Second of November, almost midnight

I felt the gentle purr of the mechanical beast vibrating between my thighs, reverberating straight through every fiber of my being. Helmetless, russet locks whipped wildly in the wind as I sped through the winding country lanes. My body was pressed snugly along the steel frame, fitting like a second skin so that I was one with the precious"podarok I'd received so long ago now. " Every day was the same. I absently moved through the motions without really paying attention. My whole life felt like one big, giant haze- I recognized that days passed by, but I couldn't rightly tell you what transpired at any given time. I woke, I ate, I worked, I read (though, what I was reading, I couldn't tell you), I slept a few hours, then I repeated. People spoke to me, but they might as well have been on mute" I smiled, nodded my head or shook it, but I didn't register anything that happened. " Feeling the breeze through my hair was one of the singular acts that made my face flush crimson and my blood pump riotously, a bursting moment of life and momentary transformation. I felt free. I had yet to hear back from Jaycy, and I silently prayed that she was alright. She was smart enough to not be caught or busted by brat moy idiotskiey. " Leaning into the bend in the road, I belted through it as easily as a knife through butter. The ominous crunching of gravel beneath the tires was both alarming and exhilarating; I loved the thrill of danger, to hang precariously on the precipice of life and death. It was empowering, made me feel shivoy. " It made me feel like maybe I wasn't dead just yet.

Dawn, fourth of November

The cauldron's contents bubbled and sizzled dangerously with a crackle of popping noises emitting from both the flame beneath and its stomach. The witch glanced within, overlooking a mossy green liquid that congealed to a sludge-like thickness. "Hm," was all she declared as she pivoted away on the heel of her foot. With her back to the potion, russet and gold curls cascaded down her back with a flick of her hand. " "Who does her think he is" Insinuating that I was taking things out of proportion!" she spat venomously to herself. "If there is anyone to blame, it is he for leading me on!" " Fingers were dawdling thoughtfully through a spice rack. If one took the time to actually notice said rack, they would notice it was a very strange one indeed. The spices were neatly labeled in perfect script that varied between Latin, Brodaen and Common, but translated or read into titles like "fairy wings", "pixie dust", "frog spawn", "chopped liver of Slynx", and "pickled Jrinka". Incidentally, she plucked the "liver of Slynx" off the shelf and sprinkled it on top of the boiling cauldron. " The effect was instant; there was a burst of purple dust followed by a loud plopping noise. Juliana stirred twice clockwise and thrice counterclockwise, easing the sludge into a chocolate brown smoothness. " Her lips curled upward evilly. "I hope he likes brownies." " Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and there was no telling what kind of spell she was about to place on the object of her wrath.

9 o'clock in the morning, the sixth of November " "Do your eyes burn at all?" the doctor asked as he pulled out his penlight. The little boy's eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with red and moist from watering. His mother's hand squeezed his smaller one, encouraging him not to be shy in the doctor's presence. Leo shook his head slowly. " "No' Okay, good." Theodore had the boy follow the penlight for the moment, and then stashed it away once satisfied. " "Alright, very good, Leo! Now, I want you to look at the poster behind me and read each row, okay' I am having you do this so we can make sure that the surgery I performed went well," Theo explained as he scooted his way out of the boy's line of vision. Topaz eyes flicked up to Leo's mother, Lynda, to make sure she was okay with that as well. " The nod of her head was barely perceptible as her son nodded his head vigorously. "Of course, Dr. Theo! I'll be able to read all of them, just you wait and see. I can see everything! It's like...like...a super power! I'm Super Seer!" he declared giddily, eyes wide with excitement. His mother's chest swelled with pride. " "P. G. R. D. F. H. L. K. M." Pause. "A. I. C. B. W. P. S. V." Pause. "U. X. E. Y. Z. C. F." Pause. "J. D. O. I. R. Q." Pause. "G. W. E. P. O." Pause. "C. F. L. J." Pause. "B. E. X." " Then he turned to Theo and preened with a goofy smile on his face. "See! I'm Super Seer! I didn't even need to stop; I just wanted to make sure you'd be able to keep up with me!" " Theo laughed, standing up to ruffle Leo's hair. "You are pretty super." Smoothing his jacket down, he smiled at Lynda. "Everything looks good for now. I'm going to send you home with a prescription for eye drops to ease any dryness. If he experiences any issues, please don't hesitate to call, okay?" " Lynda's face lit up with a blossoming smile. "Of course, Theo." Leo slipped his hand into his mom's after jumping out of the chair. " Did she just bat her eyelashes" He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head. "Alright, take care. And see you for your check-up!" " Leo waved maniacally before tugging his mother out of the office. "C"mon mom! I wanna go ride the Merry Go Round!" Lynda smiled bashfully, waggling her fingers girlishly in her wake. " He blinked stupidly, feeling very confused. "Right?? Shaking his head, he moved to fill out some paperwork on his desk.

Midday, the eighth of November

Rahxt thrummed with life beneath her. She felt his muscles reverberate with every leap and bound, vibrating into her very being. The wind whistled in her ears, the biting cold numbing her face and making her eyes water. Her excitement kept her blood pumping, and it helped that she hugged herself like a second skin against the steed's rippling body. " "Sem essa," Juliana murmured, her face practically buried in his mane. Her own was thickly braided, the plait thumping against her back as they rounded back to leap over a higher jump. " While he was no longer a show horse, she firmly believed in keeping Rahxt in excellent shape. It helped keep his motor skills sharp and prevented him from getting lazy. It was just as much for her herself as the horse, though. When she was not working, she was busy helping the workers muck the stalls, brush the horses, feed them, and train. Brushing out Rahxt's mane was always therapeutic, but it was the training she lived for. " There were few things she found more exciting than aiding a horse either master new obstacles, or complete a session successfully. The horses probably enjoyed it for the extra treats that ensued. The shadow mare easily made the leap and galloped on for the bucket of carrots, knowing full well he had completed his rounds with full marks. " "Alright, alright, muito bom, Rahxt," Juliana crooned, patting the side of his neck lovingly. "You win." The steed harrumphed knowingly. With a laugh she dismounted, moving to give him the keep he earned.

Middle of the night, the tenth of November " I distantly recall hearing sirens; a low thrum that started in the back of my conscience before steadily growing nearer and louder. Groaning, I rolled over and moved to pull a pillow over my head in a weak attempt to suffocate the blaring sound. I had to tug roughly on the pillow just to get it, barely registering the dull thud of a body hitting the floor as result of my effort. " I couldn't bother myself to care, too tired and exhausted. My bones ached, my skin burned, and I felt my lungs wheeze with every shallow breath I took. Teetering on the brink of sleep and consciousness, I was acutely aware of every sound in that moment"the whir of the fan, drip-drops of the faucet, crunching and grinding of gravel beneath the tires of an approaching vehicle, and the distinct lack of an accompanying heartbeat. " Eyes wide open; I bolted upright, the pillow falling to the ground. A horrified gasp slipped past my lips"all I could see was red. "Oh, no?" I choked back a piteous whimper while the room came into focus. It happened again. Those sirens" They were for me. My heart thump-thumped wildly in my throat as the flashing red and blue lights filtered between the blinds and curtains threateningly. " Holding the blankets up to my chest, I chanced looking over the edge of the bed, aided by a few scoots. There she was; her name was Lydia and she remained beautiful even in death. Light brown curls shone golden like halo around her lifeless, martyred body. Dark chocolate eyes were open, staring vacantly at the ceiling. " "Gody," Tears welled in the corners of my eyes as I murmured throatily. I could not take my eyes off her. I bled for her and the hole in her chest, silently wondering if she watched her assailant rip her heart, her whole life, away in those last moments before she passed on. " I could hear the police now, setting up a perimeter and plan of attack. I needed to move. I couldn't. " "Mne tak zhal." The whisper of my voice was barely audible except to the angels. Bringing myself to the edge of the bed, I leaned forward and brushed my lips against hers before resting our foreheads together. "I'm so sorry. Rest in peace." " Hearing guns loaded and cocked jolted me back to the present, and I dashed out of the blood speckled bed. Struggling to find clothes in the aftermath of our heavy partying, I tripped over glass bottles that clinked together noisily, stumbling through the thick haze of lingering smoke. I stuffed my limbs into whatever I lifted, mismatched and out of place. " Footsteps thumped heavily up the concrete steps. " "Idti," I urged myself, fumbling to strap on my guns with stubborn fingers. " There was just enough time to snatch up my sword before the police crowded around the door. I looked back over my shoulder for a brief moment, sorry to leave her behind. Whipping back around, I gave myself a short running start and catapulted through the window at the same time the door was rammed open. " — " I woke up screaming. My negligee stuck like a second skin, a thin sheen of perspiration glistening along bare flesh in the moonlight. The hairs on my arms stood upright and my heart hammered in my ears akin to a deafening roar. Gradually releasing my grip on the sheets, I realized I had just been dreaming. It didn't happen again. It was okay. I was here, in bed. Safe and sound. ? Safe and sound.

Evening, the twelfth of November

As I finish the last chapter of the book, I only wish that I could keep all of these feelings with me forever. The hope, the love, the joy, the pride, even the anguish But they're like sand, seeping faster and faster between the crevices of my mind until they're completely whisked away, pulled from the shore like the tide falling back to the wide expanse of ocean. I feel so much; the words speaking to me in a thousand different ways.. But once the story is done; I'm left bare and bereft, broken and lost.

There's no purpose, no reason to continue. Just a hollow emptiness that consumes me with grief.

Mama always told me I was too kind for my own good. That I felt more than I should. I used to cry for the dinner they brought home, declaring myself a vegetarian because I couldn't bear to eat something butchered.

Every time I pick up a book, I pour a little piece of my soul into it. There must be hundreds of thousands of books out there with a piece of me, loitering somewhere in the hands of a stranger that caresses the same novel the way I did.

But if that's the case, how much of my soul do I even have left?

Middle of the night, the fourteenth of November

I never really understood magic, but I don't think moya papa wanted me to. He wanted to keep me angry so my powers remained unpredictable, looming threateningly beneath the surface. I have no doubts that he knew more than he let on about my condition, but the less I knew the more advantageous for him.

Once, when I was young and still new to my powers, there was a local boy who picked on me. Vladimir was a malicious punk who was known for bullying and torturing younger children, especially girls. While I had traditionally always been a very hard child; the harvesting of my powers coincided with my coming of age and I was very hormonal for a pithy period.

I know I never really made the connection between the volatility of my mood swings and Zhar-ptitzya, or the Firebird.

You would think papa would send us to and from school in shiny limos, but he didn't. He thought it would be good for our souls to learn some harder labor, like walking there and back. It was a hike at the very least. Vladmir walked the same route we did; he didn't live far away. I had just finished watching a documentary about the Bolshevik Revolution in history, and the topic always left me teary-eyed and drained. Moy brat had stayed at school late for a project, leaving me to fend for myself.

Today, Vladimir was throwing stones.

It was easy to ignore him on a regular day, but in the throes of my weepy state I kept sniveling and turning to growl at him to leave me alone. "Prekrati!" I yelled back over my shoulder. The next stone was larger, and hit me in the back of the head. "OW!" I cried, tears stinging my eyes.

In that moment, I don't know what happened, but all I saw was white. I think the surge in my energy made me pass out, because it was already nightfall when I came to. I was confused at first, trying to figure out why I was in a back alley and about the throbbing pain at the back of my skull. My clothes were singed and my skin felt raging hot. Topaz looked up from my ruined clothing, amazed that my skin had been unharmed, to survey my surroundings. Expecting to see the world charred, I was surprised to find that the ground didn't even look scorched.

But one thing did.

Too shocked at first, I hadn't noticed the scent of burnt flesh. There was a scorched body a few feet away. I knew deep in my bones it was Vladimir.

I screamed and screamed until someone came to help me.

—

My own screaming startled me awake. I jumped, catapulting out of bed. Landing on the cold floor in a heap of tangled limbs and blankets, I shivered in my cold sweat.

Why was the past coming back to haunt me?

Afternoon, the sixteenth of November

The steel-toe boot connected with my face and I saw stars. My head snapped back and I stumbled back into the ropes, blood dripping down my chin and neck. With a split second spared to recoup, I ran my tongue over my mouth and clumsily bounced back up to my feet. Turning my head to the side, I spit, spraying blood and a cracked tooth. My jaw throbbed painfully, making me think it was fractured. Fists poised near my chin defensively, I turned back to my opponent. Leaning right, then left, I abruptly lunged forward and rammed my head into his gut. He wasn't afforded the luxury of even being able to lift his leg to kick me again as he slammed back against the mat with a wounded grunt.

Quick to roll off of him, I forced myself back up before Sergei could pin me down with him. I watched him wince, obviously winded, but he flipped back onto his feet adroitly. We were both breathing hard, but neither wanted to fold. Circling around one another like vultures, I abused the moment and spent it trying to read his movement and anticipate his next attack.

Egging him on, I crooked a finger at him in a "come at me" gesture. We both moved into action at the same time, but I was faster"kicking my leg out from the side so that I could swing it back around his calves. Sergei's arm was en route for my face, the ridgeline of his hand still in the birthing stages when his feet flew out from under him. For the second time, he landed flat on his back, the air squelched from his lungs.

I was triumphant, but it was short-lived. Poised with the crest of my hand, I prepared to chop down at his jugular; but he rolled to his side, his legs curling unexpectedly around my calves. With a quick jerk, he sent me tottering sideways. Arms flailed as I came crashing to the floor. I landed on my side, blinded by pain and moaning. Flopping back, I cradled my elbow to my stomach and rocked side to side. Sergei took the moment to gain the advantage, and I very narrowly missed having my face bashed in by his fist. It pounded into the mat where my head had been a split second ago, before I rolled out of harm's way.

My right arm hung uselessly at my side as I struggled to a crouch before I rose. I was tired, we'd been trading punches for hours now. My hair was matted indelicately to my skull, clothes clung to my skin uncomfortably and I was sticky with blood. My opponent was already rounding on me, but my fist connected with the underside of his jaw as I rose ungracefully, but speedily. For a second, he was suspended in midair, eyes rolled back and blood spurting out of his mouth. He fell back at a funny angle with a sickening thud, and didn't get up.

Suddenly exhausted, it took more effort than it should have for me to limp toward his body. I dropped to my knees and hunched over him, slapping at his face with my good hand. "Sergei?? My voice asked out tentatively, unsure of how to proceed. We'd gone 20 bloody rounds, but it finally tallied to 9-10 me. He twitched, and I sighed in relief. I fell back into a sitting position. Lying back into the ropes like a cradle, I closed my eyes and began counting off my injuries. It was going to take a week or two to heal. Maybe longer.

Twilight, the eighteenth of November

Ripper wasn't lying when he said his slime would keep her warm. A piggyback ride by a xenopmorph was akin to a rollercoaster ride, but they made it to the cemetery a lot faster than if we had been walking. It wasn't until they were nose against the entrance that Phoenix's earlier words dawned on her: this was down the street and to the south!

"That was too easy," she murmured, perplexed by the Wolf's easy fold. There had to be a catch. The xenomorph continued the newly erected mausoleum on the east hill, as per the provided instructions.

Her first thought was that it looked out of place; too clean, too pristine to be a part of such a musty old cemetery. As they got closer, she was not longer aware of whether or not Ripper was with her anymore. She slid off his back, covered in his slime but the blonde didn't seem to notice. Her craving, her thirst for the knowledge this mausoleum held fueled her to seek out this so-called gift.

Lingering at the doorway, fingertips traced across the name engraved at the entry, tracing a dark sense of foreboding. She teetered back and forth, suddenly overcome with a desperate urge to run away. But she persevered and moved forward through the entryway and within. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust the darkness of the mausoleum, umber searching for the erected final resting place

She shook her head in disbelief. "Seriously' Two slaves?"

There was one mystery solved. Who was the Dave look-a-like then?

Lunchtime, the twentieth of November

Fingers danced along the memoirs of deep longing and true love, the beggar's scripted verses of hope and grief. Multiple diaries full of letters to no one littered my lap; years and years worth of heartache. My heart pumped irregularly, a deep sense of hatred and loathing festering alongside the hurting ache of loneliness. Armando's burning memory seared through every fiber of my being, and I needed to let go. I wanted to forget, to bury it into the deepest depths of the wide wonder of space. Let it burn in the bottom of the trashcan fire I had ignited next to my desk.

Flames reflected in wet, shiny eyes as I began ripping the pages out. It was slow at first, remorseful, but it grew into an angry growl, fingers suddenly unable to rip the pages out fast enough. Down, down they floated, side to side before finally drifting to their final incinerating point. The ends of the papers curled, browning then dissolving into grey ash. Like sand seeping between fingers, the memories began to fade away.

After a while, my lap was empty and the flames began to smolder out. "Why is the trashcan aflame?" I asked aloud, looking around the office for explanation. There was none.

Did she just magick away her memory' Why, yes, yes she did.

And you'll be just a memory.

Afternoon, the twenty-second of November

Theodore loved feet; this is what led him to getting his medical degree and focusing in podiatry. He did not have any fetishes or anything like that, but he relished in the abilities of the foot. Right now, he was admitting the Pointe of a foot. He had a package nestled in the crook of his arm, addressed to Xenia Chirikova and mistakenly delivered to his door. The diminutive brunette looked so much longer than normal between the elongating tights, leotard and ballet Pointe shoes.

Topaz averted long enough to take in the spare room; the wall to the left was lined with mirrors, a wood balance beam cutting a straight line across, two wide and tall windows to the right allowed in just the right amount of light, and the wall straight across had a basket full of ballet shoes in varying states of decay, tights, leg warmers, leotards, skirts, and was littered with showcase photos. He had never seen her so full of life, nor color. Her presence demanded his attention, and he turned back to Xenia.

The woman was graceful, carrying herself as though she was as light as a feather. He had always known she was once a ballerina, but seeing was believing. Theo had no idea she still practiced. He saw the way her face fell into peaceful concentration, how she poised herself with arms out and to the side. One foot had been up behind her, and fell behind the other one as arms curved high above her head. Her feet crisscrossed around one another, propelling her around in a circle.

His eyes maneuvered their way back down to the elegant arch of her foot, watching it fall flat against the ground. Then they traveled back up the muscular legs and lean torso to look upon her face, her own golden eyes staring at him. Theodore had the decency to look properly embarrassed, struggling to smile. "Sorry to um.." Rubs the back of his neck nervously, "Bother you? But this package came to my house, and?" Waving back behind him with the same hand, "Your door was open."

Pink lips formed into a thin line, a bead of perspiration glistening in the sunlight along her brow. "Spasibo," Xenia thanked him quietly, moving determinedly in his direction to take the package.

He reluctantly handed over the package, now out of reasons to stay and chat. She stood there stoically, unmoving and closed off. He could take the hint and ducked his head. "If you...you know, ever get one of my packages...You can always come by my place." His smile grew from sheepish to friendly, backing out of the hallway.

She dipped her head, stray russet curls falling out of her bun. "But of course.? The corner's of her mouth twitched into a hint of a smile.

Theodore turned on the heel of his foot and out the front door.

Late night, the twenty-fourth of November

Lowers the bottle, holding it at her throat, she watches him intently. "Tell me about Thanksgiving, where you're from." Her hand slid up his thigh, fingers weaving invisible designs into his pants. "I noticed several people celebrating it...but I still don't understand what meaning it has."

"My family wasn't yer typical Thanksgiving really. When I was a kid we'd all go ta my grandpa's place in tha desert and eat. When I got older we pretty much stopped celelbratin' most holidays all together. Until me and dad started doin' Christmas together when I got older." A small shrug. "Do they have Thanksgiving where yer from?"

Squints, watching him curiously and sipping her soda. "No, I don't remember any holidays growing up except for Yule and the New Year, the others were mostly for celebrating the gods." Pauses, chewing on her lip. "Is Christmas the same as Yule?"

"Maybe?" The soda was set down, and the cigarette, so he could have free hands for her body. Both captured the indent of her waist into her hips. "I dunno. Never celebrated Yule. Never was too big on holidays."

A soft sigh of glee, a breath of pleasure as his hands encircled her waist. "Mm..." She contemplated asking why, chewing on her lip again. Hesitating, she opened her mouth to ask something, before shutting it. Waits a beat, then opens it again. "Would you want to celebrate with me?" It was such a tiny and innocent voice when she asked. "I-I was thinking we could buy a tree. My family was never big on celebrating the proper way..." Her face lit up like a Christmas tree, "I want to go all out." Breathily, releasing stores of pent up wants and desires.

"I would love ta." His hands squeezed right where they were at to emphasize his point. "Christmas is my favorite. I stopped celebratin, but it didn't mean I stopped lovin' it."

"Promise?" Leaning forward so their foreheads kissed, a whisper that threatened to be a squeal.

"Promise. W can go all out. Put up lights around yer place. A huge tree." Jo smiled wide. "We can even go caroling."

She's practically dancing in spot, tittering behind her hands before she threw them around his shoulders and squeezed. "You're the best ever!" Excited whispers in his ear before she tilted her head, pulling back. "What's caroling?"

(( Taken from Live-play with the handsome and delicious Jochin Nagadari! ))

Morning, the twenty-sixth of November

Her back was to the mirror, arms wound around so she could touch her back. Fingers ran over the marred flesh, feeling the faintly healed blemishes. Vivid memories seared through her mind. She didn't mean to, but she began to project one of the incidents that led her current state. — It was cold, so dark out from the lack of sun that it was hard to even see what was transpiring. Xiandralyn bound her arms around the post at the wrist so that her bare back was exposed. It was already bloody, scabbed over and pus-ridden from lack of hygienic care.

Bracing herself, Duci hunched over, gritting her teeth so ferociously that her jaw hurt. The collective gasp from the swelling crowd of spectators did little to ease her nerves. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing there was no one else there to witness her public humiliation. This was her punishment for made up reasons because Xiandralyn wanted Alper to marry her; Duci was just the bait to get to him.

The twang of the whip never ceased to surprise her, the barbed ends lacing past the thin membrane of flesh and dug into the muscle. An explosion of pain erupted behind her eyes and she bit into her lower lip. She bit hard enough that she broke the skin, tasting blood by the time the fifth stroke hit. Halfway there, she reminded herself encouragingly, trying to keep the tears at bay. Duci refused to give that b*tch the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Or anyone else, for that matter.

She was vaguely aware that Alpe was somewhere out there in the background, watching helplessly as he fought against the guards restraining him. Xiandralyn glided toward her, heels ending in a pointed blade that itched to mar her delicate features. The Queen was crouching down, her digits entangling in damp and dirty curls. With a vicious tug, she wrenched her head back in a way that forced her to look up at her.

"Smile, blondie; you're going to suffer this every day until your boss gives in."

Duci spit in her face. "F*ck you."

With an outraged roar, the elven woman's face contorted into a demonic appearance while she slammed Duci's face into the post. "Give her ten more!" Xianralyn demanded with a frightening bellow prior to storming off. — The blonde gasped from reliving the moment, phantom pain still lingering up and down her back and in her face. Despite the fact the projection ended, the memory didn't fade into nothingness. It was forever seared into her mind.

She felt the scars, wincing slightly from the pressure. Xiandralyn had been forced to remove the scars, but she merely reduced the appearance. As a token of her memory for Duci, she opted to leave her handiwork faintly inscribed across the once perfect canvas of sun kissed flesh. They were faint enough you would almost miss them even at first touch' but she would never forget them.