Phantasy: Duty Before Love [Book 1] - Comments Welcome - Printable Version

+- alonimi (https://alonimi.net)
+-- Forum: Out of Character (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=68)
+--- Forum: The Repository (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=76)
+--- Thread: Phantasy: Duty Before Love [Book 1] - Comments Welcome (/showthread.php?tid=645)

---

Phantasy: Duty Before Love [Book 1] - Comments Welcome - Blade - 09-09-2015

Phantasy: Duty Before Love

Preface

Chapter One

Rough Draft Summary For Series: Eons ago our world was not as it is now. Hundreds of species covered the globe, and thousands of races from each of those: elves, humans, dragons, and many more. Many of them thrived on in a time of peace brought on by the crowning of the High King of Elysian and his Balancers--those chosen by The Lady of Fate to ensure that no war ever occurred again that was as devastating as the Great War of Tears. However, peace only lasts so long. A dark force called only by Leviathan began to take root, rumored to have come into existence when the planet was first created. Balancers were scattered and the High King wrought with despair, unable to fully meet the threat.

One by one they fell... Leviathan took over, chaining the Lady of Fate, and thereby changing our world into that which it has become.

Gaea, goddess of all creation and lifeblood of the planet, took drastic measures and ordered the fallen guardians be reincarnated into another future time so that might have another chance at defeating the dark being.

Book Summary: Morgan Dimarco has daydreams; not typical daydreams; not the kind where you space out and blink away the sleep. More like... hallucinations. For brief measures of time she is transported to another place, another world, and when she comes back she's sometimes worse for wear. Half the time she'd like them to go away entirely, as rare as they are; the other half... she can't imagine being without them. She can't quite imagine missing out on little pieces, stories, of a place she knows can't be real... can it? Surely it would be better to go without them entirely, especially when her heart aches over a love that doesn't exist. At least it didn't until the very love she's been aching over, or someone who looks just like him, walks into her life.

Julian Blake is content; content to live off his trust fund and enjoy whatever comes. Insofar as his father is concerned? That's not a good place to be. Not that Julian cares, or so he tells himself. The old man hasn't really been apart of his life since his mother died; and when he was it was only to tear him down. Why do something you love when the person you admires most only reminds you of how you should do it better; reminds you of how you aren't the absolute best? It best just not to bother at all, right? But Michael Blake has finally had enough and forces his son into whatever menial task he can throw at him. In the process Julian finds himself face to face with a destiny, with a former life, and with a someone he never imagined facing at all.

Expectations: I'm going to try and post chapters once a week or as I finish them. I'd like feedback, if at all possible. Feel free to post it here and be critical. I may not take all opinions, but I will not discount them or argue. If you have questions please let me know you want them answered and discussed so I can make my writing better. This is a book I plan on publishing sometime next year. You are all writers in your own right, or at the very least readers; your opinion matters. Plus, getting feedback will encourage me to write more and get my shit done. Thanks so much. Also, the summaries are very rough. VERY ROUGH. If you have opinions about those, especially after all of the story is posted, please give me feedback.

---

Phantasy: Duty Before Love [Book 1] - Comments Welcome - Blade - 09-09-2015

<div style="text-align:center;]<font size="5]Preface[/font][/align]
Eons ago…

Elysian was falling.

Her blood was a pounding drum in her chest, beating savagely; each breath that left the passage of her lips escaped in tandem. Fire. Blood. So much. The Blind Sight, her aura, made images into shapes and outlines without color—made what was beyond the castle walls wail against her heart. Agony, despair, fear, loathing, hate, malice, and love shifted and cycled within her; each emotion was louder than the next, each one like a plea or a call to arms. She could hear the cry of the people, his people; the malice though—that radiating and all pervading malice…

…Leviathan.

She shoved it aside, the heavy burden in her arms the one reminder that she could not deviate. The quiet thump beyond his breastbone told her there was time; she had time.


She focused on the sound of her knee-high boots clipping along the white marbled Great Hall, on the way Dae’s own boots echoed the same sound next to her; she focused on the swish of the magi’s robes, the silence of her abyssal-colored skin-tight attire that was—in its own way—an armor, and the smack of her sheathed blade hitting her spine; she made her emotions separate from all that she felt from others, from the man next to her. It wouldn’t do to lose control now; she refused.

“Almost there,” he said as they continued to pass windows blaring orange-red light, fear and anxiety lacing his voice—his very core.

He could not sense the lost of life the same way she did, but Gaea’s pain would be felt by him all the more. No, maybe she was wrong; maybe Dae felt the horrid assault on all they held dear more than she did in that moment. Perhaps it was harder for him because he was not capable of dealing with the onslaught the way she did.

It was easier to think as much when the man in her arms would not wake up, would not give her his bright blue gaze laced in warm ice—assuring her it would be alright… that she had not yet failed him in some way.

“Blade,” her partner addressed her next.

She did not look at him; the devoid and hardened expression did not change on her features beyond the narrowing of fiery red orbs. “I know.” Because she did. The surge of magick entered her aura, pushing through it like a swimmer desperately trying to find the surface for air.

When they passed the threshold of thick wooden double doors engraved with decorative knots, vine-work, and flowers they remained open long enough to reveal a flying swath of rippling black fabric heading towards them. This was what they both saw the moment they turned to face the enemy.

She should have been faster, she told herself as Dae lifted his oaken staff, slammed it down, and began to chant—as a spinning circle of blue-green runes hummed under him on the floor. She should have used her abilities to carry them all, no matter the exhaustion she felt. She wanted to ignore the way Dae’s robes were singed and torn; she wanted to ignore way it was hard to tell the red dye from blood—his or others’, she didn’t know; she wanted to ignore her own superficial injuries and the way her bones tugged at her to release the weight of the body in her arms so she might lie down and sleep; and, she wanted to ignore the way her mind kept on trying to go to that place—the one that planned ahead and screamed at her to ask: what after… after this?

Her eyes glowed and she banished it aside as her jaw flexed; white overtook the red as she made the doors snap shut before them—as she enforced a telekinetic barrier to keep him out.

“I will hold it. Hurry.” Hopefully he had enough power yet to create a barrier of his own that would keep long enough for them to escape. All they could do, as loath as she was to admit it, was bargain with time anew.

Stone and rope-vine bark coiled up from the floor, breaking marble tiles, and overtook the doors; a pebble of clicking sounds, grinding, came as the gray earth began to cover the throne room’s main entrance. Green leaves and blue flowers bloomed from the spiraling vines as it wove its way into the doors; it wasn’t until the actions stopped completely and Dae exhaled that she allowed her gift to recede and become replaced by his own.

And then came the pounding, the flash of magick across the only layer between the two of them and the might of one of Leviathan’s forces.

“He’s a Fallen Magi,” the shaggy brunette told her, his pale lips twisting. The action made the scruff of barely-there whiskers more pronounced—made him looked older and as exhausted as she was. “It won’t hold long, my lady. Ten minutes at the very best.”

“Then we leave,” she told him, ignoring the automatic desire to remind him to not call her that. She didn’t wait for him to reply. She turned, eyes glowing again as she reached out with her mind towards one of the two large and high-backed marble chairs. She forced it to slide back, grinding to reveal a opening that led below.

“You don’t understand,” he told her, not moving as she made her way up the stairs.

“I do,” she replied. “We are leaving. Now, Wizard.”

“I’m not asking you for permission,” he snapped back over the muffled pounding.

She stilled, fingers tightening over the blue and white Siderian silk covering their king’s body. One foot was on the platform while the other remained on the step below. As red-orange blanketed the room from all sides, from wide and expansive windows meant to let in the morning and evening sun and to accept the night sky, she swallowed the whole of it all. She swallowed the battle waging outside, she swallowed the dead and dying, she swallowed the blood and ash, and then she swallowed what he was telling her.

“I can grant you more time. Leave me.”

She didn’t turn to look at Dae; instead, her gaze tipped down to the cheek pressed against her breast. Fiery depths traced his features, the dips and curves of his face, the pink of his lips, and the narrow angle of his nose. They had not a need to memorize the way long silver-white strands—ones that just barely tinted sky blue in the light—were so abstractly different from her own obsidian ones. And yet, she followed the way they fell over his chest and touched her abdomen; at the way they fell over her arm pressed into his upper back… at the way his bangs kissed his gentle cheeks—ones that were marred by soot.

His clothes had always overwhelmed his body, seeming too large and yet not. But in her arms like some sort of sleeping bride, like this, within the folds up his Elysian-style tunic… he looked so much smaller.

She shut her eyes as her heart strained with the will of a too taunt lute string, as her own emotions clamored to be free from the box they were encased in—screaming to be felt fully. She refused too obey and crushed it all down before turning her stony expression to Dae.

“It is my duty. You will take him and—.”

“Mine as well,” he told her, unrelenting as his chocolate eyes hardened on her. “You and I both know that of the two of us you have a better chance of getting him out of here—alive. Go.”

When she opened her mouth to speak again he closed the distance between the two of them and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You were a bounty hunter before you were a Balancer, a God Weapon still.”

Her brow knit, eyes narrowing again.

“Logic dictates you go now or we all die, Paladin. You know that I’m right.”

He was. She didn’t like admitting it, but he was. Of the two, she was faster; of the two, he was better equipped to deal with a Fallen Magi.

“Live,” she ordered, failing to keep the rasp out of her voice as she turned; swift steps brought her to the hole.

“I had every intention of it, my lady” was the last thing she heard as the darkness engulfed her, before the scrape and grind was the only indication after that he’d replaced the throne to hide her escape. But it mattered naught, she told herself; her Blind Sight could still sense him. Unable to help herself, she let her aura concentrate on his form for a moment longer before she took in her ghostly dragontech-lit surroundings and sprinted off down one long tunnel.

Her feet barely touched the ground, white hot telekinetic force bursting with every motion. The long braid beat into her back, offset only by the weapon slanted and strapped there.

“Be well, my king,” she murmured as she prayed for the gods’ good graces, as she prayed that Dae would not yet become another body she had to bury or burn on a pyre. “May Gaea keep you safe,” she whispered for his sake, voice wavering with what she was not permitted to feel entirely.

She repaired the damage, mended the cracking sides, and tucked it all away with an exhale.

Metal rods the color of silver hung on the walls like torches and blinked as she passed them by, the effect a bit like turning a room’s illumination on and off again. She could see water condensation rolling along the stone; every so often her feet made contact with a puddle and the splash echoed in several different directions.

Her aura was expanding, Blind Sight reaching for the proper direction as she turned down another hall. But the farther she reached the more ill at ease she felt. Did the tunnels lead outside? She could not dally; she needed an opening, an exit.

“Damn,” she whispered as she stopped. She couldn’t run and reach that far. Eyes shutting and body made immobile, she relaxed into herself. One exhale; two. And then she reached again, father and father still. The Blind Sight shifted through walls, between spaces and cracks, above and below… out, and out, and out…

Red orbs snapped open and once more she was off, body a blur of movement as she sought the route mapped out by her mind. It wasn’t until she sensed the danger that her jaw flexed and she made a swift reroute before turning.

Fallen.

Another turn, another path blocked. She didn’t understand. Why?

The Balancer kicked open a door and dashed inside to escape the onslaught of black-armored eyeless warriors coming from two sides, certain the room would be empty. Instead, she found her final exit blocked yet again…

There were almost entirely motionless, taking up most of a room that was the size of the Great Hall. Lips were unmoving and dull black armor, lacking even the slightest shine, made the dimly lit space seem that much darker still. Men, women, magi, dragon, and notodama… they were present, all victims—fallen warriors—of Leviathan’s wrath.

There was nothing to sense about them, no emotions present to shift through her and reveal to her a mild idea of what they planned—what their master intended; after all, the dead didn’t feel. Bodies without souls were not capable of thought, of pain and joy.

“Blade Redwind,” a voice addressed from within the crowd. “Right hand to his majesty, rumored to have given her Loyalty Pledge as a Balancer in the Old Tradition, God Weapon—Paladin to Draco.” As the man spoke the crowd parted and backed up, giving way to create a circle of space before her. “And…” he trailed off, finally appearing from between the immobile bodies with a visible smile not covered by a helm. No, this man, bearded with curled hair the color of black sin, wore thin leathers and loose silks. “…The bounty hunter once referred to as… The Machine…” He paused. “Do I have it all, traygon?”

Lashes dropped just so, eyes narrowing. She remained silent and impassive; a cold and impenetrable wall for him to make of it what he would. And yet none moved to attack. This man… she could sense his emotions. His malice was laced in joy, a twisted and thorny miasma pricked in bloodlust—all directed at her and the man in her arms.

“We knew about your Blind Sight, an a ability unique to your kind,” he went on. “That is, you are curious as to why you didn’t see this coming, my lady, are you not?” He smirked, black abyssal eyes alight with satisfaction.

He was one of The Raptured, but he was the first one she’d not seen in armor without daggers—without arrows and a bow. Where were his weapons? He wasn’t notodama; didn’t have the telltale dreads that signified the humanoid species known by all of Gaea for their martial prowess.

He chuckled as his hands formed fists at his sides.
Red eyes dancing with specks of yellow and orange drifted to one; her grip on her bundle tightened as she watched. Silently, it began slowly… a trickle of power that pricked at her senses, or rather a lack of power.

A star-specked cosmos of colorful black miasma—mist—fell from his hands… rolled off of his body.

Grigori.

A null to magi, to those chosen by their gods like herself—like her people. Her Blind Sight did not work on him, or the area he protected, because his ability voided hers. She was all at once glad Dae had not come in her stead. He would be nothing more than a babe against the might of such a being—of one not of this plane or realm, but rather the stars, and supposedly rumored to have come into existence before even the gods themselves when the universe ruptured forth and spewed the heavens.

He was chuckling again and she wondered if she’d given him an indication that she was surprised. No… but, why would a grigori…

It didn’t matter. She needed to get out of here now. But escape was no longer an option. A half a dozen, or even a hundred, Fallen would not be a problem for her. But one grigori? That would take all of her concentration.

“I will give you a warning, null.”

“Oh?” he asked, smiling all the more as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Deliver to me the path I seek. Refuse, and I will make certain there is naught left of you to ever become one with the heavens again.”

“You believe you are in position to make threats?”

“Your presence here is a threat to His Majesty. Be gone.”

His grin gave way to white teeth and the twisted black malice at his core coiled before spreading further. She knew even before he spoke. “I think not.”

The Fallen descended; frozen statues no longer, they rushed at her to gain access to the man in her arms. Her eyes burned white as a barrier erected itself at her inner command, blocking them and making them nothing more than insects batting a glass bubble. Her gaze remained fixed on him, on the grigori until she closed her sight off entirely and knelt. Precious cargo she’d carried much of the night was lain out of the stone floor beneath her. She brushed silver-white strands from his brow briefly before standing. Black gloved digits gripped the oversized hilt at her back as her arm extended to reach; she pulled the sword from its sheathe—but not upward. No, but towards her left and then up. The holy weapon moved through its casing as if both items were one and the same, only parting by her will alone.

The six foot blade hummed, white glowing runes moving along the length of it as she stepped towards the wall of her barrier and beyond it. Radiant heat, light, trailed a path that followed the sharp edge as she swept it out and cut a path through The Fallen. Her mind boomed, her body did. The explosion pushed the rest of them, those who hadn’t been sliced bloody and asunder, all back—some falling lifeless like broken dolls while others tried to get up; it did this to all but the man whose gaze she held. He, in turn, had erected a barrier of his own.

Unlike the white tint her telekinetic aura maintained, his was as black as the night sky—half blooming in blue and violet.

As The Fallen returned to try and get to her charge, the ones that were lucky, the barrier held. It was true then; they wanted him. They wanted The High King.

Not while I have breath in my body, she avowed as she rushed forward and leapt up. She drew her weapon above her head; using not her weight or inertia, but instead the raw power of her telekinetic force. It came slicing towards his head as he tilted his face toward her, smirking all the more as he gazed at her through black hooded lashes.
Her jaw flexed as his barrier pushed against her sword, as she held herself in the air and pressed on—fibrous muscle beneath skin-tight clothing becoming hard and poised. Black and white lightening cracked, broke away and snapped between them. She could see the twitch in his brow and refrained from smirking at him then.

I will break your barrier, grigori. She would. Power… power like theirs was all a matter of will. And hers was indomitable among her people, second only to one other traygon one hundred years her senior.

“Magnificent,” he whispered, gasping a little. “But not quite good enough, dragon-dog.” The black in his eyes overtook the white and her own widened as a pulse of power struck outward. She inhaled sharply as the blast pushed her back; at the last moment she made her mind split into two—one part to totally focus on keeping the barrier around The High King erected and the other for the fight ahead. It wasn’t until just before her back met with a hard surface, a stone wall that cracked under her weight and motion, that she was barely successful. And when she felt something sailing through the air towards her, red orbs snapping open as she got her bearings, she tensed.

A stone block covered in black miasma bespeckled with white was mere inches before her face before she pushed back with her mind and took hold of the object. A crack formed and a moment later it shattered into a thousand pieces. It was in that brief fraction of a second when the composition changed that she overtook his grip. Eyes becoming a brighter white still, she flung the shards towards him—speed high enough to slice skin and more.

As his gaze met hers he countered and the pieces of broken block hung in the air—poised between them both… vibrating as they battled for dominance. And then, just like that, they broke further—dust blooming in the air. With a cry, she surged forward. Blurs, they were blurs. Black miasma clashed with white hot telekinesis; cracks formed along the ground and walls—the ceiling—where they met fist for blade; more blocks flew—objects became weapons; strikes of energy erupted from her body, the sword, and his palms—hers.

It wasn’t fair that she’d spent most of her strength fighting her way to the castle with Dae. She could feel her body straining, aching, even as she forced herself to brink of… she didn’t know. She was so weary; it would be easy to give up now, but she couldn’t. She refused. She refused for the man on the floor who deserved none of this—the beautiful man who…

Her blade cut the air as she exhaled a breath, as sweat gathered along her brow and touched a lash; she blinked, and her jaw tensed as the liquid splashed on her cheek. His hands came together, smacking to trap her blade between them. When she inhaled, drawing strength from an already dry well, she pushed on with a burst of whatever was left—cutting through and lodging her weapon in his solid shoulder. He hadn’t had a chance to become intangible miasma this time. She—

A spark died—the candle snuffing entirely. Darkness.

Dae.

“No…” she whispered as she felt the tie she’d strung to him snap entirely, as she felt the thin connection she’d left behind to watch over him go entirely.

The sharp blow laced with abyssal energy lashed pain and poison across her cheek, was enough to offset her balance. The shock, the agony, that struck through her made her release the hilt once the force of his blow dislodged her blade from his shoulder.

Gods no… her mind breathed as she stared down at the floor, eyes shaking.

Her friend… her partner… He’d not been strong enough for the Fallen Magi after all. And she, in turn, had not been fully prepared for his death either.

“Take The High King!” she heard the grigori shout.

And then it hit her.

Her eyes shot to the body on the floor, the unconscious form she’d been protecting. Her barrier… she’d let it drop. And they’d descended like leaches to a bloodied corpse. She moved forward, staggering—gasping—and unable to force strength into her legs. A scream ripped from her chest; not a war cry, not a confident order the cease, no, a desperate wail laced with failure and loss—laced with regret and broken despair.

She dropped to the floor, knees slamming against stone as she felt a second thread snap… as she felt the life go from her king… her…

“Adrian…” she whispered, head lulling from a combination of exhaustion, pain, and emotional dislocation she was still fighting to feel entirely—yet another battle she was failing to win.

“And that’s the end of an age…” she heard the grigori grunt.

She said nothing; matted black strands fell from her braid and cascaded haphazardly to shield her face, her moistened eyes. It was hard not agree with him, some abstract part of her mind thought—continued to think as she heard steel scrape against stone, as she felt his motions while he lifted her weapon behind her and held the point in the air behind her back.

“Goodbye, Balancer. You were a noble opponent.”

Long lashes dropped as blood beat in her ears, as the last of her strength left her, as desire to do more came in earnest at the final acceptance of Adrian’s death—as acceptance came for the death of a man she…

I love you.

The grigori drew the point back and she waited for the end.

She gasped as something familiar burned through her veins, as something roared to life at commanding inner cry that this—this—was not how it was supposed to end. Blinding light covered the room; it covered everything in voiceless chorus of echoes wrought in disbelief. She felt the grigori’s body burst, crumble the ash—The Fallen were swept away in the explosion of raw power—gone.

Something sliced to either side of her spine—bursting at the same time the light painted and destroyed her enemies. Red rained on the walls, the floor; it cried from black wings that outstretched from her back.

Her chest heaved and she gasped as it all receded. As the light died entirely and she found herself in an empty crater surrounded by empty cracking walls, surrounded by angry muffled explosions and sounds from without—reminding her of the battle.

“Adrian,” she murmured, leaping up and out with newfound strength. She ran to his body, his broken and bleeding body. Another cry as she took him in her arms, as she knelt and drew his head to her chest and curled into him—as her wings drew close to her back and she let it all wash over her.

“I love you…” she said. “I have failed you.” And then she finally allowed herself to cry, to feel what she could between all else. Memories of another man, of another who’d also been entirely unexpected and all that she’d adored for spaces of existence, consumed her. Those memories burned with new ones—with this moment and this…

“Is this the end?” she whispered next into his hair as she cut off the thought, dry lips rubbing soft ash. “The end of an age?” she went on. “Of gods… of peace?” And then she looked up, garnet orbs darker—hollow. “Is this what you always intended for me, My Lord?” she cried to heavens. “Can you hear me, Draco? Was this my final purpose? To pledge my life, my sword, to another and fail in that duty—again?

“Was this Our final purpose?” she asked louder. “We were his Balancers—this world’s protectors…! Does that…” And then she let her head drop; she squeezed Adrian’s lifeless body to hers as if doing so could bring her some measure of solace, taking deep inhales between sobs. “…Once more,” she asked, not knowing what she was asking for. “Once more…

“Please.”

In her next inhale there was light—nothing but the light. Not hers, no. Something different. Everything paused… time stood still. The light expanded beyond the castle walls, beyond the city buildings and streets, over the hills until there was naught else left to cover.

“Once more then,” a voice whispered in turn. “Once more.”

---

RE: Phantasy: Duty Before Love [Book 1] - Comments Welcome - Blade - 04-01-2016

Chapter One

Present day…

“Blade…?”

Her eyes opened with a snap and a sharp inhale. “What…?” she whispered, blinking back the fog before her eyes, the one that was still trying to dissipate inside her head. Her gaze shifted to a woman only several inches shorter than herself. “What did you call me?” she asked next, swallowing a few times in some attempt to wet her parched throat.

“Uh… Morgan?” Eva replied as her thin black brows rose, making her cobalt blues seem much bigger than they were. She smirked after the beat of a moment, highlighting the snakebite piercings hooked around her lower lip. “What else would I call you?” She watched as Eva leaned forward and clasped her hands behind her back. The action caused her obsidian pigtailed hair, pulled up high and tight to either side of her skull, to shake at spiked points the likes of which defied all gravity. “That-girl-who-always-ignores-me? Kind of a mouthful, don’t ya think?”
Morgan rolled her eyes as she broke Eva’s gaze and set her paintbrush down in a cup of water, mentally shaking off the way her nerves felt frayed. She grabbed a rag from the small stand next to her easel and began to wipe away the bits of paint on her hands that were still wet enough to remove.

“Oh, this looks really good, M. I didn’t know you were doing a forest scene for your final project.”

Morgan followed Eva’s line of sight towards the painting she’d been working on. She wasn’t certain she would call it good just yet, but she was happy thus far with her own progress. “I still need to add more.”

“Really?” Eva frowned. “You gonna put people in it?”

“Don’t you have work to do?” she asked with a sigh, ignoring the question entirely.

“I always have work to do.”

It would be easy to be annoyed by her classmate. Eva was a proverbial bundle of energy, one who made friends as easily as one breathed air. She liked to party, to drink, and her favorite colors included anything that began with neon. In fact, most of the time Morgan wondered if she’d stolen her wardrobe from an 80s music video set.

The twenty-three year old college student didn’t hate her, but her idea of a good time had more to do with silence and quiet—usually a good book before bed. Eva’s presence was anything but, tiring Morgan within mere moments of speaking with her.

“Then please leave me to mine.” At this, Morgan moved to grab her paintbrush once more. She dabbed it on the rag to remove moisture and then dipped it into the black on the pallet. As she stepped towards the canvas Eva moved away.

“Believe it or not, I do have something to ask you.”

Morgan focused on creating the beginnings of the body of a black swan. “If this is about bothering me to go out Friday night with you and Diana—yet again—then the answer is still no.”

“Man, why do you have to be so damned prickly?” the other woman asked. Morgan could see that her hands had gone to her hips out of her peripheral vision.

“A better question would be, why do you keep asking me the same question every week when you know my answer will be no?”
“Because you’re lonely?”

Morgan blinked at that, stunned enough to stop working altogether. She’d been expecting something with far more snark or sarcasm. Isn’t that how they generally communicated?

Eva must have taken her silence as a cue to keep going. “Well you are, you know? I’ve been asking you to hang out for how long? Since last semester? The only time you didn’t turn me down was when I asked for help with the midterm project.”

Morgan met her gaze, still flummoxed. “I am not lonely,” she deadpanned.

Eva crossed her arms over her chest. “Name one person you’re friends with on campus that’s not me or Diana.”

Morgan frowned. She visibly paused. “Are you stalking me?”

“No! Don’t change the subject,” she ordered, huffing. “And don’t say we’re not friends because that only add points to my case.”

“I like my privacy,” Morgan argued, not feeling inclined to lie and make up names when there was no need to defend herself. Besides, there were other reasons, but Eva didn’t need to know what those were.

“Who doesn’t, M?”

“Eva…” she shifted her gaze upward and closed her eyes, silently asking the heavens for grace—or something.

“Do you hate me or something?”

“No.”

“Then come hang out. We can even go somewhere you wanna go—somewhere not loud and noisy if you want privacy.”

God, she looked pitiful, Morgan thought as she met her gaze—her pouting eyes and mouth. Like someone had broken her signed record by Pink Floyd. Morgan wasn’t certain she even liked the band, but the analogy suited.

Why did it bother Eva so much? No one else cared that Morgan kept to herself, that she went home to an empty apartment, or that she spent most mornings listening to the city come to life on her balcony while she enjoyed her breakfast. People didn’t care about things like that; they didn’t. Well, no one aside from her cousin. But he wasn’t in town just then, so his opinion amounted to squat.

Though, honestly, no one really interacted with her as much as Eva to point it out. Again, other than her cousin.

It was hard not to empathize with Eva; it was difficult, in general, for Morgan not to empathize with anyone. She could almost feel Eva’s disappointment, her honest desire to spend time with Morgan when most anyone else would have given up even being nice by now. Perhaps that was part of the reason why it bothered Eva. She was used to everyone responding favorably to her warm and open personality. Morgan just wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault.

Instead she forwent sighing and said, “I don’t like nightclubs, but…”

“Yeah?”

“There’s a place called Corner Pocket Pub I go to from time to time. On Friday nights they have pool and dart tournaments, but it’s a big enough that you can get a booth and have some coffee—a few beers—without being bothered.”

Her grin bloomed, but before she opened her mouth Morgan held up a hand.

“Invite Diana. That’s fine. But don’t show up with a crowd of strangers. Alright? I’ll text you the address.”

“Great. But I changed my number a few weeks ago when I got a new phone and kinda lost yours…”

Morgan’s brows rose and she considered not asking at all, knowing she might regret the answer, but…. “Do you normally change your number when you get a new phone?”

“God no,” Eva replied with a laugh and a wave of her hand. “There was this guy online I was talking to and I gave him my digits. But he got all creepy on me and wouldn’t stop calling. So yeah—had to change it. Getting a new phone was just a thing because I was way due for an upgrade.”

“I see…” She did regret it, if only slightly. “You should probably get back to work,” Morgan hinted, wanting to get back to her own. “I’ll get your new number after class. And give you mine again.”

“Awesome! Did you want to grab a bit with me before you head home or to your next class? Do you have another class today?”
Morgan closed her eyes rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I—.”

“Do you need help, Ms. Rembrandt?” their professor called from across the room, saving Morgan from another debate.

“No, thank you, Mr. Quinn,” Eva called back and then frowned at being found out. “I hate how he’s all about not talking…” she muttered in a whisper while she glared in his direction.

“Eva…” Morgan drawled in warning, giving her a glance with narrowed eyes. “Go.”

“Fine!” she hissed, “I’m going. See you after, Miss I-like-to-be-alone.” As she turned on her heel and walked away—bracelets clicking against her wrists—Morgan couldn’t help but smile a little.

She wondered, briefly, if she’d have been better off rebuffing her as usual. No… it was probably fine. If she really only did bring Diana Morgan had nothing to worry about. Eva’s blond friend was the calm to the punk princess’ storm.

Briefly wondering how much longer she had until she could go home, Morgan looked at the clock. Wait… ten minutes? That… that didn’t seem right. Before Eva had bothered her class had only barely begun. Damn… It was Thursday. She wouldn’t have class again until next week on Tuesday and she did not want to stay to work on her painting late today or during next weeks’ Tuesday class. She’d have to take it home if she had any hope of completing it before the gallery showing next week, the final week of classes before summer.

But how had she lost almost an hour? Surely her discussion with Eva hadn’t sucked up forty-five minutes… No… she knew. Morgan sighed; she shut her eyes and leaned one hand into the table that held her supplies, ignoring the cold feel of wet paint under her palm.

Daydreaming again.

…It was always surreal; the names, fuzzy faces, and locations that had all become a semi-regular occurrence that she’d grown accustomed to. Most often they came about during the day while she was home by herself. This was the first time it had happened on campus. Occasionally they were regular dreams and not something that sucked an hour or two from her day, coming once or twice a month; they had for years. But recently… as much as two to three times a week. This one had been the second in less than three days. Did it mean she was finally losing her mind? Would she just fall into a waking coma one day and never come back to reality?

When the Mr. Quinn finally told them they could leave Morgan shook herself out of the lethargy and went about cleaning up and gathered her things. She stored her painting in her case, sliding it carefully because she’d chosen to use oils and really didn’t have a desire to smear anything between school and home.

All the while her mind relived her reprieve from class. This time, like the many times before since she’d been six years old, she’d sunk into a world that did not exist—that by all accounts only should exist in fantasy novels. It was a beautiful and dangerous and didn’t make any sense. But it was crippling; oh so crippling when she was lost in it at the most inopportune times like today.

Ridiculous, really—frustrating and uncontrollable.

Some part of her wanted it to all stop; to stop so she could quit feeling like she was crazy and having hallucinations in the middle of the day. Because, truly, it wouldn’t be so bad if it was just at night while she slept. At night she didn’t have to worry about someone shaking her to get her attention like her parents once did; she didn’t have to worry about someone ripping her out of someone else’s life that her mind manifested; nor did she have to worry about them trying to take her to doctors whose only solution was to give her medication that didn’t work.

And yet… another part feared missing out on these secret people whose lives she got a glimpse of—of a battle worn woman who looked so much like the reflection in her mirror… of a woman who couldn’t really cry or feel for fear of losing control of herself—to what end, she wasn’t certain.

The last psychiatrist she’d seen when she’d been twelve, the final one before she gave up on any of it working and had told her guardian—Marie—no more, had suggested she take up art or writing. She’d told Morgan it might help to have an outlet; maybe then she’d stop seeing them. Or maybe it would give her answers. It hadn’t, but now she had a hobby that allowed her dreams life outside of her mind. She wasn’t sure if that was for the better or worse.

Another sigh as she hung up the apron she’d used on a hook along the wall before picking up her stuff and moving to leave. It didn’t surprise her that she was the last one to go; it was easier to work when she wasn’t fighting fifteen or so people to use the sink.

“Hey, Morgan—M.” Eva’s bright eyes and wide grin met her in the hall. She had her hands hooked through her backpack straps as she bounced on the front balls of her feet. Morgan hadn’t noticed it before, but the bright blue shirt she wore had—of all things—Pink Floyd plastered across the front.

If I find out she has a signed record I’m buying a lottery ticket, Morgan thought as she reached up and pushed chin-length black bangs aside. “Got your phone?” Before she finished the sentence her classmate had it snatched out of her pocket and in her hands.

Morgan rattled off her number, watching as Eva punched it in. “Send me a text and I’ll edit your contact info.”

“You got it.”

“Just make sure it’s only you and Diana.”

Eva frowned—pouted, actually. “I will. What do you take me for?”

Morgan’s brows rose as she dug one hand into a jean pocket, in the process pulling up on the hem of the white t-shirt and black moto jacket; the latter was unzipped. “A little over the top and easily excited?” she asked matter-of-factly as she adjusted both bags hanging from her right shoulder—one for backpack and another attached to the wooden case for her painting.

Eva rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out after class—.”

“No.” And then she turned—finally—and made her way down the hall. Feeling guilty enough to let the free-spirit of a girl rope her into a Friday night on the town was enough. Two in one day tested the limits of her patience.

“You’re like an old man!” Eva shouted at her. In response, she held up a hand and waved before turning the corner.

At least old men get peace and quiet.

---