30 day writing challenge

Day 2: Write a scene without any dialogue - TW: Death, blood etc. - Edita at around 17 years old

There was a loud bang as a pistol went off.

And then, for a moment the world stood still. The man in front of her, his face frozen in surprise, only looked at her, grasping for her eyecontact as if it was the only thing that kept him alive. This connection between the two of them. Edita couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move a muscle in her body. She was frozen in place, just like time stood still.

The man coughed. The blood splattered hot against her skin in the chill night air.

And time no longer stood still. The man fell to the ground infront of her, their eyecontact suddenly broken as life left his body. Someone was shouting, but it sounded far away. Edita couldn’t hear. Quite frankly, she couldn’t even breathe. She only looked at the lifeless body in front of her, a pool of blood begining to form around him- it - him? How would you even address a dead body?

Someone was shouting again, this time right next to her. She didn’t react. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. When she looked down at it it was suddenly red. She furrowed her brows in confusion. When a pair of big hands grabbed her shoulders and shook her, she slowly looked up. Why was he shouting? But she couldn’t ask that. Her mouth wouldn’t let her. No voice would escape her lips. The man next to her grabbed her arm and rushed her with him. She didn’t know where to. But she didn’t resist him. She couldn’t.

Later in the car, everything hit her, and she started crying. Realising what had happened, and that it had been her fault. But the choice had been between him and her. Nevertheless it made her feel sick. She might have puked on the way home.

Day 18: Use the title of the last song you've listened to “I dropped out” (lol)
Oh boy its late. Anyways. Here's that time Ache escaped an institution. It is not proofread at all cuz I am tired
TW: Child abuse, abuse of power, vomiting, uh. Ache's past in general

When Acheron had arrived in Ilomar, he had barely known the language. He had been taught some in school, of course, but a year of first-grade education hadn’t prepared him for the real thing. He could barely communicate with his new family upon arrival in a suburb outside of Domaware. As if he hadn’t already disrupted the suburban peace in the household. Credit where it's due, the family had paid for language classes. But as fate would have it, the mandatory trips to the testing center – because his mother had been a Nachon, after all – would eventually come back with the one result everyone had feared. And thus, he was once again sent away.

By the time he was sent to the The Thelmian Educational Institute, he had a better grasp on the language. Of course, that wasn’t enough to not be punished if he mispronounced or misspoke during loud reading of the holy texts. Or even worse yet, used his mother-tongue. At the institute, he quickly learned there was little sympathy to gain with the guardians and teachers: there was only discipline and obedience. Those who kept their head down, didn’t resist, didn’t stick out, those were the kids who would be left alone. Though they were still Nachon and they would be treated accordingly. And once they were adults, if they even made it that far, that was when their fate would be decided. A lucky few might have the privilege to live on in relative freedom. For those with a record – and that was most of them – it was right to jail. Acheron knew, after a year, that he would have to escape somehow. But it wouldn’t be an easy task.

There were the Enferi teachers, the priests who had taken upon the charitable task of teaching the young Nachons their place within the religious hierarchy. They were the least trouble, when it came down to it. They were only there during the days and the ceremonies and usually wouldn’t personally dish out punishment. No, it was the Godia guard that was the problem. They enforced the rules with a heavy hand and there would always be someone on duty, no matter the time of day. In the start it had seemed you couldn’t even blink without them noticing. But as time went on, the cracks would inevitably start to show within the regime. The guards weren’t infallible and they had their favorites amongst the students – and those students would inevitably be treated better. They had more leniency, better chores, sometimes they even got out of activities such as the multiple mandatory daily prayers. Halfway through his second year, the inkling of a plan had started to form.

And thus, Acheron started working harder. If he was set to mop the floors, they would be sparkling by the time he was done. He wouldn’t complain when they were set to do physical labor for hours outside in freezing weather. Nor would he any longer cover for the other students when they misstepped. I didn’t make him popular. But it made him noticed by the superiors. And soon enough, he’d be running errands for them. Fetching them their tea or making sure the Enferi teachers would not notice their internal affairs. By his third year, he had become something of a private assistant to his floor's main guard, Erik Davies. By this point he had been hated by the other students. He’d be called a traitor and a bootlicker. They had scoffed at him, some even spit at him. He supposed they were right to. But, assuming he wasn’t smothered to death in his sleep first, he had a plan that was going to lead to freedom. He hoped. That, or he’d never see the light of day ever again.

As fate would have it, he got his opportunity in his fourth year, shortly after he had turned fourteen. It was Godia Warriors Day and the amount of guards on duty was low, as most were out to join the celebrations. Davies, as at were, had been scheduled for this day and thus, he was in a sour mood. So, he sat there, reading his newspaper while grumbling commentary to himself, while Acheron was on his knees scrubbing the floors. Davies was an aging man for a Godia warrior still in service. It had left his mark and with time, the man had grown to care very little about his work. Time had left many occupational injuries and the man would often complain about his pains, when it was only Acheron there to hear it. As such, he was more lenient with his division in general and often wouldn’t dish out punishments unless absolutely deemed necessary – the man simply didn’t have the capacity to dish them out anymore as much as he once had. He took lightly to the rules pertaining to Godia warriors, too, Acheron had noticed. “A free man is allowed to indulge  once he reaches a certain age.” He would often tell Acheron, when he was sent to fetch his secret stash of scotch and cigarettes from the shed in the courtyard. This day was one of those days.

“Hey, kid,” Davies said, looking at Acheron over his newspaper. “Go to the yard and fetch my stuff, would ya?”

Acheron’s heart almost skipped a beat. Was today the day? Did he have enough stock? He stood. “Yes sir,” he said, vibing his hands in his already dirtied uniform. Then he asked casually, trying to will his heart to stop beating so loudly in his chest. “Can I have a permit?”

Davies sighed, reaching into the drawer and pulling out a small slab of paper. He hastily filling out the required boxed  before handing it over to Acheron with a half-hearted. “No loitering.”

“Thank you, sir,” Acheron said as he took the paper, glancing at the signature and the filled in box next to the word ‘courtyard.’ His hands were sweating. “I won’t, sir.” He folded the piece of paper and put it in his pocket as Davies returned his attention to the newspaper.

Acheron left the office, heart pounding. He reached into his pocket and counted. What did he have, 12, 20? When he reached the door that lead to the outside, he produced the permit and showed it to the guard who shook his head with a laugh. “Good old Davies. Be quick, kid.” Acheron nodded and croaked a small “yes sir” as the man opened the door.

Stepping out into the November rain, Acheron shivered. Placing the permit back into his pocket, he started walking across the lawn. He crossed his arms, bracing himself against the strong winds. Was this a good idea? Where would he even go? He shook his head, shutting the thought out. This might be his last chance before Davies was sent to retirement, and who knew if he’d ever be given the opportunity again. It had to be today.

He entered the shed. It smelled of old wood and mold. As he turned on the light, rows of garden tools became visible. Acheron walked to the far end of the room and pulled out the old rusty toolbox from underneath a shelving unit. He opened it and pulled out a bottle of scotch. He unplugged it, before picking out a handful of pills – the kinds of power suppressant they were all handed each morning – from his pocket, letting them plop down into the liquid one by one. 19 in total he counted. Was it enough to knockout a grown man? Acheron was shaking, perhaps this was a bad idea after all. Voices sounded outside of the shed and, hastily, he plopped the cork bag in the bottle and placed it back into the toolbox. He closed it and got to his feet, exiting the shed. The sound of feet running away and Acheron realized it was just two fellow students who had tried to hide from the work ground. They would be found soon enough. Acheron wouldn’t. Taking a breath and steeling himself, he once again walked into the pouring rain and towards the towering building.

Once back in the office, he immediately went to pour the Godia a glass, as was the usual routine. He didn’t pay Acheron any mind as he served it, along with placing a pack of cigarettes on the table. Nor did he ask for the permit back, exactly as he had expected. But still, Acheron’s heart only pounded harder as he returned to his work station, watching and waiting for the man to take a sip. He almost forgot to scrub, when the man grabbed the glass and slowly brought it up to his mouth. Breathe stopped in his throat. The man took a sip. Then another. Then downed the whole thing before letting out a satisfied ‘ah’ and leaning back in his chair lighting a cigarette. Acheron sat, frozen, as he watched Davies with wide eyes as he returned to read his newspaper. Then. Nothing. Acheron’s heart sank. Has it all been in vain?

Then, the man put the newspaper aside and nearly fell off his chair as he caught his head in his hand. “Wauw’strong stuff,” he slurred. Acheron’s eyes widened. “Perhaps you should go lay down, sir?” He suggested.

“S’perhaps,” The man started a sentence as he tried rising from his chair, but immediately fell to the ground and started vomiting violently. Acheron sprung to his feet, this was his chance. He produced the permit from his pocket and went to the desk, grabbing the pen and filling out the small box that said he was allowed to leave the premises. “What’d you do,” the man heaved from his spot on the floor, lying in his own vomit. Acheron shuddered as he paused. “I…”

He frowned, then folded the paper, pocketing that along with a pack of cigarettes and Davies’ wallet before he went for the door. “I’ll go get help.” he said as he exited the office, the sound of retching sounding all the way out on the hallway. Acheron prayed that no one would find him like this, not before he himself was long gone.

He went to the guard by the door, who raised a brow as Acheron returned once more. “Already back?”

“Forgot something.”

“Hm…” The man looked suspicious, but opened the door anyway. “No loitering, now,” he warned.

“Of course not, sir.” Acheron stepped back into the pouring rain, his heart pounding as he considered his next steps. Did he head straight for the gates or would the man at the door notice him taking the wrong path? Or did he take a detour to the shed, risking that someone found Davies before he left? Acheron decided to risk the gates.

The guards at the gate eyed him suspiciously as they held up the permit. “And he has sent you out into town unattended for what, exactly?”

“Pain medication, sir. Davies is old.”

“We should send someone to verify,” the guard said, looking at his partner who was currently eating lunch. Acheron’s heart sank.

“H-he needs it fast. It’s kind of urgent. He gave me this.” Acheron pulled out the wallet to prove it.

The guards narrowed. “Seems an awful lot of trust to put on a Nachon,” he mumbled. The partner shrugged.

“‘Tis Davies for ya,” he countered. The two watched Acheron, who swore they must’ve heard his beating heart.

“Ah, what the hell. Mans’ probably desperate.” The guard clicked the buzzer and the gates opened. Acheron looked with wide eyes out on the world ahead. “You know where the pharmacy is?” Acheron nodded. “Good. You have 20 minutes, kid. Cooper, go check on Davies.”

Acheron knew, as he stepped out into freedom, that it wasn’t over yet. He still wore his uniform. He had nowhere to go. He had to get out of town fast. But for the first time since arriving in at the Thelmian Educational Institute, it felt as if the future might just be something he could hope for.

Day 3: Use the words: kitchen, date, music - Unknown date in the future

“You’re up early,” Idés’ voice sounded right behind her, announcing his presence in the kitchen of the small apartment above the study café. She hadn’t heard him enter over the sound of the music coming from the radio and the voice had made her jump in surprise.

”Idés!” She scolded, turning around to look at him, although with a smile on her lips. She couldn’t ever really be mad at him. But pretending to be, in her teasing voice, was still a fun game they had. She narrowed her eyes up at him as he only answered her scolding with a grin. ”If you must know,” She said, rolling her eyes at his goofy grin and turning around to face the table again. ”I just couldn’t sleep anymore.”

As she leaned forward to work the espresso machine for their morning coffees, she felt Idés’ hands reaching for the hem of the T-shirt she was wearing - the T-shit he had been wearing yesterday. A smile grew on her lips as his fingertips first graced her lower back, then his hands laid on her hips. His body came close to hers, the warmth of it comforting. Lips placed on the back of her neck in a kiss, before his arms wrapped around her in an embrace. She giggled.

““Ditka, I love you,” A kiss landed near her ear. “- but that stamp is not even, let me do it,” Idés took over making their coffees, Edita let him, although with a slight frown. She wanted to do something nice for him.

”Alright, alright.” She moved herself towards the window, giving Idés space at the kitchen counter, and sat herself at the windowstill. While sneaking glimpses of Idés working, she pulled out a packet of cigarettes, fishing one out and lighting it, blowing the smoke out of the open window.

“Woah woah, what do you think you’re doing?” Idés said, partly removing his focus from the coffee, to look at her. She only smiled innocently at him. ”Prepping it for you?” She giggled. He rolled his eyes at her.

”Do you have any plans today?” She asked as Idés gave her her cup of coffee - a latte with a heart in it this time. Adorable, she thought, smiling at it. She looked up at him as he leaned against the small space next to the windowstill, merely inches from her.

“I was thinking of spending it with you,” He said, snatching the cigarette from her. He puffed on it, closing his eyes for a moment. Edita couldn’t help but stare at him fondly.

”And what would we be doing then?” She said, raising an eyebrow teasingly at him. ”Got anything good to offer?”

“We could stay at home all day, share a bottle of wine, maybe cook that dish you always talk about for once?” His cigarette free hand reached for hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. She pulled him closer, grinning as she did.

”That sounds like a date.”

Day 17: Write about a car ride… or is it day 19, summary for a book? Or day 20, new piece of lore? Day 21?? IDK I’m just gonna write more Ache backstory

Two days. That was the amount of time that had left since Acheron had run away. That was two days of no food, no rest. Just aimlessly heading down country roads, out in the middle of nowhere. Still in his uniform, soaking wet and so so cold. In the start of his journey, he had been filled to the brim with paranoia that he would be found and brought back for his punishment. Now, he was starting to wonder if that was preferable to passing out on the side of the road from pure exhaustion. On the verge of giving up, he leaned up against a tree to finally give himself a breather as tears started gathering in his eyes. He started slighting down the trunk as his own weight started giving away underneath him. His feet and ankles hurt so bad. He was tired of shivering. He had been so focused on the how of his escape that he hadn’t even stopped to think about what he was going to do after. What had he expected? A warm living room and a nice cup of tea? Laughable. Such nice things were not extended to Nachons. He felt the warm wet trail starting to slide down his cheeks but he didn’t care. He also didn’t care if he was found anymore. Or if they would kill him. Perhaps he deserved to be killed? He had poisoned a guard. Killed him, maybe? Regret started churning in his stomach and if he had eaten anything that day, surely it would be on its way up again. They were right to think him a monster, he decided.

In the same moment, a truck was on its way down the road, on a long journey back to Ilomar City. Behind the wheel sat Rachael Peters, cigarette in hand as rock music played from the car radio. The truck was filled with random trinkets and memorabilia – the truck was like a second home to her, it was where she spent her days and she loved the freedom that came with it. Though the pay was shit and the hours were long, she still had it better than so many other Nachons like her. And it gave her the privilege to help in ways that most others could not. So what if she never got the family or the dreamlife she had imagined when she had been young and naive? She had her truck and she had the open road. Lost in her music, her cigarette and her thoughts she almost completely missed  the boy on the side of the road in the uniform that brought goosebumps down her spine. She hit the break without a moment to consider her approach and exited the car. The boy looked up at her with big frightened eyes, red from crying. She frowned and paused, before steeling her resolve and approaching.

“Say kid, didn’t anybody tell ya it’s a bad call to go hitch-hiking in mid-november?” She joked. Acheron just stared at her, muscles tight and ready to run. Was this it, had they send her to kill him? She winced and crouched down so that they were at an even level. “Hey, relax, I’m not gonna hurt you,” she reassured, eyeing the wet uniform. The nearest institute was a long journey away and it made her wonder how long exactly he had been on the road. “Runaway, huh?” The boy paled and she knew that had been the wrong thing to ask. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” she repeated, holding a hand to her chest. “I’m Nachon too. I’m Rachel. What’s your name?”

He licked his dry lips nervously, but visibly relaxed a bit at her reassurance. “Acheron,” he croaked out after a moment of consideration. She nodded.

“Acheron,” she repeated, before smiling reassuringly at him. “I’m heading to IC, Ache. Want a ride?”

Acheron stared at her. He had always been told not to take rides from strangers, who knew what kind of person she actually was? But then again, he wasn’t much in a position to say no: he’d surely die out here. But she said she was Nachon. If that was true and it was true what they said at the institute, and it might be because he may very well have killed a man just a few days earlier, then who was to say she wasn’t some kind of sick twisted person as well? But didn’t he deserve it, if she was? He didn’t know what to respond and simply stared at her.

She frowned then sighed. Then tried again. “Surely you’re hungry. Lemme at least buy you something to eat.” Before Acheron could decline, his stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. He looked away, embarrassed she smiled at him. “Come on, kid. You look like shit. Lemme help you.” She held out a hand for him to take.

He stared at it, then stared at her some more. He was hungry. And the thought of getting out of the cold was tempting. He decided that even if she had intentions of hurting him, it certainly beat another night of aimless walking. Reluctantly, he took her hand.

Day 4: Write about your characters personal style



As a model, actress, and person in the eye of the general public, Constance’s appearance is of great importance. At events she wears whatever the designer envisions, usually something bold and fabulous. Her personal style is on the other hand more clean and stylish with a hint of casual. Nothing too flashy, but also not too boring. She likes looking prim and perfect, having her hair long and straight, caskating over expensive materials. The feel of the fabrics under her fingertips just made her day that much better. It reminded her that she was indeed important.

Day 4: Write about your characters personal style



To keep up appearances as a normal straight a-star university student, Edita also dresses the part. Her style is feminine and preppy, consisting of loads of shirts and skirts paired with vests or sweaters. Her past in Baker Street is hard to recognise in her carefully constructed outfits. The only item of clothing she regularly wears that has some reminiscence of her time in Baker Street is her trusty leather jacket. Does she recognise herself in her clothes? Not really. But it’s part of the pretence that she has to keep up.

Day 5: Write 100 words today

Perhaps - maybe if - if she just didn’t - maybe she could do it on her own. Constance glanced at the nightstand beside her, the flame of the candle flickered uncontrollably in the still air, her medicine bottle of suppressing pills and its contents laid scattered at the foot of the candle holder. She didn’t need them. She was a good person. She prayed every day. Surely Iosta wouldn’t punish her with this when she was a good person… She gulped gasping for air as her heart beat faster. She was a good person, right? Good people don’t lie. So she wasn’t.

Day IDK anymore - something angsty (it's also a lil sweet)
Somewhere On Top Of Parking-garage - Idés, march 2014 (3 months before joining the EFA)

"I think I’m going to die young."

Idés blinked and looked over at his best friend. “Don’t say that.” Sammie had been uncharacteristically quiet all night. Initially Idés had blamed it on the alcohol. But now, at early dawn on the top of the parking garage where the two were sitting, he noticed the way he stared out at the city with a frown on his face. And then Idés realized that not just was Sammie quiet - he was sad. And now that it was just the two of them, he let it show. “Are you alright?”

Sammie didn’t answer, just squished around the contents of his almost untouched beer. His brows furrowed, as though debating something. Then he brought the can to his mouth and took a sip before speaking. “I’m Nachon.”

Once again, Idés blinked in surprise. Then he nodded. “Okay.”

“You’re not scared?”

“Should I be?”

From Sammie’s lack of response, Idés knew that probably hadn’t been the response he had anticipated. He still looked closed off. Tense and sad. It made Idés frown. He looked out at the view of the city, where the sun was slowly rising in the horisont. He wanted to be there for his friend, but he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t care what he was, as long as he was Sammie. But words had never been in Idés’ favor he found and he wasn’t used to talks like these. Yet he still wanted to comfort his friend. He wrapped his arms around his legs, considering before speaking. “My mom’s Nachon too, you know. I don’t care.”

“Really?”

Idés nodded.

“You never talk about your family.”

“Neither do you.”

Sammie smiled sheepishly and shrugged, adding a small “touché.” Then they sat in silence for a moment, taking in the view. Sammie took another sip of the can before asking. “What’s she like?”

“Dead.”

“Damn. Sorry.” Now Sammie blinked, looking down at his beer unsurely, before looking at Idés with a frown. “How’d she-uh…”

“Shot. Walking home from work. Someone’s found her files in the public records,” Idés explained mechanically, fishing out a cigarette out of a carton in his pocket before  lighting it up. He took a drag before speaking again. “Four years ago.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Idés closed his jacket tighter around himself. It was really quite cold to be out this late - early? - in march, but that was nothing new. It was part of the duos ritual to end their nights here, no matter how cold it was. Idés took another drag before exhaling the smoke. “How long have you known?”

“Three years, I think.” Sammie took another sip off his beer, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself again. “You’re not gonna tell anyone, right?”

“Course not.” Idés placed a hand on Sammie’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. Sammie smiled.

“You’re my best friend. You know that?”

Idés smiled too. “So are you.”

Day Whatever The Fuck: Scripture

The Book of Divided Fiber

Chapter 1: The Holy Battle

1.1 The most sacred gift was Spirit. Harbored by the Sanctified Mother Iosta, the Harbinger and Sovereign of earth, she shared her gifts with her children, the people.

1.2 The Spirit, a divine spark within each living being, and the ethereal connection to our Savior. The essence and flow from which all energy came to be. The gift to oversee, she gifted to her sacred people known as the Enferi.

1.3 The Spirit, the foundation upon which all life and consciousness thrive, at first a gift to all mankind. But the perversion of mankind awoke the duality of Spirit. This Iosta warned, speaking to Saint Thelmian, had lent the power to the force of evil known as Tarron.

1.4 Tarron, in his darkness, allured weak enferi’s seduced by thought of destruction and selfish gain. These would fall at his hand and turn their back to Iosta’s light. The misled she would name Nachon.

1.5 To the Enferi, blessed with Iosta’s eternal light, she spoke to Thelmian: “Dedicate thineself to the continued preservation of balance and holiness. Spread the message of Tarron’s evil and let not more be seduced by the destruction he yields.”

1.6 “Aim to make the Spirit whole once more. And heed the Nachons, for their path leads only to destruction and abomination. They hath forsaken the light, turning them against the holy and true. For this, they taint the essence of being.”

1.7 Appointing Thelmian the first High Priest, he was sent to spread the word of Iosta and the great risk at cost. And for this, the preaching of goodness was born, ensuring the continued prevail of Guiding Enferis over the Demonic Nachons.

TW: Religious trauma, child abandonment, trafficking, vomiting, child abuse


1.1 The most sacred gift was Spirit. Harbored by the Sanctified Mother Iosta, the Harbinger and Sovereign of earth, she shared her gifts with her children, the people.

You could see the entire world from the top of the big trees in the park. All the way from the gray apartment complexes, to the train station, to the shopping center on Oneștavistreyt. Surely, the boy thought to himself, you could see all the way to the school if only you could reach the top branches. He climbed higher, stomach dropping when he lost his footing.

….

“Moy królikta.” His mother placed a kiss on his forehead and ran a hand through his hair. The boy sat happily on the couch, watching cartoons and eating his ice cream, the cast on his broken leg long forgotten about. He leaned into his moms caress. Her perfume smelled like peaches that day.

1.2 The Spirit, a divine spark within each living being, and the ethereal connection to our Savior. The essence and flow from which all energy came to be. The gift to oversee, she gifted to her sacred people known as the Enferi.

“If that thing lays a hand on my kids, I swear to Iosta!” Carol  exclaimed. “This is your fault, George! You knew what his mother was!”

The boy sat on the top of their stairs, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, listening to the pair fight. His father and his wife. After the trip to the testcenter, his new siblings had been swiftly transported to the safety of their grandparents. Nachon. The boy wasn’t sure what it meant. They had a similar word back home. His mom had told him once it meant to be misunderstood. Now, he had a hunch that it meant something bad.

“Dammit Carol, we’ve been over this! He’s my son too!” His father was angry. He could sense the burning frustration of a fight they had had before, now mixed with… guilt? He frowned. “If I had known-“

“Known what?! That fucking some Nachon slut would produce some demon-spawn?!”

There were several words he didn’t understand, but it sounded like an insult. Carol continued yelling at her husband some more. Wrapping his arms tighter around himself, he imagined his mom was here. She’d cradle him, kiss him, say something wise about mean people. She’d-

“Fuck, Carol, I… I’m sorry, you’re right.” His father's speaking caught his attention. “We’ll send him away, okay, honey? There’s places equipped for these things. My colleague told me about an institute-“

Institute. Has the boy heard that word before, institute? He tried tasting it. Institute. And they would send him to such a place? He wasn’t sure if he would like that. He’d mostly just like to go home, where people didn’t talk funny and where everything wasn’t so confusing. Maybe he could tell his father in the morning, if they were going to send him away anyways?

1.3 The Spirit, the foundation upon which all life and consciousness thrive, at first a gift to all mankind. But the perversion of mankind awoke the duality of Spirit. This Iosta warned, speaking to Saint Thelmian, had lent the power to the force of evil known as Tarron.

The chapel was the most beautiful part of this place. Light washed down from stained overhead windows, coloring the gray stones in every hue of the rainbow. At the podium, the light intensified to a golden beam, as a halo around the preaching Enferi. She had looked so kind the first day he had arrived. Now, he knew she wasn’t. The Enferi were the light, he had quickly come to learn. Which was why the chapel was beautiful, when the rest of the institution was shrouded in oppressive darkness. The Enferi presided over the chapel and no Nachon was allowed besides the teachings, as to not taint it with their wickedness beyond what was necessary.

He cast his eyes down to the holy text in his hands, trying to find the text from which the Enferi preacher was residing. Sometimes they would pick someone to continue the reading – to test if they were truly listening. If they did not, if they stumbled over their words, if they misspoke and mispronounced, then- he shuddered, eyeing the bruising along his wrists. He had been here for four months. He still did not understand all the words but they always went over the same verses anyways. He should know how they should sound by now. His eyes frantically scanned the pages, starting to doubt if he even was on the right one. But then, there it was:

- and Acheron, was for his transgression against what is whole and good forever exiled from Her holy  light. For he who has chosen Tarron shall be forever corrupted by his darkness.

1.4 Tarron, in his darkness, allured weak enferi’s seduced by thought of destruction and selfish gain. These would fall at his hand and turn their back to Iosta’s light. The misled she would name Nachon.

Warm tears flowed down Acheron’s cheeks, his nostrils still flaring with anger as he looked at the destroyed apartment. Chairs laid scattered on the floor, feathers hanging in the air from torn pillows and books recklessly thrown about. His back met a hard wall and he slid down, the weight of the world suddenly crashed down. Looking at the bunched up piece of paper on the floor, the note was still clear in his head.

“I have to leave the country. I cant risk taking you with me. I wont return.  Sorry. Please forgive me.
Rachel”

1.5 To the Enferi, blessed with Iosta’s eternal light, she spoke to Thelmian: “Dedicate thineself to the continued preservation of balance and holiness. Spread the message of Tarron’s evil and let not more be seduced by the destruction he yields.”

The porcelain of the toilet bowl was cold against Acherons damp skin as he heaved for breath, trying to will the memories out of his head. His stomach churned, threatening to make him sick again. The wiping of memories. He had never done it like that, a whole person at a time. He had passed out halfway through. He was still lightheaded. Closing his eyes, he saw the argument between the girl and the father she would never see again. Bile rose in his throat and he vomited again as Jonathans voice echoed from the hallway as he talked into his phone.

“Yes. Yes, of course… well, the first extraction was, uh… well, let's call it mixed results.” Jonathan lauged. “Yes, I understand… but Charles, think of the savings we’ll make on Zeals this way, if we can just– right. Right. All I ask for is time. The Nachon will adjust soon enough… Well, then we make him adjust.”

1.6 “Aim to make the Spirit whole once more. And heed the Nachons, for their path leads only to destruction and abomination. They hath forsaken the light, turning them against the holy and true. For this, they taint the essence of being.”

Acheron followed Jonathan inside the rundown house and down into a damp basement. His stomach dropped as the light turned on and revealed a person, tied up to a chair and gagged. Her fear, immediately noticeable in the air, suffocating and all-consuming. Jonathan went further into the basement. Acheron followed, reluctantly.

“Here we are,” Jonathan said, placing a hand on the shoulder of the woman, who flinched. “How long would it take to wipe her clean?”

“I-” Acheron spoke, shocked. “Who… who is that?”

“Does it matter?”

“Uh. Yes.”

Jonathan fished a cigarette out of a carton in his pocket and lit it up. He took a drag before speaking. Acheron’s heart started pounding in his chest as he realized exactly how big a mistake it had been to trust the man before him.

“Well. We can say she is a child abuser if that makes it easier,” Jonathan finally spoke.

Acheron paused. Doing something he shouldn’t, he extended his powers to get a read on the man. A chill went down his spine when he met only cold neutrality and mild annoyance. This man was dangerous. Glancing at the door, he considered running. But then, the person, somehow having pushed out the fabric gag and looked up at Acheron with big frightened eyes as she started pleading.

1.7 Appointing Thelmian the first High Priest, he was sent to spread the word of Iosta and the great risk at cost. And for this, the preaching of goodness was born, ensuring the continued prevail of Guiding Enferis over the Demonic Nachons.

"Please, help...help me...I don't want to die here..."

He woke up with a start, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. He sat up, getting his bearings as the blurred darkness came into focus. The warehouse, his make-shift camp, the squeaking of rats somewhere in the darkness. He reached out with a shaky hand, turning on the lantern at his side. He ran a hand through his hair, willing himself to breathe in, breathe out. He was okay. That was over now. Jonathan was dead. He didn’t have to do that anymore.

As his heart rate went down and as the panic subsided, only cold numbness remained. Staring blankly ahead, Acheron knew he wouldn’t be sleeping more that night.

Rewritten version of: Day 6: Write about a blackout
TW: Explicit abuse, death, Acheron is having a VERY bad time in this one you guys

January, 2019
Acheron would later struggle to recall the events that lead up to Jonathan’s death. He remembers that the complete wiping of a lifetime of memories was a delicate tightrope to walk. At which point did you stop, satisfied that an identity was truly gone? Was it when the love, the heartache and friendship was gone? Every lesson learned and every person known? The names of even those closest to you? Go too far and you end up with a person whose confusion is so permanent that they keep forgetting – then you’ve done damage that can’t be undone and that person is now useless. Go even further and, well, that was where it had started. There had been a young boy, stubbornly refusing to forget. And Acheron had been pushed further, to take more. Until the delicate tightrope broke and the boy had died. That was the first step of the decline that would eventually lead to Jonathan’s demise.

━━▲━━

The water in the tub was ice cold. Like millions of tiny pins and needles stabbing at Acheron's face as he thrashed against the hand holding his head down. Water was everywhere, invading his lungs, his mind, filling him inside and out and it burned. He needed air. Ironic, when it was an air-kirscha holding him under. Panic started giving way to acceptance that this was the end. And then it stopped and he was pulled up. His chest heaves as he fights for air.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” Acheron looked up at Jonathan with wide, frightened eyes. He knew why. But as he gasped for air, his lips formed no words. Jonathan sighed. “Come on, now, Acheron. It’s no use if you don’t realize why.”

“I-… I can't...”

“Well, it’s simple,” Jonathan said, running a hand through Acheron’s wet hair. Mockingly affectionate. “It’s because even after all this time, you’re still finding ways to spite us. You deserve this. After all,” Acheron winced as the hand in his hair suddenly turned to a vice grip. “You’re a murderer now too, aren’t you?” Then, a splash, and Acheron was under water again.

━━▲━━

After that, Acheron was locked in what was supposed to be his room. If one could refer to it like that. Barely bigger than the size of a closet, a madras on the floor, a dresser. No windows to tell the passing of the days. Just dirtied white walls. Acheron didn’t dare turn on the light. In the darkness, laying on the floor, he could pretend not to exist at all. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could even will himself to believe that he wasn’t what he was. A murderer and a demon. Barely better than a wild animal.

But he was. He had killed a young boy, whether he had intended to or not. Someone was dead and it was his fault. Even if the boy's fate would have been dreary regardless. For that alone, Acheron deserved the abuse. And for every other soul he had doomed, even if he had only done so at the will of a man who was undeniably evil? It reminded him of the scripture back from the institute. The story of Makas and Acheron, from which they had named him. He hadn’t always been called that. It didn’t bother him anymore. The other name belonged to a child not tainted by the same hatred that Acheron was. It felt appropriate. He tried to remember it, how the verses went. He closed his eyes, muttering into the darkness.

“Terror gripped Acheron's aching spirit but Tarron put him at ease speaking: “Fear not child,” spoke the false icon.” Had he not too been approached by evil in his darkest hour? That cold winter night when he had met Jonathan. He hadn’t thought he would’ve survived that winter. He had accepted a deal with Tarron himself and this was the price he was paying. And now he had killed. Like Acheron had in the myth. The name he had been given, it was perfectly appropriate. And what, then, happened with Acheron, after he had killed his brother? Sentenced to death. What then? What were the words again?

“and Iosta, too, witnessed this senseless act of violence: and Acheron, was for his transgression against what is whole and good, then forever exiled from Her holy  light. For he who has chosen Tarron shall be forever corrupted by his darkness.” Because not even in death would Acheron find peace. That was right. If it had been any other way, he would have ended it by now. Maybe this was what Iosta had intended all along? Maybe he truly was Acheron. He probably was. Almost most definitely, because if he wasn’t, then he wouldn’t have ended up here. If that was the case, then Jonathan he had to be–

━━▲━━

“I think you’re Tarron,” Acheron spoke, voice hoarse and frail from lack of use. Sitting at a table, looking down at a plate with eggs and toast that had been served. He had no idea how long he had been rotting in that room. Long enough that he should probably be hungry by now but he couldn’t find the will to eat. He wasn’t even sure if any of it was real. If the eggs before him were actually there. Or if he was imagining. He just knew that the man on the opposite side of the table, he was evil

Jonathan looked up from his phone, brow raised in confusion. “What did you just say?”

Acheron swallowed, looking at the man. Had he spoken out loud? “Nothing.”

Jonathan kept his gaze locked for a moment more before dropping it. He returned his attention to his phone. “Eat your breakfast. We’ve had a shipment of three while you’ve been on your little break.”

A shipment of three? Acheron nodded, slowly moving his trembling hand to grab the cutlery. He had three people on the agenda. Would he kill any of them? He didn’t want to. But neither had he wanted to kill the boy.

February, 2019
The complete wiping of a lifetime of memories was a delicate tightrope to walk. One that required a somewhat precise and lucid mind. And Acheron continuously failed. To wipe anything, to even enter the spirit of his victims sometimes. Beatings, punishments, nothing worked to get Acheron back into shape. And Jonathan didn’t have a use for him anymore. Acheron already knew that his time had come to an end. Maybe it was better that way?

━━▲━━

“Yes– Well, I suppose it’s hard not to get a little attached. It’s sad, but it is what it is,” Jonathan spoke into his phone, turning towards Acheron’s struggling form. “We’ll find another method – what was that? Oh,” He laughed at a joke being said on the other end. “Well, I guess we’ll have to see. See you soon, Jacob.” He hung up, crouching down to the choking Acheron, tilting his head up and caressing his chin.

Acheron, gasped for air that would not come. Jonathan had taken it all. Like a crushing pressure deep in his chest, the powers of an air kirscha. Was Acheron afraid of death? He had narrowly escaped it many times by now. He found himself fighting it, the crushing pressure as Jonathan said his final goodbyes. The world was going dark. Then a dizzying, tunneling sensation and then something familiar. A spirit. Jonathans. Images flashing before his eyes, too fast for him to process. Children crying, his wife and kids, business dealings, Acheron himself freezing on the street. Acheron didn’t think twice as he started violently ripping at the seams of Jonathan’s being. The nausea turned to euphoria as he sucked in all the energy he could. Memories, emotions, everything. Anything but delicately and he vaguely registered the noise of a man screaming in pain somewhere far away. Then, a blinding light and then it stops. There's a lifeless corpse on the floor.

Acheron’s throat is raw but he doesn’t remember screaming and tears fall from his eyes to his chin to the floor, but he doesn’t remember crying either. His chest heaves for air as he looks at the body in front of him. Jonathan was dead and Acheron was a murderer.

Day 1 - A first kiss - Melody - 2015

The bottle was staring at her, and she was staring right back at it. Slower and slower it had spun around on the floor, and there it was, aiming directly at her.
Around her, 'uh's spread through the circle of teen Godias. They overpowered the high-pitched voice of the lead singer blasting from the Bluetooth speaker.
"So, Rowan," Astrid giggled, "and Melody. Go ahead!"
Melody's eyes met Rowan's. A sweet, bashful smile appeared on his lips as he semi-nonchalantly shrugged and repositioned himself so that he would be able to lean towards her.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and energy buzzed through her just as much as it buzzed through the room - the push-and-pull effect was inevitable in a grouping of restless soon-to-be Godia Warriors.
A nudge to her shoulder. "What are you waiting for?" Astrid whispered to her, "Come on, girl."

Melody found herself holding her breath as she scooted closer to him. Excitement filled the room as everyone watched the two teenagers leaning in close to each other. The energy was like a magnet between their faces - a magnet on both sides, simultaneously pulling them closer and trying to push them away.
Her heart was pounding to the point of detonation when Rowan leaned all the way close to her. She made sure to wet her lips with her tongue as Astrid once had told her to do, but just before his lips met hers, a zap of electricity jolted between their lips. They both drew away from each other in surprise.
"Sorry," Melody whispered through a breathless, sheepish chuckle.
"It's okay," Rowan whispered in return, "Wanna try again?"
Forgetting how to speak, Melody just nodded. This time she was careful with her energy , and the jolt didn't happen again. Now Rowan had the opportunity to softly, somewhat hesitantly, press his lips against hers. She reciprocated and it felt no less electric than the moment before.

The other teenagers cheered and applauded as if they were Melody's inner thoughts come alive. Melody ended the kiss by laughing and she couldn't help but feeling silly for that. But Rowan was laughing too, and he kept his face close to hers, and she could feel the heat from his flushed cheeks.
But then, through the cheering, someone shouted. One of the boys cupped his hands to his mouth, his voice resonating over to Melody and Rowan:
"Gaaay!"
Those who had cheered now laughed. The other boys joined in on the joke, teasing Rowan with what wasn't true and yet hurt so much.
"Ew, dude, for real, you just made out with a boy," one of them laughed.
Rowan wasn't laughing anymore. He didn't look at Melody either, and he moved his face away from her.
Astrid was laughing too, and when Melody sat back down next to her, she nudged her to ensure that Melody was laughing too. Melody did, and then she spun the bottle again. Before it could finish spinning, she excused herself by saying she had to go and fix her make-up. "So I might look like less of a boy," she joked on her way out the door, and the others laughed at her joke, not realizing there was more truth to that than what everyone had already said.

Day 3: Use the words: kitchen, date, music

Music played through the room as the sun shone through the windows. A young girl was humming along as she stood by the kitchen counter, doing something. The kitchen was old, the wear and tear of life evident at the appliances and furniture in the room, yet you could still see how they were lovingly taken care of. “Hey kid, that boy is at the door again” The voice of the elderly man broke the music from the radio, capturing the girl’s attention as she glanced at the old man who now stood by the door leading to the living room. “He is asking for you” the old man said as he too looked at her. “I don’t trust that kid” He mumbled as he saw the smile on the girl’s face. “You don’t trust anyone” She retorted as she put down whatever it was she was doing, and walked past the old man, through the living room and into the entryway.

Her smile grew wider as she saw the blonde, blue eyed man standing by the door. He was holding a bouquet of flowers. The flowers colors were a slight mix as each flower has its unique color pattern, yet not deviating too much from the others. The base colors of them were white, but each one was speckled with either pale pink, pale blue or pale purple color splashes. Wild ilomarian lilies, her favorites.

“Jason, you shouldn’t have” She said with a smile as she accepted the bouquet. “Well, this is me asking you for a date, love” He responded with a smile of his own. A cough could be heard from the kitchen, the two youngsters just looking at each other with a slight chuckle. “I’ll be right back, just going to put these in a vase” Medeia said as she disappeared into the kitchen again.


The sweet dream of a fleeting memory from years ago was nothing but a nightmare to Medeia. It had been so many years now, yet the thought of his name still hurt like a festered wound on her heart. The alarm suddenly rang, as if it wanted to save her from that train of thought, signaling that it was time to get up and get to work. Could she truly be saved from those thoughts when they lurked in the corners of her mind every minute of every day?

Half an hour later, Medeia was dressed and ready for work, she was also currently walking down the street towards her usual bus stop. Something caught her eye in the corner of her eye which made her stop and turn. It was a flower shop and displayed with elegance was wild ilomarian lilies. How she hated those flowers. Her mind was back to the dream, to what happened before the dream and what had happened after… Grief, pain and anger filled every cell of her being as she continued on her way to the bus stop, where she eventually took the bus to the university.

A pounding pain Fallon had never felt before danced around in his skull. It felt like his mind was falling even though his body was laying down. though whatever he was laying on felt soft, as if it was a bed. Confusion filled his mind, why would he be laying in a bed if he didn’t own one? With a groan, Fallon forced his eyes open. Luckily the room he found himself in was shrouded in darkness. Though the sun peeking slightly through the blinds was annoying him a lot.

“Hey kid, you awake?” a dark voice that grinded his ears suddenly spoke. “I’m not a kid” Fallon retorted as he sat up, supporting himself by placing his hands at his sides. The action made the pounding harder. “You’re barely 18, doesn’t exactly scream grown up” The man fired back as he placed something on the nightstand. A glass of water and what looked like the greasiest burger Fallon had ever seen. The burger, despite looking like it would kill you with a bite, was both very nauseating and tempting for Fallon. “They are for you by the way, I can only imagine the major hangover you must have right now” The man said as he sat down in a chair.

“I am not eating that,” Fallon said as he took the glass of water and took a sip. The cold taste of the water was refreshing, it made the pounding headache slightly tolerable, just slightly. “You’re going to regret not getting some food into that stick body of yours” The man said, his tone and expression serious enough to let Fallon know that he would. Reluctantly, Fallon took the burger and took one bite. “There happy? I am full now, this is way too much for me” He said in between chews. The man gave him a look of concern, why was this stranger concerned for him? That one bite of the impossibly greasy burger was enough to lessen the pounding headache to a more tolerable one.

“Where am I?” Fallon asked, now that he could finally think about something else than the pounding. Wait… how did he even get here? He searched his memory, trying to remember last night. Fuck, he couldn’t remember a thing after the first couple of shots at the nightclub. “My place” the man said. Fallon could also now pay attention to how the guy looked. He was clearly in his early thirties, the dark short hair and the stubbly bear, really helped him look grown up. The man’s brown eyes rested on Fallon, they seemed familiar and Fallon couldn’t place them. “You don’t remember last night, do you? and by the way panic in your eyes I bet this is the first time you’ve blacked out huh?” The stranger said as he slightly smirked.

“You went quite wild at the club last night, we had a little fun, but then you were gone, so I took you home” the man said, the things he said felt familiar, yet Fallon couldn’t remember it at all. He could only take the stranger’s words for it. “What do you mean a little fun?” Fallon asked, slightly panicked. Not panicked if he had slept with the stranger, but if he had seen his back. “Don’t worry, I didn’t take advantage of you, I am not an exhibitionist and nonconsenting people are not my type” he said, probably thinking Fallon panicked about the former. “We only made out a bit at the club,” the stranger added. Fallon let out a relieved sigh, that means he hadn’t seen them.

The man eventually let Fallon go, well after having forced him to eat the rest of the burger. When Fallon got out of the building he realized the man lived in the main city. Well, time to get back to the streets of Erast.

Day 3: Using the words kitchen, date and music – Dominic – 2021

It was now 9:37 PM and still, no calls or messages. Dominic’s phone screen remained unchanged, the only difference was the time display in the right top corner, making Dominic’s hands clench around the phone more and more for each minute that passed.

“Dom, come on.” May stood beside him as he was leaning over the kitchen island with his forearms placed on it, his phone in his hands. “It doesn’t call just by you staring at it.” There was worry in her voice; not over the situation but over Dominic.

“What else am I supposed to do?” He shook his head, his eyes still glued to the screen. 9:38. No message. “I knew we shouldn’t have gone through with it tonight. It was too risky.”

“Hey,” May sharply to cut him off, “I choose this date specifically because it was the least risky day. None of the other dates would have worked.”

Dominic exhaled and let go off the phone with one of his hands to rake his fingers through his hair. “I know,” he said and for a moment it seemed he would let go of some of his worry. But then another minute passed, the time display now showing 9:39. He gesticulated towards the phone, now looking at May having her arms crossed beside him. “It makes no sense. They would have called by now. Or at least sent a text.”

“Sending a text would be too risky,” May said, “Even with Idés’ encryptions.”

Dominic had no idea how she could stand so calm beside him. The only tension he felt from her was from her defensive stance against his doubt; her chestnut-colored eyes meeting his with a piercing stare. Dominic had to look away, back at his phone.

“Something must have gone wrong,” he murmured.

“You don’t know that yet.”

“That’s the whole point – I don’t know anything.”

“Yet..” May’s hand landed on his, covering the phone screen. He looked at her hand instead before closing his eyes, feeling a headache setting in right behind the furrow in his forehead. “Hey,” May said again, her voice now soft, albeit still assertive, “Look at me.”

So, Dominic did, and May sent him a faint, comforting smile. “I get that they should have called by now, and they will. I’m sure of that. This is my mission, remember? I would never have gone through with it, if I wasn’t sure it would work. And you got to trust me on that.”

There was not a hint of doubt in her voice. Her hand was still placed over his, and she gave it an encouraging squeeze, which made Dominic aware of how tightly he was squeezing around the phone. He eased his grip and with a deep, almost surrendering sigh, he let go of it entirely, placing it on the kitchen island.

“You’re right,” he admitted and stood up, ”And I trust you. I promise. It’s-“

A loud ringtone rang from the now vibrating phone on the kitchen island. Both Dominic and May turned to stare at it, before Dominic quickly lunged at it, grabbing it and answering the call.

“Yeah?” he said, not being able to hide the tension in his voice.

Dylan’s voice sounded on the other end. “Hey, sorry for calling later than planned. We had to make sure we were away from any potential risks before I could call you.”

The reassurance of hearing Dylan’s voice conflicting with the worry over what news he was about to deliver gave strength to Dominic’s headache. He pinched the bridge of his nose. May stood completely silent beside him, trying to listen in on the conversation.

“That’s so fine,” he said before quickly asking: “So? How did it go?”

“Mission completed. The ship has sailed, and everyone intended got on it.”

A wave of relief crashed through Dominic, making his body droop as all the tension left him. Thank Iosta.

May’s eyes widened and she mouthed to him to know what had been said. Dominic couldn’t get out any words out but nodded to confirm the good news. She instantly cheered, although silently, jumping up and down and flailing her arms. Dominic was still too shocked to do the same.

Instead, he asked Dylan. “And no one saw you?”

“A few people did, but Cadmus is taking care of that now,” Dylan replied, “He says it might take him a while, and we also need to check for any traces we don’t want to leave behind. We probably won’t be done here until sometime past midnight.”

“No problem, just make sure to not leave any loose ends, and stay safe. I’ll be by the phone if you need me.”

“No need, Dom, we’ve got it handled. You and May take the rest of the night off. I’ll text you when we’re done.”
“Thanks, Dylan.”

“Say hi to May from me.”

“I will. Bye.”

May was still cheering, when Dominic put down the phone, and when he looked at her, she stopped mid-gesturing to look at him.

“So?” she said, already wearing a huge smile on her face.

“Every refugee made it on to the boat.” Dominic almost sighed out the words, he was so fucking relieved. His headache had instantly disappeared as well. “Dylan says everything is under control.”

May threw her head back, exclaiming: “Oh thank Iosta, I was so fucking worried.”

Dominic frowned at her, tilting his head slightly. “But you said-“ He stopped talking, when he noticed how her smile had turned mischievous.

She didn’t try to hide it either. Instead, it grew bigger and she raised her chin slightly up at him as she teasingly added: “Scared shitless.”

Dominic took a step closer to her. “You lied to me?” he asked, confronting her, but in no way seriously. A smile had crept unto his lips as well.

May just laughed. “But I was right, wasn’t I?” she then said before grabbing his arms and shaking them, continuing her celebration. “They did it! We did it!”

Dominic let her shake his arms and laughed as well. “We did it,” he concurred. Then, he realized what he had just said and not just that – what it meant. His relief turned into a sense of disbelief. “… We actually did it.”

“I know!” May cheered, “Dom, this is huge!”

She looked up at him, catching his eyes. His heart skipped a bit. They had actually done it. Found a way to get the refugees out of the country without forcing them into inhumane containers, shipping them like cargo. This was huge. This was game-changing, life-changing for their future refugees.

Dominic let out what could be described as a surprised chuckle. “I can’t believe it! I just can’t, I-“

The joy overcame him and without a second thought, he hugged May, who instantly had her arms around his neck. His arm wrapped around her waist and he squeezed around her and she pulled him closer they both laughed and cheered.

The hug lasted longer that it maybe should have. Dominic just didn’t want to let go. In this moment of jubilation, it felt only right to have May so close to him. Something changed between them, as they both held their breath and Dominic tightened his embrace around her, feeling her quickened heartbeat against his chest. And then, her fingers caressed his neck, nestling slightly in his hair, and a subtle thrill went down his back.

Eventually, they pulled away from each other, though slowly. Their eyes met. A charged silence was between them.

Then, Dominic cleared his throat and looked away. “So, they’re finishing up now.” He tried to sound professional, pretending he hadn’t felt that thrill down his back. He scratched his neck as if to make the memory of her fingers go away. “Dylan says it’ll be sometime past midnight before they’re done. Cadmus won’t be home until then.”

“Oh.”

It was barely a sound. But it was just as charged as the silence from before, and the thrill was back, making his whole skin prickle. It made him realize the same thing that May had realized before saying her ‘oh’ – Cadmus wouldn’t be home. It was just her and Dominic for the first time possibly ever in the apartment. There was no one around he had to be attentive to, no work to do for either him or May. They could just relax. Have some fun.

Dominic turned his gaze towards May again. Her eyes locked with him. She had no intention of letting other words take the place of her ‘oh’; she made that clear by biting her lip slightly. Dominic’s eyes rested on her lips for a moment. Then, he looked at her eyes again.

He smirked. There was nothing professional about his attitude anymore. “He also said,” he added, “that we should take the rest of the night off.”

May raised her eyebrow at him. A smile grew on her lips, a cocky one of that. “Oh.” A different sound than the one before but it had greater effect on Dominic, as if trying to pull him closer to her. “We really need a night off.”

His smirk grew. “We really do.”

“I say-“ She got closer to Dominic, placing a hand on his chest. Maybe she could feel how his heart skipped a beat, because there was triumph in her eyes, when she looked up at him. “-we put on some music, grab a drink and then toast to celebrate.”

“Great idea,” Dominic said, leaning a bit down towards her.

“And not even my best one tonight.”

He laughed. Then he forced himself to take a step back, walking more into the kitchen. “I’ll grab a bottle of something then.”

May leaned sideways with a hand on the kitchen counter. “Wine, maybe?”

“Sure. Then you put on some music.”

“Deal.”

She could still remember the exact moment she fell in love with it. When she knew her whole life would revolve around bringing the music in her head out in the world. The music coming from her hands had a calming effect on her chaotic and messy mind. It was right after school had started and she was beginning 8th grade. She and her best friend had stayed behind at school, hiding out in the music room. They had talked about something. Most likely another rant from her about how it was like at home. She had been tapping at the drum set, quickly noticing the calming effect the rhythm had given her. Her best friend was strumming on a guitar he had found in a corner.

Paendly middle school was perhaps not known for their music program, evident by the old and untuned instrument in the decaying music room, most of the money went to the sports team or academic teams. Maybe that was why she felt so at home in that forgotten room. Because just like her at home, it was overshadowed by the achievements of the other programs.

The rant had at some point turned into them making music, or well tried to. Neither of them knew how to actually play any instrument, but at that point in time, the song they made together was the most beautiful and melodic thing they had ever heard. She couldn’t help but grin as her best friend strummed along her beat on the drums, free-styling some silly lyrics that were relatable to their thirteen year old minds.

Suddenly, the music teacher caught them. They looked at the middle aged man with horror, afraid of punishment. but instead the tired teacher had offered to teach them instead. How to really play, how to tune the instruments. So every Wednesday, after school, the music teacher helped them discovering the world of music. A world she never wanted to leave.

“Please, just tell me what’s wrong”

How could he when the problem was the tainted filth in him?

“It has nothing to do with you”

“You don’t get to push me away, Fallon”

Her voice was slightly raised this time.

“Not this time, You don’t get to do that anymore”

He didn’t respond first, only taking a swig from the bottle he was holding.

“Fallon, clearly something is wrong, just talk to me”

She was getting desperate. He knew he was triggering her insecurities.

“Just don’t, just leave me alone”

Leave me to rot.

“No, I refuse, for Iosta's sake... Can’t you just talk to me!”

She had started shouting, clearly frustrated.

“You always do this, whenever there is something wrong, you push me away when I just want to help you”

Her voice was filled with the budding fear, anxiousness and frustration. He could see it, how desperately she wanted to help, to fix him. But you can’t fix something that was never broken, something that has been tainted by darkness for so long that it has become that darkness, that filth.

“Can’t you just let me be?!”

He started shouting back, he had now turned towards her and he regretted it with his whole being. Her pretty brown eyes were filled to the brim with tears, some even rolling down her cheeks, still tinted red from the cold weather outside.

“Don’t be like that, please just let me in”

Her bottom lip was quivering, she took a step towards him, still wearing her coat. He stepped back at first, before going into the small bedroom in the other room. He was a coward; he couldn't face her, not with the tears he caused.

He wasn’t prepared that she had followed him into the room.

“Fallon, don’t walk away like that, don’t run away from me”

He still couldn’t face her, standing with his back towards the door, towards her.

“From us...”

She said those words so quietly, he barely heard them.

“There is nothing to talk about, It has nothing to do with you”

He was harsh, harsher than he needed to be. He knew that in her mind old memories were playing, he was reminding her about a past she wanted to forget, to move on from.

It went back and forth like that, her yelling at him to let her in, to tell her what bothered him. With him just saying one horrible thing after the other, pushing her away.

At this point they both were yelling, when suddenly-

“I love You!”

She shouted at him, despair filling her voice as she said the words for the first time and the last.

I love you too.

“Well you shouldn’t”

He said, bitterness filling his own voice.

And with that he left. He could hear the sobs as he closed the door behind him. He couldn’t stay anymore.

He would just ruin her, she deserved better than him. Better than the cesspool of filth and horrible decision he was.

Day 14: Write about regret - Stylized after my own journals.

Regret - has there ever been a more meaningless thing? And ‘sorry’ - good for what? But, I don’t know where else to start. So forgive me for starting with:

I am sorry.

Look at how those words change nothing; how they can never undo any harm.

Look at how those words change everything. Despite what they would have you believe, I am sorry.

You are perhaps the last person who needs to hear those words. And still, you are the only person I need to know.

There are smaller things, I feel like I should apologise for. Lying, for one. Not to you. But to myself? To everyone but you? I wish I hadn’t been a coward. Maybe that is a sin equally great. Greater perhaps. Because it diminishes everything else.

I do not want your forgiveness, for while I know that you would have given it to me already if you could, I also know that you shouldn't. You will never find another soul agreeing that I deserve that.

Sometimes I try to picture you. Just going about life. But I can’t. Even my memories have been tainted by time and I no longer see you clearly. I realise that I no longer know you. That I have now not known you for a longer time than I ever spent knowing you.

I am a monster, because it is monstrous that my life kept going. You wouldn’t rejoice in my pain, so I suppose it would only upset you more to learn about that. The world was never fair. I am sure you knew that, somewhere, despite everything. What is friendship, but a ward against a cruel world. What was I if not its vessel?

Good intentions matter little, with an outcome like that.

And I don’t
Even know
If that is something I could claim

Claudia hated to see Idés like this. Walking around in a daze, not living and barely surviving. Always in his room. After whatever that had happened he didn’t go out anymore. She didn't know what to do for him, though, never had. Because he had his own ways that she never fully understood. She respected it. He was dealing with a pain in his chest that she herself was all too familiar with, that she still felt everytime she was reminded that mom would never come home. But he was a genius and he couldn’t kill his mind when it was all he had. Did she resent him for that, being a genius? She had no such redeeming skills. She had become a parent of children she had not made and there wasn’t a single day that went by when she wasn’t angry. She had learned to put a lid on it for the most parts, for the sake of her siblings. What else could she do? Scream how it wasn’t fair and how she, too, deserved a mom? Or a dad that she could rely on? Should she act out like Nikos and Alex or become like a pup desperate for attention, like Irida was shaping out to be? No, because Claudia bore their world on her shoulders and it wasn’t fair and she was failing them all. Perhaps if she had been older and wiser, perhaps if she hadn’t been working three jobs, maybe then she could’ve been someone deserving of the responsibility she had been forced to take upon herself.

Of all six of them, Idés had always been the last to create trouble. Which was why Claudia had been so surprised when she got the call that he and his friends had been arrested. And though the charges were dropped – as he had allegedly been under the influence of a nachon he could not be held accountable, though Claudia had a hard time believing that – she still couldn’t help but eye him with suspicion. What else had she missed? She knew he would sneak out to Baker Street somewhere, only to return in the early hours of the morning. She hadn’t questioned it. Nor the money he was making on the side, it helped keep the budget together and he had claimed to be making it through tutoring. And again, she had believed that, because he was a genius. But he had never understood Idés and probably never would. Was he a criminal? Her little brother who did math for fun and who was always ready to help out in whatever ways that he could? Whatever had happened, he had withdrawn, like he had when their mom had died and it hurt to see. She only hoped college would send him back on track. He had his own ways and she did not know how to help.

“May Iosta light your way,” the woman in white said, touching her forehead. The fingers felt cold against her skin, but Nora didn’t move. Didn’t even dare to breathe.
    Mrs. Alesida had told her to behave, or “they might not want you, dear.” The greying headmistress had held her gaze with an intense earnestness, her sterling eyes searching her soul. “You are a good girl, remember.” Then, she patted her hair and showed her to the fancy drawing room where the seraph was standing in front of the fireplace, orange light hugging her like a halo. Without a word mrs. Alesida had left her there, on the threshold of the parlour, alone with the guest.
    The blessing was the first words spoken between them; Nora had, in her curiosity, found the courage to step into the room, and the stranger had met her beneath the crystal chandelier.
    “Nora, was it?” The woman asked, having taken a step back, towards the fire.
    Nora nodded, her eyes on the hem of the white dress in front of her. It seemed very fine. Finer, at least, than the grey frock they were given to wear at Saint Thelimida’s Home.
    “Do you know why I am here, Nora?”
    She nodded again.
    “You are special, the church of Iosta has been informed that you possess certain–” The woman paused, searching for the right words, and this made Nora look up, in time to see her continue her speech; “–assets. A gift from Iosta, shall we say.”
    Nora knew what she meant. Every so often an incident would happen; someone might project a prophetic vision onto someone else, or manage to wordlessly calm an upset room;  however it had happened the procedure was almost always the same. A pair of white clad people would show up, see the child, and take her away, to where none of the children were really sure. ‘Trust the will and ways of Iosta’ was the answer if someone ventured to ask. Now they had come for Nora, only, she didn’t feel special; no more than the rest of Saint Thelimida’s children; yet here was the woman, the seraph, telling her otherwise. Could anyone blame her, for wanting to believe?