February 2013
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents “Wanted: Messrs. Darcy, Thornton, and “But I Loved You,” a poem by Nyctophobia “My Dear,” a poem by Melody Rochester,” by Hades “Aspirations,” a poem by Nyctophobia This Page: “Candle in the Snow,” by Japanda3
Cover:
Page 3: Calypso’s Island:
Valentine’s Day: Not Just for Lovers
Musings of Hades:
The Dark Lord Rants (about romance)
Athena’s Corner: Book Reviews
Gift by Andrea J. Buchanan, Splintered by A.G. Howard
Page 12:
“Teatime With Nana,” a column “The Gilded Age of Food,” an illustration by Hecate
Page 13: “Innocence,” a poem by Artemis “Over It,” a poem by Soufflé Girl TGAF continued
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Page 14:
“Sparkling Eyes,” a poem by Vivian Griselda “A Flower For My Love,” an illustration by Raven
“Spring’s Coming,” a poem by Zenyatta “Lady Spring,” an illustration by Catrine
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Page 15:
“Birds in a Cage,” a poem by Artemis “Pipe Dreams of a Songbird,” a photograph by Eris
“His Name Is Blood: Part V,” by Hades
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HNIB continued “Reflections,” an illustration by Chronos
“Second Shadow,” an illustration by Icarus “You & Me,” a poem by Hades “A Single Dark Mind,” a poem by Kenpachi
Page 7: “A Phantom’s Love,” a poem by Athena “This Unfeeling Scrap of Clothing,” an illustration by Hebe
Page 8: “Torn,” a poem by Athena “Mine,” a poem by Athena “Hope Road,” an illustration by Hecate
Page 9: “Eternal Love,” a poem by Barnarda Rey “Oh,” a poem by The Owlish Bookworm “Happily Ever After,” a photograph by The Owlish Bookworm
Page 10: “The Search for Mr. Darcy: Or Mr. Thornton, Or Mr. Rochester,” an essay by Hades “Lines in the Sand,” a photograph by The Owlish Bookworm
Page 11: “In Vain I Have Struggled,” an illustration by Selene
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midnightwriters.webs.com midnight.writers2013@gmail.com
Calypso’s Island Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! I know it’s technically Aphrodite’s realm, being the holiday of love and all, but I’ve always enjoyed it as well. Originally, it might’ve been a holiday dedicated to the love of a married couple, but it’s (obviously) expanded to couples of all different kinds. Still, I think Valentine’s Day is a good time to celebrate any type of love, whether it is the love between good friends, between a parent and a child, or between siblings or other family members. I mean, just look around Ogygia right now. I might live alone on an island in the middle of the Aegean, but every year I throw a party on Valentine’s Day and invite all the gods and goddesses. It’s a surprising amount of fun, and it’s a great way to appreciate all the different bonds between people. You’ve got Hera and Zeus, who’ve had some rough patches every few decades with some scandal or another, but their dedication to each other has pulled them through the centuries. And then you’ve got Artemis and Apollo, some of the most famous twins of all time. They might be competitive and have nothing but contempt for each other at times, but deep down they really do love each other. Perhaps I’m only overcompensating for not being able to talk to my father and living alone, but it really is nice to know that love exists. Somewhere out there, even when it’s difficult to see on the surface, it’s still there.
Musings of Hades I said something along these lines last year, but I will repeat myself: Valentine’s Day is almost as awful as one of Aphrodite and Ares’ breakups, after which Aphrodite vents by crushing several hundred people’s hearts and Ares attempts to start another World War. I say “almost” because I usually don’t have as many bodies to clean up on Valentine’s Day. Whenever Persephone and I try to have a nice outing on this day, something comes up. Paris and Menelaus are squabbling over Helen again. Cassandra is freaking out over an impending tragic breakup in the Upperworld, not that we ever believe her, even though she’s usually right. Romeo bugs the hell out of everyone by reciting weepy sonnets in honor of his “lost love.” (Yes, there was actually a Romeo, but he was even whinier than Shakespeare’s, and his Juliet was imaginary.) But you know who’s surprisingly good on this day? Zeus. Despite his many, many—MANY—flaws, he always remembers this holiday, Hera’s birthday, and their wedding anniversary. He goes all out on these days, and I mean all out. He once rented the entire city of Rome for an evening out, for gods’ sakes. And his presents? Faberge eggs. Portraits by Botticelli. Formerly missing Crown Jewels. The works. Then once Hera’s guard is down, he goes back to philandering. He puts me to shame. For Persephone, all I did was plant a new garden for her down here. I need to… …Oh. Persephone says the garden is wonderful, thank you very much, and I should stop pitying myself. Okay, then. Happy Belated Valentine’s Day.
Athena’s Corner Gift by Andrea J. Buchanan Daisy lives a normal life, except for her electrical abilities. That changes when she discovers the transfer student Vivi is haunted by a ghost, and she gets dragged into a mystery from her past life. A novel of romance, humor, and suspense as Daisy struggles to discern her friends from her enemies before it’s too late. I loved the sweet budding romance between Daisy and Kevin, and the suspense and mystery kept me devouring this book, feverishly flipping pages until I reached the end, all too soon.
Splintered by A.G. Howard Alyssa is descended from the Alice who fell into Wonderland and told her story to Lewis Carroll. When she goes down the rabbit hole to save her mother, she accidentally brings her crush Jeb, and the two have a crazy adventure as Alyssa learns about the darker side of Wonderland. A brilliant retelling, one that will keep you guessing until you turn the last page. This was an incredibly creative and imaginative tale that was amazing to read. The plot was intricate and complex, the characters were individual and outstanding, and the detail was just breathtaking. Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Hades, Athena, Hippolyta, Hermes, Raindrop, and Aphro.
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Sparkling Eyes
By Vivian Griselda I can feel His sparkling, yellow-green eyes, Staring At Me From across the room. Your touch, As you smile wide, Gives Me Hope. Do you see the way I look at you? The warm, strong arms Are wrapped around me. Don’t let go. The day will fly by, Yet the nights remain shy. Why, hello, we meet again. But it’s time To say goodbye now. Our distance keeps you near, Slowly Vanishing And altering My fears. Still air is silent, And roses Are Not Violets. Think of me when, It’s hard to forget. Feel from afar and sense me, When you blink your eyes. Clouds travel far Will we? At night I Think again Why? 4
Remember my laugh, When you are down. Just because I’m not here, Doesn’t mean I’m not around. We love until we see, That they are finally gone. Maybe one day We will find Where We Went Wrong. In my heart, The memories Fade. Yet sink in, Deeper. You gave me shade. Grasp the moonlight, And hold on to it tightly. Before you know it, The world will shine Brightly. Time moves quickly, Wind moves with passion. Find the things, That will help keep you Balanced. Soon before long, You’re all I can taste. The words, You say I can’t just Copy And Paste. My dream is to, Express how I Feel. Sparkling Eyes, This one is For you.
“A Flower For My Love,” Illustration by Raven
Birds in a Cage by Artemis My thoughts They are like birds in a cage Trying to get free But unable to My Common Sense and Logic They are like prison guards Making sure the birds don’t get out They hold the keys My brain is like an overcrowded prison Full to bursting of cages As more and more pour in But it manages to hold them all My mouth is like paradise those birds want to go They dream all day in their cages Flying in imaginary open skies Until they wake up to face reality
“Pipe Dreams of a Songbird,” Photograph by Eris
The birds, they sing all day Sweetly, trying to say “Let me out, I’ll be good” But Logic is unrelenting Common Sense deals with the ugly ones The horrible ones, the hateful ones Big, black birds locked in the depths of my mind That will never, ever be set free But some birds are beautiful, sweet birds Logic lets them out immediately Those birds taste open skies Without first tasting captivity And then there are birds that are quite average They will be let out eventually Hours, days, weeks Until Logic says the time is right
5
“Second Shadow,” Illustration by Icarus
You & Me By Hades I feel your eyes upon my back. My footsteps echo in the dark. I turn around, the street is black. But I can see you’ve made your mark. Among the crowd, you’re anyone. Though...I’m not “anyone” to you. You will not stop until you’re done. There’s nothing that you will not do. Of all the people, you picked me. A twist of fate? By happenstance? A stranger you happened to see? Should I be thanking cold, cruel chance? Or are you someone I have met? Enamored, angered, or bewitched. We’re tangled in each other’s net. The prey and hunter have been switched. I can’t escape you, though I run. You make me distrust foe and friend. Until of us there’s only one, This game, my lady, will not end. 6
Turn around. Look at me. You know I’m here. Ah...Excellent...I can see your face. You’re mine, you know. We’ve passed each other many times. I’ve always seen you. You will see me. I would kill for you. We’re meant to be. It was no coincidence. I’m yours. Forever. Thank God for this blessing. You spoke to me, once. I’ve never known greater joy. Won’t you take my hand? I won’t hurt you. Why do you flee? Trust me, good sir. We are one. Forever.
A Single Dark Mind By Kenpachi I am the Poet that which knows nothing To say I love you would cease to hold meaning Not Knowing how to hate or how to love This silent tune that plays in my head Alone in the world Lonesome rhymes to make my mind Is it really a crime to not make you mine. In my world, Full of Dark and Pain Lies the bloody rose of fate That which was once mine Torn apart never again My fear of betrayal and afraid I’ll never let you go ‘Cause in the end You’re all mine
A Phantom’s Love by Athena Your voice, that first time, it honestly bewitched me. It was siren’s song that consumed me with desire. Mad with longing, I took advantage easily, And forged a bond that fanned the flame ever higher. I thought you belonged just to me and to no other, But then that little boy came, a love from your past. Abruptly I’m only a ghost of your father Rather than your genuine lover, sure to last. Your betrayal is bitter and unexpected Prompting my hasty action, effects thought through. He comes to your rescue, proving that you are loved, And I realize: my selfish love cannot be true. I thought you were mine, but you belong to the light: And so it’s over now, the music of the night.
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“This Unfeeling Scrap of Clothing,” Illustration by Hebe
“Hope Road,� Illustration by Hecate
Torn By Athena His influence is insidious, Slipping past my guard, Trickling seductive murmurings That destroy my defenses And I give in to my darkest dreams. His presence is palpable, Shining past my guard, Bringing bright light and hope That destroy my defenses And I give in to hopeless longing. While the light is all I could ever need, The night still attracts, full of promises. The need for both rips me in half, but the decision must be made: The mysterious night? Or the honest day?
Mine By Athena Eyes like stars. Smile like sugar. Laugh like bells. Voice like silk. I want it all.
I will have it all. No matter the price My soul, my life In the end, you will be mine. 8
“Happily Ever After,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm
Eternal Love by Barnarda Rey You protected me, When I was scared. You helped me sleep, When I was tired. You helped me heal, When I was sick. Even though you’re long gone,
I’ll always love you.
Oh
by The Owlish Bookworm
I can’t believe that you— Just let me— Don’t even! You— Please just— I thought we were frie— The best! But— But what?! How could— It wasn’t what it loo— Of course not! I can’t belie— Then just let me— Why would you even— What you saw was— You were buying her flowe— It wasn’t that, it— Oh really?! Then why was she—
Just let me expl— I thought…you, that you… That I what? That you and I were… Please, just liste— Leave me alo—! Will you just liste—! Just go! Just one min— Never mind! Just forge— Do you want to— I’m going! Will you plea— Fine! I’ll go— I think I’m in love with you! I-oh!
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The Search for Mr. Darcy (Margaret Hale) who dislikes Or Mr. Thornton, Or Mr. Rochester, If That’s Your Preference
By Hades Little girls dream about knights in shining armor. Then along comes 19thcentury British literature, and the ideal becomes Mr. Darcy (or Mr. Thornton, or Mr. Rochester...I think I’ll start using an acronym). Fitzwilliam Darcy: Stars in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Often considered the romantic hero. Originally a proud, taciturn man painted as a villain until the heroine (Elizabeth Bennet) realizes his true gentlemanly self. John Thornton: Stars in Elizabeth Gaskell’s North & South. Least famous of the Messrs. on this list but equally beloved by his fans. Immediately taken with the heroine
him until he sheds his outward, emotionless façade. Edward Rochester: Stars in Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. Not classically handsome, instead possesses appeal in his mystery. In love with the heroine and title character, but his murky past interferes with their happiness. All three are jerks at first, so why do girls squeal over them? It ties in with the bad boy complex (see February 2011). These heroes’ heroines succeed at “reforming” them. Mr. Darcy is humbled. Mr. Thornton embraces his emotions. Mr. Rochester is more considerate of his manner. Unlike bad boys, who display potential for change, characters like MDTR display evidence of change.
“Lines in the Sand,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm
The idea that such a flawed person can transform so drastically in the course of a few hundred pages/BBC episodes is mesmerizing. Most girls believe in the superiority of XX over XY. Girls are told boys are more immature, reckless, and moronic, so for much of their adolescence, they look down on boys. But most girls, however independent they may be, have a part that wants to look up to the guy they’re going to spend the next few months, years, entire lifetime with. So those girls search for and admire guys who do possess that greater maturity and finesse. Or one could see it from the opposite end. MDTR are so outwardly prim and proper that the reader is dying to know what they’re like when they’re unrestrained by societal rules and pride. Would they act out? Could it be, if placed in the right gettogether with the right people, Mr. Darcy is actually a serious party animal? But I digress. Back to the maturity and finesse. Enter MDTR. Obviously, MDTR are far from the only fictional—or real—men who are mature and suave. In this aspect, girls are like college admission officers. A lot of people meet the requirements. But they want something above and beyond. What are the “bonuses” MDTR possess? Handsome? Check, check, and...while in the book Mr. Rochester isn’t good-looking, most readers probably imagine him as being so. It also doesn’t help that Michael Fassbender is good-looking. Educated? Check. Wealthy? Yessir. British accent? Yes. Most importantly, though, is readers and viewers are
eyewitnesses to these men’s exchanges with their heroines. In the books, it’s their words, actions, and author narration that win readers over. His eyes linger in the spot she just vacated. He feels odd when she’s absent. He notices the littlest detail about her. With movies and TV shows, a good actor helps capture viewers with his facial expressions and body gestures. Much literature from this era has a distinctive, compelling voice that one would be hard-pressed to find today. Consider the supposed modern archetypes of romantic interests for girls. Edward begins Twilight as a moody vampire. He ends the series as a moody vampire. Static character. (I could rant more than this, but I shan’t.) Hunger Games’ Peeta is almost too good in the start. How much further can he go up? He could go downwards, and he does, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing in a story...but he doesn’t really get back up… Gale has potential at first, but he effs it all in book three. Mortal Instruments’ Jace, in all honesty, is a sexuallyactive crossover between a jock and a prep. They all seem to lack the je ne sais quoi of their centuries-older predecessors. Edward was born in the Victorian era, Peeta and Gale are very mature, and Jace has a British-ish accent, but no dice. In the end, MDTR are nothing more than characters created by long-dead authors. But the pages of those books still breathe life into them, and until those stories die out, MDTR still exist in our minds. And, seriously, guys, stop complaining. Better Mr. Darcy than Edward. (It’s Never) The End
“In Vain I Have Struggled,” Illustration by Selene
But I Loved You by Nyctophobia
My Dear by Melody
Dedicated to my dearest and most precious Dite
Wishing you were here, Wondering where you’ve gone. You left me, my dear, And now I have no one. Dreaming about all the fun, Memories, I wander in to. All those ridiculous puns, Hoping you’ll be here to talk to. Made me nervous, made me laugh, We took all those beautiful photographs, And now they’ve just slipped by. Your memory is fading, I don’t want to let you go. But once a loved one dies, I’m sad and all alone. But it’s okay. It’s all right. When my time comes, I’ll stay with you day and night.
You hurt me You rejected me But I loved you You told me to get over you You told me to move on But I loved you How can you say it was nothing? I know what I felt I loved you Now you wonder why I don’t talk Why I can’t stand being in your presence I loved you But you said you had to go That you just had to say no But I loved you But you’re not hurt And I know this rejection stands forever But I loved you.
Aspirations by Nyctophobia Dedicated to my beloved and most beautiful Dite
I feel so empty There seems nothing to fill the void Perhaps I do feel nothing Perhaps I never could But truly...can I never? For deep down I do feel I want to feel More than just hope Or pain from this hollow I want to love To respect and be respected I want someone to hold That I do care about But I haven’t found them yet No, not yet So I must keep searching Or die trying 11 For what else is there
Teatime With Nana Hey, there, MW’s! Hope you’ve all been getting some sleep lately. No? Good, or else I’m going to have to report to Jessi—I mean, the lovely Hades, about you slackin’ off on your midnight duties. Happy Belated Lovey-Dovey-Mushy-Gushy-YouShould-Buy-Me-Chocolate-SinglesAwareness-Day. Personally, I love Valentine’s Day. Those people who mope around spreading their hate for it should stay home so we don’t catch their Nobody-Loves-Me-Boo-Hoo-Mumps. If you’ve already caught it, get to the eye doctor right away to get a good
“The Gilded Age of Food,” Illustration by Hecate
dose of sugar, spice, and everything nice. If you are too focused on your own romantic love needs, then you’ll become blind to the flaming circle of affection around you every day. As sappy as it sounds, you need to stop expecting Fairy Godmama to come with a love potion and give a little bit of your own love potion. I’ve always seen Valentine’s day as a simple celebration of love. Sure, it’s a commercial holiday, all the big business bosses hungry for a good hunk of moolah, but everybody’s got to eat. It’s a good bargain, you get the girl/guy, and they get the bucks. It’s Love Appreciation Day! It’s a reminder to appreciate our progenitors,
our playmate-ally-confidant-partners -in-crime-shoulder-to-cry-on friends that really help us through the rough and tumbles of high school. Getting the chance to give your buddies an X or an O or an XOXO or flowers, letters, balloons, 18-karat diamond ring, castles, foie gras, dogs, lamps and C.H.O.C.O.L.A.T.E.—whatever is up your alleyway—is the charm that seduces me to love V-Day. So GIVE SOME LOVE, PEOPLE. IT’S NEVER TOO LATE. But if you think it is, I will gladly accept your chocolates. I know, I know, very cheesy column. This corner of the magazine is going to reek of fermented milk curds.
Innocence is No guilt No fear Only trust Contentedly playing games Ever smiling children Never destroying Curious and naive Ending suddenly
By Artemis Over It By Soufflé Girl I convince myself I don’t care To numb the pain Don’t let your heart Rule your head. It doesn’t matter, I think, as salted tears Stream down my face This is not the end Of the world. At least not yet. 13
Spring’s Coming By Zenyatta Winter is coming to an end, It’s letting spring come into life. With flowers, grass cov’ring the land, Here comes an end to winter strife. As winter slowly wastes away, We look into the coming spring. The ground is frozen, but today, I saw some buds awakening. The ice melts fast, The streams run clear, And then, at last,
Fair Spring is here!
“Lady Spring,” Illustration by Catrine Coloring by Hades
His Name is Blood: Five By Hades Rem stampedes into the kitchen, covered in snow. “Lori, there’s something I have to tell you.” The solemnity in his voice alarms me. “What is it?” “I usually stop by your father’s bakery when I’m in town, to keep an eye on him. It was closed today.” My skin prickles. “But he only closes on Sundays.” “I asked around. He’s ill. It…doesn’t sound good, Lori. The shop’s been closed for several days now.” Oh, God. “You have to take me home, Rem. I need to see him.” “Wait, Lori, you can’t leave the house, remember?” Even though I know it’s futile, I try the kitchen door. No luck. I resign myself to what I must do. “Then I’ll just have to ask Blood.” I haven’t spoken to the master of the house since before that… happening in the cellar, and I’ve only glimpsed him, occasionally, in the hallway. He doesn’t even eat with the others in the dining room anymore. Rem takes his meals up to his study nowadays. As for the woman with him…there are only three redheads in the house. Eleanor, Morgana, and Venus. None of them has made any indication so far if they were the one having the, um, bath. And to be honest, I’m not so sure if I want to know who it was. “Good luck,” Rem murmurs as I exit the kitchen. As always, the trek up the staircase feels like a walk to the gallows. I take a deep breath and knock on the study door. “Enter.” The single word sends a shiver through me. Be brave, Lorelei, I remind myself. This
is for Dad. I grasp the door handle and turn. Blood is leaning against his chair, feet propped up on his desk, making markings in a ledger. “What do you want, Lorelei?” he intones without even looking up. No time to hem and haw. I square my jaw. “My father is sick. I wish to see him.” Another scrawl in the ledger. “Sure.” “But you have to—” I pause. “Wait. Yes?” “If you wanted me to say no, I can change my mind.” “No! Uh, thank you… Can I leave today?” “Yes. Get a coat and wait for me in the front hall.” I stare. “You’re…coming with me?” “I’m not about to let you run off by yourself. Go. I’ll be down in a minute.” I nod and turn to leave, but I hesitate. “May…May I ask why you’re letting me go?” “Because.” Blood closes his ledger and smirks. “It’ll really piss a certain someone off,” he mutters, and I can’t tell if he means for me to hear him or not. Five minutes later, I’m sprinting down to the foyer, all bundled up. Blood is already waiting, dressed in his trench coat. With a curt nod, he opens the front door, which of course instantly swings open for him. Blood shuts the door behind us, and he leads the way into the woods. The forest seems less intimidating in the light of day, and to my delight, it’s still snowing. Then Blood interrupts the silence. “We need to discuss that evening, Lorelei.” Secret room. Murder. Crimson. “I suppose we do.” “You are much too curious for your own good. You’re very lucky.”
“Lucky?” I blurt out. “If it had been my companion and not me who’d realized you were there, your father would be the least of your worries.” Blood sounds incredibly bitter as he speaks, and I wonder if the affection between him and the redheaded woman is false. Or onesided. “You can never tell anyone what you saw. Not even Rem. Otherwise not even I can protect you when she comes after you.” I frown. “Why would she care if I knew? The only people I could tell would be in the mansion, and they can’t do anything about it.” “Her power lies in ignorance. The less people know, the easier it is for her to confound and distract them from the truth. She won’t have any risks whatsoever.” “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me who she is?” “If I wished you dead, I would.” I look up. “You don’t want to kill me anymore?” “I never wanted to kill you. It was more a question of having to kill.” He stops abruptly. “We’re here.” I start. We’ve reached town already. All the houses and shops I’ve known my entire life, the streets I ran through as a child. My heart aches at the sight. I turn my gaze to where I know the bakery is, and I’m reminded why I’m here when I don’t spot the perpetual trail of smoke coming from the chimney. “Dad,” I breathe, and without a second thought, I race down the slope and into civilization. No one’s outside. They’re probably all hiding inside from the cold. My feet sink into the snow as I run, stopping only when I reach the bakery. I go around the side of the building and press the
buzzer that will ring the apartment. Several minutes pass and my father doesn’t come down. Brow furrowed, I clear my throat. “Dad?” I call loudly. No response. I try the door, and to my shock, it’s unlocked. I barge inside and hurry up the narrow steps. “Dad?” I shout again. Snoring sounds from his bedroom, and I stifle a relived laugh and tiptoe inside. Dad is napping in his bed. I try not to think about the mountain of medicine bottles and used tissues on his nightstand as I kneel beside him. I reach out and nudge him awake. His snoring cuts off, and Dad blinks as he looks around. His eyes widen. “Lorelei!” He pulls me in for a tight hug. “I thought you were gone forever.” He examines me. “Are you okay? How did you escape?” “I’m fine. I heard you were sick, and he…let me out.” “Are you home now? Are you staying?” I shake my head, and Dad’s hopeful expression falls. “I’m only here to see you. Have you seen the doctor? What—?” “Before I answer your questions, Lorelei, answer mine, please. Will you tell me what goes on in that house?” “…He brought me there to bake for him.” Dad looks confused. “That’s it? And all those other people who go missing—” “Dad, please, I need to know. How sick are you?” He shrugs. “Very. The doctor says all I can do is wait it out. If we had a proper hospital in town, I could get treatment, but…” My fingers tighten around his. “I’ll do something about this. I’ll—” “Wait. Lorelei, I need to Continued on Next Page
HNIB cont. tell you something. I’ve been trying to find out more about this Blood.” Dad spits out the word as if it’s a curse. “I thought everyone in town already knew everything there was to know.” Dad sighs. “Lorelei, there’s something about your mother you ought to know. Her grandfather—your greatgrandfather—was a cook in Blood’s mansion, a century ago. I think he managed to keep a few things when he left. I found an album the other day, in the attic.” He points at his armchair. “It’s under the seat cushion.” I remove a yellowing binder and bring it over. “See, we can put a name to the face now. The Sirens family.” Numerous clippings are pasted in the album, all containing the word Sirens. Mr. Sirens did this, Mrs. Sirens said that. “They owned that godforsaken mansion in the early twentieth century.” I turn the page, and my breath catches. “Dad, who’s “Reflections,” Illustration by Chronos
that?” I’m staring at a family portrait. A middle-aged man and woman, both with a regal bearing, are seated in the front. Behind them stands a younger man who can be no one but their son. Blood—if his skin were not colorless, his hair pure black, and his eyes brown. “The son of the Mr. and Mrs. Sirens who owned the mansion before they and many servants died, and all these events began. I can’t remember his name. I don’t think he’s mentioned in any of the newspaper articles.” If this is Blood, then…he’s over a hundred years old. How is he still alive and looking not a day older? The lights flicker. “I hope we don’t get a power outage,” Dad muses, but I know better. “I have to go now.” “No!” He grabs my hand again. “Stay, Lorelei. Please.” My eyes burn from unshed tears. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Daddy.” I kiss his forehead. “I love you.” “I love you, too,” he mur-
murs. “Take some things with you before you leave. I haven’t touched your room.” I shake my head. “There’s nothing that I need.” My old clothes, books, mementos, I feel nothing for them now. “At least take this album,” Dad insists. “You need everything you can get to help you in that house.” Hesitant, I lay my fingers on the cover. I could claim it was a family photo album I was bringing, for memory’s sake. Hopefully Blood wouldn’t question it. “Okay.” I tuck it under my arm. “Goodbye, Daddy.” I hear him weeping as I trudge down the stairs. It’s grown dark, and Blood waits with a lantern. Where he got it from, I don’t know. He doesn’t even look at the album I’m holding. Silently, he leads us back to the woods. The snow-covered trees no longer look as kind. “Blood?” “What is it, Lorelei?” “Thank you for letting me visit him.” “...You’re welcome.”
“I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do or say to convince you to let him leave town, is there?” “Why must he leave?” His tone doesn’t indicate any sign of him willing to give permission, only mild curiosity. “He needs hospital treatment. He can’t get that here.” Blood exhales, his breath fogging the air before him. “Lorelei, if I heeded every sob story I heard, this town would be abandoned. Besides, it’s not up to me who gets to leave town or not.” He averts his dark eyes. “Even I am a prisoner in this place.” I think about the photo in the album “Were you born here, Blood?” “Yes. In the mansion.” “How—old are you?” “If this is an attempt to figure out my real name, it won’t work. All evidence of my former existence was erased decades ago.” Except from the album I’m carrying, even if it’s only information about his family and not himself. “Then there’s no harm in telling me.” Blood shakes his head. “I’m old enough to know I’m damned, living or dead. I am a selfish creature, Lorelei. Arrogant. Cowardly. There is no redemption for me.” I frown. “You’re kind.” He looks skeptical. “Sometimes,” I amend. “You didn’t have to let me see my father.” “I allowed you out for my own reasons, not out of charity or pity.” “Are you sure about that?” Conversation stops after that. Later that evening, Blood resumes eating with us. Several days later, Rem breaks the news to me: my father is dead.
To Be Continued...