A loud tapping awoke her. The air shook and shuddered with magic so thick that it could be scooped out and served as gumbo. Thick, soupy remains of orange and yellows hung on the walls. Scorched papers and burns marked the floor and ceiling.

Mirian had fallen asleep at the table with the book before her. It was purple and black, and the tree that appeared on the cover had grown several inches. With sleep crusted eyes she raised her head, barely awake enough to mutter a "yes?" to the knocker. For a moment all stayed still, and she blinked twice before lowering her head back to the book. A large pink dot was imprinted on her head, and her arms felt tender. Memories and dreams alike danced before her eyes. Reality had become throughly engrained in fantasy for her.

Tap! Tap!

She jumped. Her skin crawled out and rolled across the floor as her skeleton body slowly stood and walked with full thuds to the door. Each step led her closer to her skin, but with each step she felt herself unraveling. Thread came loose from her arms and trailed behind her in long, thick ripples.

The door was water in her hands, opening and slamming against the wall. She blinked at the man who stood there. An aging, Partraller man in a large navy robe stared back at her, his expression unamused.

"Mirianette of Tower Gardelle?" he asked, glancing down at a slip of paper. It crinkled beneath his spotted skin. His fingers were long and bony, as if he hadn't eaten in decades. "Master Arabelle will see you now." Each word he spoke was harsh and dry.

Her eyes watered as she stood, the world spinning for a moment. Is he even real? Rorro hadn't been real. He never even existed. No, no, no! The man walked and she followed behind. His steps and her steps. Pound, pound, pound. Sharp, aching pain blossomed in her eyes. It grew alongside her veins, dark and black.

"Mister?"

He couldn't hear her thin whisper.

"Mister, where am I?"

Her legs trembled the further they walked. They were numb and cold, as if Death herself had come by to tap on her skin. In all her short life, she'd never felt so alive. Every inch of skin burned. Her brain was active even as it confused and muddled itself. As the walls shook and melted against one another, growing and shrinking with each strike of her heel against the ever-frosted floors, she touched her wrists. Long, gray imprints flowed upwards. Flowers of blood and death and darkness grew and exchanged pleasantries before her eyes.

"Wow," she whispered, eyes widened. Her voice broke the silence. She watched as it shattered and hit the ground. The man paid her no mind. He wasn't paid enough to care, and she doubted he would even if he were. All of them--worthless. They know not of the wonders of the universe. Lest I lose my head should I ever become like them.

Mirian's heart grew light as she heard his voice talking. In low voices she could hear him and another conversing, as if they spoke of dark magic and evil doings. Their voices were close, and growing ever closer still. The whispers left her wanting more--wanting to see his lips as each word was delicately formed. Bostrim, she thought, Rorro...

"Mirianette!"

That evil voice drew her away from the good she once knew. It assaulted her mind and let a revolt inside of her until the only thing Mirian could think to do was close her eyes and face Death herself.

In a soft voice she replied, "Yes, Master Arabelle, Master Cyliaria?"

The former smiled gravely whilst the latter only frowned. Purple nails gripped the unholy Again, the whole presence of evil and the sole owner of Mirian's soul. The pulsating green-blue light was there. Even with her eyes closed Mirian could see it. Again called to her, beckoning her.

"Kill them," Cyliaria said. Her gravelly voice cut through the air in sharp, smooth motions. It was gray and nasty, smelling of rotten food and moldy bread. "I want you to kill them all. No, better yet!"

With a witchy cackle, her sister picked up on her train of thought. Arabelle found the situation all too amusing. "Rip them to shreds before killing them," Arabelle ordered, "and save your poor, pathetic sister for last. Let's use her as our summoning soul--the pure, untouched virgin soul of great deeds and courage. We won't even need the prince anymore!"

"I was going to say that!"

Arabelle's smirk faded in a second as she flinched back, lowering her eyes. What? Mirian didn't understand. What sister? She had no sister. Her sister had left her. Luistia hadn't even bothered to look for her. I have no family. All of them are dead.

She couldn't comprehend why the two looked so smug. They drew lines of chalk around a book. The table they sat around was older than dust and had thick layers of dirt around the edges. Mirian hadn't even realized that she was in a room now.

A draft poured in from holes in the broken ceiling. Apparently not every place in the castle had been perfect, as the attic was in poor condition and continued to fail. From a dust-coated window painted in gold, Mirian could see the world outside. The rain had receded and left behind only clouds and ruin. Scorched houses smoked desperately--like they had hours before they died and wanted one last puff of the pipe. Mist swirled past with magic in its wake.

The two witches grabbed ingredients and mixed them well, charming each part with words hidden in their small hearts. I wonder what it'll be like when they die. When this ends. Will anything ever be the same? I've killed people. I killed Destrim. Luistia is dead to me. Bostrim was probably killed alongside Leunk and Rorro, the three clutching for life. I wanted Rorro to die, didn't I? I did dream of his death fondly.

She breathed in deeply, letting the air blow out of her mouth in a shutter. I'm evil. It wasn't a question. Mirian knew it was true. If she held the pure magic the witches had spoken of before everything was ruined. Again had corrupted and took away all life and love.

"Mirianette! Come here," Arabelle ordered. She grasped Mirian by the shoulders and drug her to a drawn square on the floor. The white chalk was smudged and cracked. Still, it would contain all magic worked inside. "You are going to swallow the magic. Take it inside of you and let it rip you apart until you are nothing but a mind. Let your thoughts guide you and let your ears open wide. Thy must hear every word spoken to thou and thou will do as told."

"Yes, master," she said. With a heavy heart she stood as still as possible.

Again sat on the table, growing brighter as the mixture of foliage, nail clippings, burnt berries, and unclaimed holy water was poured over Mirian's head. Again sat, grinning, as she shivered from the putrid smell and warmth of magic. Oh, her body longed for another spell to be cast upon her. For Mirian to lose all control and let her magic freely assault the world. For her to become so lost inside of herself that there was no world, no past, no life, nothing but the love of magic and the want of everything dark and light and the silky strands that connected the two.

"Lentiusta Orb of Els, take your place," Cyliaria whispered in her native tongue. It was neither Parese nor Gardwig, yet Mirian understood her perfectly. "Raise up and let this child of pure magic become your new resting place."

Again shook. Again rose. Floating inches off of the table, Again began to pulsate with brighter, stronger light. The magic was aching in anticipation--as was Mirian, whose soul longed for Again's touch.

"Poluna the loss and anger. Keep out, strike out all but magic," the elderly witch casted, "hold her tight within your grasp. As the sun outside rises to the height of day and the moon aligns itself at the dawn of night a world away, let yourself, Lentiusta, take this child as your home."

Hands pried open Mirian's mouth, cutting open dried scabs that had grown on the sides of her lips. Her pale, purple-pink lips and dark skin was strung tight against the bones underneath.

"Lentiusta, take hold! Rise forward and claim your prize," she spoke. Mirian's body froze, each nerve stiff, and she watched in terror as Again drew closer to her. The blistering heat felt both nice and awful the closer it got. Try as she might her eyes would not close, her mouth wouldn't move, and Again wouldn't stop growing closer. All too soon Again was pressed against her lips and the magic dissolved on her tongue.

She screamed.

~~~

Tunnels ran into tunnels, and as the three boys walked they multiplied. Surely they'd walked five fortwigs already, headed for a sixth as they reached the underside of the castle. Luenk led the way as well as he could. Bravery was the only thing that kept him from running back and hiding. He was scared beyond anything he'd ever known before...even so, there was no turning back.

They had to get in to save Mirian--to save everyone.

Fancies of life and death melted together in loving fashions. Leunk had songs and lyrics stuck in his head. He liked to make up stories and songs when he could, to keep his mind off reality, off of the wrongs. I'm stuck in a war, he thought, that I created myself. I'm broken ta bones, and in lost ta fight. Press on as I shall...

Nope, that was it. Inspiration rang dry for him. That only steeled his resolve to fix everything. Though the two bickering boys were older than him, Leunk felt more mature. Stronger. As if Mirian's magic tricks had left that tingling excess magic on him, kissing his joints with icy freshness that spread in urgency.

They'd walked fortwigs upon fortwigs. It was time. The castle was above them. The first entrance was broken, marked with a sealing spell that was marred with odd charms only halfway patched up. The second one had been hidden for years. Mirian and them had stumbled upon it during the spring, after Luistia's twenty fourth day of birth. As it drizzled overhead the four of them--a younger girl named Cha who liked to play adventurer had came along--stopped in under the tavern's tunnels and began walking. Cha, clumsy and shy as she was, hung around the back. It was she who had accidentally knocked herself into the wall and forced it open, revealing the door leading under the castle cellars. Though they didn't stay too awful long, the few minute they spared to look around had led them to an old beer and wine room.

"Look! Here's where they'd hide out the good drinks to keep away from guests," Mirian explained. When she spoke the walls listened. Nature grew plainly about her, yet it seemed as though only he an Bostrim noticed. Bostrim out of love for her, but Leunk out of curiosity. "I bet if we kept looking we'd lead ourselves right to the holdin' cells!"

Leunk, truthful as ever, had hugged his arms to his chest. "I've gotta bad feelin', Mirian. Think we's outta get quick out, 'fore someone catches us. They'll skin is faster t'an Luis skins a rabbit."

She had only laughed at him. Not rude, but gentle. Filled with kindness and authority that held much more than he could ever describe.

"Sure, ya scaredy. We'll save ta trip for anoth'a time."

The memory followed him like fog, drifting far enough away that he couldn't recall specific details, but close enough still that he could feel the essence of the moment. He let it lead him to the hole in the wall where the door had fallen in. Though his feet scuttled about he tries to keep away his insecurities. Bravery wasn't his area of expertise.

Dust filled the air, catching them all in fits of coughing. Bostrim was still shooting Rorro looks of hatred as he pressed forward. Their blue, glowing light still shone. Shadows played with once another as the blue flickered about in soft waves. The rocks glistened with beads of water that had collected during the prolonged storm.

"Just a bit f'rther," he whispered. His words of earlier once again filled his mind. What next? Press on as I shall? Press onto what? I'ma killin' myself with crazy thoughts! He had to think. It was the only way to hide his fears and the goosebumps that had risen all over his arms and neck.

The dark was an enemy of all. Somehow, though, it scared him more than most. What lay hidden in the dark, the things he couldn't see, couldn't plan for.

Rorro sighed loudly, struggling to keep his eyes open. More dust and dirt fell from the makeshift ceiling. People walked overhead, talking to one another in loud conversations. Even though the occasional word could be heard, it was all in a different language. The Patrallers had truly invaded Gardelle, worse still, the castle was gone and taken. Stolen. Nothing would return to normal.

"Shh," Rorro told them. He strained his ears, eyes closed in thought.

Maybe he can hear. Strange speak. If I speaked in such queer ways I'd cut my tongue an' swallow! Leunk didn't understand other people. He couldn't comprehend what it was like to speak anything that wasn't Gardwig, let alone both Gardwig and Parese. It was boggling. He didn't care to figure it out either.

Living simple was all he wanted, all he desired. Leunk hated the idea of learning too much. He figured it would kill his words, the stories he made up. Learnin' only kills me, Leunk reminded himself. Ain't none use.

"They're gonna kill the Princess, her brother, and some others," Rorro translated. His eyes grew wide, "Some winch's gonna be cursed by a powerful orb and they's gonna summon some demon to do their biddin'. They's is some sorta magic siblings, witchies that's out for blood."

They listened as the noise began to fade away.

"What's goin' on?"

"They left." Rorro let out a stream of air, then nodded to himself. "We can climb up into the room. The holding cells shouldn't be too far from what they were saying...we can break them out and save 'em. I bet they know where Mirian's at too!"

"Sounds good. Let's go," Bostrim said. He paid no heed to warnings or thoughts of trouble. No, Bostrim moved away wooden crates until he'd revealed the way into the top room. They hurried out, Leunk remembering to hide their only entry and exit. Bostrim and Rorro led once more.

Leunk's heart filled with dread. There they were, in the heart of mayhem. Planning a break from captivity. God, keep us safe.

There was no other way. If Mirian were to be saved, they must press on. Press on as I shall...into ta heart of danger. Ta rescue a friend, and be ta hope o' nature.

*

So, the boys are back, and ready to save the day! Can they make it in time? Will the orb of Els destroy Mirian forever? Guess we'll just have to see. ;p