When Words Interchange

 I've been lost. Lost down an infinite, meandering sea of darkness.

What we once termed 'the Rabbit Hole' took on an entirely new meaning once I became trapped inside.

What was initially meant to be a brief escape hatch grew binding the more frequently I stepped inside.

I began to lose my ability to speak eloquently, long held skills and beliefs fell to the yawning pit. Slowly, I grew numb to the most basic of a sensations. 

The feeling of wind on my skin gave no joy. The sound of children laughing, no respite. Daylight meant nothing. Companionship and conversation grew to feel as sawdust between my lips. 

Then, fear began to seep in.

My links to the outside world severed, weathered with time, eventually grew to frighten me. Those that once gave me comfort in my times of need, became painful reminders of the life I once lead.

The person I once was.

Even simple words grew taxing to conjure.

I because disoriented and confused even navigating roads I had known for nearly fifteen years. I would break into palm sweats and the shakes at the mere prospect of taking a walk in public.

I feared getting lost and not knowing how to find my way home.

When the better part of your life involves traveling and upheaval.. each new move became a source of dreaded necessity. 

Survival was first, and foremost.

At my worst, I became trapped inside my own mind, staring blankly at the outside world. Internally screaming out for help from behind blank, glazed over eyes. A genuine smile became an achievement. Even the presence or lack of food available stopped provoking any kind of response.

For someone who prided herself on, quite literally, being a Survivor, described as the 'Mouth of the South..'.. it was hell on Earth. One I couldn't escape from.

I won't detail the horrors of what I saw and went through during that time. Suffice to say, I saw enough to reevaluate what truly causes fear, pain, and evil. That's enough on that matter.

I began trying to destroy myself out of shame and desperation. Went mostly off my food and water, began to sleep large chunks of time, and examine my surroundings for methods to deeds I'd rather not repeat here.

For someone that knows how to end a life as many ways as I do, I sure failed more than I had any right to. Even in the state I was in.

Frantic, I began to research more inventive and tested forms. Those things no one dare teach out loud, for fear of being known to have that knowledge. Suffice to say, I now know more than I ever did on that subject matter.

Just short of the attempt at a method, done properly, with an 80-100% success rate, I had a visitor. One that I had met many times, an acquaintance on friendly terms with those still cared for me when I was incapable of doing so.

My... visitor very quietly and kindly pointed in the direction of a path I had overlooked many a time, where just the barest sliver of daylight could be seen shining in the distance.

"It's a long road, but if you're willing to walk it, I know how to get you on it safely. Do you still want to leave this place?"

I still haven't left the Other Side entirely. I'm not sure if I ever will. Experiences like this, places you tread through, some have a way of staying with you long after you physically leave. But.. the farther I set my feet along this path, the brighter the daylight shines. 

The more I believe there is, indeed, a road out of the Under Land. 

Down the Rabbit Hole

I sit in silence frequently, tears hitting my eyes.

Looking at a world with multiple filters at once.

Seeing Home all around you in a grey scale all around you. Color swarming and filling itself in atop a lazy smile, a crooked look, even a shrug.

Weed is the only thing that helps me float above the pain.

The shards of your past become literal when they leave physical scars on my body.

Beginning to feel a bit like a voodoo doll, all stitched up and absurd.

Watching mother's dance with their children as my arms ache from the absence of mine.

The best way I can describe surviving the multiverse is immortality not translating into invulnerability. A form of emotional arthritis begins to set in. Everything from your heart to your spine to the heels of your feet begins to ache.


Slowly, nothing begins to feel real. Cracks in the structure of how our planes of existence overlap each other. The seams between them become nigh on impossible to gauge, as they slip by underfoot like a hiccup or a breeze.

Learning to conceal emotion on my facial expressions, that was a difficult lesson to learn. Many a fracture I myself have caused by saying the right thing at the wrong moment.

Deadpanning has become my set of features. A bit of dark humor thrown in here and there.

I find myself in a place where Sanctuary does not exist. Where there exists little but escaping the pain of daily life.

An under the radar job. Walking to work.

Going by a different name.

Keeping my mouth shut for fear of who might recognize me here.

Wondering when the fractures will widen beneath my feet and reality will change again.

Stain the petals red

Staring up through my bangs at my captor, I huffed.

"This is impractical, dear. You could've simply asked to come see me. The bondage and secrecy were unnecessary."

With a smile and a shake of his head, Gabriel finished tying the knot binding my feet, reaching forward to check the strength of the rope holding my hands together in a most annoying fashion. "You would've fled the moment I contacted you, and you know it. And don't pretend if it weren't for the bindings and your being blind due to the hood on the trip here that you wouldn't have escaped this already."

Sitting back on his heels, he chuckled. "Besides. I like fucking with your head and you know it."

I glared up at him in annoyance. "Phones and computers exist for a reason. Meeting AT ALL is unnecessary these days. If you know I don't like you this much, why bother?"

A raised eyebrow from him, his amusement painting his face in exaggerated strokes. "But texting doesn't let me piss you off. Or verify if you're telling the truth or not. Easier to simply watch your face as you talk. Saves a lot of time."

"Alright, alright damn it. What do you want to know so damned badly it was worth risking my kicking your ass?"

Another laugh from him. "You know what. The same question you always dodge. Why I wear his face."

A pointed look past his shoulder as I fought to hold my temper. The urge to kill this fucker rose with every breath.

"It isn't my fault you don't remember, you asshole. And it isn't my job to teach you what it all means. Kinda defeats the purpose of you losing your memories to begin with."

A sudden pain shot through my face as his palm connected across my jaw, snapping my head to the side. "Wrong answer, bitch. I know you know more than you're letting in. You kept calling me by his name."

"Took you ages to stop bitching and moaning about it, right as I was figuring out whatever you knew could be what I needed to break this curse. You know what I need to remember. Isn't it your job as Keeper to share the secrets you find with those that need them?"

I laughed sardonically, openly twisting my hands to try to force leeway in my bonds. I'd be fucking damned if I didn't try to find a way out. Away from this nightmare of a situation.

Once, many repetitions ago, I fell in love with the man whose body this hijacker rode like a meatsuit. Lived a lifetime at his side, bore his children, fought at his side against the boogeymen that went bump in the night.

Thousands of moments in lockstep. A ring burning hot against my skin in times of distress. Whispered confessions at the witch's hour, forehead to forehead. Children playing in the sunlight, laughing and smiling. Symbols and blood exchanged from one set of skin to another.

A lifetime of memories, slain at the hand of a moment's choice. An exchange of vows and prices paid to protect that which mattered most to us. A debt that could never stop being paid. Hells envisioned in the darkest of night terrors could not compare to that which we wrought so recklessly.

With a Cheshire smile stained red, I grinned up at him amusedly. "It just kills you not to know where you come from doesn't it, asshole? You just can't stand that I know more than you. Move on. Let it go. It just doesn't matter."

He growled at me in frustration, snatching me up by my shirt to stand face to face with him. His grip holding me up high to do so, forcing me to tiptoe, to lean my weight against his grip to keep from falling forward.

"If it didn't matter so much, you wouldn't have kept trying to bring him back. You wouldn't have cried every time I visited for so long. So many times you said his name in your sleep. Don't think I don't know you used my body to mourn him. I'm not stupid. But still, you refuse to tell me who he was. I've had to scour everything I found in my things in the room I woke up in just to survive the world I woke up in."

"You were so eager to save me until you started cottoning on that I wasn't him. Something in my eyes, in the way I stood, I don't fucking know, but you figured it out. Despite my best efforts."

"I'm starting to get images of his life when I sleep, you fucking cunt. I can't escape them. Most of the shit I see doesn't make any fucking sense to me, and one of these days, you aren't going to have a choice about it. You're going to have to explain, or I'm going to remember enough to piece it all together. And something tells me I'm going to come straight for you with an axe to grind for it all."

Grinning again, I let the blood I had collected in my mouth from something tearing in my mouth to dribble down my face as I amusedly waggled my newly freed hands next to his face. Taking advantage of his moment of surprise, I grabbed hold of the back of his head and smashed my forehead violently into his nose to the symphony of cartiledge breaking and his screams of pain.

Twisting away from his grasp, I ran from him, pausing in the doorway to salute him briefly as I left.

Calling over my shoulder as I sprinted across the line marking the warded space I couldn't Travel from to the land I could easily create a tear in to safer territory, I taunted him one last time. "Good luck figuring it out, you bastard. I'm never saving you from this shitty existence, and not a fucking thing you do or say or remember will ever change that. Go rot in a fucking hole, Gabriel!"

He regained his senses with a scream of outrage and bolted after me just in time to watch me disappear through a tear in a burst of ash and smoke.

Stupid fucking twat forgot I carry blades in my pockets like a kid hoards candy. What did he expect, me to roll over and cave to his demands for information after dozens of his failures? Each meeting seemed to escalate in violence and desperation, but did nothing to change matters.

The secret I held from him will die with me before I would ever willingly give him what he needed to Ascend to a Higher level of monster. Never will it happen.

I won't be the cause of another war.

Stakes in the Ground

I wiped my brow wearily, looking down at the grave marker I was forced into erecting.

Resting my foot on the top of the Spade's blade, I contemplated the tilled earth thoughtfully.

Angrily. Calmly. Conflicted.

"Just had to go and die again, didn't ya fucker? Couldn't just wait for reinforcements patiently. Had to go charging in like some Leroy Jenkins fuckface, thinking yourself a Billy badass. You didn't need the help, eh?"

"Look where it got ya. Six feet deep in the middle of contested land. Couldn't even give me the convenience of dying in a place I'm allowed to be."

Still speaking aloud, I held my hand out in the universal stop gesture. Stopping my shadow from stepping forward and comforting me just yet. Corporealizing just out of my sight didn't keep me from sensing his intentions.

Few things alluded my notice these days.

"If I get shot doing this, I'm coming back and pissing on the earth I know your head rests under."

Slowly, I withdrew the leather cord my pendant hung from, from around my neck. Hung the cord a seemingly centuries old ring rested on upon the wooden cross.

To my companion, I spoke off to the side. "How far out is the patrol?"

Flipping jet-black hair out of his eyes for the hair to fall into nearly the same placement as before, he replied.

"A few miles out. Closing fast."

After a pause, he spoke again. "We should have left by now."

Turning slightly, I eyed my angelic companion. His feathers faintly dragging the ground, glamoured to appear sightless in accordance with his businesslike demeanor. He so hated to be seen properly. Preferring instead for sight to slide past him without remark. So in discordance to his true demeanor and appearance.

In the crowds we ran in, it was dangerous to be Seen.

I smirked slightly, hefting the tool to rest upon my shoulder like it was any regular day gardening, turning my body to face his to find him but a foot away. Ten feet eaten up in the blink of an eye. One of his trademark latent abilities.

"Do you really think I'm trying to avoid a scuffle right now?"

A shadow of an annoyed smile skirted across Cass's face, to be replaced by bemused boredom.

"No, but being found right now would be difficult to explain at the peace accords next week."

I laughed. "Dead men tell no tales, remember?"

Gesturing towards the earth at my feet, he shook his head. "This is going to be hard enough to disavow knowledge of. Six dead Defenders would be impossible."

He paused. "He wouldn't want you to destroy all the hard work you've put into this. All of it. Not because of some misplaced emotions you can handle once we leave."

"Don't throw it all away now because you blame them for his death. It won't bring him back."

Sighing exasperatedly, I grabbed my pack and started walking in the direction of a river we passed on the way from the Path. "You know this isn't the end. Blood is going to fall for this. He was one of Ours. I'm not going to forget why he passed. Not this time. I can't forgive it this time."

Keeping pace, he slipped back into his other form, the sound of his footfalls being swallowed by mine.

"You won't have to. But now is not the time."

Rolling my eyes, I continued ahead.

Now was not the time, indeed.

Further Down We Go

The most fucked up part about living in a world that folds in and out of others is watching the was, is, and should be cross.

Ghosts of the dead strolling in your front door, wondering what's for dinner.

Enemies, in their land, cuddle buddies with people I care about.

Friends throwing a blade within a hairsbreadth of my face for daring to visit.

Being expected to know where my footsteps fall.

What to do.

How to feel.

I'm a stranger in this land.

On the surface, it looks like my home.

My home's been gone for many a year.

And yet, I still smile. Keep going through the motions.

This was the best of all the world's I could have fallen into.

I can't help but hold onto old ties.

Old grudges.

Old loves.

How do you keep from going insane when the life you've lived is now a lie? A work of fiction or memory?

I lose track.

Grew afraid of writing the accords.

So afraid of being seen. Heard. Found.

Fuck it all.

I'm tired of watching people emotionally graverob everything we worked for.

Breaking down inside as the people I love ask what my name is. Disbelieving we ever had a life together.

It's the immortal's dilemma all over again, I just keep dying and coming back. Learning a new beat to move to, a new job to learn on the fly, memorizing lists of who to speak to and who to avoid.

Can't catch my breath in this new world.

Someone new to be every few months as I fall through the cracks.

I stopped trying to bring people with me across these jumps.

Some people just can't help but hold on

Others, can't figure out why they keep getting drawn to the stranger with a familiar smile.

Like magnets with polarized force, to and from.

Some blame me or accuse me of wothcraft for being who I am. Knowing what I do.

Oh, the record keeps ski-ii-iii-iii-pp-ppp-ppp-iiiiing.

Tired of keeping these memories in my head to prevent them from affecting the world.

These world's, these lands, pressing down on me through my memories.

Somewhere, somehow I have to write.

Fragments of the stories that'll never fully get told.

Here, they'll come to die.

In and out, weaving through time.

It's the only discourse I have left in this mad world we walk.

Further down the rabbit hole, we go.

Take a deep breath and jump with me now.

It's time.

Be wary, though, this route be long and dangerous.

Behold all you see with a grain of salt.

And keep your heads about you. Literally.

I hear there's royalty here that likes removing them.

Maybe

Somehow, when we broke the loop, I was expecting.. more.

Fireworks. Explosions. The earth shaking.

Something.

Instead.. the loop broke apart like glass suspended in too old concrete glue. Dusty, slow, pieces falling in slow motion through that which had held it.

The participants left confused, slowly, hesitantly taking new steps forward. Unsure where the new life began and the old one ended.

We have taken to describing it as "waking up."

To a world still operating in the year of 2018.


You see, for those of us caught in the snare, it's been..


Well. It varies. For some, a year. Others, five.

For the unlucky.. let's just say it's been a very long time.


Pet theories abound as to the WHY of our situation.


One camp holds firm that it was a punishment for daring to oppose what was 'meant to be.' That is, the death of the humans involved. They believe we were never meant to survive the Great Game.

Others believe it was an accident. Too much exposure to the best and worst of the Eldritch forces we dealt with. An unhappy occurrence we just so happened to escape.

My personal belief, and that of many of the most hardened survivors, is that it was in some way a test.

A way of seeing who would survive. And for those that did.. a training ground of sorts. So we could 'go back' and make the changes we so desired.

Reunions at Sanctuary have been.. tense, to put it mildly. Like a Thanksgiving celebration from your nightmares. But.. still worthwhile. Because, for all the yelling, nasty words, and survivors storming off in different directions..

We still survived to fight another day.

It's hard to be ungrateful when most of my allies still have a pulse.

Still, it is strange to actually see Sanctuary still standing instead of a burnt, destroyed mess of rubble and broken dreams. Here, now, today, it is as it was (for me) so many years ago.

I wander its halls sometimes, at night, rediscovering old secrets that survived with us.

A chipped black vase, bamboo trees painted along its side, holding flowers instead of a remnant of azoth.

A surprisingly heavy glass jar, filled with sand, still sitting innoxuously on my bedside as if it never left.

A twisted, gnarled staff of white oak. Its sharpened end still charred by soot. Innocently leaning by the entryway as if waiting for my daily walk.

Silly things, like artwork I thought stolen long ago.

A series of photo albums, filled to the brim with pictures of lives that happened and shouldn't have, current events from around the world. Even a few images of.. futures that technically have never come to pass now. And never will.

These photo albums were quickly relocated to my attic room, stacked carefully on my desk to be carefully, cautiously opened when I can bear the weight of the memories. For me to write their stories.

Things from over a dozen lost timelines just.. here.

Heck, y'all should have seen my face the first time a 'dead' friend came strolling through my front door, asking for help with supplies. Insisting it had only been a few months since I last saw them, quite perturbed by the immense pressure I put to their ribs from delightedly hugging them to me. You see, for me.. I was seeing a ghost.

This has happened many times since, and has sparked a curiosity in me. To chronicle what I could remember, to collect the memories of those that haven't banished them, before they began to fade.

This 'story' may not make sense for a while.

That's okay.

I, and others like me, will know the truth of things.


Maybe, one day, our story will make sense to the rest of the world too.

Again

And so we begin again. 

Shaking our hips to the tune of our death's crooning.

We've been stuck in a fragmented loop as long as I can remember.

The same people, endlessly cycling through the same mistakes and heartaches, wondering why there is a bone deep misery in their chest. Wondering why they feel so abandoned.

Different names. Different faces. The same hell.

This, my dear audience, is the definition of insanity.

Committing the same actions, over and over.

Expecting different results.

Those of us that step outside our infinitely loop are punished in new and horrific ways.

We see this regularly.

The teenager that speaks their mind quickly being hushed

The mourning widow being swept away to be hidden from sight. Heartbreak is unsightly, so you see.

The parent who is forced to heavily medicated their child for being too "different." Brilliance shows itself in strange ways, but to those that can't understand are uncomfortable in it's presence.

The corporate whistleblower antagonized and chased from their home for daring to expose unethical practices.

The soldier that returns home from war broken and battered from the lives they have had to take, from the horrors they have witnessed.. to find a world that sneers at their pain.

Again and again, we look on, aghast at what we see, feeling helpless. Convincing ourselves we are but one soul in an endless sea of bodies. "What can I do? I can't risk my family/job/friends/freedom on impossible clauses. It'll eventually get fixed. Let someone else do it."

So too does the world ignore the plight of our people. The ones affected by the Fears are ignored, or labelled as crazy. Locked in institutions for their own "safety," their suspicious deaths given ridiculous handwaves for causes, or seen with hatred and loathing. For, the nasty truth is..

We blend in with Runners of a different kind: the homeless. The suffering, starving, desperate section of the population ousted from their homes for their own varying reasons. 

We're all the same to the world that hasn't seen the atrocities we have. The greater world in general likes to ignore it's flaws, discrepancies, and outright failures. Pain is difficult to watch for, it ignites in people a most often aborted desire to help, to change, to *get up and do something.*

Don't you guys think that, maybe.. it's time we make enough noise that we can't be ignored? Strive to help the others of us that are lost or struggling? Stop letting our desire for a better world sour in our hearts until we turn bitter and give up hope?

I figure, this time around, I'd like to be on the right side of history. Even if it means pissing people off.

Y'all should join me.

Rose Red Under the Veil

The beast swore each day and each night that the castle was the safest place for the beauty to reside.

But the castle frightened the beauty, for she had been locked away before.

She begged and pleaded, "Leave your curse behind, start over with me. I love you the way you are, please, let's find a different way to break the curse. You don't have to be bound by the rose, it can only kill you if you are here."

But of course, the castle was home to the beast, and he felt beholden to the others to break their curse too.

So she stayed, uneasy, trying to appease the castle inhabitants. Cleaning, playing, bowing, whatever it took.

She became worried, as more petals fell.

Only three remained.

She began searching the books in the library her lover had given her, sending out crows begging for assistance, anything she could do to save the one she loved so much.

She learned of a land, very far away, that had a witch capable of breaking his spell.

Hesitantly, she reached out to the witch.

She was more than prepared to trade her life for his, for the beast was truly the prince, always meant to lead his people to happiness.

The witch agreed, but with one catch. "Should your beast come north with you, his spell shall break and he will return to lead the others out of ruin. But, be wary. Should the beast decide to stay within the castle and you should flee, he will be cursed forever to his form, and you shall never see him again."

Ecstatic to learn there was hope for her love, she unthinkingly agreed on the spot, not realizing the spell was cast the moment she did. She had faith in her beast, and truly believed the curse would break.

Happily, she gathered her notes and hurried to his side, telling him the story with great big smiles and sweeping hand gestures. Pausing, she waited for his response.

With a frown, the beast tried to tell her he knew of the witch, and did not trust her. They began to argue, loudly enough to be overheard. That was all it took.

His bewitched kin swept into the room, scattering her notes and pulling her from him.

Confused, she cried out, "Why?"

With a sad smile, the beast told her:

"The curse was already broken. You fell in love with me. I was never meant to change back into a human. This was my punishment."

She shook her head and tried to follow him, but his kin blocked her way.

The beast continued, "You silly girl. If only you had waited. Trusted me. We only had one petal left. If it had fallen, the others would have changed back, and we would have been wed. Now.. Nothing shall ever change. You've doomed us all."

Struggling, she cried out: "But you would have been human, and free! Wasn't that what you wanted all along?"

The beast turned and began to watch the sun set from beyond their bedroom window.

"No, my love. We were always meant to stay here to help the others. And if you flee north, we will be trapped in these forms forever." With that, he waved his hand at his enchanted kin to escort her out.

She begged, "Wait, please, we can fix this! Please, please, let me stay, make this right."

The leader of the enchanted kin scowled at her savagely. "You stupid girl, don't you understand? You failed the rose's test. Now, you cannot stay within the castle. You have to leave."

Weeping, the beauty went and collected her things. Before she left, she wrote the beast a letter telling him how much she loved him. As the castle doors shut behind her, the witch appeared before her, ethereal and kind.

"Are you ready to leave?"

With great reluctance, the beauty shook her head. "No, for if I go, I curse him forever."

The witch looked surprised, then as a light came on behind her eyes she smiled.

"Where will you go? And will you truly give up your future, to give him a chance at his that he will likely squander?"

The beauty began to walk forward, not waiting for the witch to follow. "I don't know. Somewhere close by. I want to be close in case he should ever need me."

The witch called out, "He will never love you again. He has been forbidden to."

Over her shoulder, the beauty called out:
"It doesn't matter, for I shall always love him. I will not condemn him to a fate worse than death in order to flee. Even if it means being alone for the rest of my life."

With that, the beauty flipped the hood of her cloak up over her head and disappeared into the forest, beneath the ever watchful eye of her former beloved.

Tall tales and rumors began to circulate after this, of a new witch in the area, healing children and taking on quests to save the villagers. When the curious came to see for themselves, they would always come to a path bordered by white roses, well-kept and easy to follow. She did not want anyone to become lost on her account.

The ones who sought her always, eventually, came around to asking her two questions:

The first, "Can you help us?"
And the second, "What is your name?"

She never turned down a soul in need, but refused to reveal her true name. Such things could give someone power over you, if such a person knew what they were doing.

"You may call me Lilith. Any name that came before, any person I once was, I do not answer to anymore. Now, what is it you need?"

Fairy tale endings don't always work the way we thought they might. People die, secrets are formed, and lovers are wrenched apart. 

But, don't be sad. 

For in the loss of the union of the Beauty and the Beast, the creation of another story was born:

The kindly witch in the woods, clad all in shades of red and black. The last bastion of hope, before you reach the end of the path and encounter the beanstalk and the one guarding it.

You might know a version of this tale. I bet you can guess the guardian, too.

Clarion Call

It sucks, but sometimes we must bear the consequences for others' failures. Jack is suffering for my decision to accept the Convocation, and for my decision to enact the Culling. 

I wanted to bear the blame on my shoulders, since all these deaths were my decision, but there are those already that blame her for it. 

They claim we are essentially the same person (blatantly untrue), and that she should have somehow stopped me. My question is this..

How does one deny the will of a bloodthirsty Fear? Once the idea popped into my head and those damned birds caught wind of it, it was over with. Even i couldn't take it back, no matter how I have wished since to end it.

Tag has been.. helping. Playing chess with me in the wee hours. Slowly coaxing my mind out of the ruins it had been. I still have to concentrate to ignore the whispers of

not good enough, never good enough, why don't you just end it all? The world would be a better place without you in it. It'd be so easy no one loves you no one cares you are a cancer that needs to be eradicated. Just stay in your room and pretend you aren't there make life easier on everyone, who could love a fuckup like you..

I can't get stoned like Jack does. When i get too comfortable, too happy, the birds want to take over. Go watch the deaths in person. Play in the blood and laugh at the suffering. That isn't me. Never was

I.. am still basically the same person i once was. Kind, loving, peaceful. The betrayer of the proxy code that alerted runners to upcoming attacks, tried to teach them how to survive and who to be wary of to survive just one more day. The girl that couldn't handle the pain of the world like Jack could.

I don't know what makes us so essentially different. Why she became fucking Maleficent given form, essentially, while i.. Shattered.

Maybe she became accustomed to the pain, being from the darkest timeline. 

Maybe pain became a way of life for her, to where the happiness I felt confuses her. When i send her ravens across the rabbit hole, her words sound so.. cold. So tired. So lonely.

I don't think she really understands how to process emotions anymore. Views them as amusing distractions, just like the pot and the sex.

She certainly doesn't understand what to do with David or Gallows in her home. The last time I wrote her, she told me she's taken to sitting with Graves on guard duty. Quiet, barely speaking, just.. watching. Thinking.

I worry for her, being stuck in my home. She wasn't built to withstand the venus flytrap that is No Man's Land. 

The temptation of wanting to stay, forever, and abandon all cares and worries in Overland.

I have heard tales, growing up, of similar from people that accidentally traveled to the Fae lands. Where time passed strangely there, and humans wanted to stay. Be happy.

Makes me wonder if perhaps the old Fae tales were referring to Underland. 

It would certainly make sense. The vicious sharpened teeth of the inhabitants, the ethereal beauty, the deadly nature, the games they like to play with humans.

Are the Fears simply the angriest, most violent of the Fae races? Did they stumble into supernatural hotspots like many of us did, and become transformed into these eldritch horrors?

The answer is I simply don't know. The idea bears research, though, now that the Fears encourage the human side of the Great Game.

Could this be why the Fears began to have human faces to Jack? Why we each became more like them the more time we spent in Underland or around them? This begs the question..

Do we even count as humans anymore? And if we don't.. are the voices right? Would the world be better off if all of my sisters, the other Dias, and I killed ourselves before we become like Them?

I can't help but to not trust the voices. The birds. They have never been kind to me, not mentally. Could it be just another test to see which of us survive?

I don't have the answers the way Jack does, and she certainly isn't telling all her secrets. Old Dia habit, I suppose.

I may be leaving Sanctuary soon. I have intercepted..something.. meant for Jack that I believe needs to be chased down. Another Rabbit Hole to jump down.

I can't know for sure who sent it, but it is certainly connected to the notebook. It is also quite clearly a trap. If any of us are going to walk into a trap eyes wide open, it should be me. I have the best chance of surviving what comes next.

Samantha, Eva, any other alternates of our friends we are not aware of that survived the timelines: please. Come forward. We need you.

The Great Game is eight days from beginning in full strength. We can offer protection. We can offer supplies, knowledge, resources, contacts, a place to stay.

Please.

I will be enacting training classes on self defense, healing herb lore, survival skills, technology and computer lessons: anything I can gather Masters for on the subjects, board at Sanctuary offered free to teachers of these classes.

Those that wish to take these classes need do but a few things:

1. We will not charge. Instead, we ask that you help contribute to the classes in whatever way you can.

2. Comment on this status and/or present yourselves at Sanctuary.

3. Take a blood oath committing yourself to the war. No tricks, no bullshit, no fine print. Just your promising to protect the other Underlanders/Rabbits and fight back in whatever ways you can.

4. Take the classes when they appear. These lessons will help you, even in your day to day lives. Our goal is to preserve life, whenever possible.

5. Follow the Code.

That's it. That's all we ask.

Consider what we are offering.

It may be the last bastion of hope left before the war begins.

....I can feel the birds waking.

I must go.

Before they catch wind of my plans.

Tower of Babel

The smell of blood makes the hairs on the back of my arms stand up.

Distinct from all others.

The way I think.. My mindset. Broken

I can't even grasp it.

How can I expect you to?

This situation, this sharing of headspace with those damned birds.


You start to block out the details.

Slowly at first.

Then more, as time passes

The numbness

The screaming of the voices

The ever present feeling of coldness

The unending.. blankness. Of seeing the world in shades of grey, where nothing stands out, nothing breaks through.

Drowning mentally. Every day.

Begging for just one moment of air

To catch your breath

The small details that seep through

no matter what you do.

Having to turn your head away

to survive. just one more day.

The gut feeling that something is wrong



But if you acknowledge it...

Dare to even look in its direction



You give it power over you.


You can't fight it head on



Just wandering


In circles

Ever tightening patterns

Until.. One day.. You're looking it in the face.

And suddenly you can handle it

All at once

The delusions drop

Like window blinds come loose

Sunlight streaming in.


And.. It's ugly.
It's awful
But to live that way any longer
Is too hard.




...i have had visitors. Some Rabbits listened to my plea, it seems.


They rummage through my things

Like I can't hear them.

See them through the eyes of my ravens


But. I allow it. I play ignorant.


The invasion of privacy is.. worth it. To hear other voices here beyond my own. To not feel so alone anymore.

I try to stay to my room


Keep from scaring them


Pretend I am sleeping. Or gone.

It's not hard to hide in a closet when I hear them coming.

It's kinder to them, I think.


Tag is here.


He won't leave.


Even when I sicced my birds on him.


I turned them away from him at the last moment

In a whoosh of feathers and wind, they avoided attack or collision

But one of their talons hurt him


Made him bleed.


I cried then.


He knew better than to touch me.
To approach the mad woman

But.. It helps. Hearing him bitch


I had forgotten what his voice sounded like


I've secretly been helping with his paperwork


When he leaves for Sanctuary


Been leaving documents in rooms the Rabbits have chose for themselves


Trying to teach. To show. To help.


Give them what they need for them


To lead them further down the rabbit hole


Am I still your Red? Your Red Queen, blood spattered and smiling?


I don't know.


I don't know if I even deserve


To be called human


Or even Dia


I miss the days when I smiled



When I had friends I helped as a Gatherer

It was worth the risk.


They were worth dying for.



And now.. now that I want to die



No one will leave me alone


My mind wasn't built for this. These birds. This unholy infestation.


I am afraid of hurting them



Of climbing down from my tower of insanity and blood to greet them



Maybe that makes me a coward


I think I will sleep now.


Or try


I hear someone comi

Sanctuary Has Fallen

The Culling officially began at 3:00AM, the day of February the 14th, the year of 2018.
Of course, it had already begun in a few timelines, but we will mark today as the official beginning.
Today shall be the Valentine's Day Massacre replayed, nearly a century later.
Second Halloween. Devil's Night. VDay Massacre.

No matter the timeline, or the name for these events, blood shall flow through the streets.


This Culling was originally only meant for the Mardi Gras District. Nola and 251.


Intrepid districts from other timelines and regions got word of my plans for the Culling..


And copycat'ed to their own districts. Their own Cullings, but without the rules.


I never meant for this many to die, but it is too late now to do anything about it.


My name is Lilith. Or, well, was. I have become the avatar for the Convocation..

And I cannot wait to die.


When I met with Tag that last time, I was aware I was saying goodbye. I knew what was coming, and dragged my feet as long as I dared. I knew that I would be lost as soon as I signed that contract.


With the Convocation's help, I came forward in my own form, finally having a body of my own once more.

Poor Jack got booted back to my home in No Man's Land. I suppose it will be hers when I pass.

I came to her, mentally, in the days before the Contract was signed. Begged for her help. Told her what I had in mind for Sanctuary, for the world, for us. Begged her to be the Judas I needed so desperately.

I knew the Contract would have a heavy toll to pay in order to pass, with our lives attached.

I knew one of us had to die to make way for Underland. And to be honest.. I've been ready since the Sacramento fire of '14. You see, my own Gallows never came for me the way Jack's did. Mine just.. disappeared. Haunted me occasionally. Scribbled a hastily drawn bloody heart on my bathroom mirror on this day, Valentine's Day, each and every year. Just enough for me to miss him.. and go mad.

It got to where I stopped washing the blood from the mirror. Left it.. all year long. 

I originally got the bloody heart tattoo to remember him when I thought he had died.

Eventually, it became a mark of my own sanity to myself. That he was real. I hadn't imagined it all.

This becomes relevant again, because this year, I had a visitor.

It was while I was "sleeping." What the poor bastard didn't realize was, every inch of my land is recorded.

Incoming video saved as soon as it happens. Back-ups upon back-ups.

As soon as I woke, I knew exactly what had happened while I slept. And it broke my heart.

This is a fairly accurate depiction of Sanctuary right now. And so.. I will just leave you all with the record.

-begin video playing-

A lanky, self-sure man with coal black hair walked up my step, eyes wide as he did so.

Crows and ravens roost on every surface surrounding my home.

Blood is still wet on the streets, on the door handle, bloody footprints on the porch.

Like a bloodbath had just begun, and people had fought to get in and out Sanctuary's doors.

The strange man in the skeletal hoodie walks inside, cautiously, poking his head in rooms as he does.

Stacks of paperwork, journals, relics, and personal effects line the walls behind glass, like a gallery.

The kitchen is filthy with dirty dishes, blood coating the floor proper.

The television in the common area is cracked, hanging askew, as if someone had fallen into it.

He pokes about a bit more, cleans up the kitchen, gathers the papers, and generally organizes.

His every touch mildly reverent, as if touching the crumbling remains of the past.

Eventually, the bag of bones spots the drop down ladder leading to the upper floor: my attic.

He reaches the threshold of my room, body still half obscured by the landing and steps, and.. stares.

The walls of my room are a dark blue, with black out curtains over the single paned window.

Posters, notes, and photographs from at least 20 timelines compete for wall space.

Runner and proxy journals lay in stacks around the bed, meticulous and cruel in their sorting system.

A darkly garbed bed with accents of green sits off to one corner, on the floor, in the Japanese style.

His head swivels as he attempts to take it all in: a fan, a tv, my dark blue laptop plugged in at my desk, clothes of a thousand styles in the closet. It looks like the dorm room for 5 people exploded.

In the middle of it all, my body lay as I slept. No pulse, no heartbeat.

A sheath of shining copper hair splayed out on the black satin pillows, sunlight catching the strands.

I imagine I looked like a dream and a nightmare all at once. I believe I am.

Skin pale as the moon, tiny as I hadn't been eating properly for weeks prior to this.

I slept in the nude, a dark green sheet pulled up to my shoulders, haphazardly placed.

The man stared at me the longest. I can't quite blame him.

He begins to rearrange tiny insignificant things in my room. To annoy me, I imagine.

Gallows catches sight of the impromptu mural we created on our wall.

Pictures, events, and notes on every death in twenty timelines. For everyone involved.

Brightly colored yarn connecting each timeline, crisscrossing over an infinite number of times.

We couldn't keep track of them all in our head, you see. Too many voices trying to speak at once.

His fingertips brush against several pictures, mentally logging the differences.

Jack's picture adorned the very middle of the mural, the original, angry at the world.

Shoulder length black hair, twelve piercings both seen and unseen, tattoos covering her body.

Heartbroken eyes, staring out from behind the dark hair she perpetually kept in her face

A calculating expression on her face. Her attempts at a hostile expression amusing in their attempt.

The picture obviously quite old, likely taken between the fall of 2012 and of 2014.

Surrounding this picture are the pictures of her lovers from that timeline.

Some cuddling her, some kissing her, some just washing dishes. All clearly in love.

Branching out from these pictures are the pictures from every other timeline.

Advy. Gallows. Shady. Owen. David. Numerous others.

A rainbow of differently colored hair, facial expressions, and body language.

All clearly reincarnations of the same person.. with the same lovers.. and the same sad endings.

The skeleton man tugged the middle picture out from beneath the thumbtack, tearing the edge a bit.

He stares at it a bit longer, smiles, and blows it a kiss. Absent mindedly tucks it in his back pocket.

He looks around the room as if coming out of a daze, begins to narrow his gaze on our paperwork.

Gallows leaves, returns with a black trash bag, and begins to retrieve our collection of memories.

Our scrapbooks. Our pictures. Our videotapes. Hell, even our old apartment leases, all carefully catalogued and labelled according to its home timeline. He throws them all in the bag.

Just as he's hefting the giant bag over his shoulder like a demented Santa Claus, he is discovered.

The guard to Sanctuary had poked his head into the attic to find the source of the noise.

Gallows proceeds to drop his bag, knock the poor man out, and drag his body out the trapdoor.

-video has clearly been edited to remove scenes of torture and mindfuckery-

The video resumes an undisclosed amount of time later, once again focus on Gallows and Thomas.

Thomas is beaten, bloody, and looks shaken. His hands are bound behind his back.

Gallows is smirking, a crimson splash of blood adorning his right cheekbone.

To me, he looked just as beautiful as always. But this one.. this one was not mine.

Gallows dragged the poor man through Sanctuary, kicking shit over as he leaves the house.

Thomas leads Gallows to the copse of trees few know about: the site of my sacrifices.

The Bleeding Tree has clearly left its mark on the clearing.

Trees burnt and black and twisting towards the sky, littering the area.

White rose bushes, recently planted at the base of each. Flecked with blood of mysterious origin.

In the middle of the clearing, a spot of air shines distinctly from the rest. Shimmering.

Gallows grins, eyes the closest camera with a tongue waggling smile and scythe twirling.

He is clearly excited to step through this shimmering space in time.

He pushes Thomas through the portal first, and pauses. Waves to Graves to follow.

Graves dutifully carrying his weapons and the black garbage bag holding so many of our memories.

The duo smile once more, glance around, and step through the Rabbit Hole.



Jack, I figured I should warn you of the events that transpired yesterday. I have a feeling.. you shall be having a visitor quite soon. Several, if what I know of the timelines is correct.

They always come for you. To kill or fuck or love. But they can never stay away.

Me? Well.. all my lovers are dead. I think. I don't honestly know anymore.

But I am lonely. Dreadfully so.

I knew what I was signing up for when I did this, but..

Would it be so terrible for me to spend my last two weeks alive in the company of someone I love?

Would it be so terrible for me to be held once more, and told I was loved?

The Red Queen doesn't get these luxuries.

Instead, I continue on. Alone and mad in my crumbling tower of stone.


Sanctuary is still operational, just had a bit of a rough and tumble. The blood is mostly gone now.


Gallows managed to clean up the place pretty damn well. Weird for a serial killer, but whatever.

Heads up, sweetheart. People will be coming for your head soon. Mine as well.

You must remember the plan.

You must follow it.

Don't hesitate when you kill me.
Please.
I want to die.
You will be doing me a favor.

For now, well, I ramble through Sanctuary like a haunted house. Ghost is here with me now, angry that he has to miss the bloodbath, angry with me for sacrificing me the way I am. Angry he cannot hold me.

My dark Cheshire Cat. My love. My Ghost. My Johnathan.

Oh, how I failed you, baby. I made you what you became, and I regret it all.

I am openly looking for visitors. Maybe there ARE people from my timeline left that still care.

Or people from others, that for some reason or another, don't want to be around Jack.

I don't know. I know that Sanctuary was the point of all this. The reason for all the blood.

If we let Sanctuary fall, and let it stay that way, all of this work will have been in vain.

Maybe one day, hopefully soon, this place will be restored to its full glory.

Be wary, all those that tread here.


It's time for the Rabbits to come home. For good.

We need defenders, medical assistance, and suppliers of knowledge.

We are on our last legs, dear visitors. Won't you come join our fight?

Yours eternally,

-Red