Venestia

Nichole lay against a rock, huddled against the wind. The sky was a rolling grey out to infinity, and the scene seemed altogether too befitting her mood. The mossy rock was cool against her back and the wind whipped her hair about, making her face raw. The air was mostly still, except for the sounds of cars on the highway, a few miles away. Perhaps there was nowhere on earth that one could have perfect peace and solitude, she reflected. If there was one place, she would have imagined it to be here, miles and miles away from the nearest Starbucks or mall. Miles from all the comforts one learns to expect, living in the city. But that was years ago, now. Her life was no longer in that place.

Her battered spiral-bound notebook lay open at her side, a partially filled page looking up into the heavens. Some unknowable urge caused Nichole to suddenly abandon the warmth of her sweater, and she pulled back the sleeve, almost violently. With an air of distance, removal, her hands caressed the scar which ran the breadth of her wrist. Such a tiny thing it seemed. So insignificant in size, but seeing it made her want to cry. It reminded her of that time in her life when nothing had been worth the pain, when no amount of unseen future wealth could have stayed her hand. She hated to remember, and she did not want to forget. She didn't want to forget her sister, or her bastard of a father, or her mother who would have rather had an abortion than put up with her. She didn't want to forget the people who had made her who she was, for better or for worse.

That was why she did this. She hated and needed the feelings, the pure feelings. Nothing was more real than the pain of looking back and remembering. Nothing was real at all sometimes, wallowing in a place -- in a society obsessed with possessions and fads and money because they didn't want to take the time to become spiritually or morally educated. Nothing beyond a two-second sound-bite will do... no no, there are things to be done. People to screw. Meetings to make. Identities to destroy. (Not people. Killing people is bad. But as long as we don't let it have a face... or as long as we just don't look at the face... well then, that's OK.) For the greater good, ...you understand, don't you? Progress! At any expense. The page which Nichole's notebook lay open to read:

Nichole could imagine her sister's soul. Imagine the blackness into which it disappeared. And what lies beyond? she let herself ask for a moment, but she knew that asking was pointless. How many times she must have asked herself over the years... it only made the pain worse. To not know... to be unable to know... She picked up the notebook and her pen, adding:

Suddenly the book was hot, too hot to touch. She threw it down, expelling it from her body, hoping that would make the pain go away. But it would not leave her, it burrowed down into her mind so that she leaned forward and grasped at her head as though it would somehow help to alleviate the thoughts which poisoned her mind. It was her sister, her sister from somewhere up in heaven or down in hell; Nichole wasn't sure which, or even if they existed. If God lived up to half his reputation as a boy-scout goody-goody, then Ashley had better damn well be up in heaven... but Nichole should too for the shit she'd gone through. Tomorrow she would shut out the pain again... but now was her time to feel it again. She closed her eyes, tears beginning to flow down her flushed cheeks. It was an odd sensation -- the cold wind, her hot cheeks and the tears -- but she didn't care.

James lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his room as though maybe, if he looked at it long enough, it would betray to him some great secret he had been missing. Perhaps... perhaps if he looked long enough it would tell him why. Why these things had happened to him. Why Andrea had left him, why she had stopped loving him. It didn't seem right... he had not stopped loving her, after all. It was juvenile, of course. Love doesn't work like that. He had to admit it to himself, though he knew it through every fiber of his being. She made that perfectly clear.

He tried to think about Sophia, and Julie. Didn't I love them too? Then he realized that he couldn't really think of Andrea either, just... Gary. Why the hell would Andrea choose Gary? He couldn't fathom it. I thought I understood her... And then he realized how piercing his understanding truly was. Because Gary doesn't think. Gary doesn't question. Gary allows her to be the automaton she desires so to be. She could never be that, not with me there, questioning her, keeping her to her beliefs.

James wasn't sure if he was being arrogant or bitingly true. Didn't matter. Didn't help him any. He had cared about Andrea more than she would ever know... not because he didn't make it totally obvious, but because she chose not to see. It helped her live in her haze of stupidity that was her security blanket. Ah, but she was a good little girl, James reminded himself. Church and youth group and stupid little pointless fund raisers all the time. Like she could bribe her way into Heaven or something, James thought with distaste. It was all so that she didn't have to think for herself, so that no questioning would be necessary in her life. Listen to the Church, listen to the school, listen to your parents, listen to the government. As long as you don't question, your life will go along just fine. As long as you don't try to buck off that haze of stupidity that makes your life so easy to live in. And now that he had nothing to live for, he had begun to retreat into his own haze.

James looked over at the half-empty beer bottle which sat quietly on his bedside table, so unassuming and yet so insidious. It's stupid of me to leave it there, out in the open, James thought, and even as he thought it he had to admit his own apathy. He didn't care if he was caught. How would they react? he thought, conjuring up an image of his parents. How will they react? James knew that he couldn't hide his habit forever.

James swung his legs off the bed and sat up, looking over at his little LED clock. "One-thirty," he muttered to himself. A veil of anonymity brought by the night, exploited by the wicked, he thought silently, his expression hardly registering the disgust he felt at his own thoughts. Had he really become what he hated most, a person willing to throw away their own morality at the first sign of difficulty? Maybe... He went silently through the half-lit room over to his dresser and opened the underwear drawer, silently pulling out a package of cigarettes. He wondered briefly which of his newly acquired habits was worse, but quickly abandoned that line of thought. It doesn't matter, he told himself briskly. He couldn't think of a way to back it up, so he simply repeated it to himself. It doesn't matter.

He lifted his light jacket off the chair in front of his desk and briefly regarded his lighter. It was hidden in plain sight, so to speak, on top of the dresser. He quickly filed it away into one of his deep jacket pockets and turned toward to the door of his room. He headed for the door, where he paused briefly to turn off the lava-lamp which had been filling the room with its ghostly blue light. A few seconds later, he had disappeared into the velvet night, for once understanding Andrea's desire to lose herself into the nothingness. The desire for nothingness in a world where no love was true. To have true nothingness, James supposed, is better than having a false life.

"Mr. Fultz says that you didn't do your homework again last night." The counselor -- Nichole couldn't remember her name at the moment -- looked very concerned about this, indeed.

"Yes... well, he's a very perceptive guy, you know? I think that's how he got this wonder-job."

"Excuse me?" The counselor's tone sounded almost hurt, but it was more accusatory and shocked, as if to ask, "Are you sure that's what you meant to say?"

"Well, you know, it's only been," Nichole pretended to search for a calendar for a moment, and then regarding one for a few moments, "you know, the entire school year that I haven't. I'm surprised he caught on this quickly."

"Are you insinuating something about Mr. Fultz, Nikki?"

This got her attention. "What's your name again?" she asked, regarding the counselor cooly.

"Well, Taggy," Nichole said acidly, "you can call me 'Nichole'. Not 'Nikki' or 'Nikki-baby' or 'shnukums' but 'Nichole.' Got it?"

Now that she had been fully and directly affronted, the counselor seemed to decide that it was acceptable to become agitated. "Now see here!" she began in the high-and-mighty tone which seemed reserved for people who work at schools. "You seem to have a bit of an attitude problem, Miss Kharl." Nichole noted with some amusement the formal name with which she had been addressed.

"You think so? Hmmm... I wonder if it's because I'm clinically depressed," she began subduedly. "No, no, that couldn't be it. Oh, oh, I know, is it because I had to leave everything I had ever known at age twelve and move here? No, still not enough?" Nichole's voice had lost the amusement with which she had begun the attack. She was furious now. "Well maybe it's because the only friend I ever had, my God-damn sister, died of AIDS when I was nine years old! You think that could be it, you freaking moron? Think that could be it?" Her voice had reached decibels she wasn't aware she could attain. Her face was flushed now, how body tense as though she were expecting a blow from the counselor, and her heart was racing wildly in her chest. Her breathing has hard and erratic. The torrent of emotion seemed to catch up with her now that she had ran out of words, and she clenched her eyes against an onslaught of tears, which flowed hotly down her face despite her effort.

The counselor was suddenly cornered, and unsure of what to do. On the one hand, she had just been verbally attacked by this young girl, and on the other hand, the girl was now crying. Was it her fault? The counselor wasn't sure. "Um..." she began, unsure of what she meant to say.

Nichole laughed a bitter and humorless laugh through her sobs and closed eyes. How could someone so devoid of common sense or understanding be allowed to hold a position like this. "Go back to getting the preppies into colleges," Nichole said bitterly through clenched teeth. "I'm going back to class. There's nothing you can do for me, so let's both make our lives a little easier, and you stop trying."

The counselor was annoyed at this, and utterly unwilling to take responsibility for Nichole's "rashness." "Do as you wish, Nichole," she said. As an afterthought, she forced out, "And remember that we're always here if you need to talk."

Nichole laughed another pained laugh. "Bye," she said without feeling, and savagely pulled open the door to the counseling office. She was halfway to the main building's door before the door to the counseling office closed, shutting out the sound of her footsteps.

Andrew leaned into the pale light which fell onto the pool table, eyeing his shot. "Fifth ball into the right-corner pocket." It was the obvious shot. He pulled his hand back and the cue hit the white ball straight on, sending it violently towards the fifth ball, which in turn hit the three ball, sending it careening towards the left-corner pocket.

James broke out laughing. "You idiot, Andrew," he before he had fully finished laughing. "Why the hell do you ever call? You know you don't have to!"

Andrew regarded him cooly. "Just shoot," he retorted. "Don't make my victory too drawn out here, OK?"

"Yeah, sure," James giggled. "Just promise me to keep calling your shots with the same level of accuracy you've had so far."

Andrew looked up at the dark ceiling in irritation, and headed toward the ball. "Call he when you've finally gotten the cue out of your ass and shot," he called back to James over his shoulder. He procured a new beer and watched James meticulously setting up his shot. It was a fairly simple shot... but he missed. "Ha!" he called over to James over the den of the bar.

James turned around to glare at Andrew. "Shut the hell up and bring me another beer," he said, setting his cue up against the side of the pool table. Andrew bought the drink and started back towards James.

"You know, this is only my second drink," Andrew said, somewhat seriously, handing James his beer. "This is your fifth. You've really been packing it away. You don't even seem too much more annoying than usual. What's up? Have you been drinking more often? I mean, it's not as if the smoking weren't bad enough..."

"Dude, lay off. Don't freaking start with my smoking again, OK? I don't need or want to have that conversation again." James savagely wrenched the cap off his beer and took a gulp.

"Hey! Chill out, man, I just don't want to see you hurt yourself. Why are you so defensive?"

"Why are you so damn accusatory? You're not my mom -- if you were you wouldn't be here drinking with me. Seeing as how you are, who the hell are you to talk?"

"I'm the one who's only had two beers as opposed to five, damnit, and I'm your friend."

"Some friend," James spat out the words and slammed his beer down on the table. "Have fun playing with yourself," James said angrily, though the pun hurt Andrew worse than his tone. James was obviously more inebriated than Andrew had realized. James was already to the door of the little bar.

"Hey, James!" Andrew called out after him, suddenly afraid for the other boy's well-being. "Hey, wait a second you moron!" Andrew dashed out of the bar and caught James as he was about to get in to his car. "Whoa there James, you can't drive right now. Not in your condition."

"I said lay off!" James yelled back angrily. "Just... just leave me alone already!"

"James..." Andrew began slowly, and his voice held an acid warning. "I am trying to help you. Now listen to me. You can not drive home in your condition. Give me the keys, James. Just give me the keys and I'll get you home. Don't make this hard, James."

"Don't talk to me like a freaking third-grader," James said angrily. Andrew's stomach churned at what he was afraid would soon turn into a physical confrontation with his best friend of seven years.

"I'm sorry. Look, James, I'm sorry. Just please, let me drive you home. You have to know that you're drunk out of your head. Please, just let me drive you home."

"Shit," James said, seeming to realize how absurd his behavior was for the first time. He groaned, and then: "Man, I'm sorry. I've been an asshole. I'm sorry." He reached into his pocket, avoiding eye contact with Andrew. "I'm sorry... here," he said sheepishly, offering Andrew the keys.

"It breaks my heart." Ecclesia regarded his congregation with a certain amount of suspicion, a certain amount of pity and a certain amount of disgust. A huge conglomeration of sinners. Not as bad as the ones who didn't come to Church, obviously... but still hell-bound. Every last one of them. "It breaks my heart!" he began again, with renewed vigor, fur bristling, "to see the people of our find City, Esilva, to sit idly by while the heathen nations of Venestia encroach upon this last bastion of civilization!"

It was the Elves. They were the real problem... all at-peace-with-nature and kind to all beings, all that wishy-washy, optimistic crap. They would be the ruin of Esilva. They were why half this congregation was hell-bound. Their views were insidious... they had a way of getting into a population and infecting it from the inside out. I'll be damned if I see it happen again, Ecclesia affirmed to himself. "The Elves to the west, the Faeries to the north... and Vampires," he said, viciously accenting the last word. That'll get their attention, he thought smugly. "They're all the same! All no better than murderers! Disturbers of the peace! No respect for the natural order of things."

The congregation was enraptured. They were absorbing every word that escaped Ecclesia's lips like a roomful of sponges. Each and every member of the congregation, slyly turned their head to each side, sizing up the moral fiber of their pew-mates. That one looks OK, they might think, and then add, looking to the other side of them, but he... he looks like a disturber of the peace. No respect for the natural order of things. Probably comes to Church just for the appearance... trying to fool people. Well! You can't fool me so easily, no sir... They were brought up to accept the word of the Church without question, and they weren't about to risk their immortal souls for anything so frivolous as those elfish-types. Whatever it was they were trying to accomplish with their total disregard for proper society.

"They're going to hell, and they'll take you along with them!" All the heads jerked up from their covert studies at once. Suddenly Ecclesia seemed to visibly soften, and he continued in a softer tone. "Now, I know all you folks are the right kind of people. We Pilius, we live at peace with our Natio brethren." On que, every short little Pilius turned to the nearest Natio and smiled, the Natio smiling back in turn. They were all about the same height, the two species, ranging from three to five feet tall. While the Pilius were covered from head to toe in fur (save for their faces and the palms of the hands), the Natio were for the most part hairless. Ecclesia's expression became stern again. "But we cannot allow our peace-loving natures to overshadow the necessity of law and order. We must not allow outside, corrosive influences to debase our society. We must stand strong and united against this terrible and insidious threat!"

Ecclesia's speech had ended, and the tiny little creatures were still spellbound. Shouts of "Hallelujah!" and "Amen!" filled the Church. Excellent... Ecclesia thought. He still realized that most of them were going to hell, but he was slightly more hopeful for their souls than he had been when they came in. At least they might keep the society pure for a little while longer.

James walked across the slick, wet grass. It was another damp, grey day, and the wind blew like ice. James was bundled in a bulky jacket, left hand tucked away into a pocket, right hand holding a lit cigarette. James would occasionally take a long drag from the cigarette, warming his chest and slowly turning the tip into ash, which was plucked off and carried away by the wind whenever it got too long. After each drag he would let the smoke rush out of his mouth, churning in the air and then dissolving away into nothingness. He watched this with the fascination of a twelve-year-old who watches their breath in the cool air of a winter morning, but each time the band of smoke dissolved, James felt as though a day of his life had just disappeared. It didn't bother him, though, he regarded it as he did the cigarette ads which blared the obvious to him constantly. He didn't care, that was why he did it. That was why the ads never worked.

He took a deep breath of the cool air. He listened to the sounds of the countryside, took in the awe-inspiring vista he had seen so many times. Hills rolling away into the mist, spartan oak trees with their branches stretching in all directions at once. The hills, green and dewy, scattered arrangements of rocks, clusters of odd wild flowers here and there. He continued his lazy walk, his disinterested consumption of the cigarette, his wandering train of thought. He would go idly between thoughts of school, thoughts of Gary, thoughts of lost friends -- Cathy and their childhood spent together -- thoughts of his future. He felt it draining away as he drew in the toxins of the cigarette, but it felt so good, so relaxing. It didn't matter anyway, he had no real future. It was unreal, an idea, a disconnected concept, something that would never be. All he had were memories of the past. Friends, lovers, games, laughs, defeats...

He brought the cigarette from his lips and exhaled a last stream of smoke, then looked down at his cigarette. It was spent. He tossed it down on the ground and began to rub it out with the sole of his shoe. A little out-cropping of rocks off to his left caught his eye, and he abandoned the depleted cigarette, walking that way. When he stood in front of them, what he had thought he saw turned out to be true: an almost perfectly circular ring of rocks of which just the points stuck out from the ground, with a diameter of about two meters. In the center was another rock, almost a perfect sphere but with no signs of polishing. He took a step toward the center of the ring, reaching for the rock in the center. One foot hit the ground within the center of the ring and he straightened quickly, stumbling back. He had suddenly heard something... falling water? It was gone now. He had also felt... warm suddenly. But again, he was struck by the bitingly cold air.

Slowly he placed his foot back into the ring, and they both came back: the sound and the heat. He looked around for something which could explain either, but found nothing. He took a step to reach for the rock at the center of the ring again, and his other foot came down inside the ring. The sound was louder now, but he tried to ignore it. He bent down, hand stretched toward the rock, the feeling of warmth growing ever stronger.

Nichole wandered through the back streets of her tiny town. Away from the main drag, away from the touristy little shops and the restaurants. Where no one looked at the cracked pavement that swelled up and down over hills rather than cutting through them. The outskirts of a town that you could walk from one end of to the other in fifteen minutes. It wasn't much to see. Back here were the houses... some new, some barely standing and some not standing at all. Here she could walk aimlessly for hours letting her mind churn, going from one subject to another with no one to answer to.

Nichole stood gazing at an old shack, sitting alone and abandoned for years at the edge of the town, where entire sections had been allowed to collapse in on themsElves and nobody gave a damn. It made Nichole feel uneasy, almost, somewhat sad. A home that had life and music and a family once, now left to rot. The family had moved away years ago, obviously... Nichole wondered to where. With a sarcastic smirk Nichole reflected that the family which had lived in this house was probably dead by now, survived by grandchildren or great-grandchildren that had never even heard of this house; maybe they had heard the name of the town in passing, but it was nothing real in their minds. An idea, a concept... something which had had meaning only before they were born.

Nichole suddenly wanted to go in to that house, to see what had not been seen in decades, what nobody else seemed to care about. She wanted to care. Slowly she moved toward the house, through the thick weeds. As she approached it, she noticed that it didn't seem to emanate the same air that many abandoned houses did. It didn't have the broken glass or superficial, dirty feel of shalaque which had long been past its usefulness. Instead it seemed earthy, as though even in its death it knew its place in the world. It had come from the earth, and now it would return to the earth, without fanfare or mourning or pointless hand-wringing. It had dignity.

When Nichole reached the front door, she found it half open, held steadfastly in place by a tangle of weeds and earth that had snared the door. With all her might she was able to wrench the door free of its captors, dragged with it a mass of green and brown which had been uprooted in the process. Inside the house, the situation was very much the same; whereas the floor had obviously been flat and wooden once, it was now broken and uneven, with huge patches of weeds coming up through the floor. The walls were in such a state of deterioration as to no longer serve and useful function except -- thankfully -- to keep some of the roof off the ground, where it would also inevitably be consumed.

The air was not stagnant here, but earthy and fresh. The rotting wood of the walls definitely added to the taste of the air, but it did not hold the air still. Instead it was free to flow in and out as the wind may blow. The light was dim, as the only light was what sunlight filtered in through the ceiling and walls, and a few windows whose shutters had fallen to the ground years ago or simply disappeared. Nichole saw a table in one corner of the small house, though, and a few chairs scattered about. Some of the walls were lined with shElves. Nichole began to move slowly toward the opposite side of the house, slowly so as to take in everything she could. Now she could make out every part of a house, together in this one room. The eating area, the food preparation area, and off to her left were some bunks against the wall. Nichole was fascinated, her mind filling with stories of the family that once lived here.

The mother and the father and the two little children... a boy and a girl. They didn't get along very well. The girl was a little older, and a lot more mature than the boy. But her parents still made her be nice to her brother all the time... And the father worked in town. It was a little town back then, Nichole imagined. He must have been the manager of the general store. And the mom worked at the house...

Nichole was looking out the dilapidated window at the far end of the house when she realized how silly it was to let her mind run away like that. It wasn't true, anyway. Families like that didn't actually exist. Maybe in her imagination, but not in the real world. Nichole frowned and turned around, starting for the door. Something caught her eye that she hadn't seen before, though, something protruding from the floor. She walked over and stood directly over the small obtrusion, studying it. It was a small handle, just a knob really, but if you looked closely, you could see that this wasn't part of the original floor, it was all one piece of wood. There was no hinge, but Nichole guessed that if she just pulled up on the knob...

The resistance gave way without much force, just a little grinding of dirt and mud which fell away from the panel as she lifted it up out of the floor. As soon as the panel had been lifted away and set aside, Nichole noticed a sound that had been too faint to hear before; the trickle of water. It was somewhat pronounced now, though why there would be running water underneath these people's floor escaped Nichole. She reasoned that perhaps it was their well. It was pure gloom where she had pulled away the door, but a patch of sunlight just barely reached down into the hole beneath the floor, and Nichole could see that there was indeed a floor there. What the hell, Nichole though, dropping down into the darkness, my eyes will adjust.

Where're my cigarettes? was the first thought that passed through James' half-conscious mind. His vision was a red blur, and he opened his eyes, quickly wincing and rolling over. The sun was bright overhead and his eyes seemed oddly sensitive. He had a headache, and he brought his hand up to massage his forehead. Where the hell are my cigarettes? he thought dejectedly. He checked his breast and pants pockets with his free hand, but found nothing. Then he remembered having smoked his last cigarette. He groaned involuntarily and sat up.

Need cigarette... his mind was bent, no other thought or feeling could get in. Except, as in this case, absolute terror. In a second he was on his feet and looking wildly around. Where the hell am I? he thought desperately, trying to find something familiar in the landscape. He was standing in a forest clearing, surrounded on all sides by trees. He whirled around. A huge monolithic arch loomed some thirty meters above him, dwarfing even many of the trees. It looked old, though how old James could not guess. Stones larger than anything James' could imagine being moved, huge rectangles of granite or some similar stones. It reminded James of a part of Stonehenge... only much, much... larger. The stone blocks were wind-blown and eroded, their surfaces covered in moss.

James stopped and gazed up in awe at the gigantic structure. Slowly the thoughts which whirled around in his head began to slow and conglomerate into coherence. His last memories began to come back to him... walking around the countryside behind his house, the cool day, the night before when he had gotten drunk off his ass. Damn I must have been out of it, James lamented. How long must I have been out to get... to wherever the hell I am now? There were some forests near where James lived, but none like this. This wasn't the kind of fauna that grew in James' little section of central California. Shoot shoot shoot, James thought -- quite subduedly for the situation. Gotta get home... which way to go... He looked around helplessly. He looked at the monolith, and began to doubt the adage that moss grew on the north side of things, because that would seem to break several laws of physics... north being a unique direction and all.

Once again struck with desperation, James' thoughts again turned to his lost cigarettes. No, not lost... James caught himself. Gone, I smoked them all. He looked around again. Suddenly he heard a white noise that his brain had been blocking out until now. Water... he thought, suddenly hopeful. It must go somewhere, James thought. Somewhere useful, that is... James corrected himself hopefully. And when I get there, they better damn well have my cigarettes, he thought with annoyance.

"Aaagh!" Nichole cried out, and hit the ground with a jarring impact. She writhed on the ground for a second, and slowly picked herself up. She must have fallen from several feet, at the very least. Not too far, but it had certainly been a surprise, and she had been unprepared. She had dropped down into that little space underneath the house, and then... She looked around. She was on the bank of a river in a forest. Luckily the ground she had fallen onto wasn't very hard, and was covered in grass. It wasn't much, but she was thankful for every bit. She was also, however, very confused.

She looked up, part of her expecting to see the floor of that house somewhere up above her. No... she was definitely somewhere else. Had she blacked out? It didn't seem like she had, but there was certainly something missing from her memory. She surveyed her surroundings. It was a sunny day, wherever she was, unlike back home. She was in a forest of some odd kind of tree she didn't recognize offhand, and while the sun was shining brightly, the air was a pleasant temperature. Certainly a departure from her last clear memory, from underneath a house in the outskirts of her town. A few meters in front of her was a small stream, and a ways beyond that she could see some kind of stone structure rising up through the tangle of trees.

She picked out a direction in which to walk, and stretched her hands up to the sky to prepare for the journey before her. Her back muscles became tense, and Nichole felt a very odd sensation... as though there were... muscles that hadn't been there before? And she felt slightly off-balance. Slightly curious and somewhat nervous, she turned her head in an attempt to see whatever might be clinging to her back to make her feel so odd. As she was turning, though, her eyes caught sight of a huge pair of wings, very close to her, and she panicked, jumping forward and spinning around. She tried to, anyway, but she seemed to be moving in slow motion, and her back felt oddly tense again.

She had the sudden fear that she had been drugged, or was possibly dreaming. Things weren't moving right, she felt very odd... She looked around; there was no one there. She frowned, and slowly turned her head again. The wings were still there. Through force of will, she made her muscles relax, despite how uptight she felt. Slowly, the wings disappeared from sight. She flexed her back. The wings shot out again. A shiver went down her spine. What's going on here?... she wondered feebly. Slowly, trying in vain to not move the muscles of her back, she walked down the bank and stood leaning over the stream. Slowly, she tightened her upper back, and watched the wings appear from behind her back in the wavy reflection of the water.

She stood frozen in awe for a moment. Slowly, she attempted to lower one of her wings. At first her control was sporadic at best, but she gradually became more adept at controlling her wings. Suddenly the obvious thought occurred to her; I could fly! She began to try to gain the control necessary to flap her wings steadily, when the slight wind which had been rippling the water of the lake died for a moment, and she got a clearer look at her wings. It's broken... she thought in shock, looking at her left wing. "God damnit!" she screamed out wildly. "Damn it all to hell!" she cried out in pain, to a deaf world, madly stamping her foot in rage. She sat down hard and started to cry, wings retracting reflexively as she sat. Why? she asked herself piteously. One thing... could I just have one decent thing in my life? I get wings and break them in the same damn motion? she pined to herself. It must have been in that fall, she thought dejectedly. If I had realized then that I had them...

James had been walking in the same direction for at least two hours now, with no end in sight. Fatigue was starting to catch up with him, and he was beginning to loose hope. He didn't know what to do, where to go, how to fend for himself. Involuntarily, his mind shifted to The Lion King. Bugs, he though with disgust. If I don't find help, I'm going to end up living off bugs. His stomach churned at the thought, as he felt something crawl out of the leaves of the forest floor, across his leg and back into anonymity. He grimaced and tried to force his mind toward other thoughts.

No, he decided, I will find help. Sure this looks like the wilderness, but there's not that much anymore. Sooner or later I'll wind up running into the developed part of the world. He looked around, suddenly almost feeling sad at the thought of being found. There's not much left anymore... he echoed his earlier thoughts with a sense of sadness, and for the first time he looked around in appreciation of the beauty that surrounded him.

"Shoot!" he cried out in sudden pain. He raised his hand quickly and saw what looked like a large fly latched onto the index finger of his right hand, biting into his flesh. "Agh, you little wanker!" he cried out in pain, and flailed his arm around wildly, trying to dislodge the fly. Finally accepting the failure of this technique, he looked for the nearest tree and went over to it, attempting to smash the fly-of-death against its bark.

Direct hit! "Bzzzzzzz," the fly complained, and flew off lazily, dazed but for the most part unharmed by James' attack. James swatted after it uselessly as it made its way home. "You little bastard!" he scolded it, and returned his attention back to his own pain. Damn I could go for a cigarette right now, James thought in dismay. He looked down at his finger. There was a tiny wound that James could jut make out, but oddly no blood was coming out. James was sure that the fly had bitten him deeply enough to draw blood. Besides, why else would the fly have bitten him in the first place? He must have been trying to draw blood...

"Hallo!" James' head shot up and searched for the source of the unexpected hail. "Hallo there, I say!" came the voice again, and now James could tell that it was coming from somewhere off to his left. He peered off into the dense trees, and after a moment was able to spot the owner of the voice. He was still a ways off, but it was obviously a small person, quite unbefitting the deepness of the voice.

"Hello!" James called out, half a greeting and half a question.

"Hallo!" the voice came again, seemingly unaware of its repetitiveness.

"Hello! I'm lost! Please, can you tell me where this place is?"

"Why sure!" the friendly voice said, continuing to come nearer and nearer to James. "This is Esilva! We're about two quarta from Lurbitas."

James stood in shock, looking down at a tiny biped whose head would have reached up to about James' waist. He was covered in fur which stood straight out from his body everywhere except his face and the palms of his hands. The little Pilius looked up at James with almost the same shock in his eyes, but lost none of his good humor.

"My, aren't you a tall one!" the creature said jovially.

James swallowed. "I, uh, that is..."

"Oh come now," the creature said with a smile, "it's nothing to be ashamed of! There are plenty of tall Natio in the world... though I admit I've never seen one quite so tall as you! Hah! But that's OK! Come on, my boy, let's get you somewhere where you can sit down for a bit!"

James started dumbly after the little creature as it turned and started off. After a few steps it turned and looked at James with bemusement. "Well, come on!" it said, gesturing for James to follow, and started off again. James didn't argue.

"Hey, look at that!"

Nichole lifted her head and looked behind her. Her eyes were still red from crying, but she was recovering. Someone who was attempting very poorly not to be heard was obviously talking about her.

"Yeah, wow," was the reply. It sounded like two twelve-year-olds. "She's awful big for a Faery! She looks like some kind of a freak!"

Nichole had almost been amused before the last comment. "Hey, get lost!" Nichole yelled angrily over her shoulder.

Nichole heard a little gasp and the sound of a bush rustling. "Oh no," one of the little boys said, "she heard us." Nichole noticed that even while he was talking about being overheard, he didn't have the sense to lower his voice. "What should be do?"

"I dunno!" the other boy said in a panic. "Let's get out of here!"

Suddenly Nichole realized the situation she was in. "Wait!" she called, standing up and peering in the direction from which she heard the two dastards. "Wait, please, I need your help!" she called out. She wasn't sure if the boys had already made a stealthy get away or if they were still hiding behind the bush.

Slowly, a head appeared from behind the bush, followed shortly by another one. The faces were pudgy and round, and didn't come up very far from the ground, even when the boys were obviously standing up straight behind the little bush. "...Help?" the boy on the left asked nervously.

"Yes... please. I'm lost."

"Lost from where?" the little boy asked incredulously.

"Um... very far away, I think," Nichole replied uncertainly, looking around vainly. "A place called Dinuba..."

The boy regarded her suspiciously. "Never heard of any Di-noo-buh," he said, over-pronouncing the last word.

"Yes..." she began slowly, "I get the impression that I am very far from home. I don't really know where this is, you see..."

"This is Esilva, duh," the boy on the right said tartly, speaking for the first time while in view of Nichole. The other boy glared at him for breaching his silence, but quickly returned his gaze to Nichole.

"Esilva..." Nichole repeated slowly, trying to place the name in her mind. She couldn't. "Um, what... State?" she hazarded.

"State?" the first boy said, momentarily nonplussed. "State what?"

For a moment Nichole and the boy regarded each other in equal confusion. "Oh, no no..." Nichole said after a few moments. "I wasn't asking you to state something, I was asking you what State this is."

The boy's look of incredulity did not leave his face, but he didn't say anything.

"You know, like California, Texas, Ohio, New York..."

The boy didn't move or change his expression in the slightest.

Nichole groaned. "OK, fine, look... can you just get me to a city or a building or something so that I can use a phone?"

"You sure use some weird words, but I suppose it fits the way you look," the little boy said with a slight sneer in his tone. "But I know better than to mess with Faeries..." he said, adding under his breath, "even ones that look freakishly big." Nichole rolled her eyes at the child's apparent inability to say anything truly inaudibly. "Come on, follow us," the boy said, and started off.

As they walked along, James tried to compose his thoughts. He began to hate the forest, and it seemed to become more and more vile as they walked. The stray branch against his skin began to feel like a knife, and his headache came back to him en force. The sound of the leaves under his feet seemed to swell to a cacophony, and the motions of his guide seemed to grow sluggish as James watched the tiny creature walk along.

"Are you all right?" James asked, moving to the front of his guide.

The little creature seemed to react in slow motion, reeling back as though gravity had hardly any pull on his body. When he spoke, the sound of his voice was amazingly loud, and his speech was drawn out. "Whoa there, friend!" he said in this bizarre drawl. The loud sound enraged James' headache and James reached up to massage his forehead. Through force of will, James tried to revert the world to its previous speed and volume. He tried to slow and dull his brain down to the level on which the world seemed to be functioning. Though is was uncomfortable to him, he was once again able to perceive reality as he had before.

"Hey there... wow, those were some quick movements there friend." The little creatures voice had suddenly taken on an edge of fear and suspicion. "Are you sure you're a Natio?"

James wasn't sure how to reply. "No..." he began uncertainly. "I'm, uh, human... You... know what humans are... right?"

The little creature squinted at James as if studying him closely. "Human," he repeated to himself. "That some kind of an Elf? You look a bit like an Elf... though the ears and nose are all wrong..."

"Ah, no, not like an Elf..." James said, grimacing to himself. He took and deep breath and composed himself.

"Yikes!" The creature's high-pitched exclamation dug into James' head. "I can see that! ...Your teeth are all wrong too... You're a Vampire!" the creature said with sudden horror.

"What? No!" James said, suddenly afraid of what his host might do to such a creature. "No, please, I'm not a Vampire..."

In slow motion, the little creature wheeled around and began to dash off, moving no more quickly than James could stroll. In it's drawn out speech, it yelled for help to anyone who might hear. Once again James' senses had reverted to high gear, though he didn't understand why. He tried to shout after the tiny creature, but he was too nervous to regulate his voice and all that came out at normal speed was a high pitched yelp. It sounded so unnervingly unnatural to the little create that he became flustered and fell, cutting his paw and right cheek on some low branches.

Every thought in James mind was suddenly replaced by the scent of a cigarette. His entire body yelled out for it... he could smell it on the tiny creature in front of him. He flew savagely forward, descending on the Pilius, ferociously searching for the cigarette. "Where is it?" he screeched madly, but the tiny creature couldn't understand him. Insane and frantic, James' bizarrely sensitive nose ranged over the length of the body, fixating on the creature's hand. The little creature was recovering and beginning to struggle, but James' grip was iron as he brought the hand to his mouth, sniffing at it wildly, trying to find out the hidden cigarette.

He brought the hand to his mouth, and his tongue flicked across it lightly, still searching for the taste of the cigarette. When he finally found the taste, James hardly realized that it was blood. He bit down into the hand, draining out the warm taste, drawing out the life and consuming it. James sucked on the hand for almost a minute before he felt hot liquid on his chin.

James' eyes shot open, suddenly realizing what he was doing. He got up quickly, almost loosing his balance and staggering back. Oh my God... James thought, looking down at the creature writhing on the ground. What have I done? The Pilius was pale now... almost deathly so. James brought his hand up to his lips, touching them gently. Afraid of what he knew he would see, James brought his fingers out in front of his face so he could see them. Bloody. No... James though in horror. James was suddenly gripped by another fear: What they would do to me, if they found out? He looked down piteously at the tiny little creature lying helplessly on the ground.

It doesn't matter what they decide to do with me, he told himself, firmly. I have to help him.

"There it is," Pavrul announced, pointing through the trees. Nichole could just make out some houses through the dense forest, in the direction which her little companion indicated. Libitav, the other child, had gone on ahead of them to announce their impending arrival.

"I can barely see it," Nichole conceded.

The little boy hrumfed at her. "You sure have lousy eyesight for a Faery," he pointed out.

"Yeah... I know..." She wasn't ready to tell them that she wasn't a Faery just yet. In fact, she wasn't sure herself. She did have wings all of a sudden... who could say what had happened... where she was or what she was? She couldn't... not anymore.

After another few minutes of walking, they emerged from the cool, shady forest into the heat of a summer day. A dirt road came toward them from the right, and curved back away from them off to the left. On their right it followed the stream, but where it turned away to Nichole could only guess at. Along the road were buildings of different shapes and sizes, though nothing above two stories. The architecture looked primitive to Nichole, and there was no sign of mechanization anywhere.

"This is... a real town?" Nichole asked guardedly, leaving open the option that it was simply some kind of theme park or historic preservation.

The boy regarded her with suspicion. "Of course it's a real city," he said. "Why would we live here if it weren't?"

Nichole wasn't wholly assured by this, but she let the subject drop. Up in front of them, Libitav appeared out of a door, followed closely by an elderly looking man. The man was quite short and round, but looked normal enough. It was the other creature which followed him that made Nichole start slightly. It was an ape-like creature, about the same height as the little man, totally naked but covered in fur that stuck straight out from his body, except for his face and the palms of his hands.

Pavrul noted Nichole's reaction with slight confusion. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, uh... n--nothing," Nichole stumbled, trying vainly to hide her surprise at the sight of the Pilius.

The little man regarded Nichole for a moment from his distant vantage and then turned towards his companion, as they seemed to enter an animated conversation. After a few moments of arm-flailing and debate, they started towards Nichole again. Recovering from her initial shock, Nichole also started walking again, with Pavrul following close behind her.

Once they had gotten within several meters of one another, Nichole called out to the two men approaching. "Hello!" she said, trying to sound as friendly as she could.

The Pilius immediately turned toward the small man and starting chittering wildly. The man tried to calm the other creature, and when he had been at least moderately successful at this, he turned to Nichole.

"Hello," he called out, in a somewhat more guarded tone than Nichole had used. "What can we do for you... uh, miss?"

"Nichole," she said quickly. "My name is Nichole Kharl. I'm, um, somewhat lost..."

"That was quite obvious from our first glimpse of you. I had thought the reproachable Libitav to be exaggerating, but it appears he was actually somewhat guarded in his description of you."

Nichole was becoming nervous. This man's demeanor was not exactly welcoming. "What... what do you mean?"

The man took a deep breath and regarded Nichole from head to toe for at least the third time. "You are, shall we say, somewhat out of place here."

Nichole began to tense and her wings started slowly to unfold from behind her. The monkey-thing jumped back at the sight and cowered behind the short man. The short man inhaled deeply and raised his chin slightly, as in defiance of fear or some threat.

"It's not natural!" the little ape-like thing cried suddenly from his hiding place behind the short man, speaking for the first time. And then, as if gaining some strength of will from the outburst, he came out into full view and took a few steps toward Nichole. His gaze was piercing and hateful, and Nichole became agitated and nervous, unsure why this creature should hate her so much. "Unnatural!" he declared again, as though there was an audience present, when really the only other creature in view was still his short companion.

Nichole wasn't sure what to do. It was true... that was the problem. She didn't know what to say because his accusation was true, but... "So what?" she asked suddenly, defiantly.

The monkey-creature which stood pointing at Nichole with his head turned toward his companion suddenly snapped his head back toward Nichole, eyes blazing with hatred. "'So what?'" he echoed in rage. He turned back to his companion. "She's of the devil!" he hissed. "Kill her! Kill her now before she infects the whole town with evil!"

Nichole gasped. "What?" she cried in alarm and dismay. "There's nothing evil about me. I'm just-- I'm just a normal girl! ...Except for, um, these wings..." She looked down at her broken left wing sadly.

"Exactly!" the little creature shrieked triumphantly. "She's obviously some sort of unholy cross between a Faery and an Elf. A Faery and an Elf!" he repeated for emphasis, gesturing wildly to his companion.

"Now now, Ecclesia," the short man said, "we don't know what she is yet. We mustn't jump to conclusions."

"It's hardly 'jumping to conclusions'!" Ecclesia yelled back madly. "It's obvious! Why do you insist on protecting this... this abomination, Oportet?" In acid tones, the Pilius added, "Your rule isn't ironclad, you know. You cannot afford to loose the support of the Church."

Oportet cleared his throat nervously. "You know I support the Church in all matt---"

"If you stand for this abomination in our midst, now," Ecclesia cut him off wildly, "you go against all that the Church stands for!"

Oportet took a breath as if to give some retort, but stopped himself. He looked down at the ground and let out the air he had inhaled, growling to himself. "I would not oppose the Church, Ecclesia," he said solemnly, in a resigned voice, his hands fidgeting in agitation. Quickly he turned his head and yelled out for guards, who emerged from a nearby building and were at his side in seconds. "Escort the heretic," Oportet grimaced slightly at his use of the word, "to a cell." He indicated Nichole with a small hand gesture. "Yes, Sir!" came the automatic soldier's response. "Come along, heretic," the guard said, in a hateful tone. No investigation was necessary for the guard to know that she was against the Church. He had been told so, and that was enough. And for anyone who opposed the Church, death was too good, much less a cell where she might cling to her wretched existence a little while longer. She was lucky to be treated this way.

Oportet and Ecclesia silently watched the guards move off toward the jail house, Oportet looking sadly on while Ecclesia wore a pleased expression. Nichole walked in front of her guards, looking back at the two who had sent her to her imprisonment with horror and fear, unable to do anything but walk onward to her cell.

Oportet was about to say something to Ecclesia when a small boy came running up to them, gasping for breath. "Quickly, Ecclesia, please!" he panted. "Paliurus is ill, he needs your help!"

James walked along somewhat slowly, carrying the weight of his fallen guide through the intermittent sunlight that filtered down to the forest floor. He had been continuing on in the direction which his guide had originally been taking him, hoping all the time that it was indeed the right way. He was questioning himself as he walked, also, though for the most part he wasn't sure what to think or believe.

What have I become? he asked himself. How could I have let myself almost kill this creature? How will I get home? What will they do to me, if I ever find the place where this creature comes from? How can I shake off this terrible new nature which I have unwittingly received? How can... how can I make things like they were? ...Do I want to make things like they were?

He didn't have any answers, but his mind continued to race on; wondering, probing, questioning. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. Is that...? He strained his eyes, trying to see through the thick forest. A... a building. He was sure now; there was definitely a building up ahead. Quickly he checked the pulse of his cargo. It was slow, but still beating steadily. He increased his pace, heading directly for the building.

He reached the edge of the forest three minutes later, getting his first unobstructed view of the little town. Dirt roads, wooden buildings... something that looked like a miniature horse tied up in front of one of the businesses. Shifting his hold on the small ape, he cupped a free hand in front of his mouth. "Hello! I need a doctor! I have a sick..." he faltered, "uh... person here!"

A door opened up, and a small head came out. James had expected to be greeted by a furry head, but he was somewhat relieved to see a "normal" looking head. The face frowned at him. "Sick?" it asked, guardedly.

"Um, yes... he's... he, uh, lost a lot of blood. He needs help. Is there a doctor here?"

Still looking at him suspiciously, the little boy stepped out of his home and stood on his porch. "...Doctor?" he asked, as though it was a term he rarely ever used.

James was becoming upset. "Yes! A doctor! Please, quickly!"

The little boy continued to look at him cooly, suspiciously, attempting to appear important to this new outsider. "Who is it?"

"I don't know!" James cried. Then added, in an attempt to alleviate the boy's suspicion, "I... I just found him like this."

The boy jumped off his porch and went over to James. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "...Paliurus..." he said under his breath. Then he looked up into James' eyes. "Paliurus!" he exclaimed, as though this were meant to be earth-shatteringly important to James. "Stay here," the boy said quickly, "I'll get Ecclesia!" And with that, he dashed off.

And so ends my life, Nichole was thinking. She was pressed up against the stone wall of her cell, knees pressed against her chest, hair falling loosely around her face. A crappy life, she reflected, a crappy death. I shouldn't even have expected better. Expectations are tantamount to dreams, and no dreams come true. She continued to sit silently. After a few moments, she continued her thoughts. It's a perfect world, she said to herself. Perfectly controlled. No crime, no hunger... no tolerance or understanding. Because if new things are tolerated, they will disrupt the nature of things. If new things are understood or accepted... well, then, they might even change the order of things.

A tear ran down Nichole's cheek. She opened her eyes slowly, and looked down at the dirt floor of her cell. Her eyes were red and her stare was vacant, as if all the life and emotion had been lost in her tear. She moved her hand down to the earth, making lines with her fingers, and she spoke under her breath as she wrote. "Kill it," she traced out in the dirt, "Because we cannot understand it." She closed her eyes and sank to the floor.

It wasn't a mistake, before, she admitted to herself, seeing the scar on her wrist in her mind's eye. Not exactly. It wasn't time yet. She had still had hope then, down inside where she couldn't see it. But now she did not. Now she was only an empty shell. No razors, this time, no blood. No need. She simple lay down, and let her life force leave her.

It was at least an hour later when they threw James in the cell. At first he had evaded their questions, but he eventually could no longer stand it, and he admitted to what he had done to the little ape-thing. They had panicked, not sure of what to do. They had almost had him immediately killed, but instead they decided to lock him up in a cell for the rest of his eternal life. Paliurus survived -- just barely. Still, James was much relieved. But now his senses were sharpening again, and his headache was beginning to return. He understood what was happening, this time; the hunger was growing within him again. He needed blood again.

He could restrain himself now... but later he wasn't sure what would happen. He could envision himself attacking the boy who brought him dinner. And what would become of him, then? He would be left to starve... never dying but withering away in the agony of his body crying out for blood. Writhing alone in his cell, catching rats when he could? As James contemplated what might become of himself, he began to wish they had killed him, instead of deciding to lock him away.

Down the steps of the prison, he walked, down to subterranean area where he was to be kept; the most secure part of the prison. There was no chance of him escaping from his captivity. They were about twenty-five meters from his cell when James' breath was taken from his lungs.

"There's... a girl," he said, stopping and turning to his guard.

"Don't stop walking," the guard snarled at James. James started walking again. "Yes, there's a girl," the guard said once James had started again.

"She... she has wings," James said. They weren't visible to the guard from where they were, but James' overactive senses could see them clearly.

"Yes. She's a freak; an abomination. Just like you."

James swallowed, but his throat was dry. "I... I can't go into that cell." James knew that if he was placed in with her, it was only a matter of time before his thirst for blood was so great that he would attack her. He didn't want to do that.

"I beg to differ," the guard said maliciously. "You will go in to that cell. You have no choice."

"You have no choice," the guard repeated, more severely.

James fidgeted, helpless to do anything. After another moment of walking, he was again surprised and stopped.

"Keep moving!" the guard yelled, irritably.

"She's... she's not moving," James said quietly, fearfully.

"She's probably just asleep, now keep moving!"

"No, no..." James said, beginning to walk again. "I mean, she's... she's not moving at all. She's not breathing."

"Devil!" cried the guard. "It is unnatural to have senses such as yours. I will not hear your treachery. Now remain silent!"

James frowned but kept walking in silence. After another minute they had reached the cell.

"Look, now," James said, softly. "Look how still she lays. Her breast isn't moving at all... She's dead."

"If," the guard said viciously, refusing to look at Nichole's body,"it is dead, then the corpse will be removed shortly. Until then, you," he said, pushing James into the cell and closing the door, "will just have to accept that." And with that, the guard was off, walking away down the corridor.

Slowly, James turned away from the sight of the disappearing guard and looked mournfully down at Nichole's body.

"What happened to you, I wonder..." he asked sadly. He looked over Nichole's body, her broken wing, and was suddenly overcome with sadness. A broken wing... he thought. A vision of beauty and sadness. He looked away because he couldn't stand to see Nichole's broken wing or mournful face. Then he saw the two lines she had sketched into the dirt of the cell.

Kill it, he read to himself, Because we cannot understand it. He swallowed, and tears began to form at his eyes. He went to the wall opposite Nichole and sat down. And as he looked at her, he understood. Somehow he knew her, then, knew everything about her. He experienced her sadness, he lived her memories, he felt the poetry that had flowed from her pen course through his own consciousness. And he cried for her, and he cried for himself, and then he understood something more.

The only way I can disown this horrible nature, he suddenly knew, is to give away my immortal life. He would die, he knew, but he could give this girl who had never known in life... he could give her that which she deserved. And... and he would no longer be a Vampire. Small consolation for a dead man, but consolation enough when faced with a life so barren. And then he understood. More than just what she was and what had happened to her, but what she could become, what she could accomplish... in life. The decision was made with no internal struggle or debate, but with absolute assurance and peace. He closed his eyes and let his life slip away, across the cell, into Nichole.

Suddenly, the still and fragile figure breathed with life once again. A few moments later her eyes fluttered open, and she saw the figure across from her in the cell. She knew who he was, and what he had done, though she had never seen him before. And divine gift or supernatural force had allowed James to know, to grok Nichole, and to give his life over to her... whatever it was now allowed Nichole to know James. And the bond which they had shared was beyond mortal understanding... and Nichole understood that the life she had been given was the immortal life of a Vampire... but she also understood her own nature. The nature of... a Faery. She had been given this new existence when she had entered Venestia, but she had not understood it until now. It went so far beyond her wings... It was part of her soul, and her soul was part of nature, and the Universe, and... all.

She picked herself up off the floor and moved over to James' body. She kneeled down and bent over James, moving her lips lightly down to his, and she kissed him. A kiss beyond love or affection, a kiss of life. And he opened his eyes and looked at her, and he smiled, and they embraced. And knowing full well that she would never again have the fantastic nature of a Faery, Nichole eloigned James and herself from Venestia forever.

Winter was coming to an end, spring slowly but assuredly asserting itself -- in the smell of the air, the color of the hillsides, the clearing of the sky from day to day. It was beautiful. James was for the most part, however, ignoring it. He and Nichole were walking along, holding hands, talking, laughing. Walking close beside Nichole, feeling her body, hearing her voice, was as magical as anything that had happened to him over the last few days. A slight wind blew, cool, but not uncomfortable from inside James' light jacket, being warmed by mutual closeness.

Nichole noticed a house as they walked along the uneven road. It stood alone, dilapidated, largely un-noted. She smiled, and didn't mention it. It was just an old house now. They had visited the site where James had fallen through to Venestia, but there was nothing there now. A few rocks, nothing out of the ordinary for a pasture that size. Nichole wondered if her portal still had some vestiges of magic in it, but she didn't really care. She didn't want to go back.