“The mind can do what reality cannot. Take a moment and feel nothing.”

The smell of iron clogs the senses.

“Next you must feel yourself. All of you is in your body, inconstant and delicate, you cannot exist outside of yourself. Outside of your own control.”

Everything is warm.

“You may consciously flex your arm. You may consciously tap your foot. Now...”

The monster and the child face each other.

“Become conscious of the most vital parts of yourself. Make those parts bend to your will.”

Lenore’s ribbons of crimson spread like the roots of a grand oak tree. The Being had only thin strands that fluttered uncontrollably in a mythical wind. Lenore opens her eyes and watches the Being. It is struggling. She’s not surprised.

Lenore uses her arms, hands, and fingers to control the path her blood takes. She breathes steadily in a calming rhythm, leaning side to side so that her center-of-gravity shifts to her inner tune. The Being on the other hand…

No arms, no hands, no fingers, no legs, no lungs…

The little lady sighs, “Stop.”

It freezes, stopping its awkward shuffling attempts at copying her.

Lenore wraps her blood into a dippy floating orb, holding it in her fingers. “This is not about your outer body. Focus on your...” She thinks for a second. What exactly is the fluid it’s surrounded with? Red but much lighter than blood. Blue but much thicker than water. What should she call it? It’s essence? Substance? “... fluids. The movements you will use to control it will come to you later and it will inevitably differ from mine. For now, just be still.”

The Being studies the streams of fluid that emanated from its paper frame. It’s like the fluid has a mind of its own. The Being would tell it to go left and it would go right, up, and down but never left. It doesn’t feel like a part of the Being but then again, almost everything about itself felt disconnected. Every part of itself felt foreign in the most indescribable way.

I… I’m not good at this… The Being shrink; deflating like a balloon into its dark cape.

Lenore scowls. The Being looks so pathetic, like a kicked puppy in the rain. Her expression softens just a little. It’s not as if the Being isn’t trying. It’s not like she didn’t suffer from the same insecurities when she was still learning.

Suddenly, her vision fizzles out. Lenore finds herself pulling away from reality.

There is no sadness quite like the loss of the past, especially when there is no place to put blame but the murk of one’s memory. Like the dreary swamp of an invisible quicksand. So slow in its swallowing yet we let it be; we forget how fragile a thought is even in the depths of the mind it originated. We let it be, we watch, but we do not notice as our dreams and ideas are disintegrated. Forever to be lost despite our belated digging. Gone; we are left to wonder if the past was ever even real.

But it was.

********

A cool night had finally arrived after a long hot day. There was a little girl. She appears young and, at the time, she was.

Her arms shook and sweat gathered by the gallon at her brow. In the air, she barely managed to hold a few minuscule drops of blood above the ground.

“I can’t,” Tears pool in her hazel eyes from the strain, “I can’t hold this position any more! It’s too heavy!”

A chuckle, too youthful to be an adult’s but too deep to be a child’s. “It’s all right, darling. We can take a break and try an easier task later. Perhaps moving the droplets across the floor would be easier for now.”

It was late. They had been at this for hours and still, she could only hold up a few measly drops. Almost nothing. She sagged against her will and with her, her blood did the same. It dribbles into a puddle, staining her shoes.

“I-I can’t do this...” She sniffled “I’m not good at--”

To the little girl’s surprise, she did not receive a scowl or a scolding, rather she got a cackle and soon after she felt her chin being cupped in someone's dry pale hand.

“Oh, don’t fret.” A smile. Warm, loving eyes. Familiar, and yet she can’t quite picture their face. “The good only get good after they were bad. You’ll get there in your own time.”

********

Oh.

Like a puzzle piece that slips from the table or a dollar that’s not clutched tight enough, the moment slips away from Lenore. Blinking rapidly, the little lady finds herself back in the alleyway. The Being is looking at her, stunned.

Was that you?

She narrows her eyes at the Being, “Pardon?”

Um, a little girl and a voice. I saw something-

“You--” In her shock, she fumbles her orb of blood, barely catching it before it spattered onto the dusty alley floor. “You can see my thoughts as well?”

I guess so.

Lenore runs a hand through her mask’s hair, pulling hard against the stubborn curls. She bites her too plump lips. They don’t have time to dwell on this. Curiosity be damned.

“We’ll talk about that later. Look, I promise I know someone that can really help you figure all this out.” She speaks in what she hopes is a soothing tone, “But first, we have to get to them. And we’re already running late.”

The Being flutters anxiously. It wants to keep trying; It wants to give up. But most of all, it wants to learn more about this strange, magical woman it had only just met. The little lady is almost as foreign to the Being as its own body, and yet, also so familiar. A part of it outside of itself. Was that a memory it had just experienced? Her memory? The little girl the Being had seen, she was…

You know, It shoots Lenore a smile, its glowing eyes are mischievous with a child's glee, You really aren’t much taller than when you were little. You looked so cute!

Lenore playfully rolls her eyes. “Shall we go meet my friend and see if they can assist you?”

The Being hesitates.

“You are very indecisive, you know that?” Lenore pulls her blood back into its vial and tugs on the Being’s cloak, leading them both down the alleyway. Unfortunately, since her shortcut isn’t an option, they will have to take the long way. And even more unfortunately, the long way is going to be far more crowded.

The two of them return to the back door of the Theatre. She checks over her mask one more time, making sure not a single hair or patch of skin was out of place. Lenore then fusses over the Being, pulling and stretching the fabric as far as it would go in an effort to cover its humongous and awkward frame. Only when she’s satisfied, does she guide the Being down the courtyard path until they reached the street.

“All right.” She forces herself to take a deep, deep breath. “Now, you need to be quiet. Stick with me and we’ll be fine.”

It nods with a naïve shade of determination. The being hunches over to keep the hood over its ovoid head; like this, it is an intimidating figure. With any luck that will keep the random street urchin off their backs for now.

With a heaving push, the courtyard gates swing upon. The little lady leads them out onto the street, cracked concrete and dry dirt patches where there used to be grass. They head from the lean sidewalk to the city’s main roads. All the streets in Quin city are compacted, zigzagging in sharp angles orthogonal buildings. It’s like the whole city is on a giant square grid. Every street is the same width but for the main two. The Corda Roads. Best for quick travel across the city but hardly an easy way to travel inconspicuously. Every single soul in this city travels those roads. And, in Lenore’s humble opinion, every single soul on those roads would be best avoided if possible.

Luckily enough, this time of day is usually the safest. Provided, of course, that you follow one of Quin city’s most crucial rules. The House of Romilly had long ago given the command in a letter, sent to and published in the morning newspaper on December 22, Year 6. The letter had said of the matter, in just three simple sentences.

“The streets of this fair city shall be silent till the clock strikes the end of mourning. 6:51 am - 10:32 am every day, no exceptions. Anyone caught speaking within this time shall be persecuted.”

They had never given a reason why, not that they really needed to. No one in the city would dare to disobey. Lenore had spent too many nights agonizing over what these three sentences could mean. Why 6:51 am to 10:32? Morning doesn’t end at 10:32; it doesn’t start at 6:51 either.

But now is not the time to dwell on such a matter. If she and the Being move quickly enough, they could make it off the road before 10:32.

“Whatever may happen,” Lenore warns, “Keep your head down. Try not to make eye contact.”

They come to the cross-section, where the thin street meets the main road. They step onto one of the Corda roads, Road Bermet, that ran the sun’s path, east to west. Road Sapir ran in the opposite direction. From the south to the north. As soon as they pass that invisible line, both feel a tingle crawl up their backs that whispered that they were no longer alone. Even if they saw no eyes following them as they walked, they could tell they were being watched, closely. They keep their heads down.

Lenore tightens her grip on the Beings cape. She squares her jaw.

Life is a stage, one that must be traversed with caution. Stagehand or actor, you must move with constant consideration for the audience. But in life the audience is on the stage as well and, no matter the role, all have to play their parts to perfection. Never letting the mask slip. To do anything else would be social suicide. So Lenore plays her part. She pulls her lips back in a sugar-coated smile and let her eyes twinkle with sweet glee. Today, her name is Clara Janson, an innocent little girl just minding her own business, walking down the street with her lame guardian.

She and the Being walk along the road. They shuffle between each passerby, trying to stay close to where the road hugged the sidewalk. The sun is smouldering, and it makes faint ripples appear in the wide sheet of concrete in the distance. The rhythmic tapping of her feet paralleling with the Beings faint rustle. There is nothing else to be heard but the simple drum of simple people walking.

While everyone else is minding their own business, heads down and justifiably paranoid, the Being is far too curious to keep its eyes to itself. It stares up at the buildings as they passed them. Butchers, bakeries, and something called a ‘Cathouse.’

Miss?

“Hmm?” She continues staring straight ahead, her mask still stuck in its chilling look of delight.

What’s a cathouse?

Lenore blinks. Tilting her head to the side, she catches sight of the building the Being had spotted. Light beige bricks with faded rouge doors. On the doors is a golden sign,

~Felina Van Der Venne’s Kitty Cathouse~

“Well… A cathouse,” She awkwardly tries to think of a relatively child-friendly answer, “It is a place where people go to.... find comfort and leisure through a worker's... services.”

Like a spa or a circus?

“... Yes.”

Oh, okay.

A group of shapely women are leaning against the brick of a nearby barbershop, dressed with tiny skirts and see-through shirts. A polite person may call them ‘soiled doves’.

As they walk by the little lady senses their makeup encrusted eyes drag over her figure. Lenore notices one of them roll their eyes so hard that they scarcely didn’t go flying out of her head. Another woman elbows her. The group shares a smirk. Lenore goes tense when she sees the group of girls slink away from where they were standing, stalking towards her and the Being with a slimy glint in their eyes. Suddenly, they’re being followed.

The Being almost slams right into her, she stops so suddenly. Silently Lenore stares the girls down. The group goes still. The little lady does not glare, glower, or otherwise gape. Her little Clara mask splits into a wide hungry grin. Lenore slides her hand up to the belt of her trousers, pulling it down just enough to fiddle with the hilt of her knife. She flutters the pretty eyelashes of her mask and her eyes are vacant and twitchy.

Startled, the girls flinch. Trapped under Lenore’s gaze, they quickly skitter away. Lenore tugged on the cape, and they continued walking.

Uh, what was that for? The Being questions.

“Don’t let people look at you funny. They might get ideas.”

The Being cocks its head in confusion but is soon distracted once more, not by the scenery but the little lady herself.

Normally so rigged and deadpan, Lenore is skipping along like a kid on her way to the candy store. Smiling at everyone she passes, who flinch away as soon as their eyes met, it’s as if she’s mutated into a completely different person. The question the Being is plagued with is why.

Nearing an old sewing mill, the crowd gets denser, slow-moving like a herd of turtles. With their peculiar guise, a tiny girl tugging along an eight-foot mountain, they pass through the crowd with relative ease. Already they had passed a couple of blocks. With the time they are making maybe, just maybe, they can make it out of here before--

Ding... Ding... Ding... Ding!

For fuck’s sake…

Across the city, perfectly north and on the brick of the city’s wall, the Clock Tower chimes loud and clear. It is now 10:32 am. The end of morning.

Sound comes back like a tidal wave, it crashes into the open air like an avalanche.

“Finally! ‘Bout bloody time!” Grumbling and swearing, all peace that had been present disintegrates. Lenore groans.

“Outta my way, you fool! You ain’t that important!” People push and swat at each other trying to get wherever they were going. They knock into Lenore and the Being, not even courteous enough to say a simple ‘excuse me’. Lenore is pushed and shoved, elbows jutting into her side and feet clumsily stomping on her toes. The Being isn’t shoved even once. The crowd parts for the Being like a river split around a rock.

“The Cathouse is open for business! Anytime is playtime!” That came from the soiled doves they had passed, hooting and hollering at any piece of flesh that looked like it could spare a dollar.

“No, we are not going into the club! We’ve got work!”

“Pick up the pace! I’m gonna be late!”

It’s a complete riot. The screams and shouts melt together into a constant stream of angry nonsense. Until the nonsense cuts off. People go deathly still, traps snapped shut once more, when they hear the scraping. Dragging feet or dull fingernails scratching over wet wood. From the far-off rooftops. Within the shadowy alleys. Down the street, distant and out of sight.

Lenore goes rigid. The Being looks around anxiously, the fear so potent it can almost taste it.

Lenore...? What’s that noise...?

The little lady tugs the Being closer to her side. The surrounding crowd silently scattering in all manner of directions, single-mindedly racing to get where they are going as fast as possible, or at least get off the streets and out of plain sight. They curse and gossip in hushed whispers.

The scraping. Where is it coming from? Where is it heading?

The Being frowns under its hood, Lenore, what’s going on? Where is everybody going?

A low whistle tickles Lenore’s ear. She scans the road. In the corner of her eye, she catches bob and weave of three pairs of tiny bare feet squeezing their way between people’s legs as they darted through the crowd. The whistle follows them as they go, getting quieter as the scraping grows louder.

Lenore sighs in relief, “Perfect timing.”

What?

“We’re getting out of here. Follow me!”

Lenore bolts into the crowd, ducking between pedestrians and sliding under open legs. She’s so small, they barely noticed her. The Being rushes to follow her. It’s weighed down by its cape but manages to catch up by knocking everyone else out of their way, albeit accidentally. The people definitely noticed that. Lenore hears the Being apologizes as it passes even though the people it’s apologizing to can not. In the crowd, she loses sight of the pairs of bare feet. Regardless, she continues towards the nearest alleyway.

The scraping sound is becoming quieter. Whether that’s because Lenore’s getting further away or they are, she can’t be sure.

When the little lady finally stops to catch her breath, she is bent over in a dingy little alleyway. It’s the wrong one, but she’s certain she’ll be able to track those raccoons down easily enough. She pants, eventually lifting her head a little to peek through her curls at the Being. It isn’t there. She is alone. The Being is nowhere to be found. She does not panic. She doesn’t.

“Where are you!? Kid!?” She shouts in her head, resisting the temptation to call out aloud. “Kid!?”

She shoves down the sharp sting of dread when for a half minute she is given no reply. She paces up and down the alleyway. Where had the Being gone? It had been right beside her just a moment ago, she’s sure of it! Oh fuck, did she abandon it alone in the streets? She’s such a terrible person; how could she have been so careless?

Then she hears it. A call of childish glee.

Hey, I found the guys you were trying to follow!

Oh, thank goodness.

“Where are you?” She snaps.

I’m in the next alley over, beside the dumpster!

No, she does not rush to the other alleyway. If she is a tad bit faster than usual, it’s only because they are late. Lenore hated being late, that’s all. She finds the Being as it said she would, beside a huge dumpster that hides behind it a hole in the wall covered by a heavy plank of oak. The Being’s dopey smile made her temper flare.

“Why did you come over here!? I specifically told you to follow me not run off on your own!” She hisses, watching the Being’s proud smile fade under its newfound guilt. “Do you have any idea how--!” She cut herself off with a growl.

Chastised, the Being sinks to the alley floor.

I’m sorry, It whispers so quietly that Lenore nearly missed it in the back of her mind, I didn’t mean to scare you.

“That’s all well and good, but that doesn’t change the fact that you nearly gave me a heart attack...” The little lady massages her temples. The stink from the dumpster is not helping her oncoming headache. It’s way too early for her to be running around like this. When was the last time she slept again?

I thought… I just wanted to help...

“Even so, disappearing on me like that is not acceptable. I had absolutely no idea where you were.”

I’m sorry. I just… I thought that since you can track me, that you wouldn’t mind if we split up…

Lenore raises an incredulous eyebrow, “Track you?”

Yeah, I mean, that’s how you found me before right? I could sense you looking for me and then you tracked me down int the room with the lanterns.

Lenore suddenly feels very, very stupid. She can sense the Being location. How could she have forgotten about that? Sheepishly, she says, “Oh, right. I… I suppose I had forgotten about that...”

How could she have forgotten about that? She and the Being are connected; that’s how they are able to communicate for fuck’s sakes! How did she forget that?

They stare awkwardly at each other. Then the Being bursts into tears. These big, globby dribbles of red run like slobber down its paper face.

I really am so sorry! It’s just, it looked like you were trying to follow them but you lost sight of them but I saw them going into this alleyway and you’ve been really nice so I wanted to help and make up for making you come out here when you didn’t seem to want to and because I couldn’t do the magic stuff you were trying to teach me—I’m so sorry!

“Okay, okay, easy!” Lenore winces.

The Being only cries harder.

The little lady sighs. She reaches into her pocket and takes out a hankie. Standing on the tips of her toes, Lenore can reach up and dab at the Being’s tears. With her other hand, she gently pets its cheeks.

“Easy now, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you, kid. It’s not your fault, it’s mine.” She whispers.

The Being sobs, But I--

“Shh…”

They stay like this for a while until finally, the Being’s cries have simmered down into hiccups and sniffles.

“Feel better?”

When the Being nods shakily, Lenore folds her now damp hankie and stuffs into her trousers. She says, “Next time, inform me of your whereabouts immediately, okay?”

A tiny smile graces the Being’s face. It nods again. Lenore bites the inside of her cheek to keep her expression in check.

She sighs, petting the Being’s cheek one last time, “I’m sorry I made you cry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that without hearing you out first. You did well and I apologize.”

The Being beams. It shuffles around like it’s doing a happy little jig.

It’s okay, I forgive you! I’m sorry I made you worry. I won’t run off without telling you ever again, I promise.

“Good. Thank you.” With a satisfied nod, Lenore marches around the dumpster, pushing it just far enough for her to reach the obscured plank door.

Who were those guys we were following, anyway?

The little lady knocks six times on the planks, “They’re freelancers. They owe the Theatre quite a few favours.”

The Being tilts its head in confusion when Lenore whistles at the door. A string of warbles and trills that sound distinctly birdlike. A few beats later, the plank door slides open.