Chapter 1 

do you know where to meet me?

92 days remaining 

A whirr like sound echoes through the room as the lights of a computer monitor flicker in my eyes. A bright white light that would blind even the least light sensitive person hits the eyes as the computer fully loads. My hand moves in front of my eyes, shielding them before the screen instantly changes to the preferred background. 

A woman running across the beach, rocks silhouetted behind. The rays of the sun barely grace the horizon, but the gleam of light that bounces off the wet sand fills the picture. Though only momentary brightness, the gleam leaves an everlasting impact on the picture. 

The default picture background can create such thoughts in my mind. 

A reflection of poor mental state as seen through his eyes. No light lies in the bottom of his eyelids. His fingers only grace the keyboard to convey such emptiness. Sounds of despair that ring in his ears display vibrancy in hollowness. The same feelings that cloud his mind. 

What have I become? He asks himself aloud. 

“What am I now?” I blurt aloud. 

The thoughts rancid in imagination create a semblance of hope, but to no avail. He is far beyond lost. 

“Am I so empty?” I ask myself. 

Vibrant imagery of life’s precious moments flash deep in his mind as he stares even deeper at the default wallpaper of his operating system. 

I reach to my left, grabbing my phone. The display turns on after tapping my finger on it. 

No notifications sit on his homescreen. 

Just like his computer, no individuality exists on the screen that displays time and notifications. It sits the same way it did when the phone was purchased. 

“Guess everyone’s busy” I think. 

Opening my phone, I tap the icon for Messtagramm, instantly flooded with the lives of everyone I know. Though void is the appearance of myself. But who am I kidding? 

He works far too much, his soul lingers in his own home. He dreads his existence most days. 

He sees his friends journey across the country to places he wishes he could go. 

But he doesn’t reach out to see about their plans, because to him they don’t want him around. If only he knew this was a false pretense. 

My thumb moves in a scrolling motion for infinity. Until a notification pops up at the top of my screen. 

A message from Jackie. 

“Hey. Are you free to hang out?” the blue bubble reads.

My hands move feverishly across my digital keyboard. 

“Yeah! What time?” my blue bubble reads. 

Three dots appear after, going on for a minute. 

“Are you free right now?” her blue bubble reads back. 

A glow enters his eyes, glints of light bursting across them like a fireworks display on a national holiday. Clear colors ranging from the lightest greens to the darkest blues to the prettiest reds shoot streams of smoke over his pupils. 

“That was quick, lol. But yeah, I am!” my blue bubble reads in response. 

“Great :) Meet me @ the park?” her blue bubble asks. 

The computer monitor that just reflected the vibrancy of hollowness within his eyes glimmers the youthful hope and love one should expect his eyes to have. 

“Yep!” my blue bubble responds again. 

I stand up hurriedly from my chair, rushing to put on an outfit. Blue and white striped button up with a white tank top underneath, a pair of cargo shorts, and tennis shoes. My camera bag draped across my body. An ornate necklace from one of my favorite video games sits softly on my chest. I grab my keys off my nightstand, open the front door—making sure to twist the knob before closing it to lock the door—and dart to my car. The driver’s door unlocks, my keys in the cupholder, and I’m off. 

Before he knows it, his car enters a parking spot. The white exterior blinding in the summer sun. 

There she sat. The summer nature almost cascading around her. Trees warping in a magical way to protect her from the violent sun. Birds sang praises of her effervescent beauty. The flowers seemingly bloom as Mother Nature cuddles her only daughter with gentle palms. 

It’s like Mother Nature has a favorite, I think. 

In his eyes she is something that only the beauty of nature can hold a candle to. Simple and sweet like a piece of candy, the way the light bounces off her pastel blue skirt and white short sleeve. It almost blinds him to continue looking at her, kind of like the sun. 

God she’s like the sun. 

She sits there so effortlessly, the grass under her towel—sage green with white stripes—is greener than any grass I’ve had the pleasure of having under my soles. 

The hues of her irises are almost complementary. The subtle bits of orange that remind me of the edges of meringue on a lemon meringue pie, the sage green of the taffy my grandfather used to buy me that sits so gently under it, and the flowery blue of the lollipops she always eats sparkles and dazzles throughout.

 But the way these colors are in her irises differs from her left and right eye. In her right eye the colors are almost playful and look as though they’re moving, but in her left eye, the colors sit calm like the sky. 

A group of kids walks by me as I stand there in awe, and one of them looks at me funny. 

“What are you staring at her for, mister?” he says with befuddlement on his face, his brow raised judgingly. 

“There will come a point in your life, big guy, where you’ll look at a woman the same way. It’s male nature,” I respond, looking down at him. 

He turns and looks back at Jackie, then looks back at me. 

“Well you should get a move on then, right?” he says, looking at me. 

“I guess I should,” I say with a chuckle.

The kids walk past me, the kid giving me a fistbump on his way by. 

The crickets chirp behind her, her long hair drooping over her knee as she looks around. 

I feel my heart melt in my chest as the soft outline of her face meets mine.  Her hand moves in a guiding motion, and I’m seemingly intoxicated by her smile. 

He’s intoxicated by the face of an angel.

Like a puppet on a string I move ever closer to her. 

“How long were you standing there, Tom?” a cheerful giggle escaping her as she asks. 

My face turns a bright red, “Uhh…not very long,” I say, scratching the back of my head. 

She tilts her head, the necklace she’s worn everyday since the first day of eighth grade twinkles in the always present sun, and lets the crinkles at the edge of her lips do the talking to  me. 

“You can sit down, you know,” she says, patting on the towel. 

I shuffle for a second trying to comfortably sit down, not noticing her gaze, “Yeah. I know,” I say while wiping off my shirt. 

“That was quite a show, Mr. Willow, I must say. Five stars,” she laughs out. 

“Well I am something of a showrunner myself,” I respond, smiling. 

With a nervous look on my face, I open my mouth, “So…what did you have in mind,” I say, hurrying to look the other way. 

“I just wanted to sit and enjoy nature, figured you would want to join me,” she says with a slight giggle. 

“You don’t have to stare the other way, you know? You’re supposed to look at the person you’re talking to,” a slight wave of her hand over mine jolts me around, turning to gaze at her. To my surprise, her face is now mere inches from mine. 

My eyes blink rapidly, a shutter-like sound playing loudly in my head. 

The slight redness of her cheeks among the highlights in my mental flash.

“Can you count the freckles on my face for me?” her face transmutating into a Jacqueline special shit eating grin.

I squint my eyes, “I only see about six, are there supposed to be more?” 

A moment of silence.. 

“You should recount,” her finger boops my nose, moving her head back towards the park landscape.

Slightly under my breath so she can’t fully hear me, but still at whisper level, “I would gladly.” 

She turns back to me, “Did you say something?” 

I shake my head no. 

A gleam over the curves of her face as she turns her shoulder indicating her incoming question. 

“Want to walk?” she asks, her toothy expression full of joy.

My face, still a little red, albeit not as tomato-like, “I’d enjoy that.” 

She stands up, dusting the back of her pastel blue skirt, reaching her hand out to me, “Let’s get a move on!” 

I take her hand with such ease.

Pushing myself off the ground with just enough force to help her pull me up, I feel like a feather falling from a tree. To my disdain, however, I must have used too much force, as I find myself inches from her face once again. 

Though this time, it is her face that becomes slightly rosy. 

She looks down at her towel, then back up at me, 

“Help me pick up all my stuff?” 

A small laugh escapes my lips, “Of course.” 

She quickly picks up all the items she had scattered around on her towel—small things like flowers that she picked from the bush directly behind us, a single pen with accompanying note pad, and a book. 

The title reads “A Forever Valentine” by the author Bethany Gilman.

“Suddenly interested?” I look up, her tanned face only interested in the most playful of ways.

I let out a nervous laugh, “Can’t say I am, just feel like I know that name.” 

“I see, I see,” she replies, her index finger sitting in a bookish way on her chin.

A light smile forms at the creases of my lips, “Ready to walk?” 

Her face instantly morphs, the “READ MORE BOOKS” strewn across the tapered and tattered cream tote bag rippling as she imbues this “Chip-Chip-Cheerio” attitude into herself.

“Why yes I am, Mr. Intuitive,” she says with chagrin. 

The sun winds and waves through the trees like the tide. Illuminating only tidbits of our journey through the public park. Jackie almost subconsciously stops at each and every flower bed, noting things down in her faded dusk-purple leather journal. 

Just like the sun ripples and sways behind the leaves, so too does it to the photos I take of her as she walks down this path. 

But walking behind her is a mystery, a surprise almost. At any moment she could stop and jot something down, before quickly leaping back up to continue walking. 

She asks me to take her picture at each stop too. 

One in particular sticks out to me. 

A heap  of small irises all bundled into her hand, her sun kissed face showing only the truest expression of joy, an azalea I found sitting in her hair.

There’s this intrigue about her. 

Though I feel like I know enough about Jacqueline Acacia to consider nothing she does a jack-in-the-box. 

It seems I’m caught up in Jackqueline’s Box. 

She turns back, an explosion of colors that the human eye should not normally see staring back at me. Throwing unimaginable whirls into my world. All extruding in one giant circle around her head in the outline of a crown.  

She simply sticks her hand out to me with a deep smile. 

“Let’s go somewhere else!” she says, grabbing my barely extended hand with excitement. 

A warmth shoots throughout my body, the softness of her hand as she pulls me along the path, my body postured in a leaning way, her body upright. The jingle of our keys echoes throughout the tall pine surrounding us. The songs of birds plays so beautifully as Jackie runs with me in the palm of her hand. 

And who am I to not go along? 

The path that winds and winds and winds throughout this park finally comes to an end, and the full embrace of the summer sun blasts me straight in the eyes. 

aria i

—can i see you again someday?—

There was something strange in the air that day, an unbearable choking sensation that created only tears in its wake. The rain did not pour heavy like it typically would on a late September afternoon. No, there was no rain, only a clear blue sky with clouds of numerous shapes whisked all over the sky as if painted onto a canvas. 

But something that remained through it all was the feeling that something was missing. 

A presence that radiated color into the days where the rain did fall. 

No longer was it next to me, 

Smiling with all might. 

Instead what sat there was a single petal from a small flower. 

Effervescently yellow. 

The wind blew hard on that first day of living with loss, my eyes glazed over from my persistent crying. 

The setting today is no different. The sun parts the sky outside with such ease, as though the clouds and rain never seemed to exist in the first place. But this beauty was not what lay in front of my eyes. 

Stained wood with ornate detail carved into its sides, metal bars adorning the area below, acting as handles. The top lie pried open, a face familiar to everyone in the room lies on a pillow. 

Effervescently yellow flowers popping out from a bouquet firmly in the grasp of her hands. All those familiar with her face embossed in black from head to toe. 

Unlike them, however, her face sat in ease. 

Like weight had been reduced from her shoulders.

What little color the flowers flowed through the room was suffocated by the tears wept by those around me. 

My eyes, too, wept incessantly. 

I wished and prayed throughout it all that it wasn’t true, it was only a bad dream. But alas my wishes were never granted, and my eyes weren’t being deceived.

I all want now is for the color to be reintroduced. 

But the dreams with memories of Orlea and me are far and fleeting. Her face blossoms like such beautiful yellow flowers that she once wore in her hair, that she only told me were her favorites one time. 

In the field of tall stalks and sunflowers is where she spends the most time in my dreams.

But the sun now hits my face and I am awoken to the sound of cicadas humming for the last time before the summer ends. 

Though unlike the days prior, the sky is parted only slightly by the sun, for dark clouds of rain foretell the rest of the week. 

In a few weeks the feeling of freedom granted by summer will end, and all my time will be taken up by working. I have decided to un-enroll from the college Orlea and I had planned on going to. The tears that formed in my mom’s eyes as I told her were more damage induced than the tears at Orlea’s wake. 

Soon enough I will find some way to join her, and that is what I hid from my mom. I can’t bear another second of life without the aquamarine eyes that I used to meet with mine.

The emptiness of my room in the dark casts no further doubt on the state of my brain. Disheveled are the bookcases filled with merchandise from my favorite bands and magazines. My eyes are too well adjusted to this light, so when I open the door the slight change in tones blinds me. I turn and face the end of the hallway, my hand on my bedroom door, closing it behind me. The dim sunlight bleeds through the curtains and onto the floor, wisps of dust frolicking around in the air. 

A faint refraction of light casts an outline of a figure that once stood at the end of this hall. Her dusty ash brown hair cascading down as she stands there bent over, tucking her hair behind her ear, revealing the earrings I gifted her on her birthday last year. The dangling earrings shimmer in the faint light that she once stood in. My dog Silas now pouts on the couch, for even he misses her. 

The landline suddenly rings, and I slowly walk past Silas and into the kitchen. I pick the phone up, and a familiar voice speaks out, 

“Hello?” the voice asks. 

“Hello.” I say quietly.

“Aindreas, are you free today?” the voice asks. 

“…” 

“Aindreas Zohlwyorn Eidt. Answer me.” the voice commands to me. 

“I guess.” I respond by whispering. 

“Good. Meet Dmitri and I at the usual place at 2 PM, and don’t bail on us.” the voice commands again. 

“Sure thing.” I say back. 

“…” 

The other side hangs up, followed by pure silence. 

The clock on the wall reads a quarter til 1. I walk out of the kitchen, and stop to pet Silas as he sits quietly on the couch. I kneel down, wrap my arms around his head, and hug him tightly. The tears follow suit, flowing serenely down my cheeks as Silas quickly licks them off. Eventually things start to feel like they were before, pictures flashing in my mind of Silas and I when I was young, a bag of N&Ns in my hand, arms wrapped around Silas’s neck. Silas starts licking my face, promptly making me laugh. 

“Hey that tickles, old man!” I say through my laughter. 

But Silas doesn’t know what that means, so he keeps on keeping on. 

A reminder that I should do the same. 

I pick myself off the floor, cupping Silas’s head in my hands while scratching his fur. 

“I love you old man.” I let out. 

Silas pants, spreading his legs out to insinuate he wants me to scratch his stomach. 

Of course I give in. 

Before long I walk away, Silas following along. I shower and get dressed. My clothes consist of some random t-shirt I ordered from a magazine and a pair of jeans. I walk out of my room and to the front door. Sitting next to my keys is a note from my mom. 

“Be safe. I’ll be home at my usual time to cook dinner. Love you - Mom”

I grab my car keys and walk out the door, locking it behind me. 

I drive my dad’s ‘73 Mustang, glossy clear coat forest green with the original black front skirt and off white trim stripes. I pull my key out, putting it in the door handle, turning the key. Sitting right on the speedometer is a picture of my dad working on this car, me sitting next to him looking at the car in awe. 

I get in, sitting on the dark navy treated leather seats that I painstakingly renew every month. I was tired of the head unit screwing up my cassettes, so I converted it to the newer standard. Replaced it with some Kenwood I found at the audio store, and the guy gave me a great deal on it. Orlea laughed at first, since it cost me almost my entire check, but after I played her a CD she was starstruck. She started mass buying them, the pile of which now sit in my passenger seat. 

The CD plays the end of “Black” by Pearl Jam. 

Her hair blows in the wind as it winds and waves through the car window, the orange, yellow, red, and pink sunset carousels behind her. Her aquamarine eyes bounce the colors off like reflections on water. She slowly fixes her hair before turning and looking at me, smiling from ear to ear. 

To which I do the same. 

I look forward to the road, my hand sits comfortably under hers. Her lips move to the lyrics as if she wrote the song. 

I can hear her shuffling in the seat, her head sitting on my shoulder as I shift into gear. 

I turn my head to look at her, but no one is there. 

Instead I can hear someone knocking at my window, looking up to see Jason Hoffeman standing there. 

I open my door, unbuckling my seatbelt. 

I get out and look over the roof of my car at him. 

“Still waiting, huh?” he looks at me, his face forming a frown. 

“I don’t think I will ever not be waiting.” I respond. 

“Just don’t do anything stupid, man.” He walks around my car, standing in front of me. He reaches out for a hug, which I gladly accept. 

“I promise I won’t.” I say with a smile. 

“Good, now c’mon, let’s go hang on the hill.” He sticks his hand out, clenching his fist. 

I calmly stick my hand out, giving him a fist bump. 

As the crickets croak, the day becomes night. 

Soon the two hours we had planned to sit here and talk about life became five. And I enjoyed it all. But life could not go on this way. 

For I cannot live without Orlea. 

Saying goodbye, I wave my hand at Jason and my other friend Dmitri. 

To which they wave back. 

I start my car again, waiting a few minutes before driving off. 

Though just as before, the cold embrace of the moon shines only on the empty passenger seat that I cannot see without her in it. 

Her head finally falls on my shoulder, her eyes gazing into mine. 

Before I knew it, I was home. 

My mom sat asleep in her bed already. 

Sitting in the dark arms of my room was a locked case. 

Its contents hidden from the plain eye, but as I unlocked it, there sat the very contents that my dad had admired all those years ago. 

There sat two identical Smith & Wesson PCC-9 5906s. Though unlike the characters in films which line the cinema, these two have no name. 

They both have a handle emblazoned in fine red oak, a small symbol sits in the middle of it. 

The metal has not tarnished, gleaming as if purchased today. 

But the thought does not escape as I sit here and admire the beauty of these life taking entities. 

For I wish for them to end another life tonight. 

night 1

— sundown of the first night —

The sun that beforehand had remarked the sky, sat inconsolable in the midst of this terror. All those whomst had once roamed these very settlement streets now stricken from the earth in a single blow. And yet my hands lie clean. At the rise of dawn I was sent, amongst a few other locals, to investigate the strange echoes that homed themselves in the forestry behind the settlement. After much search, the results of our excursion were unsuccessful in yielding any positive meaning. Those amongst my group began to head back to the settlement around midday—we found ourselves deep into the wilderness that surrounds the aforementioned settlement—to which we were separated. Any attempts I made to exposit the location of my fellows were fruitless, though seeming that way from the start. 

So, lonesome, I bore the responsibility to find my way back to the settlement. To which I navigate using the eternally burning compass in the sky. The weather, quite warm for a February afternoon, made its attempts to behead my journey. As I was walking down a path I had never before seen, a sound only describable as a shriek began to echo throughout the wood. Pulling my hand axe from the satchel at my waist, I arm myself. Shuffling in the towering trees above sends me scouring to find my way to the settlement. My feet, though now calloused and beaten, moving so fast that I felt like a mirage in the eyes of whatever has made this wood its home. The tall trees continue for what must have been miles and miles before finally, at sundown, I found the back gate of the settlement. 

But it was not being guarded. 

There was no one here. 

I had just said goodbye to my mother and father hours beforehand. 

But now I didn’t think there was any way of seeing them again. 

Drawing my hand axe again, I swiftly move through the wide open wooded gates that gave me a sense of protection once before. There lies no blood on any walls, streets, homes, vendor booths, nothing. It is as though those taken were simply whisked away. As the now scarred sun begins to set below the horizon, faint horse hooves make an echoing appearance on the dirt paths through the front of town. The now hollow streets of the settlement begin to have a shadow, the leafless trees mirroring their movement. Based on my position in the settlement—finding myself at the back gate—, my home is not far. My hand axe still drawn, I make my move. The dirt lifts off the ground as I run, smearing and streaking onto the back of my pants. The dirt paths mark the center of the so-called street, cobblestone walkways line the side. The aforementioned leafless trees hanging over me as I continue to run, my breathing now fatigued. 

As the moon graces the sky, I find myself dawning upon the front of my home. I shake the handle of the door over and over, but to no avail. A shadow looms upon the ground next to the door, the shadow of an angel. This shadow comes from only one place, the cathedral. The haunting stature of this cathedral becomes deeper illuminated by the moon, its grandeur most accurate during this time of night. As I look back at the door of my house, a single black feather floats down, gracing the floor underneath my feet. I step back, raising my knee to an angle, and kick down the door to my own home. 

A murderous sound shrieks across the sky. 

And the face of the moon becomes a twilight hue. 

— moonrise of the first night —

As I stand there in shock of what graces the now haunted sky, the sound of hooves clanking in the dirt begins to draw closer. These hooves are heavy, the weight of many men lies atop them. A language similar to mine—at least as it is heard from a distance—echoes loudly as the hooves draw even closer. The house that I grew up in, door broken down, bounces this unfamiliar language into my ears as the hooves make a frontward appearance in my ears. They are getting even closer. The long corridors of my home twisting and turning in the light purple hue that shines against the floors. My footsteps feel oh so heavy as they plant onto the hardwood flooring that my father laid in the home, each one clanking like the steel of a hammer against hot malleable metal. Something of this moon is warping my senses, and I wish to bequeath myself of this feeling, though I cannot fight this urge at the current moment. My now weighted feeling footsteps finally drag me in front of the door to my corridor, swinging the door open with my hands. 

One thing sticks out in my mind which I must grab. 

The journal that belongs to the former priest of the town. 

The journal contains secrets that lie below the cathedral, ones that I was instructed to never look at until the day came where I needed to hide.

Until the day where I needed to learn the truth of things. 

I grab my hand axe from my waist, and begin to hack at a specific place in my wall. Slowly but eventually, the wood panelling falls off the wall, revealing the journal, as well as something I myself did not hide. 

A book of…spells? 

I instantly throw away my confusion, and I pick up the journal and the other book, swiftly making my exit from my corridors. The feeling of my feet being strapped to cobblestone chunks returns, gracing my usually light steps with loud thuds. 

As I find myself facing the exit to my home, something strange happens behind me. A creak in the floorboards, and a sudden loud cracking sound. 

Red eyes peer from out of the unlit hallway. 

Something has found its way into the shadows of my home, but has only just made its physical manifestation known. But before I can comprehend it, my legs begin to move on their own—naturally. 

I make haste to the door, the creature prevailing quickly behind me, its already foreboding body enlarging as it passes the windows of the place I call home. 

I plant my feet outside of the door.

Standing in front of me, however, are clad men bearing arms. The look on their faces as I exited the front of my house was a look of astonishment. Immediately, a man—who I assume to be their leader—points his finger at me. The men next to him rush me with arms drawn, though peculiarly not the musket I have become accustomed to seeing, but a curved blade similar to my own hand axe. 

Swiftly, before I can reckon myself as neither friend nor foe, the men begin swinging their blades at me. 

As the man on my right swings down, I evade to the left, his blade catching the brick facade of my house. Planting my right leg, I rotate myself counterclockwise, the back of my foot finding a suitable place on this—what I am again assuming—soldier’s face. Twisting my foot, I plant my left leg down, the soldier’s head hitting the cobblestone sidewalk with a crunch and crack. 

However, to my dismay, I feel a slight tinge in my back. A prick like sensation, if I must. 

The second soldier had gotten himself up—after I had tripped him with my left leg as I was turning—, and waited for a perfect moment to strike. 

Forced to withdraw, I raise my hands. 

The soldiers approach me and remove my hand axe from its holder. 

The leader of this militia of men smiles as one of his men hands him my hand axe. 

And he says something in that oh so familiar—but distant language. 

Good first impressions, right?

But a sudden thought strikes my mind. 

Whatever happened to the monster that I had so suddenly left behind?

— early hours of the first night —

The now twilight moon sits smirking in the starless sky above me. Its unknown abilities have already caused me much trouble. Not only making my feet and body feel so sluggish, but making my mind feel the same way. 

But it only seems to be an issue of my own. 

The men who I have found myself captured by are moving with ease. 

Their feet are gliding across the dirt paths of the road as though feathers in the wind. 

But I do not know what to do. 

These men have just captured me, but are unaware of the thing that lurked behind me just moments ago. But I have no way of conveying my concern to them, as they do not speak the same language as I. I try to get the attention of the soldiers who have placed me on the ground—hands albeit restrainted—, but to no avail. 

One soldier suddenly runs from the inside of the home, his coat bearing a large claw mark, blood oozing continuously from the newly acquired wound in his chest. He begins to scream—almost from the top of his lungs, his eyes flowing tears freely. He then coughs up a large spew of blood before he suddenly falls to his knees, his skin begins to turn a dark black before he spontaneously bursts into a cloud of ash. His last moments were regarding the ends of his fingers as they began to turn to dust. 

What is happening? 

A large shake in the ground grabs the attention of all the soldiers—as if their attention wasn’t already present—including the attention of their leader. 

The wood outside of my home begins to crack and break. 

And the monster that had once followed me appears from its seams. 

Its stature gleams in the twilight moon before which it stands tall and foreboding. A soldier that had rushed to aid his fellow—before getting to glance at this creature—is devoured off the ground in one fell swoop, his blood splurting so far as to hit me in the face. 

A new set of screams dawn the streets of this town. 

And I am helpless to do anything about it. I close my eyes. Though remorseful that I did not say a good enough goodbye to my parents before I left this morning. This creature is going to devour the new settlers that have arrived. And it's going to eat the only remaining person from the town. As I reopen my eyes, a soldier stands in front of me, in his hands is my own hand axe and its holder. 

He speaks in that familiar language, and pushes the items onto my chest, my hands instinctively reaching to catch them. I thought that I would not be able to catch them, but my restraints had already been undone, so my hands were free to catch them. 

The leader waves his hands in the air, seemingly guiding his soldiers into safety, to which they follow like sheep in a herd. 

But this…monster cares little of that. 

Grabbing many more men as they run, screaming. 

Blood now covers the very stalls, walls, and business that had lied bloodless when I arrived earlier. 

And the creature’s peering red eyes find their way to me. An almost crooked smile appearing on its face. 

— the first midnight —

Before I can even begin to fight this monster. 

I find myself suddenly in a world surrounded by pure white. 

“Where am I?” I ask myself aloud. 

“Oh! Sweet child of mine, I see you have finally made yourself before my presence.” A female voice echoes in front of me. 

I jump backwards, my feet feeling as light as they used to. 

“I can sense that you feel different in this place as compared to your situation before, my sweet child.” the female voice echoes out again. 

“Who are you?” I ask. 

“You know me very well, my child Simon Castelot.” the female voice speaks to me.

“I am unsure that I do, madam.” I say back. 

“I have been with you here” a pressure makes itself apparent on my chest, at my heart, “your whole life.” the voice gestures in a tone familiar to that of a mother’s. 

“I am still unsure…I cannot think of someone who has been in my heart my whole life…unless.” My eyes widen as I begin to put the pieces together. 

“God?” I ask out. 

“Yes, my dear child?” She answers back. 

“But…the trinity claims you as the Father, not the Mother.” I exclaim. 

“Oh my dear child, how you have been a victim of deceit. But as for that, I do not have time to explain.” She says. 

Her visage makes itself apparent to me, though my tongue cannot speak nor describe its shape or regard. 

“My child, an unfortunate man has found his way onto the place you call home. People have conjured him to appear and wish to use his abilities for nefarious gain. He is the proprietor behind what you have been describing as the twilight moon.” She explains. 

“But why must they use my family…my friends…innocents…to achieve these goals, God?!” I exclaim, my hands balling into a fist in the process. 

“My child, you mustn’t harbor feelings of ill will. Go out and, with my blessing, create atonement for those people.” She says calmly. 

“But with what, God?” I ask. 

“That power you will find…lies in the palm of your hand. Though I must warn you now, there are drawbacks to abusing this blessing that I am granting your use of. You see, you are not only one of my precious children—as is the rest of the world—, but a bearer of something much greater. Though that must be explained later. You mustn’t avail oneself of too much of this power, for if you do, the pain will be much more than your human body can withhold, my dear Simon. Now go out and rid this world of those who wish to deceive pure souls.” Her tone matches that of a wishful mother. 

As I regain my place in my…body? expelling all confusion, I notice a golden hue beginning to emanate from my left hand. A circle appears upon it, a cross that I am familiar with striking the dead center of it. 

A divine feeling begins to creep throughout my body as I place my hand out in front of my face. 

The book I found amongst the walls next to the journal begins to glow the same golden hue from beneath my long coat. 

And the same cross suddenly carves itself into the leather, floating towards my hand almost as though there is a tether between them. 

The book opens to a page, and I begin to chant what can only be described as a spell.