Open Chronicles We Are All the Same in the Dark

[Shiloh Albright]

[art cred]

“N-no please, don’t come closer!” Scrabbling away into the corner of the alley, Shiloh could faintly hear the push of long oars through gentle waters. She could hear birds cooing and cawing, people whistling or murmuring. Meanwhile, the frail woman had pressed her clammy palms firmly against the dirty stone of the wall behind her. Covered in rags and dirt, feet and ankles dark in filth, Shiloh knew she stood out too much when she came here. She had hoped if she kept her head low that no one would pay her too much mind.

But this place was wealthy, not like Alliria but even the poorest of the poor here were still richer than Shiloh. They at least weren’t as dirty as she was. There were no slums here, no good place for her to hide and fit in. Old-money. People who lived her didn’t want riffraff like her tarnishing their slice of heaven.

If only she hadn’t tried to drink some of the canal water, perhaps hid in the shadows until night to do so, then she would have been fine. But a gang of young men had caught sight of her, pulling her up by her hair to throw her into this alley.

“You talk funny, where do you come from?” One of them asked, and Shiloh saw the brief glint of a paring knife. Small and sharp, it would be better to cut an apple than to threaten someone. This thought didn’t give her comfort and she backed herself further against the wall, wishing that she could just disappear in the darkness. She said nothing, hoping that her silence would be the correct answer.

“Hey! Answer!” She yelped pathetically as a tall, skinny boy kicked her in her skinny thigh, causing her to slide down and burrowing her face into her knees. She wrapped her arms firmly around her shins, going into a upright fetal position. There was silence, a moment of cursing and jeering and then a stray rock was thrown at her head.

“Trash!”

“Worse than trash.”

“Shit!”

“Pond scum!”

It wasn’t funny but the boys laughed and one threw another rock— this one far sharper and heavier. Shiloh cried out, moving her hands and arms up to protect her head and face. It was dangerous to do this, not for her, but for them. She said nothing, bracing herself for another projectile.

“Let’s give her a bath.” One of them said.

“Yeah! She smells worse than a pigpen!” They all agreed and before she realized it, one of the bullies grabbed her wrist. His finger grazed her open palm.

“NO!” Shiloh screamed out, but it was too late. Before the realization was even on his face, before his eyes could register the pain his body was going through, he started to transform. His body rippled and crackled, breaking and reattaching in ways that was horrifying to watch. His friends stood quiet, in complete shock as they saw the transformation take place. The boy— no the thing— grew in size, grew taller and wider, so much so that monster rushed out of the alley, with Shiloh still clutched in one of it’s mutilated hands.

It was too late. Her skin touched the other young men, and somehow, someway, they began to combine with the first, turning into a horrid construction of flesh and teeth and spikes. It dropped Shiloh and she fell into the canal, unable to see it’s final transformation. Desperately, the cursed woman struggled to swim up. Luckily the water was not angry, still calm despite the scene that was emerging out on the streets.

As Shiloh’s head broke through the water and she gasped for breath, she heard a terrifying roar. Her black eyes say the creation: a monster. Another fucking monster by her unwilling hand.

Spoiler: The Monster

[cred]

 

[Artamese Prewitt]

"MY BOOKS!" Artamese stood open-mouthed, bewildered. He perculiar spectacles sat askew on the bridge of her button nose. "My...workshop. My...MY THINGS!" How did this happen? WHAT happened? It was all a mess. Destroyed, practically. It was the damnedest thing!

Artamese stumbled around what was once her sacred space. The place she cherished the most. She hadn't even paid rent for the month! They'd be evicted, for sure! There's no way she'd be able to recover expenses. Artamese knew working for Raea was a calculated risk--she had never traveled to another continent before, but it emboldened her to leave the safety of the cozy little college she called home. Resigned. Packed her bags. Traveled abroad.

Malakath nearly killed her, but she survived and was paid handsomely for it. But now...now all the important work she had was strewn around. As if a bomb had gone off. The floor trembled, the walls shook. Her shelves tipped and fell. Glass shattered and the most terrible sound she had ever heard nearly deafened her. By then she fell to her knees, covering her ears and probably screaming for her Hellhound who was somewhere among the wreckage. It receded, like train racing off in another direction and thus Artamese stood to survey the damage.

"Simon!" She called again, clearer this time now that--whatever had happened--seemingly passed. A book rose, draped over a pair of pointed ears. Simon rose to his feet, whimpering uncertainly. He was a large, black dog--a Hellhound to be precise. He came to her when he was small, a plain and ordinary dog that did not do plain and ordinary things. Above all else, he was extraordinarily lazy.

"Oh come on, you." Artamese sighed at her wimp. He whined a protest at her beckoning as she gingerly stepped over messes to get to the door--which hung on a hinge. They needed to see the state of the streets.

There was pure chaos in the outside. People were fleeing, screaming. Others were trapped--some were catching fire or collapsing. Artamese nearly changed her mind, wanting nothing more than to slam the door and just stay inside. But she couldn't. She knelt by Simon, who easily came to her hip, standing, "First, the fires. Then, the trapped." Her hands were shaking as she ran fingers through his fur anxiously, "Do not eat damned souls." His ears flickered forwards, backwards and flattened, but his tail thumped with equal anxiousness before dashing into the streets and vanishing.

She still had six of ten spells left...

Biting her lower lip, Artamese readjusted her glasses to sit properly on the bridge of her nose. "Right, then." She mustered enough moxy to peek out from her swinging door. A woman grabbed her shoulders, sobbing, "Y'cannae stay 'ere, mam, it'll eatcha! GO! RUN!" She tried to drag Artamese with her, who panicked and yanked back, "Let me go! Wha--what is happening?!"

"Y'damned if y'stay! Bloody monster is wicked!" Stumbling away from Artamese, the woman abandoned the notion of trying to help and took off again.

Monster? Here? Artamese paused, people brushing past hurriedly, though one man knocked her flat on her arse before helping her up again. "Gods be damned, I need a new profession..." She hissed and began to arduous journey of fighting against the crowd.