Crowley’s Flat

Crowley’s flat felt rather empty
Rather full, rather contrary
Only the plants lived there, he made sure
When other possibilities arose, his mind a blur
Light in one room, he waited with sherry
Yearning for a different company
Stretching a mind to a starlit symphony
Fearing a change, fearing the same
Light in one room, and the rest darkened to bury
A secret compared to his existence, perhaps tame
Taking up residence in that chair long after their fame

Champion of the Gods (pt7)

It was winter, but inside in front of the forge it was as hot as ever. Shu-fang didn’t bother to wipe off her brow, beating her hammer down in a rhythmic fashion that had once been cathartic, but now was simple. As per usual, everything was quiet outside of her fire and her metal. It wasn’t as though anyone else was in here.

She had made more horseshoes than needed today, it seemed. The practice was good, but she would have to melt some down for the metal. Only so much would sell. Shu-fang wasn’t too bothered about it. All she knew was that she was still counting the days, much as she counted her strokes.

For a community that hadn’t had gods ever involved with their ground, they were quite spiritual. They didn’t question her presence, but there was something they had she was lacking. Despite having dwelt here for half a year, Shu-fang wasn’t certain what it was. Probably a sense of community. However, she knew it would take her longer to attain that state then would be safe for her to remain. People didn’t believe in immortality anymore.

Good. Shu-fang thought it was for the best they didn’t find it real.

They had to play without her

She cursed her luck that would make her have to drive to her meet up alone, rather than catching the bus with the rest of her team. She cursed it more when her car broke down.

In the middle of nowhere, it seemed. She knew that just over that ridge there was civilization, but at the moment that seemed too far away. Between risking someone breaking into her car and being late for the meet, she chose to risk the car. She couldn’t let the team down.

Stepping out of the ice, she heard the crunch. As confusion overtook her, she looked down at the ice.

But it’s been nowhere near freezing, she thought, clouds suddenly forming as she exhaled.

She could have hidden back in her car, but she knew she wasn’t that far away. There was another road that had more traffic, if only she hadn’t been coming from a friend’s. She could get to town that way. Fast. She wouldn’t miss the match.

One step after another, she left the plane of existence without knowing it.

Please gather at the gate

It was not the first airplane Zamir had ever embarked. But it was the first time no one had come to see him off. It had always seemed, no matter the time, no matter if he had said anything at all, that Shachaf had the ability of finding out when Zamir was leaving.

Zamir kept looking back over his shoulder.

He forced himself to look forward. That would be where he would find Shachaf, after all.

The rest of our family might be difficult, I might be difficult, but that doesn’t give you the right to be difficult!​

No one to say goodbye to meant no hesitation in entering the gate.

Zamir went home

When all of that was said and done, Zamir went home.

Maybe he could forget about Raz. As his disappointment and shame sunk in, turning a part of him to anger, he decided that given enough time he could forget about Shachaf as well.

He had only settled himself down long enough to have turned on the television when there was a knock at his door. With a sigh, he stood up and returned to the door. “Miss Urit.”

His neighbor smiled brightly. “I apologize for the intrusion. I heard you coming in and with as late as it was… well, I presumed…”

Zamir had not missed the plate she held in her hands for him. Urit was always doing something like this. Why? It eluded him. His work had enough late nights though that he had been too hungry and too tired to come up with a refusal in the past. Now that a few years had passed and he had built up a few months worth of meals during that time, he didn’t know how to tell her to stop. “You are too kind.”

“You always work so hard, Zamir. I am glad to help, if even just a little.”

Technically, he hadn’t been working today. He wouldn’t tell her that though. He wouldn’t mention anything about Shachaf. There was no anger to set upon his neighbor, but it still boiled inside of him. He heard the television still saying who knew what. He just wanted to sit down. “It is always appreciated, Miss Urit.”

“Goodnight, Zamir.”


Zamir returned to his desk with dinner. He pretended the news was not on for him to perhaps catch wind of Shachaf.

He fooled no one.

Punishment for being

They held his head. He tried to flail, he tried to pull back, but he didn’t have the strength to take on the adult which held him down. Because he was a child and this was what happened because of what he was, because of-

Golden’s eyes snapped open. Had he screamed? He hoped not. In case he had though, he got up and left the room before someone might react, before someone might come for him. He didn’t want to go outside, it was still too cold.

He nearly walked right over Dahlia in the dark. She stared up at him with those wide eyes. Her eyes almost always seemed wide, even when squinting. Her hands gripped at her sleeves, fists so tight that her knuckles had gone white.

It was like she knew.

Golden walked by, leaving her as alone as he wanted to be.

She never did

A dusty and cracked mirror sat in the corner of the attic. The golden frame was tarnished and the silver glass was smeared. No one had payed it any attention for what? A thousand years? The mirror had lost track since the civil war, when Rivky had taken him up into the hidden attic and left him there so no one could steal him. It wasn’t as if he could stop anyone himself. His spells were tired and his magic drained. No one had the power to change him now.

Rivky was probably dead. He had grieved over her, because if he had not been a mirror, he would be with her now too. Not in an attic with almost absolutely nothing occurring. Every once in a while, there would be a spider which he would, fascinated, watch until it went away or died. They were mostly unnerved by the talking mirror, so used to talking with himself that he would burst into a story and they would skitter from their webbing. Instead of talking lately however, he had humored himself by sleeping. When he woke up, everything looked the same as it had before. He wasn’t missing anything. Even if his naps took twenty five years.

He remembered dutifully serving his king and queen. He remembered when Rivky came in the envoy of ambassadors, how she had stayed, how they had fallen in love. Sometimes he remembered the sorcerer. He remembered how something he had done had angered the other man. Maybe he had done nothing. Perhaps there was no reason. Perhaps it was simply his fate to become a mirror.

The queen had left him in his position. His brain was not altered, he could still serve them. The king had taken pity on him, giving him further servants for transportation and other necessities. He loved it most when Rivky took care of him. He had savored the long talks they had even now, remembering each word so as to not go crazy.

Despite it all, the fact was she had hidden him in the attic of a tunnel room so the revels would not try to take him for his gold and silver, for the jewels adorning him.

“I’ll be back for you,” she had whispered to him.

But she never did.