verse after verse winding along the trail with them until they reached a grassy barrow made of dirt and stone bordered by a deep ditch. Fanning out along the ditch, the mourners proceeded to throw flowers into the divide as a large, hooded figured approached the stone door set in the center of the barrow, his hands cradling a wooden box. He is followed by the king, crowned and swathed from head to toe in light blue cloth, his face obscured by a heavy embroidered veil.A grinding sound filled the clearing and people startled, shuffling their feet and clearing throats as the stone door slid open seemingly of its own accord. The hooded man and his crowned companion paused at the threshold then continue, disappearing into the dark as the door slid closed. They left a hush behind them as the crowd bowed their heads and began to disperse.//Your aunt stops and her gaze slips away from yours. “People don’t do well with the kind of change that affects their day to day lives indefinitely. Small sacrifices with no discernible goal are seen as irrational and compulsive and behavior invariably coalesces around the promise of comfort, present and future. Little wonder the rot spread like a slow plague, nibbling at the edges of their world and taking its tithe with each spell and every wish. The places it spread were random and it was easy to view it as another process of nature. Horrible, maybe, but like death it came for everything in the end and what was there to do but live and strive to have as little care as possible.” [[Surely they tried to stop it even if it meant giving up magic.|28a]] [[You cannot fight the nature of things you can only do your best.|28b]]

You frown, not sure where any of this is going. “But if magic was causing the rot to spread couldn’t they find a way to—““Live without it?” Your aunt lets out a harsh bark of a laugh. “Could you live the rest of your life without reading another word?”You consider that, then shake your head. “ I could live but I can’t imagine how [[different|29]] it would be.”“And neither could they.”

“That sounds familiar.” You catch Felix wincing at your tone and direct your next words his way. “I know it sounds cynical but isn’t convenience a big motivator? Magic made things easier and people didn’t want to let go of the comforts and convenience of their everyday lives.”“Are you saying that everyone would live out their lives as usual while their world falls to pieces around them?” Felix’s tone is interested and you lean forward as you continue.“I’m saying a lot of people would. Without a massive structural change around how people live, it would be difficult for people to imagine how giving up individual comforts and conveniences would make a meaningful difference. Everyone needs to do their best and take care of the communities and ecologies around them but shouldn’t the society they are a part of encourage and support that while taking action to discourage and penalize the opposite?”“Every structural problem exists with an ideological underpinning that reinforces it, meaning that seeking to change the structure also means committing to conflict with ideology and the people for whom the ideology is identity. How that conflict plays out and [[how it ends|29]] is the part that everyone has trouble with,” your aunt replies.

“Wait, is that where the story ends?” You pick at a loose thread on your shirt hem as you think about the fairy tale nature of your aunt’s narrative. The details converge around something in a forgotten recess in your mind and you tease at it like a knot, pulling and prodding as you try to identify where it all unravels.“Not exactly.” Your aunt’s voice, barely above a whisper now, holds your attention captive.//The morning after the funeral, barely past dawn, the king and the hunter stood again before the barrow as the stone door slid open and a faint wail drifted out from the shadowed depths.The king motioned with his hand and Gabriel strode through the doorway, returning a short while later with a crying, wriggling bundle. The hunter reached down to adjust the wrapped fabric around the baby cradled in one arm and the crying turned into hiccups punctuated by the occasional whimper.“Hush, little beast. It’s time to go home,” he murmured, ignoring the king’s quizzical glance. The three departed, the stone door closing in their wake.//Your aunt stops, weariness evident somehow, her movements stiffer and her voice slower. “$name, this is going to be difficult to hear, but please bear with me.”You shiver, dread icing your veins as you realize your aunt is about to ask you to [[accept|30]] something unpleasant.

“Twenty eight years ago, the hunter and the king brought a baby out of the woods and into the home I shared with your mother. We were given instructions to raise you and claim you as our own. I’m sorry, $name. I shouldn’t have taken this long to tell you. I had hoped that you would never be in a position where you would need to know any of this.”“You’re telling me a story that sounds like a screwed up fairy tale and that I’m somehow part of it?” You feel a rush of anger, your hands twisting in your lap as you glare at your aunt. //Not// your aunt. Who is she? “Who are my parents, exactly?”“I did think about telling you, but I wanted you to have a life outside your birthright. We may not be blood but nothing can change that we’re family and that I care for you. Now, I need to rest but there is more we have to discuss later. Please understand, $name, I have done the best I could." Your aunt’s eyes close with a barely audible click and a choking pall of silence descends on the room.“Wait!” you cry, but the doll remains //vacant//. Out of the corner of your eye you see Felix rise from his seat and another wave of anger sweeps through you.“Get out.”He stops halfway from your chair. “You’re making it harder for yourself.” His tone is frosty and clipped and you are pretty sure he has a glare to match but you refuse to acknowledge any of this by looking at him.“Get out, Felix, and take my aunt with you.” Turning away, you stalk out of the room with your head held high but once your bedroom door closes and you lean against it with your hands over your face, your [[heart|31]] thundering in your ears.

You are reading the same paragraph in your book for the sixth time when Jack lets himself in the front door, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. “Hey!”“How was your hike?”“It was great! The guidebook I found doesn’t do the trails justice.” Jack stops when he sees your suitcase at the foot of the stairs.“What’s going on? Are we leaving early?” He sits down on the couch next to you, his arm touching yours briefly.“What's wrong, $name?” His voice is hushed, careful, and you want to ask him what it is he sees on your face but you hesitate. You do not have time for this, not if you want to leave Withe before dark.You fix your eyes on the shirt seam that runs across one of Jack’s shoulders. “I’m just tired. And ready to go home.” Tears burn your eyes but you blink them away lest they can derail the conversation.“Then let’s go.” Jack hops up and stretches, catlike, and he looks down at you fondly. “If we leave now we won’t be driving all night and I need two minutes to pack. Do you need to say any goodbyes on your way out of town?”You consider it. Everyone you know here seems to be in on a big picture of which you have only grasped the barest outline. Maybe not Tamsin, you think, but you worry about what her answer would be if you were to ask.“No. No, I’m good.” You try not to dwell on how relieved you are to be free of Felix and your aunt.Jack offers his hand and you take it, letting him pull you up from the couch. He is slow to let go and drops his gaze to where his hand clasps yours.“Are you sure you’re alright? Is there anything I can do?”Squeezing his hand you answer firmly. “I’ll be ok. You’ve been helping me all this time and I can’t think of anything else you could possibly do. Thanks so much, Jack.”He lets go and steps back, a faint flush on his cheeks. “You’re welcome. I’ll go pack my things.”Once Jack is out of the room, you let out a shaky sigh while a little of your stress withers away. In a few hours, you will be back in a world where everything makes a boring sort of sense and you can leave all of this including your dubious inheritance behind. Brushing your anxiety aside, you go to make one last cup of tea.//Almost over//, you tell yourself. [[Three hours later|32]].

You pull over to the side of the road and check your phone again. “I don’t understand, we took that left. We should be out of the woods by now.”Jack turns to you, his face pale and drawn in the dusk. “I think we should go back to Withe and figure out what is going on.”“There’s nothing going on, we took a wrong turn somewhere, that’s all. Let’s try this again.”“$name. We need to go back.” Your fingers tighten around the steering wheel in response, knuckles whitening.“Fine. We’ll go back for directions and more coffee.” You pull out into the road, not even bothering to turn around as you know it will inevitably and inexorably lead back to [[Withe|33]].

"You //can't go.//""All I need is the map, Felix. You can have the house and the bookstore, I just want to be home."He clutches the stack of books he is holding closer in a protective motion as he ducks his head and avoids your eyes. "That's not what I'm saying--""Look, just call me if you need anything." You pay for the map and pull out the keys to your aunt's house, setting them on the wooden counter between you.“Where to next?” Jack starts the car as you unfold part of the map and peer at it.[[The cafe|34]]

“I thought we were having dinner tomorrow?” Tamsin has seated you and Jack at the counter and you are chatting while she brews a fresh pot of coffee.“I’m sorry, Sin, I need to take a rain check. Something, uh, came up at work and I need to get back as soon as possible.”Her smile stiffening, Tamsin turns away and starts pouring coffee. Setting two steaming mugs on the counter she gives both you and Jack an unreadable look. “Are you sure you want to try and leave tonight?”You recall asking for to go cups but you shrug and let it go. “I wouldn’t be drinking coffee this late in the day, otherwise.” Your laugh comes out abrupt and forced and you glance at Jack, curious if he too notices this exchange turning oddly sour.His eyes flick to yours and he clears his throat, beaming at Tamsin with one of his breezy smiles. “As much as I’d love to sit and chat we should probably get the coffee to go and hit the road. It was nice getting to know you.”Tamsin’s blandly friendly expression crumples at the margins before she collects herself. “Actually, Jack, I need to talk with $name. Alone.”He turns to you, waiting, and your gut roils with apprehension. //She knows//. “If you don’t mind, I think I should hear what she has to say.”“Of course I don’t mind. Take as long as you need.” A hand falls on your shoulder, squeezing lightly, and [[he leaves|35]]. Your eyes follow his broad back as he threads his way through the cafe tables.

“Does he know?” Tamsin pulls you into the back room and closes the door.“Know //what//, Tamsin?” You grip the back of a chair with hands that have turned cold and clammy, telling yourself to remain steady. Calm.The friendly gleam in Tamsin’s eyes sharpens as she examines you. “You’ve met with Felix, haven’t you? I’m guessing what he’s told you is why you’re in such a rush to leave town, right?”“Maybe. How much //do// you know?”“Enough. For example, I know that you’re the replacement for the dead brother of a mad king.” The ludicrous words swirl between you like a noxious fog.“$name.” Tamsin is shaking your arm, sounding less distant and more concerned. “Listen, I’m here to help, all you need to do is trust me.”You stare at her, cognizant of a new reality settling around you and shaping your existence. “What do I do about Jack? I want to keep him out of this. Also, how do I know I can trust you?”“You’ll find that you don’t have very many options. If you try to leave, the forest is going to lead you right back to Withe and your birthright. If you want to keep Jack out of this you will make him leave. He doesn’t belong here and he won’t last long, either.”A telephone rings somewhere and Tamsin leads you to the door. “I have a few hours left in my shift but we need to talk later. How about we put dinner back on the schedule for tomorrow night? You’ll have time to say [[goodbye|36]] to Jack and think about things.”

You find yourself standing outside the cafe in a daze, two paper cups of coffee in your hands. Shaking your head, you join Jack in the car, Tamsin’s words echoing in your ears. //He won’t last long//.“Did you sort it out?”“Yeah, everything’s taken care of.” You pause, thinking furiously. “Tamsin reminded me that the woods can get a little dicey after dark and if we want to avoid any trouble we should probably leave tomorrow. I’m so sorry for dragging you around like this.”Jack is quiet for a painfully long moment and you find yourself desperately wishing that you could tell him about your circumstances. Knowing that you would never forgive yourself if something happened to him, you hold back.“As long as you are ok.” His smile is brilliant, even in the gathering dark. He starts the car and you lean your head against the window and listen once more to the cicadas, their song almost loud enough to drown out the [[storm in your head|37]].

It is raining in the city and you tug your coat tighter around yourself as a few drops find their way between your neck and collar. A watery dusk surrounds you, disturbed by passing cars and homeward bound pedestrians rushing to beat the storm.Your phone vibrates and you duck under a nearby awning, shifting your bag and pulling your phone out. Your mother. You drop it in your pocket and leave the shelter of the awning, intent on making it home before your coat is soaked through.Your phone vibrates again.“Listen, I’m a little busy right now. I’ll call you back.”You worry at your lip with your teeth and keep walking while holding the phone to your ear. If you hang up now she will only call again, and if you ignore //that//, you might as well buy a shovel and begin digging your grave.“Meet me at the hotel at eight for dinner.” Her peremptory words slice your will into ribbons even as your grip on the phone tightens.You swallow a wild desire to hurl your phone into the street. “Of course, Mother.”“Don’t be late.”You [[end the call|38]] and walk faster, cursing as one foot lands in a puddle, soaking your shoe all the way through.

The hotel rises before you, its stained and weathered facade pocked with windows, half of which glow a bilious yellow that flickers on occasion against the gloom and rain.One shoe squelches and you let out a rueful laugh echoed by the doorman, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he holds the door open for you.“Hi, Jack. How’ve you been?” Once a month you meet your mother for dinner at this hotel and each time you find Jack smiling in his crisp uniform, a book in one hand.“Trying to keep track of submissions and rejections, but I sold a short story last week. What about you?”Your smile flickers.[[You shrug and keep it casual since you cannot afford to be late.|38a]] [[Why not.|38b]]

“You should call in sick. Tonight.”“What?”“Say you have to leave early and I’ll cancel my dinner. You can finally show me some of your writing.”“You say that like it’s not terrifying for me.”The exchange is old tradition between the two of you, a secret handshake ritual for luck at the threshold of what you have come to view as your trial.You throw a horrible grin his way as you slip inside.“Not nearly as terrifying as [[what awaits me|39]].”

“I’ve been alright. Staying busy.” You spin a coat button between two fingers and waste a few more seconds before you give up. “I should probably—“Jack’s face flushes and he steps out of your way. “Have a good dinner, $name. See you next month.”“Thanks! See you later.” You give a distracted wave and barrel through the door and into the balmy confines of [[the hotel|39]].

The lobby is a scene of faded and peeling luxury outfitted with the furnishings and paint of a bygone era. You pass a deserted counter, its surface a long slab of carved golden wood, and enter the hotel restaurant.Scuffed parquet is dull and sticky under your shoes and the air is stuffy with a trace of mold and the sweet tang of alcohol. The gleaming bar is stocked with fine liquors and the scatter of dining tables just beyond is sparsely populated with an older, subtly affluent crowd, most of them heads down and talking amongst themselves. A few are listening to the atonal plinking of a jazz pianist hunched over a square grand piano, his tip bowl overflowing with bills and jewelry.Your mother sits at a table by the window and stares out into the night, one perfectly manicured fingernail tapping at the stem of her wineglass. Her severe beauty is highlighted by silver hair swept back into a bun and a sharply tailored pantsuit and you spend a nervous moment plucking at your sleeves.Marching up to the table, you pull out a chair and sit down, hands tightly clasped in your lap and your expression as carefully composed as your greeting.“Hello, Mom.” (She prefers Mother.) “It’s good to see you.” (Is it?)[[Of course it is.|39a]] [[You are lying.|39b]]

You are not sure why you come to these monthly (yet unpredictable) dinners anymore as you maintain an otherwise scrupulous distance. Nothing binds the two of you except blood and memories and what you suspect might be actual resentment, nevertheless the two of you are here like always.She looks preoccupied this time, and if you squint, a little haggard under all her polish. Her stare is flinty, though, and the grip on her wineglass is steady as she raises it to her lips.[[You fidget with your sleeve|40]]

You used to fight against your mother’s imperturbability with your own brash and childlike tactics but as you grew older it was increasingly obvious you were wasting your time.Still, she is here like always and looking rumpled for once, her lapel ever so slightly askew and one lock of hair falling to rest on her shoulder. You feel less bedraggled in your half drenched coat and soggy shoes and the fingers in your lap loosen the slightest bit.[[You fidget with your sleeve|40]]

The food is an absurd succession of small but lavish dishes you watch your mother poke at and dismiss. In spite of your lack of appetite, you delve into the contents of an edible cornucopia shaped bread basket, a more palatable alternative to fidgeting under your mother’s glare.As she pushes a last plate to the side you glimpse a flash of bandage underneath her sleeve of silk and linen.“What happened to your arm?” You wonder if the black stain you saw was a trick of the light.“An accident.” Her eyes flick to your damp coat now draped across an empty chair. “I see you walked here.”“Part of the way. In case you forgot, there aren’t many bus stops on this side of town.” Struggling against a rising tide of irritation, you rip apart a chunk of bread, carefully keeping the crumbs contained to your plate.A waiter comes by with a pitcher and your mother gestures at the table using her other arm, keeping the injured one in her lap. “We’re done here.”You yank the mangled bread basket closer and set to work on it with a vengeance, heedless now of the mess. Brittle crust gives way revealing a fluffy interior flecked with caraway seeds.“Why do you feel the need to test me, $name? You’re too old for this. We //should// be talking about your new job.”“I told you, I’m not taking it.”“I found an apartment within walking distance of where you’ll be working. Your salary should more than cover rent and—““Mom, no. I stopped being your project a long time ago and I don’t intend to move. I just signed a lease.”“A lease is an exchange, not a vow.”“Do you even know how much anything costs? You know what, I've had enough.”Whatever you are going to say next is interrupted by a discordant crash and you turn to see the pianist leap up from the bench, his face pinched and scarlet. His neck is straining and his mouth is open but whatever he is shouting is lost as the air in the room seems to -thin- and the lights waver like flames.Meanwhile, other occupants of the room continue eating and drinking, their convivial attitude a jarring accompaniment to the musician’s pantomime. A smell of burning leaves assaults your nose and as suddenly as it began, the moment ends. The pianist resumes his playing and the illumination steadies as your ears pop and your jaw loosens.“—you won’t survive.”“What?” You drag your attention back to the conversation as a shiver crawls across your skin.“I said if you don’t push yourself you won’t succeed. You’re wasting your life here, $name.”You take a deep breath, recognizing the echo of a hundred such discussions. If there is one thing the two of you share it is a certain tenacity that never fails to keep you forever at odds with each other, snapping and snarling like circling dogs.Your head swims and you realize how tired you are as something inside you unbends. //It doesn’t have to be this way.//“Moth-““Hello? Yes, yes of course. I’ll be right there, I'm wrapping up dinner.” Her eyes dart around the room as she taps her nails against the stem of her wineglass, her phone attached to one ear and blinking with activity. //It will always be this way.//Your eyes burn a little and you look down at your fingers as they pick at the tablecloth.“Stop that.”What did the person on the other end say to make your mother snap like that?“I said stop it."[[Oh|41]].

You withdraw your hands, lacing them together as you give your mother the blandest smile you can manage.“Let me guess, that was work and you need to leave in—“ you check your imaginary watch, taking a sour pleasure in the impatience creasing your mother’s face. “— five minutes?”“Ten. We’re not done talking about your job.” Plates are whisked away and replaced with diminutive cups of spiced coffee and you slouch and suppress a groan.[[The night is long|42]]

The collar of your coat lies clammy against your neck as you step out into the stormy dark and contemplate calling for a prohibitively expensive cab. A lump settles into your throat.“$name!” A de-uniformed Jack steps out from a nearby shadow and joins you on the steps. You barely recognize him in his plain garb of t shirt and jeans.“I thought you left for the night.” Despite your gloom you respond to his smile with a strained one of your own.“I was waiting for you. It’s still raining and I thought you might— well, I was going to offer up my services.” He opens one hand to show a set of keys and offers the other to you with a tentative motion as the rain begins to come down harder.[[Take his hand.|42a]] [[Do not take his hand.|42b]]

You hesitate, your eyes fixed on his. He is somewhere between stranger and friend and you are keenly aware of a line between seeing him in passing once a month and taking his hand and help.Yet.Your hand settles into his warm grasp and you walk side by side to his car while talking about nothing in particular, your steps and his slow [[with the weight of the day|43]].

“I can handle the steps by myself but thanks. I’ll take you up on that ride home, though— I’m not sure my shoes can survive another downpour.”He laughs at that and you walk side by side to his car while talking about nothing in particular, your steps and his slow [[with the weight of the day.|43]]

<<if $askTamsin is true>> <<goto "20a">> <<else>> <<goto "20b">> <</if>>

You relax in the interior of Jack’s car as half frozen drops of rain pelt the world outside. Even with the windshield wipers going the facade of the hotel blurs and distorts, taking on the quality of a dream. //You wish.//“Did you want to talk about it?”You stare at him, considering, as he navigates the sleet.“It was the same as usual, I suppose.” You bite your lip. “And she wants me to move. For a job.”Jack is silent for a moment as he digests this. “Do you want the job? That’s the important part.”You do not even need to think about it. “No. I don’t want the job and I don’t want to move.” A long exhale. “When I was a kid, I told myself one day I would be the one to make those decisions. Not her. I never got a say back then.”Self-consciousness sweeps over you, picking you up and stranding you in a car alone with someone you barely know. You can count the collected facts of him on one hand, a series of petty details gleaned in passing.“I don’t know everything about your circumstances so I’m not going to say that what your mom wants doesn’t matter.”Your gaze flies to his face in surprise.“However, it’s possible for it to matter too much. This is your life. Only you can find what makes you [[happy|44]]."

You take off your shoes by the door and flip a light switch, illuminating the interior of your austere studio apartment.//Five years ago you moved into this space and made two lists, one for what you needed and one for things to hang on walls and place on shelves. The kinds of things people used to communicate “I live here. This is my home.” The latter is still taped to your wall, unresolved.//The fluorescent light in your kitchen buzzes in the background as you put together a late night dinner of cold pizza and carrots and carry it to the couch. You start sorting through the mail scattered across the table in front of you and find an oversized postcard, one corner bent and a dark blur where the return address used to be. There is a fragment of a poem scrawled on it.//Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before//^^1^^On the face of the postcard, you see a painting of a glossy crow teetering precariously on a branch. Its body is an arrow nocked in place as it observes a spider laboring away at the beginning of a web and you trace the silken path with your finger.[[What birds have vanished one by one.|45]] //^^1^^Source: What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why by Edna St. Vincent Millay//

You are late for work, your back full of knots after a fitful night on the couch. That and more rain is a ghastly start to your day but after taking a solitary lunch on the rooftop in a patch of sun you feel a little more yourself and a little less frangible.The last few hours are a blur of calls and paperwork interspersed with the rote responses you reserve for office small talk. By the time you finish, dusk has given way to a murky night lit by the occasional halo of a streetlight under a sky full of clouds. //No rain, at least.//You linger on the sidewalk as you double check bus routes with your phone. If you hurry, you can make it to the hotel right before Jack is done with his shift.[[Head home|45a]] [[Go to the hotel|45b]]

You catch the last bus home, sharing it with one other passenger. Their attenuated frame is wrapped in a stained sweatshirt and their face is hidden in the shadows of a long brimmed baseball hat. You watch them briefly as they nod forward and back with the movement of the bus before you pull a book from your bag and begin to read.(Well, you try to read.) You are ten pages in when you feel the bus jerk to the side. Your ears begin to ring, nearly drowning out the sound your head makes when it hits the window.Dazed, you watch the other passenger glide out of their chair and leave the bus and you try to call after them but your throat closes. You grip the seat in front of you and heave yourself upright on wobbly legs, ears still ringing.It is hard to resist the urge to crumple and rest your aching head but you drag yourself forward leaving a string of curses behind you. //What else are you going to do?//You make it to the front of the bus and find the driver missing and the bus parked with its doors agape. You can feel the chill from where you stand and you shove your fists into your pockets as you step into the dark.[[Leaves crackle under your feet|45a1]]

“He’s working the bar tonight.” The person in front of the hotel barely glances at you before they step away from the wall they have been leaning against and open the door. “Thanks.” You walk inside, [[heedless of the gray stare that follows you.|45b1]]

The forest looms over you, a great beast woven of trees and shadows confronting its prey.//Stop that. Focus.//You shake your head and plant your feet, letting your eyes adjust as you search the area. There is no sign of your companions or where they might have gone, no sound except the flap and hoot of a lone owl taking off and the rustle of something small in the underbrush.You walk around to the other side of the bus and see only more trees. The sole source of light is an immense gibbous moon hanging directly overhead, bathing you and your surroundings in silver.Your headache abruptly increases in intensity and you gasp and struggle to stay on your feet. As if on cue, the forest around you explodes with noise. Plugging your ears does little to block out the racket of frenzied howls and drumming hooves coming ever closer.You pull out your phone only to find it a lifeless rectangle with a shattered screen. Letting out a growl of frustration, you backtrack along the bus’s path, following crushed plants and broken branches in hopes of reaching a road.//You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?//It is not much of a path after all. Two bus lengths worth of mangled vegetation surrounded by unbroken thicket and you cannot imagine a scenario other than the bus materializing right here in the middle of— where?You look up into the maze of interlocking branches stripped bare and glistening with frost. Stars glimmer like fish in a net and the moon hangs a little lower now. You shiver before shaking off your foreboding and setting out in search of aid and shelter.The woods pull and poke at you, the odd thorn drawing blood and a hundred burrs hitching a ride on your coat. You start off at a brisk walking pace that turns into a hectic scramble after you hear a particularly frantic yelp close by. Sweat begins to collect on your skin.It grows harder to ignore the stitch in your side but you press on, indulging in a small grin. You have not run with any great frequency in recent years but the delight of running has yet to leave you. Even now[[Crack|45a2]]

The thunderous sound is your entire world for one long static moment before you fall to all fours, your vision blurring while a fiery ache spreads across your face.You stay there and close your eyes in an effort to quell the dizzying weakness in your head and limbs. Warm liquid drips down your forehead and you raise a hand to trace the length of a long cut with trembling fingers before dabbing at the blood with your sleeve.The chorus of canine voices grows louder and your eyes snap open as you ready yourself to continue your flight. You raise your pounding head and your gaze settles on something unexpected.Two boundless and colossal eyes transfix you, their yellow irises bisected by slitted pupils the color of jet.You freeze in the stare of something you cannot even begin to comprehend. It blocks the moon and the stars and swallows everything except the perception of its existence. It takes your breath and steals your senses and it gnaws at the layer of self you call $name until even that is lost.[[bark bark|badend2]]

The hotel restaurant is less ebullient tonight and your shoulders loosen as you slide onto a stool at the bar. At the other end, Jack is serving drinks, this time attired in a black shirt and tie with sleeves rolled up past his forearms. He slides a drink over while saying something that makes a customer laugh so hard you smile faintly hearing it.You turn away and eye your surroundings, breaking the spell of that borrowed mood lest you acquire unsought company. The absence of something commands your attention, drags it across the room to where the piano used to be.In its place is an //excessive// marble fountain in the shape of a strange and fantastical beast. It is frozen mid leap, body twisting like a big cat in midair. Crimson wine pours from its mouth and into the basin below and passersby refill their glasses, heedless of the creature above them.A desire to take a closer look animates you and you are half off your stool when you hear someone say your name.“You’re looking at that like this is your first time seeing it.” Jack is standing across from you now, his restless hands wiping down a set of glasses.“What?”"[[The fountain|46]]."

“But— I haven’t seen it before. There was a piano there yesterday.” //And every other time you’ve been here.//Jack’s hands still, a barely perceptible pause, before he resumes his work.“I must be mistaken, then. How can I help you tonight? Did you have a good day?” He places a dish of almonds in front of you and proceeds to cut up a lime.“You helped me out last night and I wanted to thank you properly.”He sets a drink down, its soft blue luminous in the bar lighting. “You don’t owe me any thanks, $name. What do you think friends are for?”Smiling at him over the rim of your glass, you try to hide your surprise at such a direct admission of friendship. “You’re probably right.”“I know I’m right.” Jack waves your money away with a mischievous look that turns thoughtful. “Stay right here, I’ll be right back.”Wheeling around, he walks through a pair of double doors, leaving you to speculate about his [[intentions|47]].

Your attention falls on the fountain again and the expression on the face of the beast. You cannot tell if it is snarl or smile that pulls the lips back over the sharp and curving teeth of a predator. Its head is covered in scales that merge with fur partway down the neck and forming rising hackles. Claws extend from large, rounded paws and a snakelike tail curls around one leg, the impression one of grace and power. You slide from your perch, intending to take a closer look.“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Have you eaten yet?” Jack stands near you and you note his loosened tie and the coat folded over one arm.You raise an eyebrow. “No.”“Come with me.” You follow him out of the room and into the depths of the hotel, turning several corners until you lose track of where you started. Any others you encounter are just as focused on their own destinations, their eyes focused on something in the distance.“I’ve never been to this part of the hotel.”“Good. Then what I’m showing you should be a surprise.” He opens a door to reveal an area filled with abundant greenery. Trailing plants frame artfully pruned shrubs and fragrant herbs border white stone paths that wind into the shadows. Carefully placed lights highlight partially hidden alcoves and the occasional table and chairs.You step outside. It is hot, almost sweltering under your coat and the scents of out of season flowers fills the space. No. You are still inside and what you thought was sky is a glass dome that seals you away from the scudding winter clouds.Jack waits for you next to one of the tables. Taking off your coat, you join him to sit in front of a plate laden with pasta.//This is not at all what you expected.//“Oh. What is this?”“Chef sends me home with dinner most nights. I figured since you haven’t eaten this is as good a time as any for an impromptu meal.” He pours water from a frosty pitcher and you thank him before digging into your food with relish.You taste wine and cheese in a sauce made vivid with peppers, spinach, and scarlet slices of chorizo. “This is wonderful! I had no idea how hungry I was.”Jack is grinning at you, his eyes twinkling in the radiance of the surrounding lights. “Xochitl will be happy to hear that. She’s been working on this recipe for a while now and can’t seem to make up her mind on how much fennel to use.”“Please give her my compliments. And you’re telling me you eat like this most nights? Maybe I should get a job here.”“Nah. The benefits are terrible. Also, have you seen the clientele?”You think of your mother and [[laugh|48]].

You lean back in your chair and peer at the sky while you fight off drowsiness. Only some clouds remain and you observe the glint of distant stars.“Why do you come here, anyway?”You jolt into full wakefulness.“That’s a very personal question.”Jack leans forward, the faintest suggestion of a smirk on his lips. “I’m off the clock.”You look away as you consider answering.“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s just—“ His manner turns awkward and he rubs his neck while giving you a look of apology.“Just?” You keep your tone even, wondering where this conversation is going.He meets your eyes, all smiles gone. “Every time you walk up those steps you look like all you want to do is run as fast as you can in the other direction. I guess that’s why I brought you here.”“What do you mean?”Jack falters, searching for words. “This place is one of the few good things about the hotel. I thought maybe— maybe you might like knowing it exists.” He stops, his charming veneer lost, his demeanor transformed into something more genuine.Astonished, you stare at him as the tips of his ears begin to turn red. You taught yourself long ago never to expect much of anything or anyone but for once you are tempted to believe differently.“Thank you for bringing me here.” You manage to get the words out around a sudden surge of emotion. “It’s peaceful. I’d spend all night here if I could.” You laugh wryly before standing.“It’s unfortunate that I have to work tomorrow.” You take a last long look at the lush sanctuary around you, allowing yourself a moment of wistfulness.When you turn to say goodbye, you catch Jack staring at you with an oddly vulnerable cast to his face that transforms into his usual smile."[[You can always come back|49]]."

“I don’t understand why you bother to come if you aren’t going to engage, $name.”You stab a piece of broccoli with your fork and take your time eating it. “The food isn’t bad.”“Cut the shit.” Your mother’s voice is hard and grating with a grim note you have never heard before. “This opportunity will only be available for so long and it’s currently the //only// opportunity you have to make your life better.”“I like my life just fine.” The piano playing in the background jangles at your nerves and you miss the fountain.“Are you referring to the life you’re living in that dingy little apartment when you’re not working your dead end job in a cluttered cubicle that smells like leftovers?”You squeeze the arms of your chair with trembling fingers. “How do you know where I live?”“Did you seriously think things would change when you moved out? I know everything, $name.” She pauses and takes a slow sip of her wine, closing her eyes as a satisfied smile stretches her lips.“You might as well take it. Remember, things will always get worse and—““—it’s better to be prepared. I //know//.” The trembling leaves your body and all that remains is a furious calm. You question whether it would be different if she cared. Likely not.“Working for The Company has more benefits than you can dream of, $name.” She is attempting to wear you down, a familiar and unnervingly effective tactic that she never seems to tire of.“And yet you refuse to tell me what it is you //actually// do.”“You know the rules.” She gathers her belongings with swift motions, her attitude dismissive. “Or do you not remember those as well?”That stings enough that you sit there, speechless, as she stands and leaves without looking back.[[Visit the courtyard|49a]] [[Go home|49b]]

The fury overpowers your calm and threatens to throttle you where you sit and your limbs move of their own accord, propelling you out of the restaurant and into a hallway. You take one turn and then another and another, worrying that you lost your way. Raising your chin, you press on until you stand in front of the glass door separating you from the courtyard.You step inside and the door closes noiselessly behind you. You let out a breath that is half sob and half sigh when you realize that the area is deserted.An alcove sheltered by ivy presents itself as an ideal place to lick your wounds and recover a bit of your composure. You take refuge there and contemplate truths you can no longer avoid.//“Why do you come here, anyway?"//Jack’s words echo in your mind. You had an answer ready when he asked but who wanted to admit their loneliness? Not you.Your mother kept you isolated when you lived with her, locked in a tower of manipulation and control. It was your blithe summers in Withe that gave you a taste of acceptance and belonging that made leaving even harder.When even the summers were taken away you planned for your future independence. You daydreamed future possibilities that lay just out of reach, waiting for you to grow up.You eventually made it to adulthood but the thing is, you never changed. Gaining independence did not make near the difference you thought it would.“—not going to happen. I need more time.”[[You know that voice|49a1]].

The night air breathes a promise of spring and milder temperatures as you tread the half block between the bus stop and your apartment. In no mood to linger, you hurry home, avoiding looking too long into the shadows.You unlock the door and kick off your shoes before wandering into the kitchen and making a mug of hot chocolate. Letting it cool, you sort mail. More bills. A fundraising letter from an animal shelter you volunteer at from time to time. A postcard.On the back, a couple lines from a poem by Countee Cullen. //That Bright Chimeric Beast//, you recall, an old favorite of yours. On the front of the card is a sketch of a twisted oak tree with a beast below it that looks very much like the fountain from the hotel.You drop it like it burns and rub your hand on your leg as you stare at it. Thanks to a large splash of ink it is impossible to decipher the name of the sender and you pick the card up again only to toss it in the trash without a second thought.[[You need to sleep|50]].

[[Something scratches at your window and you stir in your sleep|51]].

You hold your breath as you listen to your mother speak. You can see her backlit silhouette from your vantage point behind the ivy, one hand holding a phone to her ear and the other massaging her forehead.“Yes, I understand there is no plan b, I haven’t forgotten.” You hear the clack of her heels on flagstone and strain to listen.“—yes. Yes, I will— your protege— back in play—“ her voice starts to fade along with her footsteps. You consider tailing her to see what else you can learn but caution wins out and you spend a while longer in your place of concealment.[[You need to sleep|50]].

The boy stares down at you from one of the branches of a towering pine, his attitude imbued with equal parts curiosity and wariness. He cradles an orange and white cat in the crook of one arm, clutching it closer when you take a step forward.“Do you need help?”“No. Go away.” He frowns and shifts to a lower branch. He is a little older than you are, gangly and underfed in a faded shirt and pants two inches too short.“I like cats, too.”The boy drops to the ground and the cat clambers to his shoulder where it nuzzles his head and purrs. “So?” He reaches up and scratches the cat’s ears, his gaze avoiding yours.“My aunt says friends are people who share things they like together. We can be friends. You can tell me your cat’s name and we can have a picnic in my aunt’s garden.” You run out of air at the end and gulp in a great breath, failing to notice the ghost of a smile hovering over the boy’s mouth.Kneeling, he places the cat on the ground between you. “This is Minor Tom. He likes having his ears scratched.”The boy rises to his feet and leans against the tree, busying himself with breaking a twig into pieces while you caress Tom’s silky fur. He spares you the occasional glance but avoids your eyes.“You live in the house with the gnomes.”“That is my aunt’s house.” You give the cat one last pat before you stand up and brush off your clothes, a plan taking shape in your head. “Do you want to see it?”“No.” He dawdles despite his response, his fingers worrying at a last bit of twig.You sense an opening and dive for it. “My aunt made cookies today. Chocolate chip.”“Can I bring Minor Tom?”[[You found a friend maybe|52]].

“My goodness, hello.” Your aunt does not bother to hide the surprise on her face but her eyes are kind as she surveys the three of you.“Hello, Aunt Marion. I met a friend in the woods! Two friends! They came for my picnic.” You gesture casually at Minor Tom and the boy.“Are you going to introduce me to your friends, $name?” She opens the door wider as she speaks.Before you can say a word, the boy steps forward, a steely look in his eyes. “I’m Felix. It’s nice to meet you.”[[Your aunt smiles|53]].

//Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forc’d fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due;//^^1^^“Wake up, $name.”You try to burrow deeper into your dreams, unwilling to give up these glimpses into other times.Undeterred, your tormentor opens the curtains, letting the morning sun pry at your eyelids and prod your consciousness.[[Not yet|54]] //^^1^^ Source: John Milton, Lycidas//

//And left… to the indifferent stars above//^^1^^“Wake UP.” You open sleep crusted eyes and see Felix looming over you with a scowl. He is accompanied by the smells of coffee and some kind of baked pastry and your stomach rumbles along with your outrage at being woken up like this.“What the hell are you doing in here?” A wave of cortisol sweeps away the lingering drowsiness and you almost fall out of bed in an irritated haste to eject Felix and get dressed.“It’s important, $name. Meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready,” and Felix closes the door in your face, his movements uncoordinated and his demeanor awkward.//Ugh.//You pull a shirt over your head and try to recall your dreams. Unfortunately, they have receded like a tide, leaving precious little in the shifting sands of your mind other than the pattern of their passage and a single image.[[One sulky boy in a tree and his cat|55]] //^^1^^ Source: W.B. Yeats, A Dream of Death//

You pass Jack’s open bedroom door and see his belongings strewn about the neatly made bed. The metal buckle of an empty suitcase on the floor glints in the light streaming through the open curtains, winking like it knows a secret.[[You hear a clatter downstairs|56]]

“Get out of my face, I need to concentrate.”“You were the one who asked me for help.”“I said if you were going to hover like that you should help. From more than two inches away.”You walk into the kitchen.No.You walk into a war zone.Pell and Felix stand near the table, heads bent as they squabble over something between them. As heated as their discussion sounds, you intuit an intimacy in their proximity, a story of trust.You clear your throat and Felix whirls around, bristling a bit like a startled cat. Pell takes their time, slipping an object into their jacket before they face you with a disarmingly innocent manner.“What are you doing here?”“I believe Felix is here to help keep you out of trouble.” Pell saunters closer, their eyes sparkling with curiosity. “I, however, am here to see if you will be any trouble.”You let out an involuntary snort and take a couple steps back. “I don’t need to be kept out of trouble and I’ll only be trouble if the two of you don’t tell me why you’re here.”“Pell, give us a moment, please.”The redhead sneers at you before they leave and you hear the back door slam behind them, leaving you alone with Felix.“You were supposed to send your friend away. I know Tamsin told you that much.”“He leaves today.” You begin pouring steaming, fragrant coffee into mugs while Felix sets the table with plates and silverware. “It would help if everyone told me more, you know. Or is the plan to keep me ignorant until you need me?”“We need each other.” Felix pulls a tray of muffins from the oven with a hint of a flourish.You give him a doubtful look. “I need a way home. If you can help me with that, then yes, I need you.”Pell appears in the kitchen doorway, clicking their tongue in disapproval. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? After all, he is the only one—““Pell.” Felix cuts them off. “$name is right. There’s no reason to trust us yet.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I thought I asked you to give us a moment.”“I was bored.” With a shrug, Pell ambles over to the kitchen table and sits down with a mug of coffee.“Did Jack let you in?” You sit across from them and tear into a muffin redolent with cinnamon and nutmeg while they rearrange the contents of their plate and avoid your eyes.Felix pulls out a chair.“The door was wide open when we arrived. We haven’t seen Jack.”[[You stop eating|57]]

...disquiet curling around your stomach and squeezing it. Leaving doors open, disappearing without a word— none of is very like the Jack you know. Not really. Not usually.You catch the glance that passes between Pell and Felix, a glance telegraphing a shared and secret knowledge.An empty bag. A metal buckle winking in the morning sun. You pull out your phone and call Jack, listening to it ring over and over.“When was the last time you saw him?”Putting your phone aside, you answer Felix as Pell moves to stand by the window, their attention on something in the trees.“Yesterday evening, before we went to sleep.”“Any idea on where he could be?”Here. He should be *here*, eating breakfast while you tell him to go home, that you will be fine.“He could be hiking. He really likes the woods. I don’t know where else he could be if the car’s still here.”“The woods that wouldn’t let you leave, yesterday? He’s a bigger idiot than I gave him credit for.”“That’s enough, Pell.” Felix’s voice, soft and low, is enough to shut them up for now.“Wait.” A vague, neglected detail floats to the surface of your thoughts and you fish it out for inspection. “He’s been talking about a spot in the forest he likes to stop at when he hikes. I don’t know where it is but he’s mentioned it more than once.” //Why didn’t you pay more attention.//“I think I might know the place.” Pell shrugs when you meet their eyes. “You could call it a landmark that attracts the wrong sort of tourists. If I’m right, we’re sitting here wasting [[time|58]] Jack doesn’t have.”

Felix leads you and Pell through the forest, his steps confident and assured as he navigates through the brush and around vines. Behind you, Pell lets out strings of curses, their typical grace at odds with their surroundings.You stifle a laugh as you push your way through the latticework of dead branches and twigs, holding them aside and waiting for Pell to pass.A warm hand falls over yours and you pull back, startled, rough wood abrading your palm.“Be careful with that kindness, $name. It won’t open the doors you think it will. Not here.”You search their face, trying to decipher the intent behind their words. Is it concern you see? Or //fear//.“When I saw you last, why were we running? What were we running from?”Pell turns their back to you. “That’s not a question you want answered. You should focus on getting home.”[[Leave it alone|58a]]. [[Push it|58b]].

Pell’s manner makes you suspect you will have better luck with Felix and you pay attention to your surroundings instead— the muffled crunch of leaf mold and the strident notes of a jay startled by your passage. The ever present song of cicadas rises and falls in the heat and you wipe sweat away from your brow with your sleeve.Little by little, the area around you begins to clear, towering oaks and beeches giving way to viburnum and witch hazel. There are fewer branches to dodge as you walk up a gentle slope and an errant beam of sun undeterred by thinning canopy warms your neck.Felix calls back to you and you look ahead into a clearing surrounding a long, low barrow, its stone door half open.You step forward, your foot making contact with a small, hard object you think is a rock at first. Sunlight bounces off glass and you realize you are looking at an abandoned phone.[[A phone that belongs to Jack|59]].

“You have to give me something, Pell. I doubt being kept in the dark is going to help me or anyone else involved. Please.” “Fine. I’ll give you three important pieces of advice.” They hold up three fingers, their tone mocking but their expression grave. “One.” One finger folds down and you hold your breath. “There are many paths forward but only two ways back.” “Two.” The second finger follows. “Winter is cruel and cunning. Best you learn your own ways of being cruel and cunning before then, hmm?” “Three.” Their hand moves too fast for you to react and they give your forehead a gentle tap. “Everything you need is already here.” You let the breath you have been holding out on a sigh. Pell seems to enjoy being dramatically evasive and you wish they would get to the point. When Felix calls out you step away, relieved at the interruption, and look ahead to see him standing in a clearing. Behind him lies a long, low barrow, its stone door half [[open|58b1]].

You bend down to pick up the phone with an unsteady grip and the screen lights up to reveal a missed call notification. Yours. Tucking the phone into your pocket, you venture closer to the barrow, avoiding the deep ditch that borders most of the structure. All the while, a creeping dread ices your veins and you keep your eyes averted from the gaping entrance.The surface of the mound is covered in a lush coat of dewy grass and weeds, their expanse unsullied by dead growth. You pace around the length of raised ground and look for other signs of Jack but all you discover is more eerily resilient growth that defies the weight of your footsteps.//You should’ve made him leave. You shouldn’t have let him come along. You should’ve stayed the fuck away from Withe and its sticky web of mysteries.//“Come, $name. We have one last place to check.” Felix speaks to you like one would coax a nervous beast, calm and quiet, though his eyes reflect your own anxiety.“And if he’s not there?” You silently curse the crack in your voice and distract yourself by kicking an unfortunate stone lying next to your shoe.Hands take your shoulders in a firm grip and Felix’s gaze, direct and steady this time, grounds you. “If he’s not there, we keep looking until we find your friend. [[I promise|60]]."

//Catabasis. The word that comes to mind when I stand before the mound that exists as a border between Withe and Somewhere Else feels unwieldy in my mouth.Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Orpheus and Eurydice. Inanna and Ninshubur. Demeter and Persephone. Over and over we descend in pursuit of life and love, shining bright in our defiance. What is darkness but an opportunity. What is death but an obstacle.Catabasis. I spit the word out and it cuts my tongue and lips in the process. I spit it out when I remember its other definition.Retreat.[[Taken from the diary of Marion V|58b2]]//

You step forward, your foot making contact with a small, hard object you think is a rock at first. Sunlight bounces off glass and you realize you are looking at an abandoned phone.[[A phone that belongs to Jack|59]]

You rub your arms, chilled in the shade of the tumulus’ bulk and your own thoughts. Over the course of twelve summers you explored the forest around Withe, recording cherished personal landmarks like the enormous flat-topped boulder your aunt said was a “glacial erratic” and a half dead oak scarred by lightning.This, however, was never recorded by you and as far as you remember, never spoken of by your aunt of anyone else.Until yesterday.You run your hand across the quartzite lintel, its surface rugged and glittering underneath your fingertips. The entrance is tall enough for the three of you to walk upright but too narrow to admit more than two at a time.Pulling your hand back, you hesitate at the threshold even as something about it draws you in and lurches your stomach with equal parts anticipation and apprehension.Maybe it is how each stone fits against another in ways impossible to comprehend that nails your feet to the ground. Maybe it is the way the dianthus waves in a nonexistent breeze, the frilled pink blooms neglected by bees and other insects.You know the answer to your question but you ask it anyway.“Is this where they found me?”Pell speaks up from behind you. “No, $name. This is where you were [[born|61]]."

//Much about the site remains a mystery including the influence it exerts and why. The area of effect extends to the very edges of the clearing it inhabits and wildlife have been observed avoiding it.Weather patterns are variable and inconsistent with those of the surrounding region but seem to reflect the appropriate season. With more time, I can establish if this theory holds true.Flora around the site are native species and exhibit typical growth patterns. It is unknown how pollination occurs in the absence of insects although I have witnessed a motion among the flowers independent of wind.The structure itself is. The structure itself is comprised of distinct layers of several types of igneous rock. Atop the rock is a thick layer of dirt home to grasses and weeds native to the region.I cannot end this report without making one last rather subjective observation. I confess to a level of— discomfort in my proximity to the mound. It is a place that, while in the landscape, is not of it. Or am I the one who intrudes?Excerpted from the field diary of [redacted].[[Property of X Corp|62]]//

“Let me. Please.” You hold your hand out and the briefest of pauses Felix gives you his flashlight. It lies cool and heavy in your grasp and when you turn it on the beam cuts through the darkness to reveal a simple packed dirt path between asperous stone walls.You inhale deeply, filling your nose with the mingled scents of earth and the sunless places underneath. In other circumstances this would be an adventure, you think, before you step [[into the barrow|63]].

The path slopes down and curves slightly to the right, the large bulge of stone serving as the roof? (ceiling?) appearing to recede bit by bit the further you go. The walls are cool and dry and the cracks and crevices in between stones are filled with more packed dirt and the occasional gleaming pebble.//Your birthplace.//Place. Not mother. Someone left you here, maybe even birthed you here. //Would it make a difference if they had left you here to be found?// You may be clutching an important piece of your past but it comes with a lump in your throat and a growing cognizance of the extent of your ignorance.//Not now. Not when you still have to find Jack.// You swallow the lump and with some effort, tell yourself you will deal with the rest later. You will speak with your aunt again and ask her all the questions buzzing around inside your skull.Hell, you might even call your “mother.”You idly shine the light at the ground around your feet and come to a halt at the sight of faint marks on the path. Calling Felix and Pell over, you settle into a crouch and pore over the dirt surface.“That’s two sets of shoes, one pair slightly larger than the other.” Felix kneels beside you, a long finger tracing the outlines. He gives you a sideways glance. “Only one pair leaves.”“Just how big is this place?” You stand up and peer ahead but all you see is footprints in a tunnel that continues its slow curve down beyond the reach of your light.“What we call The Well is larger than it seems from the outside.” Pell’s voice is a guttering candle, their blithe and arrogant air missing, their voice straying close to something that sounds a lot like awe. “Exactly how large hasn’t been determined as no one has made it to the end of this path and come back.”//Here they go again.// “And you two swear this isn’t some elaborate prank?” Since Pell is having a forthcoming moment you decide to take the opportunity to press them for more information.“Oh my heart, I wish it were.”[[They look like they mean it|64]].

You consider the implication that if no one knows when the tunnel ends, no one knows where it ends, either.“That’s not possible, though. Tunnels don’t go on forever. People made this.”Pell raises a perfectly tapered eyebrow. “You’re remarkably resistant for someone who knows a talking doll. Tell me, haven’t you begun to question the nature of what you know? Of yourself?”“Of course I have.” After spending half the night grappling with the shadows of your past and the growing pile of nagging questions, you are no closer to finding a way out of Withe.“I found something.”The rough edge to Felix’s words brings the here and now back into focus and you turn away from Pell and a conversation you are not sure if you are ready to have.“What is it?” A few more steps and you are at Felix’s side and facing a patch of wall. You shine the light directly on the irregular surface of stone revealing a small section stained with red.[[Blood|65]].

“Slow down.” Felix hurries after you, his calm mask slipping to reveal wide eyes and clenched fists. “We have to be careful. We don’t know what else is here. Who else is here.”Neither of you notice Pell standing where you left them, their face drawn and ashen in the ebbing light, nor do you hear their footsteps as they turn and walk in the opposite direction.“We can’t afford to wait, Felix. You saw how fresh that blood was.” There are more signs of struggle, from disturbed dirt to additional blood. You quicken your pace, your ears straining for sounds other than your footsteps.The light flickers and you jump, your mind awash in the oldest fear of all. You freeze in place and almost drop the flashlight before Felix draws it from your clammy grasp. He leans in, prepared to steady you, and you are enveloped in the twin scents of citrus and vetiver, jarringly cheerful notes that bring you to your senses.“I will go ahead. You can use your phone to light your way back to the entrance and I’ll meet you there when I find out what happened.” He looks around in confusion. “I assume that’s where Pell went.”“No.” Your fingernails cut into your palms but you raise your chin. This is not just about you anymore. It likely never was. “We keep going. Together.”Nodding, Felix moves on, and the two of you continue in tense silence, no longer stopping to check your surroundings. All you can do is keep moving forward, bowed under the weight of your own dread.“Do you see that?”Felix points at a spot further down the tunnel and you follow his hand with your eyes.The light barely penetrates the depths and it takes you a moment to discern the huddled shape propped against one wall. You run toward the figure, evading Felix when he tries to hold you back. “Jack?”Dropping to your knees, you brush hair out of his face and gasp. His visage, swollen and battered and covered in blood, is nearly unrecognizable. A great crimson splash obscures the lettering on his shirt and you are afraid to touch him, afraid to hurt him more.Felix joins you, avoiding the patch of deep red earth surrounding the still form. He reaches for Jack’s wrist from where it lies limp at his side, exposing torn and bruised knuckles.You bring your hand to Jack’s cheek but his eyes remain closed. “Wake up, we have to leave.” The words come out in a croak and you and you try again as you give his shoulder a slight shake.[[Wake up|66]]. Please.

“$name, he’s—““We need to get him out of here. Help me, Felix.” You draw one of Jack’s arms around your shoulders, ignoring the way his head lolls forward.“Look at me, $name.” Felix flinches when he sees the briny, bitter tears gathering in your eyes. “He has no pulse. Even if he is somehow alive he won’t make it out of this tunnel. Not like this.”It’s true. You wish you could overlook the blue tinged pallor of his skin and the way his eyes, formerly lively and vibrant, remain closed and sunken. There is a hole in the fabric of his shirt and behind it, a deep elliptical wound coated in drying gore.You retch and taste bile.“Someone beat him and stabbed him.” You glare at Felix, fury and guilt clawing at you. “What’s really going on? What aren’t you telling me?”“Not here. We need to get back to town. Now.” Felix stands and waits, his face an unyielding chiaroscuro even as he holds out a hand to help you to your feet.Refusing his aid, you straighten and linger over Jack, a desperate apology trapped behind your teeth. You touch his cheek once more instead before you turn away.“I’m sorry.”Any words you might say are stifled by the shock and sadness overwhelming your faculties and you hurry for the entrance [[without a look back|67]].

“What happened?” The doll is propped against a stack of books on the counter, her glass eyes capturing the soft light of the bookshop’s lamps and reflecting it as a hard glimmer.Felix stirs in his seat on a nearby chair. “$name needed some time. Unsurprising considering what we saw in the barrow. It was ugly, Marion. Bad.”“You talk like it was different this time.”“It was. Jack fought back.” He looks at his hands. “He held out for as long as he could.”There is a long pause and Felix, restless, leaves his chair to lean against the counter.“We're not protecting anyone with all our secrets.”“They're not our secrets, we just keep them.” A porcelain hand points directly at him, accusatory. "Must I remind you of the precarity of your position, of Withe?"Felix taps his fingers on the counter, his scowl making an appearance.“Maybe if you and Morgan didn’t insist on—“[[A series of emphatic knocks on the shop door interrupt him|68]]

The sun is high and blazing in the sky when you reach the edge of the woods and you tell Felix you need a few hours alone. Clearly reluctant, he takes his time before he relents.“I’ll be at the bookstore, then. Let’s meet tonight.”Your shoulders sag as he leaves and you stifle the urge to call out and ask him to stay. You are suspicious of your desire to trust him, conflicted over an aching familiarity that accompanies his expressions and gestures. Even the way he smells conjures emotions you have neither the time nor the energy to define and you squash them deep [[inside|69]].

Your aunt’s study is a mess.You sit on the floor, surrounded by a pile of books, journals, and a flurry of loose notes. Most of what you have read so far makes no sense— blueprints for complex machines annotated with an incomprehensible shorthand. References to crops and seasons and illness. A stray sentence about someone only known as The Engineer and beside it, the faded sketch of a crown.[[You continue reading|70]]

You get up from your place on the floor and stretch before you check the time on your phone. Nine o’clock and one missed call from Felix. Shit.You meant to leave two hours ago but what you sought was hidden in a camouflaged drawer deep inside the ornate desk. “Sorry, Aunt.” You broke the lock open to find a slim book and a sheaf of notes in your aunt’s handwriting. After ten minutes of reading, you came to the conclusion that you had found what you were looking for.[[Time to go|71]]

The bookshop door opens to reveal a rumpled Felix, his cuffs undone and his hair slipping over his eyes. “I was about to look for you. You didn’t answer your phone and I— we were worried.” Behind him sits your aunt, her silvery form a coruscating beacon that irresistibly draws your focus. Before you can stop yourself, your mouth opens and words come tumbling out. “You’re going to bring him back.” [[Felix, taken aback, just stares|72]].

The Hunter lingers in the tunnel, listening to the sounds of your grief and trying to work out why he finds himself so uncomfortable being the instrument of it.If you were to ask him why he killed Jack his reply would be a simple “I’m the Hunter, what else should I do?” and you would be left with more confusion than before.No, to truly understand his role it is helpful to contemplate the gap between what you consider order and what you comprehend of structure.To the Hunter, his knife is less weapon and more needle. The Hunter, who taught himself how to sew over the course of a dull and protracted winter, is confident in the accuracy of the comparison.Except—[[No exceptions he is the capital h Hunter and Always accurate|72a]] [[He has been doing this for as long as he can remember|72b]]

He cannot afford to be anything else. What use is a blade if it cannot cut? Is a needle still a needle if it does not mend? The Hunter shrugs and sets such questions aside. His existence and purpose are so intertwined that imagining existing without the Hunt is impossible.[[The Hunter waits|73]]

Of course he is good at it— brilliant, some would say. Yet, the scar across his face still aches on winter nights and he can feel the heat of the original wound. The Hunter’s hand trembles as he recalls that fateful pause before one massive claw tears at him.[[The Hunter waits|73]]

//For clarity’s sake, much of this will take the form of disconnected observations. With no instruction on what information is desired and in what format, I am forced to approach this by instinct.You’re lucky my instincts are good.I’m terribly conscious of someone (you) eventually reading this. Meeting in a formal setting would require some sort of introduction, wouldn’t it?This isn’t a formal setting, though. I close my eyes and imagine us sitting by a crackling fire while I tell you a story. We’re old friends meeting during the longest night of the year and the wind is howling outside. The wind has teeth tonight.I’m getting ahead of myself. First, some background to establish context:1. I am the wastrel scion of [redacted] House. Lest I waste my life, I was (financially) pressured to join a family endeavor that has existed for generations.2. My family is very large and I am no one important. I am one cog in a greater machine but I am a cog that gets things done.3. I execute assignments and collect paychecks but now it’s different. I’m supposed to write entries in some kind of field diary and you, my friend, are the poor asshole who has to read it.And with that out of the way, let’s get on with the why you’re really here bit. You’re here for the story. You’re here for the facts and feelings and significant details you can scry like the leaves at the bottom of a teacup. And you will probably get those.But I know what you really want.You want to know what all of this has to do with $name.Excerpted from the field diary of [redacted]. [[Property of X Corp|74]].

You expect a flat “no,” maybe a soft tsk except you wonder if a painted porcelain mouth can accomodate the sound of tongue and palate and teeth.“We’ve tried that.”A pause here, stretching until it nearly snaps with tension and when you finally speak your voice sounds too loud, your words too forced.“What do you mean you’ve tried that?”“It exists and we gained access so of course we tried it. Resurrection. We didn’t even understand how it worked but we did it anyway, like pulling an incantation from a book at random.” Your aunt’s matter of fact tone grates and you chew the inside of your cheek. “In truth, we were pulling on a thread and watching for what unraveled.“Do you know what oxidative stress is? It breaks down cell tissue, causes systemic inflammation and chronic disease, and most importantly undermines processes like memory.“Suddenly we had this ability to resurrect the dead and we kept hitting the same wall. Oxidative stress. We witnessed varying degrees of severity and type when it came to negative health outcomes and every single subject had issues with memory.“Every single subject, that is, except for one. A successful resurrection, we discovered, needed to happen within twenty minutes of death. Any later and we faced unresolvable issues.”“What happened to them? The people you call the subjects. Where are they now?”“Dead. Aside from our single success, now property of The Company.”Twenty minutes. You look at the dirt stains on your clothing and think of the body you dragged out of the woods, the body now lying in the trunk of the car outside. You remember the cool touch of Jack’s flesh against your own and feel sick.Avoiding eye contact you stand, one hand wrapping around the keys in your pocket. They cut into your palm. You hardly notice, preoccupied with exactly how out of your depth you are. And at the back of your mind, an insistent whisper of guilt grows louder. Selfish for wanting the company, for wanting Jack by your side. Selfish for letting him befriend you knowing that associating with him meant he was unwittingly associating with The Company and all that entailed. Secrets. The Company kept so many secrets you thought, what was one more. Hide it in plain sight.“I need some air.”Felix calls after you, takes a step forward, but a word from the doll stops him. It stings like a petty [[betrayal|75]] and no matter that you tell yourself he might as well be a stranger, you feel the reverse.

//It’s me again, reporting for duty with my pen. How are you today, etc. Are you paid enough to be interested in how I am? I doubt it. We’ll skip to the relevant bits, shall we?Confession time: I’ve yet to solve the riddle of my assignment. Follow the subject, they said. Keep the same schedule and write the details down in this notebook. Rinse and repeat and await further instructions. Only intervene if the subject faces peril and keep a record of the subject’s social encounters.Is this a test? I often consider that possibility while I skulk around, documenting a (mostly) unchanging routine.To get the basics out of the way,The subject is <<set _height = ["tall", "average", "short"]>><<listbox "$height">><<optionsfrom _height>><</listbox>> in stature with <<set _eyecolor = ["brown", "hazel", "blue", "green", "gray"]>><<listbox "$eyecolor">><<optionsfrom _eyecolor>><</listbox>> eyes and <<set _skincolor = ["black", "brown", "beige", "white"]>><<listbox "$skincolor">><<optionsfrom _skincolor>><</listbox>> skin.Clothes: plain, unremarkable. Far from the carefully nondescript luxury I am used to.Whatever rich inner life the subject possesses is hidden beneath an exterior devoted to work, long walks, and a monthly dinner with [redacted]. No friends that I can tell, not even a ripple in the social web of lives that surrounds the subject’s day to day.I don’t like this. It isn’t about the boredom. Mostly. I don’t like that I can’t figure out what you want. Why are you reading this? What do you know that I don’t? What significance do you spy between my lines?Today I found myself strolling down the boardwalk adjacent the river. I watched the subject sit on a low wall, feet dangling, as the sun rose and shed its golden light across the murky water. I wanted to turn away and cease my cycle of tiny intrusions on this life of a stranger. A stranger who becomes less strange as time goes on.(I’m a thief of sorts, stealing fragments of someone else’s life to satisfy the obligations of my own. I’m bad at this.)Excerpted from the field diary of [redacted].[[Property of X Corp.|76]].//

You open the door to the diner, an electric shock racing down your spine as you look inside.You face a long hall, so long you can’t even see the far end, just endless rows of tables filled with people dressed in fantastical clothing and armor. Everything shimmers in torchlight and the sounds of laughter and conversation wrap around you and you sway, dazed. You raise a hand to shield your gaze from the field of lustrous colors and shining metal and the vast room falls silent as all eyes turn to you.The dominant expression in the crowd is one of hungry curiosity, like one would view a beautifully structured dish before it is nothing but a mass of crumbs and faded flavors. Like your mother looked at you when she talked about your “potential.”You have forgotten how to move, to speak. Your eyes blur and you blink slowly and when you open them again the hall remains with its insatiable audience, their mouths smeared and crusted with a neverending dizzying feast. Your mouth waters even as your stomach tries to turn itself inside out.Somewhere far away a golden figure rises from a high seat, a figure so bright you squint. Overwhelmed by the desire to kneel as the echoing clank of armor rattles your bones, you focus on your feet in their worn and ordinary tennis shoes with mismatched socks. They are rooted to the stone beneath them and a you count each step as the presence draws [[closer|77]].

//One//.You smell [[burning|78]] like the eager fires of summer as they darken the sky.

//Two.//The sound, like the collapse of a star, ripples outward, wave after wave rolling over and [[through|79]] you.

//Three.//The sudden warmth of a hand against your back turns time from slow creep to torrent. A [[sea of gold|80]] swallows your sight right before the hand shoves you forward.

//Four.//[[Your arms extend|81]].

Your arms extend in an embrace and the reality around them bends and gives, distorting, before it pops like a soap bubble against the mass of your body.And you [[fall|82]].

Before your palms make contact with scratched and dented black and white linoleum you are caught up in warm velvet and lace. Lingering smoke tickles your nose and you sneeze. You hear a muttered curse before a handkerchief is shoved in your face.“What have I said about keeping your quarrels outside, Pell?” An older man clothed in a crisp white shirt and red apron confronts Pell, his eyes narrowed behind wireframed glasses.Pell releases you and leisurely straightens their rumpled clothing. “I was merely helping a friend who seemed to be slipping on your floor.” They meet your eyes briefly, their expression arch and audacious before it shifts into the usual cool sneer.Shaking his head, the older man turns to you with gruff concern. “Are you ok? Why don’t you sit while I grab some water. And you—get out of here.” Giving Pell a dismissive wave, he guides you to a nearby booth upholstered in blue vinyl. He leaves you alone with the mingled scents of tobacco and cheap cologne and you peer out the window into the night, avoiding the stares of the diner’s other occupants. Your fingers play with a button on your shirt and you try not to think of [[what might have happened|83]] if—

Pell slides into the booth across from you, furtively glancing for the waiter. Satisfied that the two of you will not be interrupted, they take their time regarding you, a small smile spreading across their face when you refuse to react.“You are not injured, I hope?”You cannot help it. You start to laugh, a quiet chuckle that shifts into a higher register as tears gather in your eyes and abdominal muscles clench. It is too like one of those dreams, that, when described in the light of day, grows thin and more absurd in retrospect.“I said keep it outside, Pell.” The gray haired man sets a cup of ice water in front of you before motioning toward the door. He gives you an apologetic twinkle. “I’m sorry about this. Pell doesn’t mean any harm, they just— forget where they are sometimes.”Forgetting where they are and shoving someone are two different things, you think. Still. You recall the hall and the clanking figure and your heart leaps in your chest like a hare flushed from cover.“They can stay.”“I’ll have a salad. And an iced tea.”The waiter rolls his eyes but takes Pell’s order anyway, tapping glowing rectangles on the pad molded around his wrist.You order pancakes and coffee and ignore Pell’s sound of disgust, as if acknowledging it would mean you lose whatever [[game|84]] it is they are playing.

“Don’t do it.”The forkful of pancakes pauses on its way to your mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“I’m talking about Jack.” They lean forward, the usual poise absent. “Don’t do it. Please.”You set the fork down and rub your forehead in a vain effort to dispel the tension tightening around your skull. “Look, I really have no idea what you mean and hearing you talk about Jack like this— stop.”Picking up your fork once more and shoving pancake in your mouth you resume looking out the window. Pell’s reflection pokes at their salad with a suspicious air and you hide a smile as you stab your fork through another cakey, syrup-soaked morsel.“The rain is full of ghosts tonight.”Inhaling a pancake fragment, you begin to cough horribly. You reach for your coffee and Pell nudges their tea forward with two fingers.“Don’t be an idiot, drink the tea.”The coughing subsides in between cooling gulps of tea and you push the now half empty glass away in one impatient movement that almost topples it. “It was you? You were the one sending me those creepy postcards?”They cross their arms, offended, and a sneer teases at their pale lips. “I’m trying to help you.”“Really? Because it looks a lot like stalking.” The people eating at a nearby table fall silent, two of them craning their necks to stare openly. You sink down into your seat, keeping your gaze fixed on the clenched fists in your lap.“Pell, it’s time for you to leave. I can pack up the rest of your salad, if you want.” The waiter appears and whisks away the plate of salad as he speaks in a tone markedly less casual than the one he used earlier.You keep your gaze fixed on your hands but you know when Pell gives up and slides out of the booth. They pause and you feel the pressure of their attention.“I’m sorry I scared you, $name."By the time you look up, they are gone and the waiter is pouring you more coffee and telling you [[it’s ok|85]], the meal is paid for and the tip taken care of.

Your phone rings and you give your half plate of food a forlorn look before answering.“What is it, Felix.”“Where are you? We need to talk.”“I’m at the diner but this isn’t the best time. Is it urgent?” You watch a street lamp flicker in the parking lot, its sickly hue making the shadows seem even darker.“I’ll be there in five minutes.” He hangs up and you lean your head against the back of the booth and close your eyes, the events of the last few days replaying over and over. You try to catalog the details and make sense of them but your brain keeps circling back to what happened to Jack and the miracle of resurrection, denied.“Our coffee’s as strong as it gets and you’re the first person I’ve seen pick a fight with it.”You open your eyes to see the waiter from earlier refilling your mug with more of the diner’s gritty hellbrew.“Thanks. Guess I needed more sleep than I thought.” You hope your smile does not seem too forced but he seems to understand, giving you a friendly nod before turning away.“Hey Benny, how’s it going?” Felix makes an appearance, his face relaxed and open as he exchanges pleasantries with the waiter. He gives you a sideways glance as he shoves his hands into his pockets.“Ok if I sit here?”“Of course.” No need to lie to yourself— you were waiting for him ever since you walked out of the bookshop.“I’m glad.” He clears his throat as he takes in your half eaten food and Pell’s glass of half drunk tea resting in a pool of its own condensation.“What’ll you have, Felix?” Benny takes the glass and food and waves Felix into his seat.“Hot tea, thanks.”“You got it.” Benny turns to leave, then swivels back to your table, one finger pointing at you. “I thought you looked familiar. $name, isn’t it?”“Um, yes. I am.”“I knew it. The two of you used to come around all the time, years ago. Always wondered what happened— lovers quarrel I figured until I heard you moved away. It’s good to see you again, almost like old times.” With a last chuckle, Benny leaves you alone with Felix and an increasingly awkward silence.“You haven’t changed at all, you know.” The corners of his lips pull upward slightly as he laces his fingers together on the table in front of him.“I doubt that.” You respond reflexively and Felix hides his mouth behind his hand even as the corners of his eyes crease with mirth.“Like I said. [[Still you|86]].”

“Here’s your tea, buddy.” Benny interrupts with a steaming mug and a delicately patterned dish full of lemon wedges. “Baiyu’s tree out back is doing well this year and we’ve more lemons than space. Whatever you did for it worked and then some.”Felix ducks his head in embarrassment and stirs his tea. “It just needed a little boost, is all.”“Don’t let him tell you otherwise, {Name}. Felix can get anything to grow. Just the other day—“A bell rings and a voice calls out.“Ah, gotta go. Don’t be a stranger, $name. You’ve been missed.” Throwing those parting words over his shoulder, Benny leaves for the kitchen. Felix shifts his attention back to you, leaning in as he braces his hands against the table.“You want to leave, right? I can help.”You barely hear his soft words above the surrounding conversation but your pulse races all the same with their impact. Your earlier fatigue dissipates in an instant and tension draws you out of your tired slouch.“Now you offer help? I could’ve used it when I was trying to get out of Withe yesterday. If you’d helped then—“ you trail off, thinking of the body in the trunk of the car.One hand moves slightly like Felix wants to reach out but it settles on the table instead. “It’s not that simple, $name. And.” He bites his lip, hesitating. "If I'd made you listen, yesterday, would you have believed me?""I'm ready to listen. [[I don't think I have much of a choice|87]]."

“That’ll take some time to explain.”“And last I checked I wasn’t going anywhere.” You raise your mug to your lips, reconsider, and set it down as you fight off a yawn. “Actually, do you want to get out of here? It’s getting late and I know my aunt has a couple bottles of good wine stashed somewhere in her kitchen.”“I should probably—““Alphabetize some books? You’re the one who wanted to talk, so let’s talk.”His eyes search yours, briefly, and whatever it is he finds there helps him make up his mind. “Ok. We can talk.” He holds up a hand before you can reply. “I can’t pretend to know more than what Marion’s told me which is precious little when it comes to your problem. We won’t be solving this in a night.”You busy yourself with leaving the booth and avoid responding, your lips sealed around the truth. Your aunt’s house, so full of memories, leaves you feeling like any corner you turn within its walls will reveal the dead come to life. Sometimes you feel like [[another one of its ghosts|88]].

The wine is tart and rich as it slides down your throat. You swirl the dregs in your glass, watching the ruby colored liquid glimmer like blood on stone. You think about hurling the glass at the wall and watching it shatter and stain but you set it down instead and push it away.“More?” You reach for Felix’s glass but he places one hand atop it.“I’m good for now. I don’t usually drink and two glasses is already— an indulgence.”You laugh lightly, leaning your head against your hand. “I suppose it is. You don’t strike me as someone who indulges very often.”His eyes narrow, a speculative gleam lurking in their depths. Reaching for the bottle, he refills his glass and yours. “Then indulge with me.” A brief smile quirks his mouth before he takes a long swallow of his wine.This is the most relaxed you have seen him, the stark line of his posture softened and his hands tranquil. Except his eyes. Felix’s eyes never rest, never cease shifting away from yours whenever you think you might catch a glimpse of an emotion other than what he chooses to show you.“What’s it like, where you live?”He surprises you with the mundane question and maybe it is the wine but you are caught by this idea of him observing you observing him. He is oddly comfortable with this, it seems, and you start to envy him for his self possession.To hell with it. You drink half your wine in one go and try to sit up straighter. “I live in a city.”“I know you live in a city. I’m asking what it’s like.”“I live in a city where it rains one hundred and sixty five days out of every year and it’s obvious because everything is crumbling from acid exposure or rotting with mold.”“And yet it sounds like you love it.”“Of course I do. [[Do you know how many secrets a city holds|89]]?” You give him a mischievous grin before downing the rest of your wine. “Break me out of Withe and I’ll be your tour guide.”He plays with the cork from that second bottle of wine. “I’ll do my best. I will.” His hand forms a fist.

//Dear silent partner in my misadventures,I’m writing this on the heels of a meeting with my direct superior and I think it’s important to say that it didn’t go well. They are getting impatient, SP. I submit my reports and attend the debriefings but we’re all going through the motions and it’s wearing thin.Which,A. Leads me to believe this job is not in fact busywork for yours truly.B. Gives me the impression that we’re all waiting for something to happen and whatever $name is doing right now is irrelevant.AndC. Leaves me with no other option but to find ways to satisfy my curiosity. How much slack do I have in my leash, I wonder?Excerpted from the field diary of [redacted]. [[Property of X Corp|90]].//

Tonight The Hunter’s bed is filled with thorns and he tosses and turns in a fitful doze. He lets out a heaving gasp, waking himself and the great gray lurcher sprawled nearby.The dog lifts its head and makes as if to rise to its feet but the Hunter clicks his tongue lightly and the dog settles. It rests its head on its paws, dark and liquid eyes following The Hunter as he paces the length of the shadowy room. His head is filled with the creak of a turning wheel.Five more strides bring him to the opposite wall against which leans a spear. The long shaft of red gold wood terminates at one end in an iron point shaped like a leaf. At the other end is a spike that rests in a splintery furrow in the flooring.[[Reach for the spear|90a]]. [[Pet the dog|90b]].

The Hunter turns away from the spear and its incessant pull. It recedes gradually, too slowly, until it is nothing but an irritating prickle at the very edge of his consciousness.The dog, sensing the pressure of his regard, lifts its head with an inquiring snort.“Not to worry, I’ll be staying in tonight.” The Hunter crosses the room to kneel and pet the dog, scratching it between the ears and threading his fingers through wiry fur.The Hunter waits and his thoughts slow [[like a rain starved stream|91]].

The spear’s beauty captivates The Hunter. Its lack of ornamentation only highlights the subtle curves of iron and the ruddy golden glow of the cornel wood that comprises its shaft.//“You see, Gabriel, this is as much a tool of office as it is a weapon.” The armored figure, his long white hair haloed in the setting sun, presents the spear with two gauntleted hands.Gabriel takes and hefts the spear, delighting in its weight and balance. Its purpose. He kneels before his king, feeling that purpose course through his veins and give him new life.“With this spear I appoint you Hunter. You shall serve me until the day comes when you cannot wield it. Don’t fail me, Gabriel. Hunter.”//There are times when he wields the spear and can feel a heart beating in its form, beating in time with his own. It follows his will like he follows the will of his king and he has long given up on trying to untangle one from the other.Something cold and wet nudges his palm and he turns away from the spear. The dog is at his side, its tail giving a faint wag as he runs his fingers through its wiry fur.Unlike him, the dog lives by its own inclination, coming and going as it pleases. It might be gone for days or weeks at a time but it always comes back, tongue lolling in satisfaction. The Hunter accepts the dog’s occasional gift of rabbit and in exchange he removes burrs from its coat and keeps a rough woolen blanket on the floor by the fire.The dog lets out a soft huff before it slips away, resuming its peaceful half doze. It watches The Hunter with one open eye but the man does not stir from where he stands.The Hunter waits [[in the shadow of the spear|91]].

You step out onto the porch and pull out your phone. It is midnight and you cannot remember your mother’s current time zone but you tap her name and hold the phone to your ear. You swallow, mouth dry.“You have reached the voice mailbox of—“You shove your phone back into your pocket and wrap your arms around yourself despite the warm summer night. Maybe you will try again later. Maybe she will answer. Maybe you should toss your phone into the fucking woods.The screen door swings open and Felix joins you, a glass of water in each hand. “Drink this, it’ll help.”You stand and drink in silence and the sick, empty feeling in your stomach fades slightly. “Thanks.”“Thanks for the wine. And the company.” Felix gives you another of his rare smiles and you almost forget why he is here. You bring the cold glass to your cheek in an effort to shake off your mood. (You wasted enough time bullshitting over wine but you would be lying if you said you hated it. You might have drunkenly toyed with the idea of staying in Withe. By choice. Thing is, you loved the city but you were not sure if it loved you back.)You rub at a patch of dry skin by your thumb as you force out your next words.“So, [[about Jack|92]].”

“You did what?”“I couldn’t just leave his body there in the woods! What if an animal decided to— well, what if we’d been able to resurrect him.”“$name. I need you to believe me when I say that you can’t just take matters into your own hands. Withe doesn’t have the budget for a private security force. I work with a handful of volunteers and it’s hard enough keeping them organized.”You never thought about it when you were younger, assuming that you had yet to encounter Withe’s version of privatized law enforcement. Things like the details of enforcement are based on where you live, but no one talks about what happens when it is simply unaffordable.“Then what happens now?”Felix hesitates, moving his empty glass from hand to hand as he avoids your eyes.“Does Jack have any family I can contact? Anyone who will want to know what happened?”“I—I don’t know. I mean, he said his family was estranged.”“What about friends?”“He’s new to the city and I’m— was his only friend there. If it’s any help he’s registered as a city resident.”“I’ve already contacted your city. They should be working on locating his family this week. I’m not sure how long it will take but I will keep you updated.”“Yeah. Thanks.” The reality of Jack’s death grows in weight with every step forward, dragging at your feet and slowing your thoughts. No, not slowing them. Pulling at them with its gravity until they begin to unravel.“Oh, and I’ll take care of your friend tomorrow.” Felix winces at your expression. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure how else to—““Don’t worry about it. It’s ok, I’ll be ok. This is kind of your job, right?”“Part of it.”“Does this mean you’re the one investigating the murder? Have you ever done it before?”Felix gives you a dry look. “It’s not that difficult considering how small Withe is. Murders around here are generally straightforward.”“So this isn’t your first murder.”He chooses not to answer, nor does he need to. The way his shoulders hunch and the twitch of a jaw muscle give him away.“[[When do we start|93]], then?”

“Well. This particular case is less straightforward. Or more so. I’m not sure yet. And what do you mean by we?”“Even if I had a way to leave I’m not going until we find the person who did this. Jack’s my friend.”“Was.” The word drops like a stone from Felix’s mouth and you watch him regret it as soon as he says it.“That was really unnecessary.” You try to keep the anger from your voice and fail horribly.“No. No, it is necessary.” He moves closer, his gaze afire with something that makes your retort catch in your throat. “Jack is gone, $name. Finding his killer isn’t going to bring him back, it’s going to get -you- killed. Do you understand? I need you to understand.”“Then what am I supposed to do? I’m trapped here, remember?”“Your aunt would want you to be safe. The more involved you are, the more you risk. I can help you get home but you have to let me do my job.”You almost back down, caught between the way he is nearly begging you to stay out of things and the stubborn set of his jaw.Almost.“You’re supposed to know me, aren’t you? Do you really think I’m going to sit and wait this out? Do I look like I’m going to do that?” You are not bluffing but your palms sweat regardless as you take a breath, ready to counter him if he does not back down.Felix rubs the bridge of his nose and gives you an exasperated look. “I had to try. Fine. If you are going to be involved with this I have two conditions.”“Ok. But I’m not agreeing until I know what they are.”“Fair. You’ll find them to be reasonable, I hope, or at the very least simple.”We’ll see about that. His words might be calm and measured but you notice the nervous swallow.“As I’ve said, this is my job. If we get into a— situation, I need to trust that you’ll listen to me. I won’t force you into anything, I promise, but if we’re going to work together we do it as partners. Deal?”Your gaze goes from his outstretched hand to his eyes, clear and focused as he awaits your answer.“Deal.” Your hand closes around his and you watch the tension bleed from his face as his hand gives yours a squeeze.You start to pull away but his hand tightens as he continues. “I haven’t finished. Leave the barrow alone for now and if you go into the woods, you need someone with you. I’m not compromising on this.”“What the fuck is going on here, Felix? What was my aunt doing?”A lone frog sings out, it’s call slipping into the space between you and his fingers loosen, letting your hand fall away from his.“It’s late and I should be heading home. We start tomorrow with something I need to show you.” In spite of his words he lingers, his gaze flitting to the car parked in front of the house.“Is that yours?”You let out a choked laugh, looking at the lovingly maintained electric car. (You asked Jack once how he could afford such a luxury. A car. It was the first time you ever saw him embarrassed, his cheeks flaming as he stumbled over his words about it being a perk from his “old job.”)“Oh no. Definitely not mine.”“May I borrow the keys? I don’t think I need to explain why Jack can’t stay—““I get it.” The buzz of wine magnifies your exhaustion and blunts your frustration and by the time Felix leaves after promising to send someone for the car and its burden, you are more than ready for [[sleep|94]].

//Dear SP,I may have spent time turning over some rocks since I last wrote to you and you won’t believe what scuttled out from underneath. Perhaps you already know.Thanks to a few friends whose names will never be mentioned, I’ve discovered that our subject is quite important to whatever it is Research is working on these days. Unfortunately, I couldn’t gather much beyond that, at least much that made sense.They’re mapping locations for what they term “anomalous events” and they believe that $name is related to them somehow. They’re unsure about the level of conscious involvement but they are clear on the fact that $name and these events are entangled.And that’s it. Until I find more rocks. I think I might actually enjoy this job after all. Good luck out there, $name, because if Research has made you their subject, you’re going to need it.Excerpted from the field diary of [redacted]. [[Property of X Corp|95]].//

//I knew having a hand in raising $name would come with its own unique set of challenges. I did not anticipate Felix.Like many others of his kind, his memories are affected. In his case it is difficult to determine to what extent as he is singularly reticent for a child his age. Anything we discovered about his possible background was thanks to Morgan’s intelligence gathering through The Company’s assets. Anything else consisted of what Felix chose to reveal, like his name.It took some time for us to establish that he made it to the outskirts of Withe thanks to another one of the “anomalous events.” He demonstrated no desire to find his way back home and seemed to content to make a way for himself here, young as he was.By the time $name found him, Felix, accompanied by a large, flea bitten cat, had been here for around two and a half days. His clothes were too small and had an odd crumpled sheen to them. After replacing them I sent the clothes off to Research, assuming they would be at the very least amused by what seems to be a fabric comprised of woven strips of plastic.Admittedly, a part of me considered sending the boy off to Research as well. I almost did until I saw how inseparable the two children were. From day one, $name was transformed, no longer living solely between the covers of books. Felix’s initial sullen defiance was worn down by $name’s stubborn kindness and the two spent that first summer forging a bond.They recognized something in each other, I think. And I recognized something in that bond. Something we could use.Felix moving in permanently was inevitable. After $name left for home and school that first year he threw himself into setting my garden to rights and attending school here in Withe. He was shy and unobtrusive for the longest time but by the second year we were a family of sorts, Felix, Major Tom (the cat) , and I.It was easy to forget about things for a while but every summer I was reminded even as my house was filled with laughter and play. When the children left to roam the woods or wander around town I had plenty of time to remember why I was here.Even still, what happened during our last fateful summer together took me by surprise.[[Taken from the diary of Marion V|96]]//

Hot coffee splashes your hand as you juggle mug and door and a long night dreaming of running through a dark stone tunnel. Jack was running just behind you, yelling at you to keep going. Begging you not to look back.“Need any help with that?”Tamsin is standing on the porch with a cloth lined basket under her arm, dark curls highlighted by the morning sun.You give her an embarrassed smile. “I think I’ve got it, thanks.”“Are you sure, $name?" She cocks her head to the side, her eyes sharp and inquisitive.How exactly are you supposed to respond to that? Your hand tightens around the mug. “What brings you here this morning? Did you want some coffee? Tea?”“No thanks, I’m good. I wanted to know how you’re doing, so I stopped by.” She sits down on a porch step and pats the space next to her. “Join me.”You sit down, taking your time answering, your thoughts fighting their way through the muzzy feeling that came from too much wine and restless sleep.“Well, do you want the polite answer or the honest answer?”“Give the answer you want to give, I don’t care. I’m just here to listen.”You raise your hands in mock surrender. “Alright, honest answer it is.” You think about how to phrase it and give up with a disgruntled sigh. “I regret coming here. And the funny thing is, I don’t usually regret anything.” You pause, fingers curling around a weed by your show and yanking it free in a spray of dirt and you look at her from the corner of your eye. “It wasn’t only my mother who kept me away, it was my aunt, too. I heard them talking one day. No, they were arguing.”“What was the argument about?”You pull at another weed, but the stem snaps, leaving a viscous ooze in its wake. You wrinkle your nose and wipe your hand on your clothing. “I didn’t hear much of it so who knows. I remember my aunt saying she couldn’t do it anymore and I think that’s when I decided that I wasn’t going to come back.”Tamsin does not respond immediately, her gaze directed at the treeline. Her features are serene but you know from past experience that she is weighing your words carefully.“You know what I think?”“What?”“I think you need to get out, do something fun.” She shushes you before you can protest. “It’ll be good for you, I’m serious. You’re stuck here until Felix finds you a way out, right?”“Yeah but—““No buts!”“--I’m supposed to meet Felix in a few minutes, I can’t.”“About that. I may have called him and said I was stealing you for a couple of hours. There. You’re out of excuses.” The grin she gives you is dazzling and unrepentant and you shake your head, trying to keep the look of disapproval on your face and failing.“Ok, ok, you win. Where are we going?” Older Tamsin is still Tamsin of old, sweeping you away with her unabashed delight in the impulsive and unexpected. You cannot say that you mind, though, and a part of you is relieved and comforted by the familiar game.“It’s a surprise, duh.” Taking you by the hand, [[she leads you away|97]].

“So this is wild radish. I like to use the tops in the quiche we serve at the cafe. It’s too bad you didn’t come during ramp season. Next year, maybe?” You stop and think it over. Would you come back, given the chance? [[You lie|97a]]. [[You tell the truth|97b]].

"Miss out on ramps and hiking? I should hope not." The words are wrapped in false cheer and when Tamsin smiles at you [[it does not quite reach her eyes|98]].

"I should have come back sooner."Tamsin listens in silence, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Her expression is thoughtful and her gaze distant and you are reminded of the deep gulf of time and distance between you.Who is she now?"$name." Leaning toward you, she brushes your forehead with her lips. It is light and fleeting and her eyes brim with affection when she straightens. "You're here. Yeah, you could have come back earlier or maybe you had [[reasons for staying away|98]] but no matter what that guilt you're carrying will poison you."

Tamsin threads her fingers through leaves, separating them from stalks topped with dainty white flowers. She pinches off a few blossoms and offers them to you. “Try these.”You bring them to your mouth, filling it with the peppery bite of radish and the silk of petals. It sates a hunger you never knew you had and you savor it in silence.“I knew you would love them.” Tamsin places a few more blooms in your palm with a smug look. “The leaves are too bitter to eat raw this time of year. Good thing the flowers are the best part.” She shakes dirt away from the foraged plants and lays them in the basket before folding a cloth over them and smoothing it.“How’s your family doing? Did they move back, too?” (Her parents, while kind, were primarily occupied with promising careers in Research and spent much of their time in the city. Tamsin never once complained to you, choosing instead to wax raptly over her dreams of becoming a horologist just like them.)Tamsin stiffens, turning away, and your eyes follow her fingers as they dig into the soil with aimless movements. For the first time, you notice her chewed to the quick nails and ragged cuticles.“There was a car accident.” Her voice is thick with grief and you reach out, placing your hand over hers in wordless support. You reach for words and only find dry platitudes so you wrap your fingers around hers and hold on tighter.“I’m so sorry.”She runs the back of her hand across her eyes and sniffles, turning back to you with a shaky smile. “It’s ok. It happened not long after we moved away, but—“ She looks down at your joined hands. “—it still feels a little fresh now and again, doesn’t it?”She gives your hand an answering squeeze before pulling away, her cheeks flushed and eyes shiny with tears she is quick to blink away. You are reminded of the grief inside you and the filaments it has wrapped around your heart. They ambush you with sudden constrictions, leaving you [[breathless and overcome|99]].

“I can’t believe it, I’ve spent all this time talking, $name. I want to hear about you.”“You’re not going to believe me.”“Are you kidding? Tamsin throws out her arms as if to embrace the forest around you. “I’ve heard enough strange stories over the past decade at least //and// I’ve got a few of my own. Try me.”So you tell her. Everything. You spill every unbelievable detail as she listens and frowns and draws spirals in the dirt.“When I talk to her, it doesn’t feel like I’m talking to my aunt. She says all the right words but it’s— wrong, like everything that made her my aunt is gone.”“I still can’t believe there's a way to bring back the dead.” She peers closely at you, her face unexpectedly serious. “You’ve changed. You’re less careful, aren’t you?”“Yeah, well.” It is not only Withe and your city feeling the peculiar effects of a shift in The Way Things Are if rumors in the wider world are to be taken seriously. Even still, most shrug away the small concessions of lives in transition, reducing their existential angst to small complaints and a mutual pact of soft silence. Those more directly affected, those whose security is fundamentally compromised, are denied the universality of their experience by way of this pact.Careful is overrated. You break a twig into smaller and smaller pieces.“I know Felix is helping you out but if you ever need to talk to someone, I’m here.” Tamsin bumps your shoulder with hers before she stands up, basket in hand. “Speaking of Felix, we should probably head back to town before he tracks us down and discovers my favorite foraging spots.You take her hand and she pulls you to your feet. “It’s going to be ok.” She straightens your shirt and brushes away a leaf. “Felix is going to help you find a way home, we’re going to exchange phone numbers, and I’m going to come and visit you in the great big city where you’ll show me a grand old time.”“Tamsin—““Yes, yes, I know, you’re remembering your fondness for your small town roots and your old friend. You’ve got shit to do though, don’t you? We can be all nostalgic later, come on.”You follow, [[caught up in the whirlwind of her passage|100]]. Your head is clearer, somehow, and your steps lighter on the trail leading back to town.

The silver bell rings as you step over the threshold of the bookshop and into a space populated only by books. “Felix?” The silence is broken by the creak of someone walking around upstairs and you wander toward the back, resisting the temptation to find a hidden corner and read the day away.As you ascend the stairs, your time in the forest with Tamsin takes on the quality of a dream, the sharpness of the radish flowers fading from your tongue.“Come in.” Felix answers the door looking like he did not sleep at all. He is quick to guide you to the couch before excusing himself and disappearing further into the apartment.Your aunt sits in your favorite armchair, her eyes open as she reclines against a small pillow.Cursing Felix under your breath, you settle across from her, a prickly unease filling you. You really wish that she would blink. At least once.“Hello, $name. I was hoping to see you.”“Hello, Aunt.” It takes all your effort not to sound sullen and you hate how you sit there feeling like a child even after all these years.“I asked Felix to leave us alone for a few minutes because I need to explain something while you’re here. I haven’t been entirely clear with you.”No shit. “What are you saying?”“I’m not your aunt, $name. Not in the way you want me to be.”“I don’t understand.” Except you think you might, a little bit. Did your aunt truly think this doll could supplant your cherished memories? Or was this another message entirely?“I told you. We don’t bring back the dead for very good reasons. I’m a copy, and not a very accurate one.” She trails off, seeing your face. “But you suspected as much, didn’t you.”“What are you?” If the porcelain were to crack, what contents would you see? A silicone chip, a spell, a bundle of wires and a radio?“Think of me as a vessel. I hold most of your aunt’s memories in a form that is uniquely easy for me alone to access. However, divorced from her flesh and will, those memories are only data tied to a series of instructions. I cannot make new connections or offer much in the way of advice.”You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very alone.“She loved you, you know. She wanted to protect you for as long as she could.”“Keeping me as ignorant as she could was not protecting me.” Even while looking at your hands you sense [[the cold pressure of the doll’s regard|101]].“According to your aunt, I am here to make up for that.”

“You can start by telling me why I’m trapped here.”“To start with, your existence is tied to the barrow in the forest. It is possible that your inability to leave and your friend’s death are manifestations of the forces the barrow exerts on our world. It is also possible that you are a manifestation of those same forces.”“I know things have been changing but you’re making this sound like—“ Your fingers dig into your thighs as you try to steady yourself.“No, it’s not exactly magic. It’s more akin to a framework we don’t full understand yet or have a language for. But you are a word of that language.”You recall your mother and the unspecified nature of her position with The Company, her checking in with the grating monthly dinners and curt phone calls. Only they would have the resources and the ruthless curiosity to tackle a thing of this magnitude.“Why now? What changed?”“We’re not sure. It might have something to do with age and the structure of the brain or an outside influence we didn’t account for. All we have are theories and fragments I’d hardly call evidence but now that you’re here, we can start [[testing those theories|102]].”

//Dear SP,Sometimes I wonder if the subject knows about us. I am probably reading too much into a job I tired of almost as soon as I started, but who could help themselves in this situation.I divert myself imagining hidden messages in the sidelong shift of an eye, the tilt of the head, the way a body almost turns and reveals the flash of a face in profile. The color of a shirt is a semaphore and the title of the book slipped casual under the arm is a reply to my unspoken question.Meanwhile, the “events” that so preoccupy my friends in Research only increase in frequency. There is a corresponding increase in activity and headquarters buzzes like a hive and my friend keeps mentioning a “next stage.”For once, I am happy in the small corner of the world I share with {Name}. Those brief moments I spend with the subject by the glimmering river make me forget that I am forever holding my breath and waiting for it all to fall apart.Excerpted from the field diary of [redacted].[[Property of X Corp|103]].//

Felix reappears, hesitating in the doorway and straightening a shirt cuff with a suspiciously neutral expression.“Excuse me,” you say to the doll as you leave your seat to grab him by the wrist and drag him into the kitchen. You let him go and pace the four steps between table and stove.“You could have told me, Felix. How long were you going to let this farce continue? How long were you going to let me believe that maybe, just maybe, I had someone who still loved me in my life?”His lips thin as he looks away, although not before you catch his eyes shimmering with hurt and something else. (A bright and painful something else that makes you want to shade your eyes.) He picks up a towel and begins to dry the dishes from a rack on the counter before putting them away, his clumsy movements betraying his agitation."Where was I to start, $name? You were supposed to come here, say goodbye to your aunt and this town, then leave for good.” He stops and focuses on the plate in his hand but his far off gaze tells you his thoughts are elsewhere. The plate wavers and stops as his grip tightens, knuckles turning white.A part of your heart gives way, seeing him like this. It is very likely he is just as ensnared as you are in whatever the hell is going on but you are increasingly frustrated with how cagey he is.[[Back off|103a]]. [[Take the plate away from him|103b]].

You take a few steps back, trying to ease the tension, and knock into the table behind you, startling Felix. The plate slips from his fingers and hits the floor, breaking into pieces.“Fuck.” He breathes it out before springing into action and gathering up the pieces. You try to help and he waves you away. “There’s a broom in that closet.”When you come back Felix is standing in front of the sink and holding his hand under running water. Blood dots the floor in places but most of the shards have been thrown away.“What happened? Are you hurt?”“It’s only a cut. I was careless.” A grimace flashes across his face in spite of the casual tone.“Where’s your first aid kit?”“Under the sink.”You make him sit down at the table as you pull out disinfectant and bandages and ignore his small intake of breath as you take his hand and examine it. Three fingertips are cut, not so deep as to require stitches but deep enough, you think, watching blood well from them and drip down the sides of his fingers.“I’m sorry but this will probably hurt a little. Keep putting pressure on those.” You wrap a towel around his hand and give the floor a quick sweep with the broom.“Thank you. I’m not usually this clumsy.” His voice is rough with embarrassment and he clutches his injured hand to his chest as he rises from his seat.“What are you doing? Sit down, I still need to bandage that.”Felix ignores you, opening a drawer with his uninjured hand and pulling out a set of keys.“I believe these are yours.”Taking the keys from him, you all but push him back into the chair and examine the bloodstained towel wrapped around his hand.Felix begins to laugh and you look up, surprised. “What?”“I’m sorry, that’s the same expression you used to make when we were kids. You would try to get my cat to jump through a hoop for a treat but all he would ever do was roll over.”“You have a cat? Where is he?” You take his wrist in one hand, using the other to unwind the towel. The bleeding has stopped for the most part and after wiping away the blood you skim a light layer of antibiotic across his fingertips.“He died [[a while ago|103a1]].”

You reach out, moving like he could bolt at any second, and close your hands around the edge of the plate. He lets you draw it from his grasp, his hands loosening before he shoves them in his pockets. His eyes meet yours at last, their stare resolute under his frown.“I need to take you somewhere. It’s what I should’ve done. Earlier. It’s why I asked you to come here.”He opens a drawer to retrieve a set of keys. “I believe these are yours.”“Thanks. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” The keys like cold and heavy in your palm.One shoulder lifts slightly before Felix slips out of the kitchen saying, “Let’s go. We should get this done [[before dark|104]].”

You bandage his fingers one by one while Felix watches intently, head bent over yours. “I’m sorry about your cat.” I’m sorry I don’t remember.He pulls away and leans back in his chair. “Thanks. For this, too.” Raising his hand, he gives you a faint smile.“Why don’t you want to talk about our past? Was it that terrible?” You find yourself wanting to know more about the pieces of the life you lost, hungry for anything to relieve your growing sense of displacement.He lets out another laugh, one with a deprecating edge to it. “They’d just be stories to you. This might sound ridiculous, but I keep asking myself if it’s really you at all. If you don’t remember me, are you the same person? Or someone entirely different? How am I supposed to talk with you?”“Like I’m someone you used to know. Like I’m someone you met yesterday. I don’t know.” You shrug and pick at a bandage wrapper. “What if we start from the beginning again?”“Is it really that easy?”“Even if it’s not would you still try?”“I would.” He inspects the surface of the table between you. “I will if you ask me to.”“Then.” You stick out your hand and he clasps it, his grip firm and comforting. “Shall we start [[from the beginning|104]]?”

//We used to comfort ourselves with the myth of childhood resilience in the face of loss and trauma, one lie among many designed to sate the all too human desire for absolution. Father, forgive us our sins because they are not that bad ultimately. I knew what I was doing sending $name away for [here the word “good” is written and crossed out in two neat lines] our own good.I remember Morgan’s insistence that it was Withe that would ultimately hold $name back.Back from what, I asked.From seeing the bigger picture, Morgan replied.What could I do but give in because it was not just Morgan it was The Company and their staff psychologists and the fact that Withe exists through their will and resources. We are a Company town and they will never let us forget it.Did I think Morgan would be kind? No. She would be reliable though, and I knew that of the two of us she was the most equipped to craft the kind of leash we needed. After the incident, we decided to accelerate our plans.I threw myself into research, after. I could hear the distant tick of a clock in my head and I was worried as I watched Morgan play her games of politicking. Twelve moves ahead became ten, then eight, then six.And Felix? I knew he wanted to follow $name, was desperate to, and on that day he stood there with a single backpack stuffed with his belongings. He implored me with tears in his eyes to take care of his cat before walking out the door.To this day, I don’t know what Morgan said to him. $name stood at her side, shoulders hunched and eyes averted and I watched Morgan whisper in his ear. I watched him slump in defeat, his expression as he turned back giving away how much of a child he still was.Was it ever better this way?[[Taken from the diary of Marion V|105]]//

Withe’s graveyard lies on the east side of town, down the street from the library and across from the community center. Its sprawling acreage is dotted with trees and enclosed by a low iron fence mottled with rust.The gate creaks as Felix pushes it open and a nearby jay startles, fluttering to a branch in a flash of blue. Not much has changed since the last time you were here, and you pick up a nearby rock and place it against the gate to brace it open.Like always, every single grave is carefully kept and adorned with flowers, . Low hedges demarcate time periods and families and particularly shit years like 2032 and that one strain of avian flu.When people forget, the graveyard is there to remember with its collection of names and dates and epitaphs. You think you might understand, finally, why people struggle to ensure that they will take up a kind of space after they are dead. Living is hard. //Why shouldn’t someone want to be thought of fondly, even visited every great once in a while. Or at least thought of.//“Here it is.” Felix stops by a grave so fresh you can smell the turned earth. It is missing a gravestone but a bouquet of fireweed lies across it. You crouch, splaying your fingers in the sun warmed dirt and blossoms as if you can reach Jack one last time.“Thanks for taking care of him.” Your head is bowed, your thoughts fraying around Jack’s absence.“I should probably give you a moment alone with him.” Felix pats your shoulder awkwardly. “I’ll be on the bench over there. Take as long as you need.”You wait for the sound of his footsteps to fade before relaxing into a cross-legged position, your elbows propped on your knees as you lean forward and stare at the vivid purple blooms wilting under the sun.“Yeah, you would like these.” Your voice comes out just above a whisper. “You know, I always thought about taking you here. Shame it had to be like this. I remember when we met for the first time outside the hotel. I was in the worst mood that day and my feet hurt because my good pair of shoes had given out the week before. I almost cried standing there and thinking about having to go inside and you must have seen that on my face. You looked me straight in the eye and swore that the tiger was behind the other door and that I was perfectly safe.“That was a dumb joke.” You put your head in your hands, shutting out a world that is suddenly too bright and alive for [[you and your despair|106]]. “What am I supposed to do without you?”

There is one last stop to make. It sits beside an artificial pond bordered by moss covered stones and brilliantly hued snapdragons. The gravestone is simple and unadorned aside from your aunt’s name and the dates of her birth and death. You want to laugh at its simplicity, considering how poorly it represents the complicated legacy she left you.“You should’ve taken it with you, Aunt. What kind of legacy is this?” The snapdragons wave gently in the breeze in answer and it only irritates you more. “And that ghoulish doll. Was it your idea or my mother’s?“Why didn’t you think I deserved better? That I deserved to know more from the beginning?” You hate how peevish you sound even if the words are true. Your mother would be sneering at you if she were here.Your foot kicks at the dirt, coming in contact with what at first feels like a rock. It shifts and when you look down you see something gleaming through the ground. You drop to your knees and pull a heavy golden disc and chain free from the earth. The surface is battered but you notice the rough outline of some kind of beast.[[Show Felix|106a]]. [[Don’t show Felix|106b]].

<<set $showFelix to true>> “Hey, look at this.”You find Felix waiting for you near the graveyard gate, one hand jingling a set of keys as he stares off into the woods. There he goes again, like he can divine answers from trees.He takes it from you, the heavy gold chain sliding through his long fingers as he examines the medallion and traces the faint lines on its face.“This might’ve been left by a mourner, or lost. I can ask around, if you’d like?”“Please. It looks valuable and I feel a bit responsible for it now that I’ve found it.”Felix tucks the medallion into his shirt pocket and takes a moment to consider your surroundings. You follow his gaze but all you see is gravestones erupting from the ground like crooked, graying teeth.He passes his hand over his face like he is brushing away a [[cobweb|107]]. “We should go.”

The metal is heavy in your hand but slips easily into your pocket and you leave with a certain amount of relief. Maybe your aunt did answer, in her own way.You find Felix waiting for you near the graveyard gate, one hand jingling a set of keys as he stares off into the woods. There he goes again, like he can divine answers from trees.“Are you ready?” Before you even answer he is opening the car door and you slide inside [[without a look back|107]].

When The Hunter moves through the forest it is as if he is a mere part of a larger organism, needing nothing but what his environment offers, asking for nothing but a space for his next step and a shelter at night.The dog follows after, brushing against his leg as it passes him to give chase to a rabbit. The Hunter’s eyes follow the gray streak as he scratches his scar thoughtfully.It’s almost time again. Half the chase is knowing when to strike and the moment The Hunter has been waiting for is nearly here, shining with [[the promise of an ending|108]].

You watch Felix leave with a stack of books and journals from your aunt’s study and close the door behind him, shutting yourself inside the empty house.“I thought we were working together.” You had helped with collecting your aunt’s personal writing while Felix searched through other volumes. Mathematical texts, the odd historical treatise, even a book on cryptozoology. The journals were gorgeous, bound with soft leather and colorful threads. You got the sense that your aunt cherished not only her records but the act of recording and rehearsing her memories and displaying them in the form of lustrous inks.Unsurprisingly, those memories are page upon page of at least three different ciphers interspersed with cryptic comments and math. (Your worst subject.)Felix takes the leather volumes from you, adding them to his eclectic selection. “We are working together, but—“ He hesitates, biting his lip. “You look like shit.”You feel like shit but it is hard enough admitting it to yourself, let alone Felix. What ultimately makes you acquiesce is the tired slouch of his shoulders and the hoarse edge to his voice.“Tomorrow it is, then.” [[But not too early|109]].

You start setting the study to rights, straightening books and closing desk drawers. You imagine the ghost of your aunt looking over your shoulder and tutting over the state of her cozy hideaway and you self consciously straighten the throw pillow on her armchair.[[I’m sorry|110]]. You are not sure if you would feel better hearing it from your aunt’s lips or your own, to be honest.

“Hello, Mother. I’ve been, um, trying to reach you for the last couple of days.” You rub the back of your neck and begin to pace the length of the porch. “I know you’re busy but— I’m still in Withe and we might have a problem.”You take a deep breath.“Call me back when you get a chance. Or text. Please.”You hang up, your eyes drawn to the lit windows across the street. The sun has set and the frogs have begun their nightly chorus and a wave of fatigue hits you full force. You reconsider knocking on Tamsin’s door for a late night talk.Tomorrow then. Somewhere behind you a clock strikes an hour that makes you curse under your breath.[[You should be asleep|111]].

<<if $showFelix is true>> <<goto "111b">> <<else>> <<goto "111a">> <</if>>

You pull out the medallion, the chain making a musical clink as it settles into your palm. You tilt it back and forth, trying to make out the pattern scattered across the surface of the engraved creature. It looks a little like feathers until you tilt it another way and see scales. Or is it delicate tufts of fur?It is heavier than it looks and you tell yourself the warmth it seems to radiate is merely your own body heat in contact with the metal. Even after you set it on the nightstand next to your bed it glows like a fire at the edge of your vision.You settle into bed, drawing the quilt up to your chin and nestling into the pillow, your eyes still fixed on the medallion. It looks magical here on the threshold between waking and sleeping, as if it could light your way out of this tree lined maze.“What are you trying to tell me?” You murmur, but it does not answer back and something even more improbable happens, instead. In spite of everything, [[you fall asleep|111a1]].

The air around you is dense with the rich scents of honey and scorched roses and you open your eyes and almost collapse to the floor, dizzy and weak. Gone is your bed and room and the very house you went to sleep in, replaced by a large vaulted room with curving walls and a massive window overlooking a harsh and alien landscape.“There you are.”Your heart shudders in your chest as you turn to face the imposing figure of a man clad in gold with a thin silver circlet resting against his brow. Long, white hair frames a severely beautiful face with hooded amber eyes and high, sharp cheekbones. His every movement as he walks into the room is sure and calculated and filled with a fiercely restrained energy.You shift your weight, eyes fixed on him as you take a step back.“Stop.”Your body shakes as your muscles stiffen into an unnatural rigidity. Helpless, you watch him move closer, his hand grasping your chin and raising it as his proximity drowns your senses.“It’s amazing how little time it took for you to forget whose story this actually is.” The pressure of his fingers increases. “I think it’s time to remind you.”Pain sears your body and every nerve glows white hot as you scream until you do not recognize your own voice anymore. The world around you spins and blurs with the glowing circlet at its center and as you raise your hands to cover your eyes you watch them dissolve into shining, winking particlesAnd when you open your mouth to scream once more the scream itself is a flood of light from your lipsAnd every thought and every memory is swept away in [[a devouring tide|badend3]].

You get ready for bed, and at the forefront of your thoughts is the warm metallic heft of the medallion in your hand and the unexpected urge to tuck it away and out of sight.It was Felix’s face that stopped you, specifically the happy glow of relief he tried to conceal when the two of you shook hands as partners.“He’d jump off a cliff if you asked him to, {Name}.” Earlier in the woods, you’d asked Tamsin what she thought of him. “Of course, he’d probably push me off one if he knew I told you that.”She takes in your expression and snickers. “Oh sweetheart, Felix isn’t someone you need to worry about. He’s nicer than all of us underneath that surliness.”You yawn and burrow deeper under the quilt spread across your bed and sleep steals you away before you realize it, your thoughts running in slower and slower circles until all that is left is the echo of a howl from the trees. Whether memory or beast outside your window, you are [[too tired to care|112]].

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”A terrible clangor jolts you from a deep slumber, a melody of metal against metal. You try to cover your ears and your eyes fly open when your hands fail to move.The first thing you see is a pitted cinderblock wall covered in stained and peeling paint. Your back is facing the source of the noise and your arms are pinned behind you, helpless against the bite of restraints. You clench your jaw around rising panic.Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. You’re in it now. Whatever it is.You roll over and make it to your knees somehow, hissing at the sudden pain in your arms and shoulders. You are pretty sure you can smell new piss on top of decades old grime and decay and you are pretty sure of where you are even before you raise your gaze to the iron bars closing you in. On the other side, one hand wrapped around the handle of a crowbar and the other hand clutching a circle of silver, is Tamsin.

<<link "Restart">> <<run UI.restart()>> <</link>>