forum Cinnamon's corner of stories
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Hello! I am writing a story (Like many others), and I occasionally write small interactions between characters (Usually when I'm bored). Each scene sets up narratives and dives into backstories as they can be from any point in time. This is purely a collection of each scene and other writings from my ongoing project I would like to share. While most scenes are between 5-10 paragraphs, I may have some that are longer.

-Please be warned there are triggering topics concerning, but not limited to: abuse, violence, death, self-injurious behaviors, etc-

I may also post other additions to story, like chapters or longer scenes.

Edit: Description of TT. I think it may help in grasping the stories a little better: Creatures called Supernaturals or Inhumans have inhabited the world ever since its birth. People with second sight called Clairvoyant can see these creatures compared to normal humans, who live in bliss. Demons, who are a type of supernatural, had been thriving in the human world until these clairvoyants learned how to defeat evil. These Clairvoyant keep the balance between good and evil at an equilibrium. Other than demons, there are other Inhumans. Most of them never pose a threat and are on good terms with humans. Some might get corrupted by darkness or demons, and some might hate humans or be hostile.

Dogs of War:

Between: Cerberus and Bane

“You pathetic bitch.” Another blur of claws came at Bane’s face. Fire burned in the eyes of his father, the type that was produced by an arsonist. He slashed at his son with the speed of an angered mama bear. Bane stepped further away from his father, backing himself into a hollow outlet.

His father tried to harm him in a small room, leading his poor son to think he only wanted to talk. The atrocity pack owned this building. The guard dog coterie is what some may call it. It was one of the few nice things their demon cousins gave them. This room served as his father’s private study, but now turned into a bloody fighting rink. Small fissures in the wall mocked him. They showed glimpses of the outside, but Bane was locked in.

“I should have ripped out your eye long ago. I should have killed you long ago!” His father’s voice came with paranoia. “You were supposed to be perfect, but you spoiled that!” His father’s teeth bared. His father held a wide gait and laughed with a hard edge. A set of claws came at Bane, sinking into the flesh on his face. His eyes bolted closed instinctively as the claws passed over. Violent pain webbed through the nerves of his face, and he clutched it in dismay.

Opening his eyes, a film of red clouded his ability to peer out of his right eye. Red was everywhere! The color messed with his mind. A powerful force tugged at the collar of his shirt, his feet sliding off the ground. His father sneered in his face, the viscous red liquid dripping onto his hands. Inertia pulled Bane’s body along as his father flung him against a wall. It crumbled behind him as he fell to the ground. Bane’s body gave off a needle-like shiver.

“Never should have made you my beta, you stupid animal!” Silence overcame the room as the last footsteps echoed far off. Bane lay in a small puddle of his blood, blind and in pain. Intoxicating blood filled the room with its odor. His body ached for relief. It was time to escape. Now.

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Claws of Malevolence:

Between: Cerberus and Orthrus

Blood dripped from claws in a rhythm of malevolence. Orthrus lay on the cold floor in agony, blood pooling from his face. Saliva mixed with the liquid, blood as red as wine. A hole was etched in the side of his cheek. Orthrus brushed his fingertips along his exposed teeth. Pain fluttered through his face, and his brother glared at him with embers.

“Have you learned your place yet?” His brother looked down at him, leaning against a column in his private study. “My beta shouldn’t challenge my authority.” A paranoid quiver escaped his voice. He inspected the blood dripping harmoniously from his claws. “I should have just cut out your tongue.” Fear clouded his brother’s eyes for a moment, then turned to bleak ill will.

Orthrus spat out blood and shakily got to his knees. The light dimmed, and a laugh echoed throughout the room. Small torn books mocked him. They only had small scars. “You’re drooling blood all over my carpet.” His brother sneered. It was another form of mockery. Orthrus let out a small whine as his body longed for strength.

“Oh, shut it. I don’t want to hear your stupid howls for help. You don’t deserve help.” A smile etched across his brother’s face. One could tell it belonged to the itch of murder, but he didn’t question it upon fear. Orthrus’s brother pulled him up by the arm and tossed him into the door away. He tumbled like a deflated ball.

“Get out of here, you weak link. You don’t deserve all I give you.”

Orthrus picked himself up and stumbled off further into the atrocity pack’s building. He collapsed to the cold, hard ground near the front door.

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Valuable Teachings:

Between: Cerberus and Osiris

“Get up.” His uncle commanded brusquely. Osiris spit out blood pooling in his mouth, blood splattering over the scorched silt. On his hands and knees, he glared at his uncle. The burnt grass spread gray ash on his button-up. Gazing up into the hazy, red sky, Osiris grinned. His teeth had become tinged with red. Leaping up from the ground, kicking up the scolding silt, he slashed at his uncle with an umbra dagger.

Osiris’ uncle parried this attack, grabbing Osiris by the collar, and launcher him against a wall of gray brick. It belonged to the atrocity pack’s headquarters, and they trained out back. His body lurched when his back made contact, his breath escaping him with a “hmph”. His chest exploded in pulsating beats.

“Pathetic.” His uncle snapped, “You can do better. Try again, or you’ll end up like your parents.” A smile engraved on his face with amusement, as if he enjoyed abusing his nephew. Osiris panted, trying to regain his breath. Using the gray brick as a crutch, he sprung up using forces of motion and struck at his uncle once more. With a sharp tug at the nape of his neck, his uncle held him up like a small puppy.

“Useless! You are truly useless! You are useless if you cannot use the shadows to your advantage. If the enemy detects you, you are useless. If they can even fight back, YOU. ARE. USELESS!” He pressed Osiris's head against the wall. “If I can harm you, you are useless. Now try again!” His uncle’s powerful hands smashed his head against the wall and dropped him. Osiris lifted a hand to his temple and came away with blood.

Slowly standing up, he slunk into the shadows casted by the headquarters. Staring down his uncle with intensity, he felt the shadows shift around his body. Death swarmed him and the coolness brushed against his skin. Darting out of the shadow’s icy grasp, he struck his uncle from behind. His uncle turned around, taking a dagger to the shoulder. He smiled cruelly.

“Good job.”

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Break of Silence:

Between: Nicholas and Tessa

Since the days of his father's assassination and his mother's suicide, Nicholas worked unbelievably hard. His place in the council was like no other, left by his father to be filled with another Rowland. This position filled him with sorrow for his lost father, but grateful that he could create laws to shape peace among witches and other species.

He was married to a girl named Tessa Valence. He had welcomed her into the Rowland family to escape the horrible Valence greed. Her father wasn’t so pleased. The man killed his father. That was the man who left his father’s body to rot, letting his mother discovered it, and driving herself to suicide. That man probably planned to kill him next.

Tessa stood by Nicholas's side while he was writing a new law. She watched as his hand moved meticulously across the crisp paper on which he placed his thoughts. Ink blot the paper in the shapes of butterflies. She stared at the paper with melancholy. Thoughts clouded her bright blue eyes as Nicholas wrote “Unity among witches and humans”.

“Father won’t be pleased,” Tessa whispered. She leaned against his wooden chair.

“Your father likes nothing I do. He is angry I'm using my spot on the council to change laws,” Nicholas told her.

Tessa shifted but said nothing. Silence fell among the couple. Scratching from the quill tip was the only sound. The patience of a thousand years breaks the air as Nicholas dots his last period. A law to make the prosecutions against humans illegal and hopeful unity among all those who lived in London. Humble beginnings were to only be made, but threats still loomed in the air. Silas Valence was a clever man who used lies to get his wants. It wouldn’t be too long before he caught wind of the law and tried to have Nicholas removed. Permanently.

“Beware, dear,” Tessa yawns, “Father will try to have you executed.” A solemn look washed over her face. The illumination from candlelight caught in her glassy eyes. She was nearly crying. She was clearly worried about the feud between Nicholas and her father. He brushed her cheek and hummed a soothing song.

“It’ll be alright. I'm not going anywhere you can’t reach,” He promised. Black ink-stained his palms in blotchy patterns. He smiled, that same ink-smeared on his cheek in a goofy fashion. Little did they know, trouble brewed quietly. It crept up on the Rowlands ever so quietly before it pounced.

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Day of Darkness:

Between: Gabriel and Silas

The boisterous wind blew through thick fabrics that protected the fair skin of Gabriel. He stood on a precipice, glancing over the very land he wanted to defend. Next to him, a wary man stood, fearful of the height. He swallowed his bile and turned to Gabriel. Gabriel fiddled with his thick coat and pushed back his blond hair, glaring at the wary one. A question hung in the wait, awaiting a response. The response would not come, but it was no use, the other would not change his mind. Gabriel paced the cliff, his stern eyes scanning the outer walls of London. He had stolen another life, but there was no agony of guilt. He had fought for many years to reach this level. Gabriel entitled himself to more than was acceptable.

Gabriel placed a calloused hand on the wary one’s shoulder, let go, and walked to the edge of the precipice. “Do not fret, my dear Silas. We have worked hard to earn our placements. After all, you hired me to help with the uprising. The council will be usurped, and Nicholas’ laws will be no more.” His smile was venomous.

Silas flinched, not reassured by Gabriel’s words. He wanted this more than anything, but as of now, his plans were falling apart. They had gotten this far. “But Nicholas and the others… they could easily tear me apart. They could easily tear our plans apart.”

With an irritated sigh, Gabriel grabbed Silas by the shoulders, facing the man towards him. His grip tightened, digging into the delicate skin of the defeated warlock. Gabriel took a handoff off Silas’ shoulder, and grasped his chin, tilting the warlock’s head up. His warm breath traveled down his friend’s neck, spreading into the air like plumes of smoke. “No, my dear friend, they cannot. Nicholas is a pacifist himself. He is peaceful. The best he can scare off is an unimpressed rabbit.” He flicked his eyes up. “Jacob is a follower of Nicholas. He could only bruise your arm. Thomas may be a hothead, but his ass can’t escape without punishment. Nicholas will restrain him before a battle ensues. Kaz, much like Thomas, he's a hothead but only when provoked. Last but not least, Gideon. He’s quiet and non-confrontational.” Gabriel belts a dry, sour laugh, letting go of Silas. “There is nothing to worry about, Silas. We only need to watch the fire blaze.”

Silas patted down the ruffles in his shirt, smiling at the thought of putting London in turmoil. He could taunt and kill those five council members to his heart’s desire. Two could turn on each other and three wouldn’t fight back. “Yes, we shall watch the council blaze. I am glad I have hired you, my dear friend. Your words are brilliant and your ideas— oh! They are so captivating!” He clapped his hands together. Wind blew through his brown hair. It fell in his eyes and obscured his vision to show something greater. “I will send a threatening letter with a time limit to put Nicholas on edge, then once the five arrive, chaos will reign.”

Gabriel’s dead eyes lit up for a moment. “Yes, that will do, Silas. I can finally run my knife through Rowland’s belly! I can eliminate his family line!” He cackled, playing with a small dagger in between his fingers. A small grin crept on his face. “Let us unleash hell among the human sympathizers. No law such as Nicholas’ needs to be put in place. Those other monsters are impure.”

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Distorted Safe Haven:

Between: Enoch and unknown

Thunder crackled throughout the dreary, blue-gray sky. It plunged the street into harsh darkness, with tiny electrons floating about. The air had dry qualities to it, tingling and drying out the lips of the man bolting down the sidewalk. He had a gun in hand, finger wrapped around the taut trigger. No rain fell, for the night had brought a dry thunderstorm. An omen that struck immense fear through the man who carried the gun. Lagging behind, an unknown figure followed the man, its lips pursed. Wind ruffled the trees, making a veracious sound as leaves and branches rattled in unison. Each footstep scattered gravel and battled the thunder.

A desperate voice carried throughout the street, trying to drown out the thunder with it high squeals. “Please, Mr. Rivers, do not run!” It cried, catching the attention of the man who carried the gun. He came to a stop, spun around, and raised the gun into the depraved night. His face was unreadable, and his mouth was twitching in anticipation of any unwanted ideas.

“I have a name!” The man shouted, his voice strained as the unknown figure crept closer. His apprehensive body locked up, sweat running down his face. The thunder crackled once more, giving into the suspense that kept the man locked up tight. “It is Enoch!” The gun's barrel was aimed into the hazy darkness. A figure appeared with a visible weapon but a still-obscured face. Enoch held the rifle steady with his jaw clenched. “Do not come closer.”

The figure stopped, placing the blade in front of his chest in case Enoch fired the weapon. Its green eyes glowed against the rough night, wary of Enoch’s brash behavior. “Enoch, we would be safe with us. Your family would be safe with us. You know you cannot fight them off with a gun, sir.” It begged Enoch softly, but the man was not having it.

“NO! I do not like using blades. They are a disgrace, we certainly do not live in the 1300s.” Enoch drew in a steady breath, lowering the gun slightly. “I can kill them with a gun.” He turned his heel, putting the gun down by his side in case it were to go off. He started his dreadful walk in the storm that still engulfed the night sky. Men would not be able to see any stars tonight, not with the demonic weather. Enoch’s footsteps had become quiet as he tried to blend into the void of night.

The figure watched Enoch stroll off. The man confused him so. What was hard to recognize that your family and life were at stake? A stubborn mentality may fail to see the risk. Placing the sword back into its sheath, it opened its mouth to speak. “But what about your child? He will be murdered.” But Enoch paid the figure’s claim no mind. He only replied with, “I will protect my child.”

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Seth's Recruitment:

Betwixt: Seth, Ender, and Nathaniel

Seth stared at the studies strewn across his desk. His office was wholly dark. The only source of illumination was a dim hallway light. An ominous thought loomed over his mind. The dwelling notion of the shadowy figures in the doorway made his body twitch; his skin felt like a pincushion. Why were they there? Where did they derive? All these questions swirled around his head. Maybe he had gone off the deep end. No—NO! These figures were actual. Irritation swelled through him, and he slammed his hands on the desk. Disturbed papers floated to the ground. Sweat beaded on his forehead because of the spanning heat over his body.

Heavy footsteps plodded towards him. Hell was to occur; it always lingered close. A rough hand clasped his shoulder, and a warm breath rasped in his ear.

"You have alienated everyone in your life. Look at yourself. You have become estranged from existence, but there’s a solution," Insisted the low, raspy voice Seth could recognize as a man. “You may join my efforts, my side of the tracks, and loneliness will never envelop you again.”

Why him? What significance would he have as a member of an unknown cause? How was he found? The room spun. The heat in his body grew too intense, and his eyes darted side to side. Seth stumbled around in confusion, aware of the pair of eyes watching him. His vision enclosed, and his legs buckled. Seth fell to the ground with a thud. The man that stood by his desk, the one who tried to recruit him, slunk close. He kneeled next to Seth and gently propped him into his arms.

"You’re delirious," The man said. He put the back of his hand onto Seth’s forehead. “Your delirium—likely caused by the fever that plagues your body.”

Aches and twinges put Seth through anguish. The other figure glared at him from the doorway. Its relentless eyes studied him, burning into his soul. The figure strode from the doorway to the middle of the room. It crouched next to the man who held Seth, placing its hand on the man’s shoulder. Even when crouching, the height between the individuals was notably significant.

"Find any source of light you can!" The man demanded. The shorter individual stood up and shuffled around the room.

It looked bleak for Seth as the shorter man clicked on a light. Glancing over at the two people, his acute mind worked quickly to figure out these men were demons. The one with white hair and curvy purple horns tried to hold a dissimulation, but Seth could see him for what he actually was. The other, with ash blonde hair and striking navy eyes, gave off a gruesome smile.

"Don’t worry, we’re here to help you." The one with navy blue eyes spoke once more. Seth knew they weren't there to help, and that was the shocking horror of it all.

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Beginning and End of Brothers:

Betwixt: Ira and Haiti (Mostly)

Haiti’s mother was never kind and sickly. He could see through her ever so slightly. She raised his brother and him in far-off heavens, their own little pocket of the expansive universe. One out of the many timeless days, their mother, barely seen with the naked eye, took his brother into another room in their palace. Haiti sat on his black throne, awaiting their return. Mother emerged with his brother, Ira. She was barely there, hanging by a thread. She took Haiti into the other room. Gold trim outlined the ceiling and floorboards. Floor made from the finest marble and a lone throne in the corner. Mother had prepared for her death. That’s how they got there. They knew that, but Ira was reluctant. Mother told him how to be patient and hold a balance between his abilities and Ira’s.

After the small conversation, mother had faded completely. He stepped out of the room, and his brother immediately questioned where mother had gone. Ira held a pained look.

"YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED MOTHER!" Tears rolled down his face. He wanted to refuse his mother’s sickness and her death.

"I did not hurt her. You knew she was fading. You know that is why she created us. She finally passed in peace," Haiti tried to calm his brother.


"Why would I want complete control? We shall rule together—mother taught us that."

"You would want control because of the darkness inside of you—" And with that, Ira turned around and stormed off. They did not exchange words for months. Ira would coldly glare at his brother every time they made eye contact. This cold glare stuck with Haiti, his brother looking at him as evil with a deep hatred. After these ageless months, Ira finally accepted that his mother really faded, and that Haiti didn’t kill her. It once again filled him with a love for his brother. Haiti, however, became filled with resentment for his brother.

For many millennia, the two brothers lived in each other's presence. Ira showed his brother love and Haiti showed no interest. They used to flourish in a palace of white marble floors and white brick walls with gold detail. Light poured into the palace, illuminating both the bright white and gold throne and black and red throne. Since the fallout, the palace has decayed. The marble was dull and wore little fissures. The light hardly shone, and the darkest throne sunk into shadow. Haiti wanted his own world, his own realm.

"I think we should split. I have been trapped here for too long!" Haiti faced his brother, his eyes shrouded in darkness like one who had gone insane.

"Mother told us to stick together. To look over the universe together… Haiti, do we really want to do this? It would go against mother’s wishes." Ira reflected on his mother’s words.

"This place is the bane of my existence. Mother’s palace has shown favor to you. My throne became shadowed. I have been trapped in this cage before time had a name!"

"If you truly feel that way, perhaps we should part ways. You know ‌I care about you, brother. Right?”

Haiti didn't even flinch or say anything. He had already fantasized about having his own domain. Haiti demolished the land of equilibrium. He smashed their glorious thrones, causing each to screech. The light of the ethereal realm gradually became engulfed by shadow, the void swallowing the once magnificent marble. Its delicate state had crumbled into shards. The earthquake in Haiti had destroyed the brother's long-time home.

Haiti, rife with internal animosity, created hell. Even before it was built, this place was decaying. The air was filled with the rotten remains of life. This charred realm was filled with things that would disintegrate at the touch of a finger. There was no bark on the trees, and no sap dripped. The sky was a black abyss. A thick red haze obstructed visibility. A magnificent black palace sat along a ridged gorge. It was ornately designed, with low arches and marble columns. There were round towers and a crest-adorned gate. It's almost as grand as Versailles. Haiti spent most of his time in his palace, proud of his work, but lonely. He created demons, his new subjects, and friends.

Ira, Haiti's younger brother, created heaven, a peaceful realm filled with love and light. Haiti was engulfed in a jealous rage. He sat in the throne room, where a stained-glass window depicted him as the sovereign of his newly born kingdom. The room was large and open, with few furnishings. Gold embellishments flourished on the roughness of the black marble wall. A red carpet surrounded his throne. It was black with red accents, just like his old one. The crest and arms of Haiti's throne are encrusted with ruby jewels. This throne was on a platform that was only a few steps away. For aesthetics, a small diamond chandelier hung from the ceiling. No light could enter his domain, and not even a dim light bulb could provide warmth.

His head was adorned with an obsidian circlet dotted with ruby gems. It went well with his dark suit, which was made of a soft material. It was a little baggy on him to compensate for his broad chest.

"How does my inferior brother construct a land greater than mine?" he asked the highest demon, second only to the king. In Haiti, a raging fire of hatred erupted.

"I don't know, sire," the demon shrugged, "but you, as the eldest and most formidable, should have everything great while your brother learns his lesson shadowed in your light."

"However, I am cast in Ira's shadow. He doesn't deserve his 'angles' or his 'haven' land."

Haiti shooed the demon away, resentment festering deep within him. Unlike his brother, he never stayed in touch. He debated whether to confront and diminish his brother or to remain silent. He remained silent. Haiti fantasized about blood and gore after his brother's ideas came to life. He fantasized about weakening his brother. In his reverie, a sky was painted red with the winning weapons of shadow. His brother deteriorated. The grass was to be stained with blood; each blade thickly coated in it. The river would follow, desperate to wash away the impurities. Armor fragments and unrecognizable bodies would lie to wither. He flashed a wide, gruesome grin, the kind that only a psycho would have. This daydream, however, was followed by Ira creating a new domain. This is his brother's most proud creation to date, according to Haiti's demons.

"WHAT TOMFOOLERY!" Haiti slammed his fist into the arm of the throne.

"He refers to it as Earth. Many of us have flocked there to investigate. "It's beautiful, but they want us to leave," Haiti's second growled.

"How does it look? Does it resemble his heaven?" Haiti's seconds launched into the list of world's wonders. The soft green grass is perfect for rolling around on and breaking a fall. Giant crumbling rock mountains loom above the beautiful blue sky, past fluffy clouds. Rivers cut their way through the ground, creating increasing turbulence. The Earth was bedecked with vast oceans teeming with wild waves and sea life. Tall grass plains where deer can frolic and thrive alongside other species.

"I'm sick of it! He's become too prideful of his work. There was not a single thought about me! This is my breaking point—I CAN NOT GO ON LIKE THIS ANY LONGER! I WILL NOT LET MY DEMONS LEAVE HIS LAND!" Haiti's powerful words shook the throne room.

"He wants to share it with you, sire," said his second. "He simply wants us to be gone so that a new creation known as humans can thrive."

"HA, he only cares about himself. He is self-centered. These 'humans' will not survive if I have my way."

As the days grew longer and Ira's angels fought Haiti to remove his army from the planet, he refused. Haiti exploded because of the constant harassment. He ascended to heaven with black raven wings, which carried him to paradise. It was breathtaking, with thriving cities and emerald, green grass. Clouds that resembled cotton candy. Ira ran into his brother amid the golden city, which was teeming with prominent angles. The term derives from the way sunlight refracts off the skyscraper, casting a warm, golden glow over the city. Haiti had troops with him, as did his brother.

Ira stood elegantly in a white suit, his curly blonde hair falling into his soft eyes. "We can discuss this, brother."

"There is nothing to discuss!" Haiti growled, clutching a black demon obsidian sword. This obsidian type burned angels from the inside out. "You are self-centered and arrogant. You have no regard for me! AFTER ALL, I AM YOUR OLDER BROTHER!"

"I do care for you," Ira said, his eyes tinged with sadness. "I tried to share my best creations with you, but you destroyed them, and so I banished you back to hell. Did you forget?"

“THAT DID NOT HAPPEN! YOU LIAR!” Haiti rushed his brother after he said those words. Ira's eyes were wide, shocked at his brother's insanity. He deflected the attack by creating a bo-staff at the speed of light. "Please, Brother! Please listen," he pleaded.

"I will not listen to a haughty liar!" Haiti screamed, and both Ira and Haiti's troops charged into battle. Swords and spears met with metallic thuds. The stench of gushing blood filled the air almost instantly, now tasting of sickening iron. Bodies were strewn across the battlefield, bodies that had once been joyful and full of life now reeked of grief. Men arguing about who was righteous and who was damned drowned the screams of the angel’s leader out. Haiti loomed large above his brother, and his frown transformed into a hideous grin. It showed off his elongated teeth. Ira's legs kicked to flee, but his muscles were stiff from the shock of his brother's rage.

"Please brother! Mother told us to stick together. We're supposed to support one another!" Ira pleaded. Haiti pursed his lips, preventing any words from escaping. Then, he opened his mouth and spoke in a low tone. “You never supported me. You’ve played all your cards wrong. It’s now my turn, my uprising. I am done sitting in my younger sibling's shadow. Now it’s time for you to suffer under me. Die under my precious hands. After all, it’s all your fault I turned out this way.” Every word was cold and methodically growled. Haiti plunged his knife into his brother's heart. In a deafening roar, they engulfed the battle zone, bringing all forces to a halt. Haiti smiled for the first time in response to his brother's screams and defeat. Others remained silent, while others clenched their teeth. One angel was restrained by her friends not to murder Haiti. Haiti licked his brother's blood off the knife, smiling sinisterly at the crowd. The residents of heaven damned Haiti and his army to hell. It irreversibly lost its equilibrium when a new angel appeared to take Ira's place.

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Resurrection of Hell's Newest King:

Nathaniel's senses flooded with the smell of spilled blood. For unknown reasons, Hellhounds attacked the Bureau, causing a battle to erupt. Hellhounds are ruthless demons from hell's depths. They've recently become bloodthirsty, just like their demon counterparts. He'd been meeting Ender, his guide, for several weeks in secret. Nathaniel had witnessed the functioning of his soon-to-be kingdom’s systems. He had firsthand experience with how vicious these hounds can be.

Luci, his half-sister, and him had been pursued away from the thick of battle by two of these hell dogs. The hellhounds reached such a feral state that he couldn’t control them. Nathaniel didn’t even know how to control them anyway. They had reached the edge of the forest. The sky was turning twilight as it grew darker, painted it in a variety of purples and pinks. Out of the dense foliage, a small group of 6 hellhounds emerged. The hell dogs surrounded them on all sides. They had no other choice than to battle their way out. Hellhounds, unlike their demon counterparts, died when mortally wounded. These hell dogs lacked the immortality of an angel or demon. They snarled harshly, their eyes crimson and narrowed.

"W-what should we do?" Luci inquired.

"Luc, it appears we'll have to fight our way out. No matter what, don't give in," Nathaniel growled.

A large hound bared its fangs. It hunched up and launched itself like a coiled spring. Nathaniel slashed the hound's throat in front of his sister. With a thud, it landed on the ground. Some hounds withdrew and ran further into the woods. An ear-splitting scream drew his attention to Luci. She had dug her knife into one hound's stomach, but another hound had held her. It had transformed into a humanoid and was holding a knife at Luci's neck. His sister clawed at the creature's hand, attempting to free herself. Nathaniel charged as the hound's piercing, gold eyes gazed at him. The hound slashed Luci's throat with the knife, and she collapsed to the ground, choking. He knelt down beside her.

"HELP! SOMEONE! SHE’S HURT—SHE’LL DIE!" He screamed, making his throat raw.

As her brown eyes got dull, he stroked her golden hair. She snatched his arm and said, "I love you, dear brother," before slackening. As a gold light appeared, the hound that stabbed her yelped. An angel emerged, with dark hair and brilliant amber eyes. He wore stopwatches in the loops of his belt and in the pockets of his jacket. He was holding one with Luci's name etched on it. The soul of his sister stood behind him, engulfed in white light.

"No! You're not taking her!" He shouted.

"It's her time," The angel said as he turned to face him.

"YOU STAY AWAY FROM HER!" His screech became demonic and his aura darkened. The angel stared at him wide-eyed. He whispered to himself, "the prince has awakened his abilities". Nathaniel leaped to his feet and launched himself at the angel. He felt a strong pain in his chest and looked down. The angel had stabbed him below the heart.

"I’m so sorry—but this is both your fates," He muttered sadly, almost like he didn’t want to hurt him.

Nathaniel gulped for air and collapsed to the woodland floor, his sister taken by the angel of death. Blood gushed from his wound, soaking the earth. He was struggling to breathe and sweating profusely. The pain was so intense that his vision blurred. Nathaniel closed his eyes, defying his will to stay awake. He simply opened his eyes to see himself outside his body, coated in dark blood and his pale ash brown hair soiled. In his head, he heard a soothing voice.

"Take it easy, my dear king. Your body is repairing itself, and you will soon be back on your feet. You'll rise to the rank of formidable archdemon of hell!"

The dream of a thick red sky shrouding a kingdom of blood and darkness showed itself to him. Pain engulfed his chest as the pinch of needles stitched his skin and muscles together. He wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive in this ethereal realm. Nathaniel’s body jolted to a start. His mind retold a memory. The memory of that hell’s second had told him he was a prince. He stood there, telling Nathaniel his name and being raised mortal. Hell’s king had seduced his mother, and he was conceived. An illegitimate hybrid of human and royal blood. Something in his head told him he shouldn’t exist. A small poke snapped him out of the spell. Two hellhounds stared into his eyes.

"Good morning!" One of them barked overly excitedly.

"Hello sir," The other bowed.

For a few minutes, he lay on his back. Needle pricks still tingled beneath his skin. The hounds tried to get him to stand up, but most of his body would not budge. The hounds are excited to see their king at his full potential, as Nathaniel slowly rises to his feet. He looked at them with such fury that the hellhounds were frightened. Nothing would ever be the same again. He was what they have already destined him to be an eternal demon of royal lineage, heir to hell's reign. He held the entire power of hell in his hands. The two hellhounds stood upright, gazing in the bureau’s direction. They sprinted for their lives. Nathaniel quickly turned around and saw Ian Redleaf.

"You demon scum!" He screeched. "You murdered your sister!"

He snarled coldly at Ian. How could this bitch of a deputy accuse him of murdering his sister. She was the only family Nathaniel had. She was the only person who wouldn't damn him for being half-demon. She was the only friend he had. Why wound he murder his own sister? Nathaniel waved his hand and a scythe appeared. Fitting. Its purple blade reaped shadow, the liquid darkness spilling to the ground. He held the stick of twisted wood, grinning wildly at Redleaf. The man swallowed what seemed to be a large breath, as it caught in his throat and he started to gasp. Fear grew in the deputies eyes, they grew wide like dinner plates. He wrapped his throat with his skeletal fingers, bruising it in the process. Giving a hack, he took in a large breath, his chest moving rapidly. Nathaniel watched the man choke on his own air, but did nothing to help him live. The trees that surrounded the two shook slightly. The earth returned to its normal color, his blood disappearing, for it was not that of humans.

"It is quite sad that you’re going to die today, Ian. You haven’t held this position for long, but most cannot keep this position for long. It is like a death wish, and I am here to answer the call." The devil’s deep blue eyes glittered with malevolence. In the deepening night, they appeared to glow. Redleaf was instantly knocked to the ground by Nathaniel, who swiftly swiped the scythe underneath him. The deputy banged his head against the packed soil, a small groan escaping his mouth. Nathaniel crouched down, grasping the demon hunter by his bruised, bloodied jaw. His thumb claw was pushed against Redleaf’s jugular. "Death does indeed claim the innocent victims, doesn't it? Do not mistake that, Ian. You have done much wrong."

Just as the devil was about to puncture the jugular of Ian Redleaf, sounds of people alerted him, the brunch of under brushing echoing through the haunting forest. "Goddamn it." He hissed. Flicking his contemptuous towards Ian, he stood, letting go of Ian. "You lucky bastard. You might get to live a little longer." Ian stared at Nathaniel wildly, his body frozen with perpetual fear. Blood trickled from his hairline, over his glazed eyes, and down his cheek. Nathaniel sneered, getting rid of the scythe. He investigated the area of which he died, laying on the ground. His clothes were torn and bloodied, hair still stained red. More dirt clung to the dried blood on his clothes as he lay on the woodland floor. He needed to appear injured.

@Anxietyfilledcinnamonroll group

Here is some valuable information on mortality. I have run out of scenes to post, so here is some scientific lore.

Many creatures are semi-immortal or mortal. When they have offspring, it’s hard to understand if the offspring will be mortal or not. This document is a show of species hierarchy and gene reception.

Species hierarchy:

(Pure) Demons and Angels
Hellhounds and Fae
White witches (have Angel given power) and Warlocks (Corrupted witches by demons)
(Normal) Witches
Clairvoyant (Human subspecies with second sight)


Each species has a level of mortality. Demons and angels are immortal (Biologically: major weaknesses revert the body back to a mortal state and a mortal soul). Hellhounds, witches, and the Fae are semi-immortal. Werewolves and mortals (plus the clairvoyant subspecies) are mortal.

For example, a demon has offspring with a human. That’s an immortal gene carrier plus a mortal gene carrier. Together combined, the child will be semi-immortal.

Think about semi-immortal as a combination of mortal and immortal. Being semi-immortal means you are mostly mortal (Susceptible to diseases, fatal injury, etc.) except for the anti-aging.

A werewolf (mortal) and witch (semi-immortal) child will be mortal because the mortal overtakes the immortal.

Now, what if a demon and witch have offspring? Despite what you might think, the offspring will be semi-immortal.

A mortal and mortal being will have a mortal child. A semi-immoral and semi-immortal being will have a semi-immortal child. An immortal and immortal being will have an immortal child.

Demon hybrids are a large exception that after probable death, they become immortal.

The scientific gene board of Clairvoyant is also very important to understanding how common this is. Many are blinded from the truth or hunt for sport and protection. Very few actually have probable cause. This goes hand in hand with the mortality scientific stance.

Clairvoyants are a subspecies of humans. Clairvoyants are humans who have second sight. This second sight was originally given by angels (By the leader changing Ira's creation's visual cortex slightly), but since has become a genetic asset. 2 out of 160,000 have it. These humans can see the supernatural world and through human disguises. It changed the perception of the optical lobe, making them aware of the inhuman side. Most are usually mistakenly diagnosed with Schizophrenia and hallucinations by doctors.

Two clairvoyants will 100% have a clairvoyant child.

One clairvoyant parent and a non-clairvoyance parent have a 50% chance of having a clairvoyant child.

Two non-clairvoyant parents will not have a clairvoyant child unless the angels intertwine with a set destiny. Though, it can also be recessive through generations.

Most parents will conceal their clairvoyance from their children unless they have contact with the bureau. Most think clairvoyants have a mental illness. Their minds cannot interpret what is going on behind the scenes. The child has left longing for someone like them. Most parents have mistaken this for the child’s imagination or attention-seeking. A group of clairvoyants has formed to combat demons and corrupts. Others who aren't aware of the organization may hunt these species for sport.

To a clairvoyant, finding out they’re not insane is like opening a secret world to someone.

Carrier x Clairvoyant: 25% carrier female, 25% clairvoyant female, 25% clairvoyant male, 25% normal male


Xc Y

Clairvoyant x Clairvoyant: 100% clairvoyant male and clairvoyant female

Xc Xc

Xc Y

Carrier x Normal: 25% normal female, 25% normal male, 25% carrier female, 25% clairvoyant male



Clairvoyant female x Normal male: 50% carrier female and 50% clairvoyant male

Xc Xc


Normal female x Clairvoyant male: 50% carrier female and 50% normal male


Xc Y

Normal x Normal: 100% normal male and normal female



@Anxietyfilledcinnamonroll group

Jump the Gun:

Betwixt: Ender and Nathaniel

Nathaniel hissed at the prisoner, the veins in his neck popping out. Now that the bitch had made his anger boil, it was time to exact real retribution. After slapping the prisoner in the face, he kicked him in the chest forcefully. The prisoner grunted, a hoarse pain curling out from under the gag. His distraught eye looked up at Nathaniel, worn with little sleep and too much torture. Nathaniel belted a broken laugh, the sound carrying and shattering against the walls. “YOU PATHOLOGICAL SWINE, YOU’RE TO A KING! DO NOT THINK FOR A SECOND, PUPPY EYES ARE GOING TO HELP YOU. YOU ARE WORTHLESS.”

The king’s lieutenant unsheathed his sword from its scabbard, ready to slice the prisoner in half if he made any vicious movements. The metal blade's ringing sound filled the entire space, hanging in the air with Nathaniel's laughter. With the shift of his feet, the dirt underneath him plumed up into dust. It laid itself to rest in the prisoner’s eyes, making them tear. The prisoner seemed helpless, his face twisted in pain with tear streaks staining his cheeks. Nathaniel glared at the prisoner before craning his head to scowl at his lieutenant, a blaze igniting the blue eyes. Before returning to his new experiment, he raised two fingers in the air to reprimand his lieutenant. “Stand down, Ender. There is no need, I am in no need of defending.” Nathaniel hissed, grabbing a syringe from a cabinet drawer shoved against the wall. The prisoner whimpered.

Ender looked aghast, biting his tongue before trying a rebuttal. “But… HE THREATENED YOU!” He raised the weapon, inching the point to the prisoner’s face. Nathaniel gritted his teeth, his face twisting into a wrathful snarl. He pushed the blade away with his forearm, cutting it upon the blade. “Despite the fact that you are my second, you always obey orders.” He growled quietly, poking the needle into the top of a bottle that held a strange red liquid. Blood dripped onto the floor, staining the dirt.

Ender hissed, unpleased with the current situation. He sheathed the sword, muttering under his breath, “Yes sir.” Nathaniel’s face twitched. Withdrawing the needle from the bottle, he turned his scornful glare towards Ender, abandoning his prisoner and experiment. “What was that, my lieutenant?”

“Yes, SIRE!” Ender spat back, pissed with Nathaniel’s stubbornness. He placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword, stepping back slowly. Nathaniel took a couple of methodical steps toward Ender, his smile transforming into a crooked mess, the laugh unsettling. He slashed Ender’s face with his claws, and as Ender instinctively moved to cover the scratch, injected the serum into his lieutenant’s neck. Ender’s body lurched, and he leaned over in slight pain. Slowly, but surely, he panned his eyes up at his king.

“Now, watch your ever-loving tone, you worthless demon. I won’t be as— merciful next time.” Silence took hold of the air, deafening the ear of those who listened. Nathaniel turned his back to his second, preparing to restart the experiment.

“I’VE SERVED YOUR FAMILY FOR YEARS!” Ender’s broken tone rang through the empty room. He struggled to catch a breath. The serum blazed in his veins. “AND THIS IS HOW YOU FUCKING TREAT ME?!”

Nathaniel breathed a slow breath, standing still for a few moments, back still to Ender. In a blur, Ender’s jaw was slammed against the ground, the king twisting his arm in a precarious way, bone cracking. Ender’s other arm was pinned against his back. Nathaniel leaned in close, his lips to Ender’s ear. “You may be second in command, but you cannot go step all over me.” He smirked, letting go of Ender.

@Anxietyfilledcinnamonroll group

I hate this scene, but I can't really fix it

Until Death Frees the Soul:

Betwixt: Julian and Seth

Seth pinned Julian to the ground, his hands clamped down on his shoulders. Julian wiggled under Seth’s weight, both hands gripping a dagger as if it was life or death. The point of the silver blade was pointed at Seth’s abdomen. His body trembled profusely, making it terribly difficult to keep the weapon still. Seth sneered in Julian’s face, snapping at him. The warlock's visage twitched, distorted, and was no longer recognizable. The only form of survival was to thrust the blade into Seth’s abdomen. Removing his calloused hands from his shoulders, Seth moved them up to his neck, pressing hard against his windpipe. Before he could be choked to death by what was once a friend, a horrified look crossed Seth’s face. His black eye flickered, going slightly green. He was breaking free. Free of the devil’s hold. Free of corruption. Seth panned his eyes down, staring at the silver blade targeted at his abdomen. With a composed smile, Seth grabbed onto both of Julian’s trembling hands. He couldn’t help but whimper, begging Seth to remain intact. But Seth never listened, he trusted the silver blade into his abdomen. The tip of the dagger pierced the skin, ripping it. Blood slowly dripped out of the newly open wound, stopping as the rest of the dagger entered his abdomen. Seth collapsed next to Julian, taking his weight off of his chest. The dagger dislodged itself from the wound, blood quickly spilling and occupying the wound space. It stained his clothes, the blot spreading across the thin gray fabric. His clothes restricted his chest, causing him to breathe haggardly.

“Seth!” Julian got to his knees, his hands stained with blood, and sorrow contorted his face. He kneeled next to Seth. His heavy breath grew short, turning into a pained rasp. The black in his eye bled away, returning to its original sap green. As the blood rushed from his cheeks, his skin turned pale and icy. Blood bubbled and spilled out of his open mouth. The black veins on his face disappeared, freeing him from the devil’s grasp. The blessed, silver dagger burned away the demon's blood inhabiting his frail body

“Why Seth?” Julian whined, his voice breaking and creaking in the wind. He placed a hand on Seth’s forehead. The skin was cold and sweaty. Seth’s eyes dilated to the size of dinner plates, their brightness fading fast.

Seth laughed weakly. It was more of a cold rasp than a laugh. “It was my fate. My duty to this world.” He wheezed, moving his arms to clutch his stomach. Julian would not, despite the groan of pain that escaped his lips. “It was my duty to end such a dismal fight. Oh! I am so dizzy and so tired.”

“Please be quiet. Save your strength. I-I can try to heal you and give you the second chance you deserve.” Julian moved to place his hands by the gushing wound. Blood moved in a puddle around him, staining the Earth with pure blood forever. It reached Julian, staining his knees.

“No!” He rasped harshly, his voice quiet despite the attempts to raise it. “No amount of holy anything will heal this gaping wound. Not even traditional healing can. The dagger punctured organs, I can feel it. I can feel the cold hand of death touch my pale face. But, for your sake, for the world’s sake, I will sacrifice myself in the wake.” Seth swallowed harshly. “To all the laws I broke in the angelic code.”

“No! Do not-”

Seth cut him off, a bloodied hand grabbing his wrist. His body shuttered. “All is said and done. I’m paying the price… for my mistakes.” He let go of Julian, his hand going slack. He turned his head, staring off into the distance, eyes unfocused. He took one last deep breath, his entire body going slack. His eyes glazed, and his mouth was set in a smile. He had died happy, but Julian did not know what made him so joyful. He closed Seth’s eyes and wailed in pain.

“Jules?” A husky voice inquired.

Julian whipped around to face a tall man with blood smeared all over him. Bane, his dearest friend. The hellhound seemed to have walked through hell and back. His clothes were torn, his face smeared with blood, and scratches littered the exposed bare flesh. He carried an umbra sword, the black blade smeared with crimson blood. Bane kneeled next to Julian, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. Blood and the foulness of shadows clung to his clothes,

“You’re a bloody mess.” Bane flicked his eyes over to the blood stains on Julian's clothes, then his eyes peered over to Seth’s body. “Oh, Julian.”

Julian let the flood of tears push through. He wasn’t afraid to cry in front of Bane, they knew each other well. He was never strong, the only thing that made him seem strong was his exceptional skill at magic. “I-I could have saved him…he could have had the life he wanted…”

Bane seized Julian’s wrist and shook his head. “No, Jules, you could not have saved him. He did not want to be saved, he sacrificed himself.” He took Julian into his arms, cradling Julian’s head. He whimpered, tears streaking his face. Bane comforted him, stroking his hair. “They say every angel has to go through hell to earn their wings.” He whispered to Julian.

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Don’t catch a wolf by its throat:

Betwixt: Eris and Alaska

A lone owl cooed in the night, and a forest black as a void overlooked three stone buildings. But something was not right. The owl flapped its mighty wings, frightened by something scrounging around in the underbrush. Brown feathers fluttered to the ground as the owl broke free above the canopy. Branches were snapped and leaves crunched. Cries that were muted and hushed echoed across the trees. The moon was a great sphere, shining upon the forest floor. It obscured the twinkling stars within the inky sky. Stepping into a vast clearing, a man covers his face with his hands. To look over the expansive area, he spread his finger apart. Leaves of various colors blanket the ground. The man laid his eyes upon a fallen tree trunk, moved towards the log, and sat upon it. Tears left his eyes, trailing down his distorted face. He hated what he had become.

“Alaska?” A peculiar voice yelled. It was charming, almost showing sympathy for the individual they were calling for. However, there was also a tinge of displeasure, as if they were aware that this would occur. They emerged from behind a tree and stared into the clearing. “Alaska? What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be resting.” They looked up at the moon, cursing under their breath.

Alaska shook his head, little audible gasps for breath were becoming noticeable. They disturbed the wind’s quiet whistle, making overnight dwellers scuttle off. Not a single hint pointed to the cause of his agitation. Only the moon could provide an answer. The person walked into the clearing, the moon revealing their figure. However, their eyes were wrought with annoyance with Alaska. Moving to stand above the boy, they placed her hands on their hips. “Do you know what time it is? What is wrong?” They pondered.

Alaska breathed more slowly as he worked to suppress his melancholy hiccoughs. The tears stopped as he stared the person in the eyes, despite how damning it was. He searched their face for patience but found none. “Eris— I.” It was Eris, after all. What was he thinking? They never had the patience for people. He brushed his tongue over the fangs in his mouth, wishing they would go away. With a heavy breath, he murmured. “I hate what I am. I want to go back to being human. It was simpler than howling at the moon every month.” He hiccoughed. “I am a monster” Rolling their eyes, Eris sat down next to Alaska. They gave him a dead-on look on his puppy dog face. Small pale areas shone out against his tanned skin, giant scars on the right of his face rippling the pond. The moonlight reflected off of the white stripe in his hair.

“Really? That’s why you’re out here in the middle of the night? I’m surprised I am not faced with a giant wolf at this moment.” They huffed, restraining themselves from smacking the werewolf in the face. “Look, you can’t undo the card you have been given, so deal with it. You have to be strong, you can’t just give up because you’ve been struggling for a couple of days.” Their eyes softened up, shaking their head at Alaska’s frets. “This is new for you, and as your trainer, I will help you. Not being a clairvoyant before your— unfortunate accident— must be tough.” They stood, forcing Alaska up as well. The size difference between the two was noticeable. “Think of all the others that don’t know what is going on. Why they are like this? Many clairvoyants don’t have parents to rely on, so they seek out someone who may know. It’s a never-ending cycle.” Eris started to lead Alaska away from the clearing, taking him back through the thick of trees and underbrush. “But you have me to teach you…against my will.” They giggled and Alaska rolled his eyes, looking away.

“Thanks, Eris. You’re sooo helpful.” He mumbled sarcastically. They were trying their best, but their solutions to problems were— asinine and unhelpful. And not being a people person didn’t help either. Although to give Eris some credit, they helped to cheer him up and the advice wasn’t half bad.

“Hey! I am doing my best to help you. Now, don’t be too ungrateful. After all, I could have left you out here to freeze under the cold moon. I could have left you to break and lose all control you’ve got.”

“It was a joke.”

@Anxietyfilledcinnamonroll group

I literally cannot sleep, so look at what this is! An actual part of the story (Although, Until Death Frees the Soul, is a scene in the end of the story). So, this is the prologue that I have a love-hate relationship with this. I either hate the writing or love it. Also, the reason this is a prologue is that this is a bit too short to be a chapter, and it explains why she wakes up in a strange place in the first chapter.

Also, can you guess who the group of three may be? None other than the other three main characters


Gwen trotted down the sidewalk as a saying looped in her head. She attached it to a vivid memory of a therapist’s office. She remembered every detail. Her memory twisted the brown walls, cozy chairs, and small gray carpet into a warped version of reality. “An urban town isn’t home for a child with intense imagination,” the therapist deemed. It was always her vivid imagination. The psychiatrist believed the creatures she saw were part of her creativity and she would outgrow it. That statement was far from the truth.

 Many years have passed since the visits. Those creatures were unusual features of her life. Gwen was only 19 and struggled to get a job. She walked home after another failed interview. She didn’t understand the reason she failed her interview, but a thought told her it was the mention of the creatures she saw. Gwen stopped talking about them and talked about the creatures in her journal. All that she wrote looked like delirious ramblings. Was there any hope for her?

 The weeks leading up to summer were lovely. Her neighborhood, Maymont, was booming at the moment. The cherry blossom trees that had been planted in front of the old brick house had blossomed into beautiful pink petals. It gave off a great sense of time dilation. It was getting late. Twilight had descended, turning the entire neighborhood a frenzied pink. A breeze ruffled her dark hair, which was lying flat on her chest. The streetlamps glowed with a warm radiance. Parts of the street were illuminated, but gloomy patches of shade remained. Her jeans clung snugly on her leg as the wind kicked up. Her clothing blew, and her warmth vanished into the chilly clutches of the wind. Nature's activities worsened as darkness fell, enveloping the sky in a coating of pitch darkness. The trees swayed, clanging against the houses. It frightened her, but it was nothing she hadn't experienced before. Gwen sped up her pace. The atmosphere in the area had become too weird, and an unpleasant thought had engulfed her whole. Something didn't feel quite right. What if there were a thing trailing? Something appeared to be following.

Her heart thudded against the inside of her chest. Her thoughts grew gloomy and full of possibilities. The void of night swallowed everything. Nobody will come to your aid. You can scream bloody cries into the darkness, but your screams will only be heard as nightmares. The wind, which made a low howling sound, rustled the grass. It caused the trees to pick up their rattling. She was eager to return home. But it looked as if the darkness swallowed her entirely wherever she went. Gwen heard the scratch of claws striking the pavement. She was being pursued by a thing in the dark.

Her throat constricted in thought of what might happen next. When she turned around, she saw nothing but blackness. What happened to the streetlights? Did they blink off? Through the surrounding the darkness, two red eyes gazed at her. Nothing was there; it was all in her head. The streetlights were still on, providing illumination to ward off the darkness. In her ears, the rattling trees grew louder, and a low, snotty snarl came from the darkness. She wished for time to stand still, so she could collect her thoughts. Gwen turned to flee, but the black thing had leaped on her. She trembled under the weight of its paws and body.

The creature's features could now be seen. It had a black wolf's visage and long ebony fur, as well as sharp ears angled on its head. It possessed a long snout with needle-like teeth and blood-red, constricted pupils. The wolf-like beast had to be at least the size of a Great Dane. It hissed at her, and its breath smelled like rotten milk. She only hoped to scream, but she made no sound. The wolf-like thing sniffed her. It roared and snapped her collarbone. Fear of its needle-fangs penetrating her neck paralyzed her entire body. It encircled her neck with its mouth. She closed her eyes, expecting a snap, but there were none. Gwen reopened her eyes to watch the best fall to the ground, releasing her neck from its grip. A silver sword protruded from its back, with the tip thrust into its stomach.

The beast twitched and whined, then fell silent. Her head throbbed from being slammed onto the pavement. From what she could see, there was a group of three standing over her. A man reached down and slid the sword out of the beast. The streetlamps flickered on, and his features were visible. He was tall and the light outlined his light muscles. His hair was jet black, and his face had a grim look. He wore a black bomber jacket. A man that was a little shorter than him whispered in his ear. The boy whispered in the other’s ear, had red hair, and also wore a black jacket. Gwen couldn’t see his face well. The man with black hair crouched next to her.

“Are you alright, miss?” Two fingers brushed over her temple. She saw the sparkle of red blood on the finger of the man. Her eyes grew wide, and she started to freak out. The man placed his hands on her shoulders, restricting her movement. Thrashing her head about probably wasn’t the best idea. “It must have been traumatizing.” He muttered, his tone slightly— monotone. She couldn’t tell if he held sympathy. Gwen was initially unaware of the sword cuts below her sternum and the bite marks on her neck. She felt chills run up and down her spine as the blood ran down her neck. A few blood stains started to appear on her clothing. Gwen's vision blurred, her field of view shrunk, and the hammering in her head grew louder. The man’s words were barely audible. She could only hope to get some rest soon.

The man examined his fingers, turning his attention to Gwen. Noticing she was falling asleep, his expression shifted slightly. Snapping his fingers, she opened her eyes at the piercing noise. “Do not fall asleep. Not until we can get you to our medic— well, a medic.” She didn't believe he was aware of how awful a cover-up artist he was. She couldn’t stay awake much longer. Her eyes were on the verge of closing and her head hurt so much that the only thing that could help her was to sleep.

The man’s weight shifted as he noticed something far off. He reached for whatever it was, flipping through it. Tucking it under his arm, he snapped his fingers once more. “Stay with me. Stay with me! Hey! HEY!” His shouting was useless, she wanted to sleep. Darkness had filled her vision, and she closed her eyes. Gwen drifted to a valley of night. The last she remembered was being picked up and carried off.

@Anxietyfilledcinnamonroll group

A Blessing in Disguise:

Betwixt: Fenrir and Idris

Time period: 1565

Idris stumbled into the throne room, exhausted from murdering the guards his father sent to slaughter him. An aura of darkness blinded his father’s people — his people — from the terror their king was. The king, his father, peered out a stained-glass window, regarding his oblivious citizens. If they knew the truth regarding their king, a mutiny would arise. A red haze shone through the glass, casting color around the room like a bloodied kaleidoscope. It revealed his father well, drenching the king in red. Idris tugged his garrote, gaze locked on his father’s exposed neck. Clearing his bloody throat, his father spoke. “Well, my dear son, have you come to end said “curse” my ruling is?” Idris’ father’s voice made him flinch. It was rough and grueling. His father turned his face slightly, the melted flesh, once a right eye, visible. It was unsettling. An amalgamation many thought would be a wondrous king, not a tyrannical sadist.

Swallowing his apprehension, Idris held his head high. He knew these trying times had to end. The crown swayed, sinking under the palms of disdain as his father destroyed all that let the monarchy survive. Eighteen was a wonderful age to be known as a murderer. “You have destroyed the crown's reputation. You ripped out mother’s heart, and you attempted to rid of me — YOUR OWN CHILD!” Idris straightened his back. “My kingdom is suffering. My people are suffering.” He stomped his right foot, and small red runes appeared on the marble floor before disappearing. “Who’s the backward one here? You’re rotting, dauncy arse or me?” He drew the garrote wire taut.

His father fully turned to get a good look at his child. His father summoned him in ordnance, planning to rid of him since his guards could not. However, Idris had other plans. His father had large open gashes all over his body, the one on his right cheek showing bone. The holy magic had killed all cells, stopping regeneration. “Aren’t you a quick-witted child? Let us get one thing straight, my child, you are a hindrance to my goals, but I kept you around for a challenge.” His father flicked his hand and claws appeared. “But the real backward one is the child trying to kill his father. This is not your kingdom. It is mine.” He growled. Dear hell, Idris’ father was long gone. What had happened over 18 years? How does gaining respect go from leading gallantly to direct fear?

Idris snarled, noticing the patterns shifting on his father’s skin. The king’s eyes blazed, his head twisting to the side like a rabid dog. “Let us begin. It is about time I stole the throne from you.” A small, prideful smile crossed his lips. “For hell’s sake, my sake, and Jessamine’s sake.” His father laughed, a nasty gurgle reverberating. Approaching Idris, his father flashed his claws. He charged the prince with a flash of claws. Idris rolled out of the way, bouncing back to his feet. It was clear the king wasn’t going down without a fight. Out of his peripheral vision, he eyed his father producing a sword from purple smoke. The king charged at him, swinging for Idris’ left shoulder. The prince produced his own weapon, parrying the attack. He couldn’t hold for long, his hands shaking from the push his father provided. “I SHOULD HAVE ENDED YOU WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE!” His father roared.

Idris became aware of his father’s weakened wrath form. After resistance from the prince, the king drew his weapon back, preparing for another attack. Idris took this opportunity. Using the broadsword in hand, he swung at his father’s ankles, knocking the demon off his feet. The king’s body slammed to the ground, blood and ooze dislodging from the wounds. His father got on his hands and knees, coughing up mucus. Idris flinched. His father wanted him dead. It saddened him, but he could not change the mad king. Some could not change when lost. “I will drain all hope from you, father. Your wasted body cannot keep up. It is littered with holes from holy power. Mine is clean of angelic power.” He moved closer to the deteriorating king. The king who was no longer his father. “But we destroy the impure, correct?” There was no reason for this madness to continue any longer. He needed to catch the king in his throat while he struggled to gain control over his failing heart. Two missing chambers could — hinder a demon’s performance. Placing his foot on his father’s back, Idris placed the garrote wire around his father’s neck.

“Do NOT.” His father snarled.

“I would have pleaded the same.” Idris tugged on the wire as if he was cutting clay. Blood dripped from the wound as the wire tore through flesh. The king gurgled, the wire sawing through his neck.

@Anxietyfilledcinnamonroll group

I'm not sure what's going on, but I do know it takes place alongside 'Break of Silence' and 'Day of Darkness'. But I haven't posted in a while and I finally decide to cap this scene

There is no Rose Without Thorns or Like Cats and Dogs (I'm not sure):

Betwixt: Tommy and company

Time period: 1770s

The night was silent, with no person or animal in sight. Tommy took a glimpse at the static fields, anger gathering, making his face taut. His group of friends surrounded him, chatting around a war table. He focused on the outdoors, his eyes glossy, before turning to Nicholas. The window was of no interest to him. London had been in turmoil. Silas had been planning out rampant attacks and sent a threatening letter to Nicholas. But Nicholas - he did nothing. Tommy gritted his teeth. Thinking about the lack of wrongs righted irked him.

“Why is it we are sittin’ here chattin’ about useless plans when innocent people have been murdered? We are supposed to be stoppin’ Silas and his tyranny, not letting him continue. I cannot sit idly, Nicholas. You either get off your arse and do something, or I will myself.” The muscles in his face twitched, and he sat back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring Nicholas down. Nicholas flinched, sighing in disappointment at Tommy’s sudden outburst. It wasn’t uncommon for him to speak his mind, but it was disrespectful out of turn. Adjusting himself, Nicholas straightened his back, sitting ridged around the table. The others flicked their eyes between Nicholas and Tommy. They knew what was about to happen. It happened often.

“Tommy, we are doing our best. We need these rudimentary plans before we can rationally deal with Silas. We’re not going to let him continue. We are-” Nicholas was interrupted by Tommy, who matched his opponent by sitting up. He laid his palms flat on the table, straightened his back, and uncrossed his legs. His throat let forth a deep rumbling. Tommy resisted Kaz's attempts to calm him as he drew closer to him.

“Rudimentary plans? Oh please, you are too cowardly to even face the man. You would rather hide your fragile body than bring justice to London. Bring justice to those who have lost everything.” He stood up from his chair and smashed his hands down upon the table. His teeth tightened as tears began to fall down his face. “Stop asking for my help! Face the goddamn problem yourself!” As his breathing got difficult, laborious almost, Tommy’s nails dug into the table, scarring the wood. Kaz stood to embrace his friend, only to get elbowed by Tommy. Jacob cautiously arose while keeping a close eye on Nicholas. Nicholas did not respond in the same manner. He was not as explosive; instead, he crossed his arms and sighed. His disappointment was palpable in his expression. “Go calm yourself and then maybe you’ll see while we're taking our time, Thomas. This is the cost of revolution— you cannot save everyone. You’ve tried and failed.”

Nicholas' words struck Tommy hard in the chest as he maintained the witch's attention. The stillness was oppressive as he grabbed his belongings rather than making jesting retorts. He looks toward the war room's door after clearing his throat. He quickly made his way to the door after taking a few quick glances around the space since he knew Kaz was trailing him like a puppy. Kaz grabbed him by the shoulder. “Hey, Tommy! Are you listening to me? We still need you!” Kaz's voice was lost in the escalating cacophony as he shook his head. His eyesight grew hazy as the corridor swirled and closed in on his throat. Nothing felt genuine.

“Tommy!” Kaz tried to get his attention again.

Tommy lowered his head and fixed his gaze on the crumbling ground. “I don’t want to hear it. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE.” Once again, he shoved Kaz, Kaz’s figure swirling into a demented cascade. Stepping backward, he turned on his heel and ran.

@Anxietyfilledcinnamonroll group

Release of the Brave:

Betwixt: Jax and Dominic

With each bleary tick, the clock perched upon the oak cabinet recorded every second, keeping its cacophony hung in the air until another tick drowned it out. Jax kneeled by his brother’s bedside, head resting on his clasped hands. He bit his lower lip until it bled, and warm, tangy copper flooded his mouth. Each breath pained him, but could he do anything? Jax peered at his brother’s face, gripping the blue satin sheets. It was deathly pale, all golden warmth drained out of it. Jules told him large bruises formed across Dominic’s chest, showing he was bleeding internally. When questioned why he couldn’t heal the injury, the white witch had stayed silent, conveying he was not revealing the whole truth. Was he protecting Jax or protecting the secret of death? One would never know.

A weak hand gripped Jax’s. Reality configured itself, breaking the cascade of questions buzzing around his head. A shiver ran up his spine watching his brother’s dull eyes open slightly. They lost their rich color, leaving behind a washed-out amber. Small tears gathered at the corner of Jax’s eyes. His brother, once a lively man, now lay on death’s door. It was all his fault. He should have taken the blow. Maybe then life would be peaceful and calm without the pain it brought. A weak smile assumed Dominic’s face. A smile of profound pride and admiration for his fearful loved one. He tried to squeeze Jax’s hand, whispering to him, “I can feel myself fading, yet my heart continues to beat.” It would not beat for long, and Jax knew it.

Jax placed a finger to his lips, ushering his brother to stay silent. To bide time. However, his brother’s eyelids flickered, face growing paler. His hand grew blue and cold, with sweat beading on the surface. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a dream. Jax would wake up and see his brother smiling warmly. Although, the reality was harsher. A knot formed in his stomach, sorrow crushing his chest until breathing grew too painful. Jax glanced at his brother's chest as Dominic let go of his grip on his hand. It barely rose. His throat tightened, tears pushing at the corner of his eyes.

Dominic smiled. “I love you, brother. Be brave.” He let go of Jax, his hand going slack. He stared up at the ceiling, smiling at invisible entities. Could it be Mom and Dad? Had they come to retrieve his brother? Jax wasn’t sure. Dominic took one last breath, his body going slack. His brother died with a smile on his face. He stared at his brother’s body, not a single wiper leaping from his throat. He couldn’t be dead. Dominic couldn’t truly be dead. Jax sat by his brother’s side, sitting incredibly still until his brain processed what happened.

Jax stood, gripping his brother’s arm. Tears streamed down his cheeks, the knot within his throat snaking around his vocal cords. Silence trapped him. His body trembled, each breath impossible to take. A wail leaped from his throat. “Please don’t leave me!” Tears flowed faster. “You’re not giving me time to say goodbye! I can’t do this without you!” His brother’s body remained still. Death became imminent. The clock chimed twelve with a defending ring. Oh, no matter how much he wanted to hold on to his dear brother, he couldn’t. Childhood memories flooded him. Part of his life had died that night, and so did his heart.

The room spun, making Jax dizzy, his breath becoming weak. Jules placed his hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Breathe. Breathe.” into his ear. His mind clouded with somber song and diluted memory. Pushing Jules away, he grabbed a knife from his belt. His vision darkened, but nothing stopped him from brandishing the knife at Jules. “You could have saved him!” Jax’s anger flourished. Death could have been avoided. “Why didn’t you? Why did you fail your director!?” He screamed.

Jules held up his hands, backing away. Jax gained on the medic, waving the knife around. His mind split between anger and grief, unsure of how to handle the broken man. Jules pressed a button on his watch, not daring to approach the agent. Jax howled with sorrow, his body shuttering as the knife slipped from his hand. It clattered to the floor, Jax’s own body threatening to fall as well. Two security guards appeared from a portal, apprehending the frantic agent before he became a danger. Jules directed the guards to lay Jax on a bed, and so they did. Jules gave other orders Jax didn’t comprehend, and the guards left. Jax lay motionless, the infirmary growing dark.

Jules walked over to Jax, placing a hand on his forehead. “Rest.” He whispered.

Holy magic calmed Jax’s body, and he closed his eyes. The magic calmed his mind, bombarding his body with sleepiness. Relax. He needed to relax. Process. Grieve. He closed his eyes, welcoming the sleep-inducing magic.

@Anxietyfilledcinnamonroll group

I decided to expand this to my stories outside Twisted Truths. Most of them are short dystopian stories, but I plan on writing some contemporary and goth lit inspired short stories.

Clipped Wings Don’t Soar:

They shackled my hands to my back and my feet to the bars of a cage. I was dangerous; dangerous like any other criminal in a maximum-security facility. They confined me in my cage as if I were an animal. It was square, with gritty iron bars closing on all four sides, and a small lantern with an orange glow hung above me. The lantern’s glow was my only source of illumination, and I could see the cheap metal bowls set aside for me like a dog. A thick black iron chain suspended the cage five inches above the ground, most of which was obscured by darkness.

I didn’t commit a crime worthy of this punishment. Hell, I didn’t even commit a crime. I sat on the grill floor, the gaps between the bars being only 1 inch. I could only do so much while tethered to the cage’s wall, which faced an entrance to the inky room, its cold bite nipping at my skin. Two guards in opulent blue, lanterns at the waist, stared as if I were the devil. Self-expression was risky, but not expressing caused things to boil over and crack, revealing uglier layers. A metallic tap drew my attention. I looked around. Other people were imprisoned for the same crime as me. What a depressing world I lived in.

People said my face hardened from harsh truth, ruining my innocent life. They were correct. This experience disfigured my features and clouded my eyes with pain. To see my reflection, all there was to do was look at the lantern light bouncing off the waxed tile. It appeared to be another monster I had to fight, but it was actually me. I was now society’s monster, and I will play that part.

A creak alerted me to the fact that someone had entered the room. A harsh light flashed on, slightly blinding me. I blinked a few times before noticing my new foe: the Dowager Queen and her retinue. The retinue wore specialized clothing that was white with black splashes. The dowager queen‌ always wore black gowns. This time was no exception. She wore a spring dress with grim flower designs. She appeared to be going to a funeral, which matched her sagging facial features, dead eyes, and raven black hair. I had the urge to strike at her petty smirk. She glared at the two guards in blue, and they kneeled in obeisance. She took methodical steps towards me, her piercing eyes burning through me. I tried to scoot as far away as I could. Anyone could tell you the Dowager Queen acted on visceral action rather than her own intellect.

“You little anarchist.” She hissed. “Would you like to explain yourself?” She circled my cage carefully, as if I might strike. The Dowager Queen held no inhibition. You could never trigger a flight or fight response. It was always slow, vigilant footsteps. Her face would never contort or quiver. She held a smug smile as if she caught her most wanted criminal.

“I have nothing to say. I did nothing wrong!” My voice echoed along the walls of the prison room. Tears streamed down my worn face.

The Dowager Queen laughed. “Your voice is so raucous. It’s like a dying bird waiting to be put down.” She straightened herself and got face-to-face with me between the bars. “You don’t want to explain the atrocious art you have created.” She smiled through her teeth.

“It’s called expression. Try it sometime.” I retorted.

A scowl appeared on her frail face. “You are nothing but a worthless revolutionist. Painting your government burning to ashes. What a pity you feel that way. That quote-unquote self-expression is dangerous to the public. It gets ideas in their heads.” She let out a terrible laugh.

I struggled to catch my breath, tears running down my cheek violently. “We’re both guilty of black-and-white thinking, but mine has a dash of color seeping through!” I screamed. “Our entire system is topsy-turvy. It’s broken because of you!” My body shook, raw emotion taking hold.

The Dowager Queen’s face held a stern stare. Her eyes came alive for a split second, holding the crackling electricity of 80 pylons. As soon as they lit up, they went dead again.

She scoffed and shifted her weight to her heels. She and her retinue exited the room, flicking off the light and returning us to the shadows. A conversation like this was a pantomime. The Dowager Queen had clipped our wings and left them paralyzed. No one could fly again. A tyrannical government chained its wings to the ground. No one divulged about this topic, for they were afraid of being arrested. We were all an isle of flightless birds, with some fairing better than others. I dream of a better future. One where we rise at dawn in harmony. Autrefois, les oiseaux volaient à l’aube.

@Anxietyfilledcinnamonroll group

Death Upon A Cuckoo's Nest:


I sit alone, reflecting upon my time with the Swan girl. Now, in my old age, my old eyes peer upon the union between the Cuckoos and Swans. I see the dear blue-eyed Swan who strives to be both rather than one or neither. I once found this concept odd. However, now I understand it in ways which are foreign. Society now presents itself as Eagles and at 75, I review the occurrences of 45 years ago. We no longer wear bird masks or strange robes. I realized I had black hair for the first time, but it has since turned white. Many want to dedicate streets, buildings, and plazas to my honor. They believe I was the one who saw society as one. I advocate it was the blue-eyed Swan who flipped these switches in my brain. I may have never known her name, but blue-eyed Swan is a better name than my new individual name — Charlie Oxford. The blue-eyed Swan was the first. She was neither and both. Individuality and equality merged to birth our society of median. I hope her death was not in vain. I, “the crazy old Cuckoo”, strive to keep her memory alive despite it being lost to time.

— Charlie Oxford

I welcomed complaisant individuals. It made the job easier. But, when one flies far, the rest follow. It was like a flock of geese traveling to discover warm land. One could ponder, why fly so far when sanity was within reach. Some suggested I presented the characteristics of a madman. I only worked with them. I am not mad myself. I am sane.

Out on the street, I don my black robes, knotted at the waist with a belt, accompanied by a bird mask snug on the head. No one shall see emotion when you are part of Cuckoo’s Nest. It is part of the oath. The Cuckoo reinforcements marched about the capital of Cuckoo’s Nest, performing daily rounds. They peered behind buildings with cracked brick and worn-down paint. The putrid linger of death encompassed the territory; not being used to it caused your lungs to ache. Minor revolutions shattered all the capital’s windows. They removed those who led them. The Cuckoos did one thing among the capital of sodden, iridescent faces — look for peculiar things.

Making my rounds throughout the capital of melancholy, my eyes peered toward something unusual — so unusual. I had to steady myself not to black out. Curled up on the black asphalt, I saw a white creature sheltering itself. It was tall, taller than most children I have seen in Cuckoo’s Nest. Shadow devoured its light, leaving it to shiver until death occurred. My instincts informed me this was a Swan. Swans lived outside of Cuckoo’s Nest, believing our way of life unorthodox. Cuckoos imposed equality amongst their people, and when we found something strange, it was best to slaughter it. The Swans believed all creatures should flourish together, no matter how diverse they looked. Differences in these beliefs sent the Swans and Cuckoos into stalemate.

Approaching the creature with methodical steps, I could see distinctive traits of malnourishment. Slim figure and visible ribs. The Swan covered its face with a trembling arm. I reached out towards the creature, extending my hand for it to grasp. Withdrawing its injured arm away from its face, I realized the creature was a girl. Her cheekbones were prominent, and soot smeared across her visage like a veil. She reached for my hand with a tiny, bleeding one. I could not be such a madman if I helped a Swan. I was not like the others, only working with them. Cuckoo’s Nest was not merciful to those who fell inside its walls. These walls divided Cuckoo’s Nest from Swan territory. They constructed Cuckoo’s Nest to wither peculiar things. Death chokes all oxygen out of your lungs, shadows so cold you freeze to death, and black clouds that conceal the sun, so you would perish from lack of vitamin D. If you lived in Cuckoo’s Nest, you would know we used sun lamps to gain what we lacked.

She used my strength as leverage, and I gazed at her lengthy frame. Her face bore an exact capture of dismay. Her blue eyes practically bulged out of her head, her mouth straight. These features were like a statue, rigid and firm. She had met a Cuckoo, and that Cuckoo might murder her. I, however, didn’t murder unordinary things. Unlike all the other Cuckoos, I am sane. I humor and work with them. My head tilted to gaze at the oddity from all sides. Blonde hair, blue eyes, long, wiry frame. Frayed white clothes smeared with soot and the palest of skin, even paler than a Cuckoo’s. My mind twisted into a labyrinth, bewildered by the profound thought of why a Swan ventured into our territory of unity and dread.

“Are you a Swan?” I inquired, my head still tilted. The girl stared at my Cuckoo mask. It glared back at her with two beady black eyes and a sharp gray beak. Feathers covered the head in exquisite patterns of black iridescent. All Cuckoos wore the same bird mask to show how equal they were. The Swans showed their bare face. People could see their emotions in real-time, having various expressions and looks. This luxury the Cuckoos did not have.

“Yes, I am a Swan.” A child’s innocent face appeared to me. She knew her consequence was death, but reality had not sunk into her head. Her face was not collapsing with knowledge. This still puzzled me. Why? Why would a Swan deliberately set foot into Cuckoo territory? Our world was colorless, not even bright flowers blossomed. Endless rain washed the color away, staining life murky. This Swan girl was the brightest thing in Cuckoo’s Nest. I gazed down the alleyway in which we stood, watching as shadow swallowed all in sight. This labyrinth of a capital should have been difficult for this Swan girl.

I further investigated where we were. The alley opened to a paved road wedged between two tall buildings. One served as a tenement until the Color Revolution doused it with paint from the Swans. The Cuckoo reinforcements detained those involved and executed the leader. They soon washed away all the color. It left the building with mold growing on the sidings and windows shattered. The other was a deserted bank, formerly swarming with Cuckoos until the Emotion Revolution. They executed those who led and took part. Cuckoos didn’t accept change. The building was now crawling with moss and had a sagging roof.

“Why set foot here?” I inquired. Something about this Swan intrigued me. It is possible I might have let a smile slip under my mask.

“I don’t wish to be a Swan.” She informed me. How could you not want to be a Swan? They had emotions, color, and life. Her words were preposterous to me. Did she prefer the frigid grip of death to happiness? My brain did not understand such implications, tilting my head once again. How was uniform equality better than individuality? They could not think for themselves.

“Then what do you wish to be?” My voice pitched in confusion. My expanding world changed because of this Swan girl. I did not like it. They say speaking to a Swan for two minutes could send you into disharmony. But all other Cuckoos could descend deeper into madness, not I. My unity would not break with such simple conversation.
The swan smiled. “Both!” She beamed. I had never seen this emotion before. Never felt it or seen it with my own eyes. Her cheeks rose higher on her face, and her eyes held small creases. They glistened like my imagination of the sea would. I stared at her with a blank expression, but the mask carried a beady glare on the outside.

“How can you be both if you cannot be neither?” My voice carried out in a steady tone. The girl’s brow furrowed. My speech entered her ears and swirled around her brain until the words clicked. Children understood my language better than adults. My ears picked up the sound of boots clicking against the asphalt. We didn’t have long to chat. The voices of other Cuckoos chirping loud like a band of birds drowned our discussion. Pillage laid in wait, striking when the clock chimed noon. Keeping a bright Swan child from Cuckoo talons was not a job for the insane. But protecting such a rarity was not in my blood, my desires of greed overshadowing mental stability. I shook my head to regain mental control. The Swan child gawked at me with her clear eyes.

The ticking of the stopwatch in the pouch on my belt grew tumultuous. “Cuckoos draw near. The hour dons naught. The pillage lies ready to grasp its talons around you!” I couldn’t help but rave at the mouth, the Cuckoo mask feeling heavy upon my head. The little Swan girl tugged at my sleeve as if I was her parent. She held raised eyebrows and a drooping mouth, her eyes in a wide-eyed stare. I swallowed my nerves, breaking out of my disoriented trance. Our alleyway shape-shifted into a laughing shadow. I peered at the Swan girl with unbelievable sympathy, my eyes drooping behind the mask. The pillage commenced. The other Cuckoos had caught wind of a Swan inside Cuckoo’s Nest walls. Their chirping was not a coincidence, but a warning. Noon had struck. They would come for the Swan with beak and blade.

I sheltered the girl in my arms and crept out of the alleyway. Groups of Cuckoos were searching in every tangible hiding place for the Swan. She trembled from mindless fear, and I soothed her the best one could. No madman would soothe a Swan. She scrunched her nose at the smell of quietus. They were using death smoke bombs to draw her out. Moving along the cool shadows, my back scraping against sharp fragments of siding, I moved my Swan meticulously through the capital. Chirps of anguish grew thunderous. The Swan was a serpent in a bird’s nest.

In a quiet tone, the Swan asked, “What happens if they discover me?” Like a blackbird in the night, I skulked through the shadows. Society’s throaty squawks drowned out the Swan’s melodious coos. Society stacked the odds against the Swan and I. The pillaging had intensified, and concealment would not keep us safe. I reminded myself I am not mad, I am sane. I took a deep breath and looked at the Swan. She looked at me with curious eyes. She’d call me an unorthodox beast if I told her what I was planning. They seemed to think we were unorthodox beasts, but in my experience, that was a lie. I have never harmed someone. Why do they all think madly of me? Even the Swan probably cocked her head in the question of my motives.

I took her small hand in mine. I moved out of the shadows, its coldness evaporating like smoke from my body. Even though the Swan’s body shivered, I did not give her warmth. If I was an unorthodox beast, I was going to act like one. I was going to dig us out in the most unorthodox way. Shards of stone were strewn on the sidewalk. I saw an asylum of Cuckoos as I crept out from behind a building. They scavenged the capital’s major thoroughfare for the hiding Swan, their little bodies moved like a blur. Buildings were being ravaged, and rocks were being uprooted. There was a method to this craziness beyond the comprehension of the average individual.

My heart pounded against my chest. I feared revealing my presence and the fact that I was protecting the Swan. I was determined to convince them ‌she wasn’t a freak. A deep, throaty whistle escaped my lips. The Cuckoos’ heads turned around to face me, their dark beady eyes fixed on me. Their heads cocked in synchrony, and a cacophony of broken squawks resounded throughout the capital of Cuckoo’s Nest. The Swan backed away from the horde of lunatics. Her eyes were so big that they looked like they were about to drain and come out of her head. She took a cautious step back but fell over an uprooted rock. She thudded to the ground, scared of what was about to occur.

As a Cuckoo with beady red eyes and flowing robes with a purple accent made his way through the crowd, the Cuckoo squawks simmered. He held his head high, and I straightened my posture. Cuckoo reinforcers followed him, and I recognized the chief Cuckoo. Just like when I first met her, the Swan let out a piercing squeal while covering her face with her arm. The chief’s footsteps thudded ominously on the earth.

“Surrender your Swan, 038. She is to be … destroyed.” His tone was plain. No emotion behind it what so ever. Two of his Cuckoo reinforcer grabbed the Swan after a brief scuffle. They held a death grip on her delicate skin. She looked so helpless. Those delicate blue eyes were worth a million unspoken words. She writhed against her captors, but their strength was too much for her. My jaw quivered despite my bohemian society. I had grown attached to this Swan like a bird to shiny objects. The chief glared at me, his red eyes unforgiving. Another Cuckoo drew a knife.

“Well … HAVE YOU GONE INSANE!?” The chief Cuckoo bellowed. I did not make a peep, but he continued with his painful chirps. “Of course you have. You have been mad since birth. You still don’t fit into our ideals, even if you tried.”

I had saved a Swan, yes. Perhaps it made me mad, but she was like no other. I had not the heart to kill such an idiosyncrasy. Maybe it set me apart from those of Cuckoo’s Nest. I had always followed orders, but today, my chief had me backed against a decaying mortar wall. I could not make threats, but watched as they murdered my Swan. The one Cuckoo prepared the knife to her throat. Before they made any slashes, I chirped one last reminder to my Swan. She became a victim of murder. They murdered her. They murdered her because she was a Swan. She could not achieve her dreams of being both; She would never grow to see our amalgamation.

“I don’t want to be a Swan. I want to be both.”

@Anxietyfilledcinnamonroll group

(This is a short story I wrote for a school project last year)

Extinct by Morning


The last of the gunshots rang out at dawn. The last one fell to the ground, dead. Dead wasn’t a good look. Harsh, haptic winds blew over the barren forest lands. They had either smoked out or poached every creature called the forest home. The trees lost all signs of life, their green complexion turning a sour brown. Life was nevermore, its species was nevermore. Nevermore, nevermore, nevermore. It was the last of its kind. As of now, it is extinct, humans not caring if their brethren killed their siblings for feathers in order to feed their greed. Greed? Is that why it happens? It wondered. Greed, that’s the only thing humans know. The illegal trade of plumage is why it was the last eagle.

It flew long distances to escape the poachers chasing it. Why murder me? You’ve got what you want? All the plumage of my family to fill your need for greed! Its mind could not apprehend. Flying in the setting sun over spectacular grasslands of alive, grazing animals could only get you so far. It landed on a thin tree branch, a bullet flying past, ruffling its feathers. Off once more to find a safe den, but poachers camped everywhere. Poacher one, eagle none. No place was safe, rogue bullets flew by in a flash as it maneuvered through the cool skies. It wasn’t going down today, not for greed, not to be nevermore.

“Damn!” He looked at the sky, watching the nefarious eagle soar high above, taunting him. Six bullets had missed, the thick plumage protecting it. His men and he were down on their luck, forever to be poor men during the night. They weren’t trading in eagle plumage tonight, tonight was a night of starvation. He sat cleaning the barrel of his gun, not daring to bear a glance at his team. His team was thin and tired. You could see their ribcages, and camping out in a dense forest was no better. The taunting eagle landed on a tree branch near the camp, preening its delicate brown feathers.

He stared at the eagle for minutes, his jaw quivering. The man pointed the gun at the eagle. He gulped in vast amounts of air, but he couldn't do it. The wind whistled through the leaves, singing its haunting tune. He could figure out why it sang as he lowered his gun to the packed dirt ground. The clanking of another gun alerted him.


A bullet flew‌, hitting the eagle in the chest. The bird let out a fierce croak, its eyes glazed, and fell to the ground flapping its wings. A sickening thud completed the hunt. They had shot the last of the coveted golden eagles. He summed up that his team would eat tonight but with the bloodshed of a whole species on his hands. He smiled at the thought of food filling his stomach. Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. The eagle's sacrifice was for his team to fill their bellies. His murder wasn’t unreasonable after all.

“Let us turn in the golden plumage and celebrate with a night out in the town,” he smiled, picked up his gun, snatched the dead bird, and led his men out of the dense, blackened forest with the notion that dinner would be served tonight.