Category Archives: Tiny Stories

Tiny Stories: Forever Faithful

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

Malcolm sat alone in the tower’s topmost chamber, his eyes drifting over a menagerie of alchemical vials, arcane scrolls, and enchanted relics. This was his sanctuary, a realm crafted through both science and sorcery. But its crowning achievement was Elira, a living manifestation of his wildest dreams and deepest desires.

“I’ve never been an expressive man, I think you know this,” Malcolm began, his voice tinged with trepidation.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Elira replied, her form shimmering like sunlight through leaves.

“But I think there’s something I should tell you, scratch that, something I need to tell you.”

“It really isn’t necessary,” she countered, her gaze lowered.

“I think it is.”

“You know I can’t stop you, if you really insist.”

“I do. I love you.”

“No, you don’t.”

The denial stung, a sudden lash of reality in this world of illusions. Malcolm clenched his fists, mustering his courage.

“I swear I do. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say, without shame or fear, that I honestly love you.”

“You can’t love me.”

“Yes, I can. I know it’s taken me some time to be able to say the words out loud, but I love you! And I was blind not to have seen it before now. I mean, look at you, you’re the only person who never abandoned me.”

“It’s my duty to stay where you left me.”

“And you always remain the same.”

Elira’s ethereal face shifted, becoming melancholic. “Not true. I change, slightly.”

“No, you’re just the same as I remember you.”

“I grow more sweet and innocent each time you remember me, the same way every good fantasy does. I’m not real and somewhere deep down you know that’s true.”

“Why are you saying these things? Why are you deliberately trying to hurt me?” Malcolm’s voice broke, his illusionary world suddenly fracturing under the weight of harsh truth. Elira, the epitome of his desire, was but a beautiful lie.

“Because I’m your mirror,” Elira said softly. “I reflect what you wish to see, but love requires more than a reflection. It requires another, separate soul.”

With that, she began to fade, dissolving into the air like mist before the morning sun. Malcolm’s tower, his sanctuary, suddenly felt like a prison—a reminder of the loneliness he had yet to overcome. But as he stared at the empty space where Elira once stood, he felt a twinge of hope. For the first time, he had faced an emotional truth, a necessary step on the path to real love.

And so, he descended the tower, carrying with him the invaluable lesson his own creation had taught him: that to find love, he had to venture into a world as complex and unpredictable as his own heart.

Tiny Stories: As Above, So Below

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

Elara had always been mesmerized by the skies and the depths. She hailed from the Middle Kingdom, a land suspended between the ethereal Sky Kingdom and the enigmatic Underworld. Folktales spoke of celestial beings soaring above and fearsome creatures lurking below. But for Elara, these were more than just stories; they were clues to her destiny.

The prophecy of “As Above, So Below” had been whispered by soothsayers and scholars for generations, but it was during Elara’s sixteenth year that signs began to manifest. The Sky Kingdom experienced endless storms, while the Underworld endured seismic tremors. When a comet traversed both realms in a single night—a celestial omen—Elara knew her time had come.

Her journey commenced with the acquisition of two artifacts: a feathered amulet from the Sky Kingdom, gifted by the winged Serapha, and a dark gem from the Underworld, bestowed by the scaled Drakor. Each artifact harbored the essence of its realm and granted Elara unique abilities.

Guided by the prophecy and armed with her newfound powers, Elara began the daunting task of unifying the realms. But her path was fraught with trials. The rulers of the Sky Kingdom, ethereal but aloof, saw the Underworld as a realm of abomination. Likewise, the Underworld’s chthonic leaders viewed the Sky Kingdom as a haven of arrogance.

Elara, the bridge between worlds, found herself tangled in a web of politics, magic, and conflicting ideologies. Both realms offered her trials of wit and strength—from solving the Sky Kingdom’s riddles to facing the Underworld’s monsters.

The defining moment came when a looming darkness, a void, threatened to engulf both realms. This was the chaos prophesied, the imbalance that “As Above, So Below” had foretold. Elara realized that her amulet and gem were not just gifts but keys. Through an ancient ritual, she united the artifacts’ powers, chanting the prophecy as a spell.

“As Above, So Below,” she incanted, feeling the realms resonate with her words.

The darkness hesitated, then recoiled. With a burst of combined celestial and infernal energy, balance was restored. The storm clouds above dissipated; the tremors below ceased.

Though the realms remained distinct, never again would they dismiss the other as irrelevant or contemptible. Elara returned to the Middle Kingdom, her mission fulfilled but her adventures far from over. She had shown that unity was not just a dream but a cosmic imperative.

And so, the prophecy was both conclusion and beginning, a timeless echo in the annals of both realms. For in balancing the eternal scales, Elara proved that the key to harmony was not isolation, but the bold embrace of complexity.

“As Above, So Below,” the realms whispered, a mantra now imbued with newfound reverence.

Tiny Stories: Oh My Giddy Aunt

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Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

Emily’s eyes settled on the old, wooden sign that hung above the door, swaying slightly in the evening wind: “Oh My Giddy Aunt Antiques.” She hesitated, her hand hovering over the ornate doorknob, its metal icy to the touch.

She’d inherited this shop from her late Aunt Meredith, a woman as whimsical as she was reclusive. Emily had never quite known what to make of her, but she never imagined she’d be bequeathed this cryptic store full of odd trinkets and mysterious artifacts.

On her first night alone in the shop, she heard it—a whisper, almost drowned out by the creaking floorboards and ticking antique clocks: “Oh my giddy aunt.” The phrase sent a shiver down her spine, but she dismissed it as her imagination running wild.

Days passed, and Emily began to notice unsettling occurrences. Mirrors reflected twisted, grotesque scenes; porcelain dolls shifted positions when she wasn’t looking; ancient texts whispered incantations in languages long forgotten.

As Emily dug through a pile of old ledgers and diaries, she found Aunt Meredith’s journal. “Oh My Giddy Aunt” wasn’t just a charming shop name; it was a warning, a phrase used to bind dark forces contained within the relics. A sealing mantra that kept unspeakable horrors at bay.

One fateful night, a group of local teenagers, unaware of the shop’s dark history, dared to break in. Foolishly, they toyed with a cursed pendant, unwittingly releasing a malevolent entity. The store erupted into chaos, lights flickering as monstrous forms escaped from their confines. Emily arrived just in time to hear their terrified screams, their faces contorted in unfathomable dread.

Realizing the grave danger, Emily scrambled to Aunt Meredith’s journal, her fingers trembling as she found the sealing ritual. Chanting the phrase “Oh my giddy aunt” with increasing fervor, she watched as the darkness recoiled, the entity writhing and screeching before being sucked back into the pendant.

But the victory was short-lived. Emily knew that the shop was more than just a collection of antiques; it was a prison, a vault of nightmares barely contained. And she, its unwitting jailer, bound to its curse.

From that night on, she embraced her role, guarding the artifacts with newfound respect. The shop’s sign, “Oh My Giddy Aunt,” served as both a welcoming banner and a dire warning—a chilling mantra that would forever haunt her days and terrorize her nights.

Tiny Stories: All For Luka

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Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

Cosmonaut Nikulaenkov became a multiversal wanted man the moment he broke polydimensional travel laws by visiting alternate timelines in search of a living version of his deceased wife, Luka, who was single and capable of falling in love with him.

Nikulaenkov’s fingers trembled over the controls of his homemade polydimensional capsule. Sweat trickled down his brow as the countdown initiated. A leap through quantum foam, and he was standing in another universe. Before him stood Luka, radiant as ever, but there was something amiss—her eyes, cold and unrecognizable. He retreated without a word.

Within minutes of his jump back, an alert flashed on his capsule’s dashboard: “Multiversal Violation Detected. Prepare for Immediate Detainment.”

Ignoring the warning, Nikulaenkov recalibrated his coordinates and plunged through the cosmic weave again. This time, he found himself surrounded by a SWAT-like team, their armor marked with an unfamiliar sigil: the emblem of the Multiversal Police. “Stand down, criminal!” their leader shouted. But he’d already activated his return sequence, vanishing from their grasp.

The next jump brought him to a sunlit café. Across the table sat Luka, enchanting and engaged in a book. She looked up and caught his eye; a spark, a connection. But then a ring glinted on her finger. Engaged to another man.

His heart sank. It was a cruel twist of the fates, a mockery of his mission. With a heavy sigh, he entered the coordinates for the last jump, knowing full well it would trigger a one-way quantum lock, effectively making him a Class-A felon.

This universe was utopic, almost dreamlike. And there she was, Luka, standing on a balcony overlooking a serene lake. She was a world-renowned neuroscientist here, on the brink of curing a deadly disease. She smiled at him, a smile he hadn’t seen in years. “You look like you’ve been traveling for ages,” she said softly.

As they spoke, a realization washed over him: taking her away would doom this universe to suffering. His capsule buzzed, a final warning from the Multiversal Police closing in.

He looked into Luka’s eyes, “I have been traveling, through lifetimes and worlds, just to find you.” And with that, he activated his capsule, leaving her alone on the balcony, a puzzled but touched expression on her face.

Materializing in his original universe, Nikulaenkov found himself surrounded by the Multiversal Police. “You are under arrest for breaking the Multiversal Integrity Act,” they declared, shackling him.

As he was led away, Nikulaenkov couldn’t help but smile. The Lukas of other universes would continue to live their lives, fulfilling their destinies, none of them tarnished by his selfish desires.

In the quiet solitude of his cell, a thought occurred to him—his love for Luka had become a love for all Lukas, in every universe, a love too expansive to be selfish. His capture was not an end but a new beginning, a story for the multiverse to ponder upon, a tale that might one day change the very laws he had broken.

©2020 Rhyan Scorpio-Rhys

Tiny Stories: The Million Dollar Choice

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

The cloth bag placed over her head not only prevented her from seeing where she was being taken but also blocked out all sound. Erica had no idea technology like that even existed. When the bag was removed, she found herself seated in a small nondescript room with a high-end tripod-mounted camera trained on her.

On the table before her sat an open attache case filled with twelve stacks of $100 dollar bills, eighty-three used and non-sequential notes to a stack. Beside the case were two glasses of red wine, one untampered with and the other laced with a deadly toxin.

Erica heard about things like this, private rooms on the dark web where people with money, people to whom a million dollars wasn’t life-changing like it was for her, but merely pocket change, wagered on the lives of the desperate and destitute. There were Russian roulette rooms, perverse puzzle rooms, and deadly escape rooms. She had gotten off lucky, she supposed. Hers was a simple fifty-fifty choice.

If she chose correctly, Erica stood to walk away with enough tax-free money to pay off her debts and do things the right way this time around. The smart choice would have been to ignore the invitation in the first place and find some other way to repair her damaged life, but she was inflicted with a serious gambling disease, something she inherited from her mother, and the opportunity was simply too good to pass up.

The catch? She was a lousy gambler, notorious for making bad choices even when she second-guessed herself, and her fatal flaw was that she could never pass up a dare or a bet.

Erica wasn’t allowed to touch the glasses before making her choice, so her eyes darted left to right, from one to the other, looking for the slightest discoloration between the two, and she even sniffed the air above each glass, which was pointless. These people were professionals and whatever lethal venom they used was no doubt undetectable by sight or smell.

She had a feeling in her waters that the one on the left was the dead cert unpoisoned wine glass, but was it strategically placed just a half-inch closer to her to make her select it subconsciously? Then she opted for the one on the right but suspected she was outfoxing herself. Then there was the possibility that both glasses had been tampered with. No, she couldn’t allow herself to think that way. Morty, the guy who set up this bet, had always been a straight shooter. He looked out for her whenever he could. Even when you made a habit of dealing with less than reputable people, you had to place your trust in someone. So Erica girded her loins and went with her initial instinct.

Was it her overactive imagination playing tricks on her or did she feel a static shock of electricity as she lifted the glass on the left by the stem? She tilted the snifter slowly, praying to the gods of luck and good fortune, and the moment the chilled wine touched her trembling lips, she knew…

Tiny Stories: Muse For Sale

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

I know the original classified ad read:

WRITER’S MUSE FOR SALE: Well-worn around the edges. Ridden hard and hung up wet. Can handle whining insecurities. Willing to trade for a large meat lovers pizza and a domestic 6-pack.

but I have to be honest with you, I like my muse very much but my super-jealous, super-insecure girlfriend does not, so I am forced to rehome her.

She’s fashion-forward and we’ve been together for 10 long years. She enjoys playing board and card games, is a nite owl, has acquired a taste for expensive meals, is double-jointed (hey, you never know when that might come in handy), knows how to distill beer, grows her own pot (for medicinal purposes only, of course), has constant access to free concert tickets, has an open-minded twin sister (hey, you never know when that might come in handy), knows how to handle herself in a bar fight, has absolutely no interest in learning about your fields of interest, and has a tendency to be a bit of a jerk at times (time-out step not included…you’ll have to build your own).

She also receives occasional visits from her shady brother, Gronte, who, once invited inside your house, is the thing that will not leave. He’s a griffulous, groffulous grue. Nobody likes Gronte. Not. One. Solitary. Soul.

So, if anyone’s bored, lonely, or desperate enough to take a petty, spiteful, and controlling girlfriend off my hands, come and get her. My muse and I want her rehomed as soon as humanly possible because we’ve got some serious work to get back to.

Tiny Stories: The Madd Carnival

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Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

In the month that shares its root with the octopus, where the days are flush with falling leaves and chilly weather, winds through tree branches scream “Yowza! Yowza!” announcing the arrival of the Madd Carnival which has appeared in a vacant lot from seemingly nowhere.

“Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! Step right up, folks, gather ‘round and behold the wonders you’ve read about and heard your neighbors talk about! It’s the stuff urban legends are made of and it’s all here, all live, and starting right now! Forget your fire-eaters and snake girls, your midgets and tall men, those attractions are for lesser beings, not for the likes of sophisticates such as yourselves! In here you’ll see proper freaks! Strange people! Weird people! And downright frightening people! You’ll see what they do, hear what they talk about, so keep your eyes peeled and your ears sharp because you don’t want to miss a single minute of it!”

The booming, melodious trill of the Madd Carnival Barker’s voice traveled impossibly to all the neighboring towns and villages, rousing patrons young and old, which was basically anyone with even the tiniest smoldering ember of the youthful belief in magic in their hearts, from their houses and his witty banter delivered in poetic cadence, aided by the hypnotic designs sewn into his ostentatious suit, lured them all wide-eyed down the colorfully lit midway, like the rubes they were and most likely always would be.

The tickets had been sold and patrons rushed to seek their pleasures, some to behold wonders that defied the laws of science and the boundaries of imagination, others drawn by things supernatural and metaphysical, but one lone bedraggled man was unaffected by the Barker’s siren call.

He stood at the precipice of the Madd Carnival’s entrance, careful not to cross the threshold, staring at a sign that read:

His suit was threadbare, hanging off his unhealthily thin frame, and its pale gray color made his long features look sallow. He pointed at the sign and said, “I am here for this.”

“We’ve just opened, sir,” the Barker said, staring into the man’s faded blue eyes that seemed to be filled with more death than life. “You couldn’t have left a child…”

“No, I was left, years ago, and I’d like to see Madame Destiny, please.”

If the barker was caught off-guard by the man’s statement, he showed no sign, he simply said, “I happen to be excellent with faces and yours doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Neither does yours, so you can’t have been here long, but I’m widdit, you can bank on that. Or you can ask Madame Destiny, she’ll establish my bona fides.”

Widdit was carny slang used to let midway agents and talkers know that the person was with it, or that they worked at the carnival, so the Barker dropped the politeness act and asked, “What’s yer business, mack?”

“Recompense. I come to collect what I am owed.”

Not The End…

Tiny Stories: When Death Offers Hope

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

I wake up hard, cold sweat running rivulets down my clammy skin, from the type of apocalyptic nightmare that makes me thankful it was just a—

There’s a stranger standing at the foot of the bed!

I want to bolt, to leap out of bed and tackle the intruder, but I find myself constricted within the straitjacket of night-terror-soaked sheets. How long has he been standing there, watching us sleep? My children are next door! Did he go to their room first? If something’s happened to them—I want to say I’ll kill this person, it’s what I’m meant to feel, but honestly, I’ll never be able to forgive myself for being paralyzed in fear instead of being the protector my family needs me to be at this moment.

“Do not be alarmed,” the stranger says. His voice is the faintest whisper yet I can hear him perfectly clear because the silence in the bedroom is a level of quiet I have never experienced in all my days. “I realize my sudden appearance in your home has come as a surprise to you due to the fact that you and I have never met and I am obviously a ghost.”

This would explain the optical illusion of being able to see the chest of drawers against the far wall through his ephemeral body. Of all the questions buzzing in my hypnagogic brain, the one that bubbles to the surface is, “What do you want from us?” and my voice cracks in a manner that shatters any illusion of bravery.

I beam thoughts to my wife, trying to will her awake, hoping that she might be able to move, to collect the children and get them safely out of the house while I somehow distract this spirit. I even slide my hand beneath the duvet, slowly as not to draw attention, in order to nudge or pinch her awake…to no avail.

“Please know that I have no intention of haunting you or bringing any harm to you or your loved ones,” the ghost announces.

“Then why are you here?” I reply loud enough to wake my wife but not the children because I don’t want to risk them coming into the bedroom to inspect the commotion.

The transparent man smiles, “You may speak as loudly as you please. I have spread a calming essence over your wife and children so that they might rest soundly as you and I converse.”

I don’t know jack about ghost lore or sleep-inducing essences, but I don’t get the feeling the apparition is lying to me, so I ask, “What could we possibly have to talk about?”

“As I explain my situation, I ask that you refrain from pitying me and my circumstances for life is not a gift we keep but one we borrow and must one day return. Death is inevitable as you will one day learn.”

“Pity you? Pal, I don’t even know you!”

“Of course, where are my manners? The things one forgets once the embers of life have been snuffed. My name is Hamid Tahan and I am—pardon me, I was an Emirati merchant in Dubai.

“In the latter part of my short existence, I had been diagnosed with prostate and esophageal cancer. Sadly, it was discovered in its very late stage due to my laxity in caring for my health. My illness defied all forms of medicine and treatments and according to my physicians, I had only a few months to live.

“I am ashamed to admit that I had not lived a particularly good life. I never really cared for anyone, not even myself. All that mattered was my business. Though I was very rich, I was never generous and I tended to be hostile to those around me.

“But when it was far too late, I regretted it all. I discovered that there was more to life than the mere acquisition of money and I knew in my soul that if the universe in its infinite wisdom bestowed upon me a second chance I would live my life in a different, far better manner.

“As my mortal time drew to a close, I willed most of my properties and assets to my immediate and extended family members, as well as a few loyal friends and schools in the United Arab Emirates. I gave alms to charitable organizations across the globe, as I wanted this to be one of the last good deeds I did on earth.

“And I almost accomplished the task in its entirety but my health had deteriorated more rapidly than was originally estimated and I lost my battle with cancer before I could close out my final account. This is my reason for contacting you.”

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“I have studied you from the great beyond. I see that you are a good man, a kind and generous man even though you are struggling to keep your lovely wife and beautiful children comfortable in the face of the impending bankruptcy of your company. I can help you with this.”

“Help me? How?”

“I could reveal the location of my final, secret account to you, provide you with the codes and information to transfer the funds into your account. Trust me when I say it is more than enough money to pay off all your debt, provide for your children’s futures, and allow your family to live comfortably for many years to come. The only thing I ask in exchange for this life-changing abundance…”

“Ah, the catch,” I sigh. “There is always a catch.”

“…is your life,” Hamid Tahan continues.

“My what?”

“I have come to an arrangement with The Powers That Be that I can be reborn if I performed a random act of kindness on a complete and utter stranger and of all the several billion candidates on the planet, I choose you.

“The only drawback for you is that this gift requires a sacrifice. Now you must ask yourself if you love your family enough to die for them? I have seen what lies in store for you and your family and I could not in good conscience live with myself, pardon my turn of phrase, if I did not try to help prevent it.

“You might be thinking to yourself that this is some sort of hoax but if you take a deep breath, turn your gaze inward, and reflect on it for a moment you will feel the certainty of my offer because it has been classified as a Universal Truth, which cannot be forged because they originate from a source that has existed before humankind was even a concept.”

There’s no reason to believe this literal shade of a man, but in this instant, my fear shifts on its axis to awe because a sixth sense I never knew I possessed awakens and confirms his claim. I open my mouth, then close it. There are no words for this experience, this level of understanding, clarity, and certainty.

“You need not give your answer at this moment,” he states. “But I would advise you to decide before the week has concluded. The money will be of little use to your family beyond that point.”

“Wait! What’s going to happen to my family? If you know, you have to tell me!” I want to leap from the bed and take hold of the ghost and shake the answers from him, which is an irrational thought but it doesn’t matter because I’m still unable to move from this spot.

“I apologize that I am forbidden to reveal any more to you. Please think deeply on my offer and despite your decision, know that you and your family are in my prayers. May the universe be with you, sir,” the phantasmal being who was once Hamid Tahan says as he evaporates like the figments of a dream and is engulfed by the dark shadows of the room.

And as I watch the gentle rise and fall of my sleeping wife’s chest I am left to wonder if, despite my wedding vows and duties as a father and provider, I value my own life over the financial security of my family.

Tiny Stories: Entropy Be My Name

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

I was never what anyone would have called creative by any stretch of the imagination but my parents, my loving mother and father, taught me how to appreciate creativity when I encountered it especially when we gazed up at the night sky.

They schooled me on using my imagination, on connecting the dots to form pictures and manipulating those images in my mind to construct the most beautiful art imaginable. I was alive with a raw energy that I could not brush onto canvas or mold in clay. Nor was I able to express in song, speech or written word the joy I felt standing with those whom I loved most dearly beneath a canopy of loveliness brought to life by divine hands.

But that was then.

Now I serenaded the twilight every night, luring stars close enough to be plucked from the sky, one by one, and I saved their beauty in my clutch bag for the day my mother and father, who grew bored with me and succumbed to wanderlust, decide to finally return home.

“Why do you continue doing this thing, Enny?” my neighbor, the Spinster Wainwright, once asked in a tone that was more condemnation than curiosity.

“Because my mother once told me that stars used to inspire wishes,” I replied. “And I will continue to do this thing until my wish has been granted.”

To this, the old woman had no response. She simply stood at my side, watching the night sky grow darker as one by one the stars were plucked from the heavens and placed into my purse, causing galaxies to shudder.

Eventually, our star, our sun would join the others and this lonely existence would be eaten by the dark motes that share my name.

Tiny Stories: Aeton and Ioasephyn

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Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

Minds Eye

Aeton was made for Ioasephyn, and she for him, of this there was never any doubt. Formed during The Great Making and united in an unbreakable union when the world was in its infancy, the couple consummated their love as the molten planet cooled. Theirs was the first love and the fulcrum on which all love that followed would be balanced.

In the days before there were others, Aeton and Ioasephyn relaxed in fields of spun gold and stared upward, watching as the void caught fire, pinprick flames burst into life throughout the inky black and became stars. As the landmasses grew restless and pulled away from one another, separating the waters into greater and lesser portions, the pair frolicked while the planet went through its growing pains.

When others came, some as a byproduct of their union, and the rest from elsewhere, they watched as gatherings became villages became towns became cities, and the overpopulated cities became nations. There were those who sought to rule these nations, some successfully, others less so. Aeton and Ioasephyn had seen the noblest of endeavors corrupted by pettiness, jealousy, and greed and wished to separate themselves from the inevitable outcomes.

Time passed for everyone but the young lovers. Their children grew older, as did friends. Not all were accepting of the fact, so they vanished from the daily workings of societies, and only visited occasionally when curiosity got the better of them.

One such visit proved disastrous for Ioasephyn when someone in a new city recognized her. She thought enough time had passed and the world had forgotten them. How could she have known that she and Aeton had become the stuff of legend? A legend planted in the soil of truth, watered by myth in each retelling until it sprouted the belief that their blood, the liquid of pure first love, granted eternal life.

They surrounded her, the entire city did, and forced her into a prison until they consulted with an elder on the precise details of the ritual needed to extract the blood for the immortality elixir.

Aeton was on the opposite side of the world when he felt Ioasephyn’s fear tug at his heart. He pleaded with the moon to create a tide that would carry him to his true love’s side. It obliged and he rode the waters day and night without rest until he arrived at the city that held her.

Without delay, he met with the officials who held the love of his life and attempted to reason with them. With a father’s patience, he listened to their wild tales and struggled to dispel the myths. He told them the truth in the Voice of Authority, but they paid no heed and took him prisoner as well.

The legend warned that the couple’s invincible power was only focused in their union, so the jailers locked Aeton and Ioasephyn in cages separated far enough apart so they could not touch. Upon seeing one another, the lovers wept for they knew their demise would soon come. But they were not angry, instead, they pitied those who were unable to see the world through their eyes. The love they declared for one another stood the test of the sometimes wondrous, sometimes terrifying times they lived through, and it would survive this as well.

Though they accepted their fates, Aeton couldn’t bear the thought of Ioasephyn not existing, so he hid her away somewhere no one would ever think to find her. He hid her in plain sight, tucked away in the corner of the mind’s eye of everyone in existence. He spoke the words of the incantation in his native tongue, acquired at the dawn of language when words contained magic.

Unbeknownst to Aeton, Ioasephyn had done the same to him. They truly were of one mind.

So now they lived where visionaries and dreamers created and though they often tended to their own affairs, sometimes they could be glimpsed frolicking on the cusp of thoughts or relaxing in fields of gossamer daydreams, staring upward and watching as the void caught fire, pinprick flames burst into life throughout the inky black to become brand new ideas and art.