The consequence ended up being disgusting as opposed to life threatening. Jocelyn and Faria were sentenced to clear out all the waste from the Ysomara pens.

It was a lot of shit.

“It could be worse,” Faria sighed, planting her shovel into a steaming pile of poop. She removed one glove and wiped the sweat off her brow.

It was easy for Jocelyn to disagree. A Ysomara pen wasn’t the same one a domestic farm animal used. Their pens were the size of a football field and the amount of crap a single Ysomara generated overnight was mind-boggling.

What the heck did these things eat?

The only bright side was the poop didn’t smell that bad. There was a hint of cinnamon to its otherwise odorless scent. Of course, Jocelyn knew she could never eat cinnamon again.

“Are you tired there, newbie?” Faria asked. “You look like you’re struggling.”

“No,” Jocelyn replied as she buried her shovel into the endless pile of excrement. She was lying.

She was exhausted. The poison was doing its job leeching all the energy right out of her. Jocelyn regretted not finishing her breakfast. She could have used the extra calories for fuel.

She shoveled another scoop into the opening of the spherical metal container that hovered at her waist level. Despite it being the size of a typical garbage can, the amount of waste it was able to carry seemed infinite. She peeked inside and she saw nothing but an empty, black hole.

“Where does this all go?” Jocelyn asked.

Faria shrugged. “No idea. My guess is it’s a portal to some forgotten region of the galaxy, containing nothing but steaming piles of garbage. Or better yet, a portal to Kymera where we’re dumping piles of shit on the Xaksu to drive them crazy.”

That didn’t seem likely. “If the Asrai could open a portal to Kymera, why would they decide to toss crap into it?”

Faria shrugged. “Why not?”

“It serves no purpose, other than being disgusting.”

“It’s a lot of poop. We’d probably drown someone in it.”

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “I can’t talk or think about poop anymore. Let’s go outside and get a drink of water.”

Faria grinned. “I think that’s the first thing you’ve said that’s agreeable.”

The gentle breeze on Yve was pleasant. Jocelyn took a deep breath and allowed fresh oxygen to flood her lungs and wash away the cinnamon scent of the Ysomara pen.

Faria removed her gloves and reached for her water bottle. She must have been thirsty as she downed all its contents in a single gulp.

“So how did you end up here on Yve?” Jocelyn asked, taking a sip from her own bottle.

“Let’s not make small talk, newbie,” Faria said.

“I was just trying to be friendly.”

“I don’t want friends. I never had them and I’ll never need them.”

Jocelyn raised a brow. “You enjoy being alone?”

“Of course I do. Being on your own means you don’t need to be accountable to anyone. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want.”

“Not here you can’t,” Jocelyn pointed out. “We’re essentially prisoners under the guise as students. If Gerhmaine says jump, we say—”

“We say no,” Faria said firmly.

“Something tells me that saying ‘no’ too often will lead to consequences worse than cleaning Ysomara latrines.”

She shrugged. “I’ll take it as it comes. At least I’ll still be in control of my own fate and happiness.”

Jocelyn allowed Faria’s words to sink in.

“What, you don’t agree?” she asked.

“More so I don’t understand.”

Faria reached into the back of her pants and pulled out a single polished knife. The tip looked sharp enough to puncture a hole through sheet metal.

“Do you see this?” She waved it at Jocelyn, but not in a menacing way.

“It’s a knife.”

Faria shook her head. “No, this is power and with power comes my happiness. This is what I live for. This is what tickles me white.” She pointed it at Jocelyn. “Happiness doesn’t come from you or any of the other dingbats that live in the Crooked House.”

“Okay?”

“You still don’t get it?”

“You have a knife. You like your knife. It makes you happy,” Jocelyn summarized her understanding.

“No, you idiot. What I’m trying to get at is true happiness is achieved on your own and not with others. You come to learn a lot about yourself, including what makes you tick and what gets you going. Everybody has that one thing in their life they’re destined to do, and when you do it and do it well, it makes you feel good.”

“So you’re destined to cut people? I’m sorry to say, but that sounds psychotic.”

“No, my passion is not cutting people. Listen, before this entire Asrai versus Xaksu nonsense, I had a passion for training animals and teaching them how to listen to my instructions.”

“That’s actually kind of sweet; you like animals.”

“I thought so too. It wasn’t until I came to Yve that I realized it was never about the animals. I enjoyed control and power.”

Faria raised the knife. “My passion is power. This knife gives me power.”

“So back to my original point, you get your high by stabbing people. You’re a sadist.”

Faria shook her head. “You really are stupid.”

“Maybe if you got straight to the point,” Jocelyn snapped.

“My magic requires exposed blood. It doesn’t matter what species you are, if it’s coursing through your veins and gets out in the open, I can control it.”

Without any warning, Faria pricked Jocelyn in the back of the hand with the knife. It was a gentle prick and done proficiently, the wound no larger than a needle’s point.

Jocelyn was surprised by Faria’s intrusiveness.

“What the hell is your problem?” Jocelyn asked as she glanced at the single drop of exposed blood on her hand.

“Relax princess,” Faria said. “A little pin prick won’t do anything.”

“You stabbed me.”

“I’ll get you a bandage later,” Faria muttered. “For now, just watch.”

Suddenly the single drop of black blood levitated off her hand and solidified in the air.

Jocelyn was amazed to see her blood drop begin to spin around her.

Faria smiled. “You see; I can control your blood. It’s too bad it needs to be out of your body for me to play with it.”

Jocelyn’s blood droplet suddenly morphed, changing from a spherical orb into the shape of a miniature dagger.

“What do you do with this power?” Jocelyn asked.

Faria smirked. “Anything I want. Do you feel like having a real meal tonight, instead of that putrid sludge from the mess hall?”

Jocelyn’s belly rumbled. “Sure, why not?”

Suddenly the tiny blood dagger shot up in the air, narrowly hitting a bird that was flying overhead.

Faria frowned. “I missed.” She seemed surprised by this fact. “I never miss.”

Jocelyn sighed, and showed Faria the back of her hand, where a second drop of blood had pooled.

“There’s some more, if you need it.”

The second droplet of blood rose from her hand and shot up into the sky like a bullet. Jocelyn watched as this time, it found its target. The bird plummeted lifelessly to the ground.

“There’s not much I like about Yve, but I have to admit, the sparrows here are quite succulent when cooked properly.”

Faria strolled over to where the bird had fallen and was about to pick it up but stopped short. The bird was already in a state of decay.

“Gerhmaine wasn’t kidding. Your blood is bad news,” Faria said.

“It is,” Jocelyn agreed.

Faria shrugged. “I was going to get Goran to cook it for us. He’s a pretty decent chef. Now there’s a guy that hinges all his happiness on others.”

“It’s because he’s lonely,” Jocelyn pointed out.

“Yes, because he’s lonely. He thinks that by being friends with everyone, he can escape whatever feelings of emptiness that lives inside of him. He’s stupid.”

Jocelyn reflected on the emptiness she herself felt. Accepting the truth that her mother never loved her was a tough one to swallow.

“You shouldn’t look down on someone because they’re lonely,” Jocelyn said.

“Why? They’re weak. They’re easy to control,” Faria said. “They are so reliant on others for their happiness that they fail to discover it for themselves.”

Suddenly above their heads came a humming sound, a melodic vibration that echoed throughout the pale sky. Jocelyn heard it once before, just before the Asrai arrived on Behyru.

“A Virgo,” Faria whispered.

They both watched in silence as the angelic creature soared high above them, its magnificent wings stretching across the heavens.

“I’m going to bleed a Virgo one of these days,” Faria said.

“Why?”

“Can you imagine the power of its blood?”

Jocelyn was convinced Faria was addicted to blood itself, like some kind of vampire control freak.

“Do you ever end up cutting yourself in order to draw blood?” Jocelyn asked, examining the sleeves covering her arms more closely now.

Faria didn’t respond.

Jocelyn frowned. “You have, haven’t you? You cut yourself in order to obtain the high you get when you’re controlling blood.”

“Careful girl,” Faria said as she pointed the knife at her.

“Or you’ll cut me too?”

Faria paused for a moment before she spoke. “You might be right; I am addicted to power. I enjoy everything about blood—the sight, the color, the smell of it. I enjoy everything that makes up the composition of blood.” She stared at the tip of her knife. “For a human, it’s the white cells, the hemoglobin, and the iron that gives it its metallic scent. The one thing you’re mistaken, however, is how far I’d go to feed this addiction.”

“Why are your arms covered then, if it’s not to hide your scars?”

“Don’t get me wrong, there was a time I did cut them. There are scars all around my wrists and one down the center of the main vein in my arm, but not because I was addicted to my power.”

“Then why?” Jocelyn asked.

“Because there was a time I felt lonely, too.”