read me if you dare
It was morning. Again. A new day. It looked exactly like the last one. And the one before that. It was beautiful. It always is. Life was beautiful then. It still is now, but it was at it's most beautiful then. It was late-spring, the morning after Halloween. Halloween was extremely unappreciated in those days, and so the evening of Halloween had been as uneventful as all others before it had been. There were no costumes, no adventures. In a room, in a building that looked as though it had been a secure institution in its past life, in an institution, we eight sat and contemplated doing something.
Then Uncle rose. He has a staff. It's a beautiful staff. We all have staffs. No serious Wielder doesn't own a staff. Uncle rose. Everybody noticed when uncle rose. Uncle is noticable. He has a beard. He has no hair on his head or face, but a beard. He says he shaves his eyebrows to make himself lighter, and keeps the beard as it makes landing easier. He was the first of us to fly. He walked to the door, dramatizing each movement. It was queer. He reached for the handle in slow motion. He reached. He reached. He grabbed hold. And he farted. And he laughed. We laughed. A new cycle of smoke filled the room. We decided to leave. Miranda and I held hands. We still hold hands. I love holding her hand. It makes mine feel warm. She looks at me and I melt. Wishes come true. She was mine. We were in Mother-Cub's combi. It was Halloween. Nobody took Halloween seriously were we were. It was weird. A community of magical beings who didn't celebrate Halloween. It was ironic. Miranda and I laughed about it. We drove for hours. Heading nowhere. Chyro spoke for the first time in a while. It seems she knew where we were. She had lived in the area once. She technically still did. Her family owned a farm nearby. We decided not to ask questions. We drove there and camped out in the fields. It was a huge farm. It was beautiful. The stars were out in full blaze, the night was warm. The grass was soft. There sounded to be a waterfall cascading down close to where we were. Uncle, Mother-Cub and I cast charms of protection and safety, just because we could. My magic had grown ever since I met Mother-Cub. She is wise. She makes potions by trade, bottles them up as nice things and people flock to the market to get some. Uncle fixes things. Miranda and I make words and sounds and moving pictures with words and sounds that all make people move and leaves them moved that they may keep moving. It's lucrative. People like words. People like sounds. People like to get moving. So we help them along. Chyro doesn't say much. Always just there, really. Doesn't speak much of the language. She's fluent in twelve dialects, don't get me wrong, she just doesn't speak the language. So she doesn't speak much. I remember asking her why once.
She said, "humans are stupid, so what's the point of entertaining their ways of filling the air with more random wishes that just make this shit less quiet? Is it too much to ask for? A little ... quiet ...".
She isn't the politest of people, but she has the biggest heart. Life would be different without Chyro. She essentially leads the way. When Miranda and I met Chyro ... It was a couple of months earlier, in the orientals. Chyro was a familiar - what Miranda and I called people from our Home Nation. Her father had passed, and so she had traveled back East to bury him that weekend. She was in the audience on the third night of our performance. That was a beautiful night. I remember doing the accounts that night. It was magical. There seemed to be many figures, and they were all ours. Miranda and I had made it. The theatre world was conquered. Chyro had been in the audience. She came up to me, introduced herself. I will never forget her eyes. They shone. We became friends. We went off to make magical theatre together too. The figures kept mounting up. More theatre, more figures, less bills. And now there we were, months later, in a field just outside a farm that she owns. We laughed about it.
Then it was morning. Again. It looked exactly like the last one. And the one before that. This isn't a bad thing. Mornings have become a great deal more enjoyable since Miranda came into my life. It could not have come at a better time. It was back in August of the previous cycle. It was before
Then Uncle rose. He has a staff. It's a beautiful staff. We all have staffs. No serious Wielder doesn't own a staff. Uncle rose. Everybody noticed when uncle rose. Uncle is noticable. He has a beard. He has no hair on his head or face, but a beard. He says he shaves his eyebrows to make himself lighter, and keeps the beard as it makes landing easier. He was the first of us to fly. He walked to the door, dramatizing each movement. It was queer. He reached for the handle in slow motion. He reached. He reached. He grabbed hold. And he farted. And he laughed. We laughed. A new cycle of smoke filled the room. We decided to leave. Miranda and I held hands. We still hold hands. I love holding her hand. It makes mine feel warm. She looks at me and I melt. Wishes come true. She was mine. We were in Mother-Cub's combi. It was Halloween. Nobody took Halloween seriously were we were. It was weird. A community of magical beings who didn't celebrate Halloween. It was ironic. Miranda and I laughed about it. We drove for hours. Heading nowhere. Chyro spoke for the first time in a while. It seems she knew where we were. She had lived in the area once. She technically still did. Her family owned a farm nearby. We decided not to ask questions. We drove there and camped out in the fields. It was a huge farm. It was beautiful. The stars were out in full blaze, the night was warm. The grass was soft. There sounded to be a waterfall cascading down close to where we were. Uncle, Mother-Cub and I cast charms of protection and safety, just because we could. My magic had grown ever since I met Mother-Cub. She is wise. She makes potions by trade, bottles them up as nice things and people flock to the market to get some. Uncle fixes things. Miranda and I make words and sounds and moving pictures with words and sounds that all make people move and leaves them moved that they may keep moving. It's lucrative. People like words. People like sounds. People like to get moving. So we help them along. Chyro doesn't say much. Always just there, really. Doesn't speak much of the language. She's fluent in twelve dialects, don't get me wrong, she just doesn't speak the language. So she doesn't speak much. I remember asking her why once.
She said, "humans are stupid, so what's the point of entertaining their ways of filling the air with more random wishes that just make this shit less quiet? Is it too much to ask for? A little ... quiet ...".
She isn't the politest of people, but she has the biggest heart. Life would be different without Chyro. She essentially leads the way. When Miranda and I met Chyro ... It was a couple of months earlier, in the orientals. Chyro was a familiar - what Miranda and I called people from our Home Nation. Her father had passed, and so she had traveled back East to bury him that weekend. She was in the audience on the third night of our performance. That was a beautiful night. I remember doing the accounts that night. It was magical. There seemed to be many figures, and they were all ours. Miranda and I had made it. The theatre world was conquered. Chyro had been in the audience. She came up to me, introduced herself. I will never forget her eyes. They shone. We became friends. We went off to make magical theatre together too. The figures kept mounting up. More theatre, more figures, less bills. And now there we were, months later, in a field just outside a farm that she owns. We laughed about it.
Then it was morning. Again. It looked exactly like the last one. And the one before that. This isn't a bad thing. Mornings have become a great deal more enjoyable since Miranda came into my life. It could not have come at a better time. It was back in August of the previous cycle. It was before
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