The Outsider

Adeena stares into the mirror, and it stares back at her. A light aqua-colored hair that gradients into darker shades as it flows gracefully around her delicate features; Slit-eyes like that of a reptile, purple and complex in their unsettling beauty; Brown chitin, smooth to the touch like skin yet hard and jagged at the edges. She raises her hand, grabs at one of the slight outcrops at the side of her chin, and pulls it, ignoring the pain and the blood that follows. Only a sliver of the chitin came out. She looks down at the sink, at the dozens of slivers that have accumulated around it, and grunts as she feels the pain fade and the damned curse regrow the bits she chipped away. When Adeena looks back up to the mirror, it does not meet her gaze. Her mirror-self is stuck staring at her clothes, soaked in her own blood. She steps back, leans her side against the wall and then her back, allowing her legs to give as she melts onto the floor whilst her eyes stay fixated to the mirror. What a wretched existence. The betrayal, the cold, the curse. She can't help herself, and the one soul that would have done something in every prior life barely casts an eye on her. Worst of all, she hungers. The famine that gnaws at her mind, the urge to bite and rip and... The bathroom door opens with a click and a creak. Warm light shines from the other side, in contrast with the pale blue light she'd summoned; The aroma of freshly ground coffee wafts in as if carried by breeze, overcoming the smell of despair. The house, in all of its wisdom, has once again moved. She tentatively arises to her feet once more, her head turning to the open door in a daze as she catches a glimpse of a white silhouette passing by. The doorway no longer leads to her room, but rather, the house's library. In contrast to the study, she'd only been here once at her host's bequest, and never found it again. Perhaps it was time. She stumbles out onto a large room, her chitinous feet clicking against the cold shale floor. Pale silhouettes wander through the aisles of walnut bookshelves engraved with details in gold, some peruse the scrollracks on the walls and others even sit in the common area by the middle. Zerathur is at the other end of the room, sat on top of his desk with a steamy mug by his side. The tall windows behind him are open, allowing soft rays of sunlight to play with the particles of dust that dance in the air as the late afternoon breeze rolls in. He seems too busy watching the silhouettes to notice her approach, but as she moves up the steps to meet him, his dull blue eyes finally shift to meet hers. He frowns. She stops. The grey-skinned man sits up, grabs his mug of coffee, and stands up. And it's in those couple of moments in which he approaches her and looks inquisitorially at the blood that covers her and her chipped chin... That she feels Hope's presence. Her heart sinks, she freezes completely like a deer caught by headlights. She saw it, for one second she could see through the illusion. His skin, taught and torn, revealing a wooden interior carved with spell sygils and symbols she does not recognize. He reaches out his free hand and touches her shoulder, and it is cold. But, she no longer feels the cold, she no longer hungers. He is not looking directly at her, but somewhere beyond. "Teach me---" Adeena couldn't finish the phrase, Zerathur was already gone. The sun has set, the breeze has turned cold and brings with it the smell of rain, the room is turning dark around her. She looks down at her hands, closes her fists, and then lets go.

 Adeena's consciousness fades in and out as her eyes adjust to a sudden change in brightness. The glow of the moon and the salt in the breeze roll into the foyer, the book on her chest feels heavy and her back aches from having fallen asleep on the sofa. The front door is open.  Her joints creak and crack, a pain she's all too familiar with- The chitin has again overgrown whilst she dreamed of a life she never lived. She sits up and sets her grimoire aside, eyes focused on the open door. It's night outside. Moonlight bleeds out of the opening and through curtains, crashing waves reverberate just beyond.  She steps onto a pier at the other side, the only sign of their home's existence is the empty doorframe standing on its own behind her. She walks down the wooden pathway, her chitinous feet clacking quietly against the boards, and finally sits at the very end next to the grey-skinned man who took her in.   He's slumped over, his eyes are closed, yet he seems focused on something. With a soft squint, she sees it too: White silhouettes floating above the waves, dipping and weaving like surfers. It is then that she also notices other silhouettes at the beach, phantasms of people. His friends. Unlike hers, his dreams are those that truly were.  Adeena reaches out to touch his shoulder and notices another illusion: Her hand, no longer covered in brown chitin, but white. Delicate, polished, like a true-born changeling and not an accursed. It seems to mimic her movements, or is it the other way around?  "Did I give you enough love, Spore?"   Zerathur mumbles in his sleep in reaction to the hand on his shoulder. That was a name he'd never spoken of before, and a voice that wasn't hers responded:  "The day that you left, my mother and I knew it was for the best."  "Yet it never felt right."  As he responds, his dull blue eyes open and stare out into the dark ocean. The illusion breaks free from her, standing up and walking away. As she looks back, she sees the full figure of Zerathur's long-gone daughter; A pale changeling with long purple hair, simple grey clothes flowing in the sea breeze, a grand crown of chitin and iron grown from her very head.  Adeena loses grip on Zerathur's shoulder, and she quickly looks back at where he was, only to see the vestige of a lightless twirl of blue flames. He's warped away. She'll stay here for a few moments longer, watching the illusion of his friends lounging on the beach and surfing in the waves. And then, when they fade, she'll walk back into the empty doorframe and close the door behind her.

(( An off-season short horror story. I don't think I've ever posted this one, seeing that it's been sitting in my WIP folder for a while so.. Have at it! ))

Cold wind ravages the outer magical shields that surround the interloper, yet all he feels is a gentle winter breeze. He marches through the apathetic snow on a path that hasn't been used in years, a path that he'd never used before yet knows like the back of his hoof. There in the Frozen North, where the Siren's curse buried whole kingdoms in frost, he will find his quary. Nestled on the side of a mountain range, a lone castle overlooks the long-abandoned valley. The river that once gave it life is but a memory, the houses and farms that dotted the landscape are naught but abandoned archeological dig sites. The bones of the archeologists and explorers that worked at those sites now serve as a warning, decorating in grim fashion the castle's gate. Nothing can be heard within the frozen halls other than his own muffled hoofsteps. Even the howling of the wind outside has ceased as he approaches the inner chambers, frost-covered marble pillars glistening like crystals under the pale lights he'd summoned. A pair of hungry eyes watch his every move, looking for an opening through which to strike.  The castle's throne room is but a shadow of its former glory, its light smeared and stolen by the angry mob that sacked it long-ago. They never found the food they were looking for, only an emanciated queen that did her best to share every blessing with her followers in their last days. She yet remains, sat upon the rubble that once was her throne, muscles twitching and mouth agape in starved excitement. The Interloper stops before the throne of the Northern Changeling Queen and watches as her slim silhouette rushes to meet him. She was an Unicorn once, a fair lady of the Sorcerous Empire of