Below is the transcript of an interview with Dr. Charles Swanson, the man upon whom is based the upcoming thriller, Killer Therapy. (The interviewer’s questions are taken from Marcel Proust’s Questionnaire.)

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Helping beautiful, sad women achieve the eternal release they desire.(Interviewer’s note: This was said with a beatific smile and no hint of remorse with regard to the cold-blooded murder this statement indicates.)

What is your current state of mind?

Annoyed? Impatient? Indifferent.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

There is no such thing. Neither term, together or separately. Clearly, perfection exists only in the abstract. The infinitesimal space between what is and what can be. What should be. What God, assuming He exists, hoped for. What God Is. Man can never attain it. So too happiness. Can you even define happiness for me? I can’t. I certainly have never experienced such an elusive state of being. Nor have most of my patients. I can live with it. They, alas, cannot.

What is your favorite occupation? (Replies with a small smile.)

We should probably skip this question…although I might go with orgasm. Isn’t that everyone’s favorite…occupation isn’t the right word…but you understand me.

What is your most treasured possession?

That’s easy. I would have to say, my deceased mother’s wedding band which I have in a metal box still attached to her finger. (Interviewer fails at staying objective and gags.)

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

Silly question, child. I do not love. That should be clear to even you. (Said disparagingly to interviewer. No offense taken.)

When and where were you the happiest?

As I mentioned earlier, happiness does not exist or, if it does, which I do not believe, then I have not experienced it and therefore cannot have a happiest moment to share with you. Next question.

What is it that you most dislike?

(Looks at interviewer like a mosquito that should be squashed.)I might say people. But more than that, I would say conversing. Pretending an interest in what anyone thinks or has to say is an exhausting endeavor. Outside of my practice, of course. I am the soul of engaged listener with my patients. During office hours.

What is your greatest fear?

You’re joking. Why fear? Wasted energy. Next question.

Which living person do you most despise?

(Same look as above.) Hatred is a strong feeling. I do not have those. To hate, one must needs love. I do not. As I have already stated…although…if I did despise and I had to answer, I suspect you would win the award at this moment. But since I don’t, not to worry…

What is your greatest regret?

I don't have any regrets. If I had to answer, I might say getting caught, but that would be a lie since there was never any doubt that I would end my days in a cell. So, I guess my greatest regret at this moment would be consenting to grace you with an interview.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? (Stares at interviewer.)

Responding to the meaningless drivel you attribute to journalistic rigor. Or something…

What quality do you most admire in a man? Man or woman, the ability to be silent is a wonderful quality.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself? I have no qualities that I deplore. Nor any that I love if that is your next question.

What trait do you most deplore in others? (Laughs uncontrollably.)I cannot name one trait that I deplore. There are too many.

What do you most value in your friends?Surely you jest. As you can well imagine, I do not have friends.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction? I guess it would be Jesus. (Laughs) Just kidding. Dr. Hannibal Lecter, The Silence of the Lambs, Thomas Harris. For his mind, not his deeds. He was not trying to save those he, well, ate. I am. A much more noble calling, don’t you think? (Laughs.) Or perhaps Satan would be my favorite, umm, hero of fiction. Paradise Lost, John Milton, in case you were wondering.

Who are your real-life heroes?

Really child, you’re joking, right? We have established that I have no friends, I do not like people and I do not love. Next question.

Which living person do you most admire?

Please, stop being an imbecile. Next question.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Virginity. (Laughs.)Kidding. That is the second most overrated virtue. The first is morality (which might encompass all virtues, I suppose). There is no black and white, only gray. Let’s talk about my favorite topic. If all life is valuable, why is not okay to kill a fetus, but perfectly acceptable to kill prisoners who may or may not be guilty of that with which they are charged? Or to kill in wars, declared or otherwise? If you kill a man walking down a street for no apparent reason, it is wrong. At least, that is what I was taught growing up. If you are a soldier (or perhaps even a civilian) and kill a man walking down a street who your government considers an enemy, you are a hero. Even if within days, the same man would be considered a friend of said government. Even if a few months prior, your government gave him the guns to shoot mutual enemies. See? Gray. If I am helping people attain what they most desire, that is, their own…passing…why is it wrong? It’s not. It’s simply illegal. Who made those rules? Certainly not those suffering who only want to be set free. There is no good and evil. Only rules, laws…that change with the minds of those who enact them.

On what occasions do you lie?

I suppose I could counter that with on what occasions do I not lie? But really, I find I have no need to lie. People are perfectly capable of hearing what they want or expect to hear and deluding themselves.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

You’re joking.

How would you like to die?

Unlike my patients, I have no desire to hurry death, my dear. In my bed of old age and/or quickly - either would be perfectly acceptable.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

There is no need to change anything about me. For whom? For what purpose?

If you were to die and come back…what would you be? (Sigh)

Alive. Again.

What is your motto?

Never regret.

[Name:] Star Light

[Age:] Over 300 Years old

[Gender:] Female

[Class:] Thaumiel

[Power Level:] 10

[Intent:] Unknown

{Orientation:}

[Sexual Orientation:] Unknown

[Blood Type:] Unknown

[Humanoid or None Humanoid:] None Humanoid

[Species:] Draginucous

[Race:] Night Dragon

[Blood Color:] No blood runs through her veins

[Philosophy:] Unknown since they are very rare to come by

[Theme Song:] The Haunting ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Sv6FHPAcsA&list=PLCNlXno2mIk3TlfZAOKesBHFFIFvrYikQ&index=18 )

{Appearance}

[Eye Color:] Both are golden

[Hair Color:] White bangs and back small pony tails

[Skin Color/Complexion:] Black

[Build:] Strong and Won’t back down

[Scent:] Fresh rain

[Posture:] Stands up straight

[Noticeable Characteristics:] Black horns, white wings and white tail

[Clothing Style:] Very little clothing

{Psychological Status:}

[Personality:] Will Kill if threatened

[Backstory:] Unknown

[Notable Habits and or Actions:] Unknown

[Weaknesses:] Unknown at this time

[Strengths:] Adapts well

[Abilities:] Screams and Kills anything with her tail if given the chance

She will be in a story, soon... soon...

Overview: A teenage girl returns home from rehab. Her father has moved to a somewhat secluded house, with a forest surrounding. Finding her father happily remarried, and her family with a new feeling to it. She has a little brother, whose found a friend in the Stepmom’s son. So she can’t help but feel unwanted. These “unwanted” feelings begin to manifest in the form of resentment towards the family. Her emotions get the best of her one day resulting into an argument with the family, so she begins wandering the woods for long periods of time to escape the family. She finds this spot in the woods that seemingly calls her name. Visiting this spot whenever something brings her down. This spot becomes her safe haven from reality. Unfortunately, the location has a history that she is completely unaware of until it’s too late.

Body1. Our story starts with a car ride. This car contains our main character “Lacey Ashe”. She is on her way back from a year and a half long stay at Clean Views rehab. She developed a nasty drug addiction whenever her mother died. Her mother committed suicide because of her fathers infidelity (or so she thought). So even though her father remained in contact the entire stent, and paid for everything. She still has this unspoken hatred she has yet to express, which continues to grow as he continues to not shut up the entire car ride. She begins to wonder where he is going whenever he misses a turn she expected to take, so she ask. Her father then goes into detail about everything he failed to mention in the letters. Revealing that he has remarried, that he decided to relocate away from everything, and that the family is eagerly anticipating her arrival. He then also explains that her brother sort of developed a strong bond with his new stepbrother in her absence. This is all extremely overwhelming for her. Lacey doesn’t really know how to react to all of this information her father has ambushed her with. So she attempts to revert back to the training exercises in rehab, addressing the problem.

Unfortunately, all her previous training couldn’t have prepared her for her fathers reaction. Her father is completely appalled by her one sided observation. So he uses anger to express this, which instantly ignites Lacey’s feeling of hatred. So she goes off about everything and anything for the final five minutes of ride ending her rant right as they pull up to the house. Making for an awkward first encounter. She steps out of the car displaying an attitude as her father steps out displaying regret and confusion.

Body2. Lacey sit in her bed eventually falling asleep, but she suddenly regains consciousness. She is walking through a Forrest that seems to be fantasy like in nature. In disbelief that this is actually a dream. She hasn’t had one of those in years, and you can’t control dreams like this. Making every choice based off free will, not with the usual constraints of a blurred walkthrough. Slowly walking along this ridge and admiring the beautiful landscapes, she notices a nest like tree across the way. Overcome with curiosity, she immediately steps in the tree’s direction. Unknowingly walking right off of the ridge like cliff. Beginning to fall she realizes that she can’t control this aspect of the dream like reality. This results in sheer panic! Unable to see the ground below her, but somehow understanding the amount of time till impact. She starts to prepare for the gruesome smack. Closing her eyes right before contact, she is thrust back into the reality of her bedroom following the acceptance of death. Where life is now lacking in the comfort she possessed while in control of her dream.

Absence of breath was the only side effect of falling from a cliff in your dreams. So despite that, her dream was just a really weird dream...that’s it. Thought Lacey as she is stepping out of bed to get drink of water to combat the lack of breath. As soon as she places her feet upon the ground, she felt something weird. Her right foot which she kept planted on the ridge, as she foolishly placed the other, was slightly irritated with pain. Quickly she follows this realization up with an examination in the dark. Turning her foot over to find three deep cuts and several little scrapes. With disbelief she begins scurrying towards the bathroom to turn the light on. Finding the cuts and scrapes to no longer be there, on either foot!

Yet, she still feels the same shooting pain she did when she jumped out of bed. For historical purposes Lacey thens grab a glass of water and starts searching for a notebook. Finding one, she heads to the desk and cuts on her lamp. Scribing the events that just took place for future reference. To which the viewer looking at Lacey from the windows perspective, gets dragged out of the window and in an upwards direction towards the tops of trees surrounding her window. Revealing a crows departure from right above Lacey’s bedroom.

The next day Lacey is left in charge of her siblings. Which she doesn’t mind, because she sees the opportunity to get a lay of the land and get to know the new stepbrother. So as soon as the parents leave she begins questioning her brothers knowledge of the area. Posing questions based off the landscape of her dream. She strikes oil when her biological brother says that she is describing a quarry near by. Lacey insists they take her, bored to death, they comply with her demands. As all of them walk to the quarry, Lacey goes over everything she missed (birthdays, graduation, etc). Explaining her actions in the hope her brother won’t follow her path. She suddenly recognizes her surroundings, sort of taking the lead. Leaving her brothers in the dust so to speak, as she is caught up the memory of her dream again. Reality begins to fade out. She then begins to get entirely different feeling than the one felt in her dream. Like she’s being watched by a despicable evil. The feeling insatiably grows stronger as she attempts to find the source of this ubiquitous gaze. Making eye contact with the aforementioned crow, as he leaves a perch atop the trees. She follows the crow as his flight carries her attention to the same location which captured her curiosity in last night’s dream. Violent, were the cries of the now non existent crow. As they slowly changed into the cries of her little brothers, for she had foolishly taken the same step. Followed by the same exact feeling of panic previously felt. Within this instant, Lacey’s biological brother desperately throws himself in her direction. Using his motion to counteract hers, thus flinging her back towards safety...relentlessly propelling himself to danger though.

Lacey barely makes it on to the ridge, surely falling if not for her stepbrothers arm yanking her the rest of the way. In shock, Lacey effortlessly tunes out the Stepbrother’s screams for Lacey’s biological brother as she begins to notice the blood leaking from the bottom of her left foot...not her right one. After the stepbrother details Lacey’s actions leading to her biological brother’s death, the parents begin to blame Lacey’s use of drugs. To which she desperately pleads her case of sobriety and blames the crow. The stepbrother then ask her what the fuck she is talking about, that she had just pointlessly started walking in the direction of the cliff, that her focus didn’t break the whole time! That she was in this non responsive state. That they tried to get her attention 20 yards from the cliff, but she just didn’t respond. Proclaiming that she was possessed or on something. Now the parents begin bombarding Lacey with questions regarding her choice of drugs that lead to the episode. Lacey tired of defending her sobriety, and dwindling on belief in her own recollection of events. Explodes, pushing the parents out of her way and running out of the door as fast as she can.

Body3. Running away from everything that had taken place back there, she doesn’t plan on returning. She comes to a stop because she was not familiar with the trees and bushes that she was beginning to come across. Lost, looking for any signs of familiar landmarks. She finds one....she sees the ridge that her brother had fallen off of earlier. This would mean that she is on the same side as the nestlike tree. So she desperately begins to look for said tree, considering it had previously caught her gaze earlier that day resulting in the death of her biological brother. Frantically searching for this tree, she loses track of time. Night has become Lacey’s only companion. Unexpectedly, Lacey starts to feel extremely exhausted. Then the caw of a mysterious crow, followed by a boost of energy. Suddenly she feels the ever present gaze of evil casting its many eyes upon her with its many views. Like before, she looks atop the trees for the crow as his caws slowly grow close. This time, every time she glances towards the tree tops she fails to notice this ghastly figure behind every tree she happens to check. Ignorant to its presence, and still blindly searching for this crow who now lacks a caw.

Lacey, falls right into the base of the nest like tree. Simultaneously becoming void of consciousness. From behind this nest like tree, creeps a Lacey..that isn’t quite Lacey. Romantically staring down at Lacey, this thing circles her, slowly draining Lacey of that being which makes us human. Squeezing Lacey’s very essence from her soul, this thing uses its finger to trace Lacey’s figure from tip of toe to top of head. Lifting the hair on the side of Lacey’s head, it begins to whisper into her ear. Lacey then laughs, followed with a briefly acknowledged emotion of sadness, and then returns to the expression of laughter as the creature lets go of her hair. Now standing, the creature resembling Lacey acts as to hear something in the distance. Walking out of the Frame, it turns back to blow Lacey a goodbye kiss before completely retreating from the viewer’s focus. To which you hear Lacey’s family exclaim in joy, for they have finally found something carrying itself like Lacey. The viewer then begins to zoom in on Lacey in her unconscious state sort of entering her mind. There Lacey is found standing beside a lonely stretch of road. Not knowing why, she looks around for answers. She then hears a car approaching in the distance. Focused on the road, the car passes revealing her and her father arguing days before. Then Lacey notices a ghastly figure, which was hiding behind the trees in the previous scene, sitting adjacent to her on the other side of the road. As the ghastly figure acknowledges Lacey’s presence, she attempts to hide. Upon its acknowledgement of her, it seemingly begins rushing at Lacey just to sort of vanish as Lacey hides behind the shrubbery alongside the road. Waiting for its arrival Lacey trembles in fear, so much so that a bead of sweat begins to run down her forehead. No longer can she take this feeling of eerie anticipation, she jumps up and hastily runs in the direction her back was just facing. The very moment her head completes the one hundred and eighty degree turn. She becomes paralyzed with fear, for our ghastly figure was patiently awaiting her flight response to take control of her feeble mind. It now looks Lacey in the eye, but she feels as if thing is reaching into her soul. She begins to fight, in order to break loose of its ominous gaze. Right as she musters up the strength to break free, her neck snaps.

Now Lacey finds herself in the woods immediately surrounding her home. Lacey can see her bedroom, suddenly the light in her room switches on. A minute later Lacey sees herself place the notebook down, pull out the chair, sit down and begin writing. Watching as the crow flys from atop his perch that is her window, she sees the ghastly figure again. It steps out of hiding, this time directly from the bush underneath her window walking in the direction that her brothers took in order to show Lacey the quarry she wanted to visit so badly. Shifting into the day of the incident involving her biological brother, she then sees that it eclipsed her entire background when placing her in that non responsive state to which she lost her loved one. Finally revealing to her its very presence behind every tree she was checking the crow for....Then it shows her through his eyes, what it is experiencing at that very moment. Lost is Lacey, as it looks at itself in a bathroom mirror. Trying to understand how she feels it’s presence so strongly, but sees her reflection in the mirror. It steps away from the mirror walking through the already opened front door onto the front porch. Stopping at the top of the steps it looks towards the heavens, making its body resemble that of one being crucified. Gripping a large, bloodied kitchen knife in its left hand. The knifes point is positioned down, allowing for the excess blood to easily drip off of the knife and onto the already bloody front porch. Still seeing things from its perspective, Lacey watches as her essence barely escapes from its loosely held lips and returns to her physical body that remains unconscious. Awaking from what she was hoping would be a really weird nightmare. She finds herself at the beginning of her driveway. Somewhat relieved not to be out in the woods but still worried about where she is, she begins to stand. Standing up, she runs to the back of the house first (which is the closest side to her). She slowly creeps around the front finding the dark entity still posed a top the steps. Approaching the bottom step, Lacey stops as the entities neck violently breaks resulting in this downward glare directly at her. Sharing with her all of its past atrocities, including its more recent atrocities involving her. To which she finds herself now in its crucified pose, and wielding the bloodied knife in her right hand. Freeing herself, she then studies the house.

Finding the terrible acts she had committed, and also finding a now realistic solution for her problem. There sat her desk chair, sitting all alone beside the window.

Swiftly kicked was the chair, whose absence resulted in a necks snap so distinct....it scares the crow from atop his perch above Lacey’s window. The viewer goes back over the gruesome carnage that lay amidst the house capturing everybody’s lifeless body. Backpedaling, the viewer heads out of the front door. Revealing that someone drug their bloody finger from the front door frame, down the side of the house ending at the corner. To which our viewer turns to the sunrise, now displaying porch railing and support beam. On both of which are bloodied handprints, as if somebody gripped the support beam and placed the other hand on the porch railing while awaiting the beautiful sunrise (or the perfect time to reflect on how perfectly it pulled this one off, equaling five fresh souls). Viewer is now beginning to pan out, triggering the crows hop onto the porch railing where he starts pecking the bloodied handprint. Now the viewer has panned out to the point you see the arrival of the homicide unit to investigate the biological brother’s death, and the departure of our friendly foreshadowing crow.

Closing: Lacey’s dependence on drugs made her a weak person, but the rehab she had underwent tried to rid Lacey of this weakness. Momentarily doing so, she was on the path to a perfect life. That is, until her father brought the anger out of her making her snap in the car ride home from the rehab. This brief weakness was all that it took to allow our ghastly entity to familiarize itself with Lacey’s past demons. She had unknowingly welcomed an archaic darkness into her life by simply giving into her rage. This thing fed off of this tiny bit of hatred, amassing it’s strength through the manipulation of her dreams by allowing her to think she was in control the entire time. When in reality, she lost control the moment she went off on her father in the car (as portrayed in the closing scene). Thus, diluting reality with delusion! It gifted her the ability, of what she thought was lucid dreaming, only as means of subtly pushing her in the direction of INSANITY.

Days, weeks, and months passed in waiting for just such a chance as this. His mistake was in turning his back to her when reaching for the halter hanging there on its peg. As a general rule, on account of her breed’s cantankerous nature, he applied more caution when alone with her in the stall, but one mistake is oft-times too many.

Hers was the easily discounted brain of a brute, but it was a lively brain yet. Neurons inside it fired off when she sank her teeth into his clavical from behind, and on into the thick muscle at the very top of his shoulder. They were teeth genetically designed for grinding rather than for the cutting or tearing of flesh, but they were strong, as were the muscles of her jaws and neck. She sank the dull ends of those teeth into the muscle with a crushing conviction, clamping them together like a screwed down vice. The man fought, of course. He held the whip in hand. He swung it wildly, striking at her face, but there was little power in his backhanded blows. She closed her eyes to the whip’s desperate flails and held tight to her grip. Patience was one of her many virtues.

His sagging body cried out once, but the weak cry did not carry. Minutes later a sigh escaped him. She released her grip, letting him fall in a heap. She then raised herself up onto powerful rear legs and drove her one thousand pounds of work hardened muscle into the man who already laid quietly beneath her in the stall’s muck until all movement ceased. She walked slowly then from the shed, through the open corral gate, and up the familiar dirt road. It was not the work she minded. Willingness to work was another of her virtues, but there would be no work today, and no whip.

It was the next morning when she first saw another soul upon the road. It was a man coming from the opposite direction. A man astride a spraddle-legged, tired little pony. A man who called himself “Scarborough.” This man Scarborough came toward her with the quick, sharp movements of a weasel, and emitted an odor as foul. She cut a wide swath, gathering room to pass him by, but the man swung his pony to cut her off. “My, my! You are a pretty thing!” He looked off down the road her way through the barest slits of eyes, certain that such an animal would be followed, and then he turned in his saddle to look back in the direction from which he himself had come. There was no one in sight, but the man Scarborough was no stranger to the law, and was wary of a trap. “What’s a fine mule like you doing out here in the midst of nowhere?” He wondered aloud. “And all alone, too?”

Scarborough dismounted, relieving his haggard pony. He started toward her from a crouched stance, bent-kneed, arms and hands outstretched toward her. His voice was low, soft, barely more than a whisper, the words seeping over broken, tobacco stained teeth like thin branch water spilling overtop a deadfall. “Come come, Molly old-gal... come on to Poppa!”

She backed away, wanting only to be left alone. She had no intention of escaping one bastard of a man simply to get scooped up by another. Following a warning through flared nostrils she danced lightly away, an unusual movement for her kind, the daintiness of it more horse-like than mulish as she displayed her caution... yet another of her kind’s virtuous traits.

“You are the prettiest thing, ain’t you, now! Eighteen hands, at least. Come here, missy, you ain’t likely to get away from me, so let’s just do this easy, old gal.”

His eyes shone with the black light of unfettered greed. Here stood 14 karat gold on hickory-stick legs that had practically walked up the road, untied his purse strings, and climbed inside. She was a young mule, strong, and beautiful despite her scarred flanks, sporting a pure, honey-gold body with a lighter blond mane and tail. The man Scarborough’s hand stretched out to grasp that mane...

Her teeth missed the arm, but caught the jacket’s sleeve. With a great tug Scarborough was down in the road’s dust. He started up, but a bump from behind set him down again. He started up quicker this time, but a hind leg caught his ribs solidly, knocking out his wind, and his desire. Newly found riches forgotten, all the man Scarborough wanted now was to get away, but the mule was surprisingly quick for all of her size. Teeth and hooves raked and smashed him at every turn until he gave up, curling himself into a dusty ball as the beast kicked and pounced, but the curling up wasn’t enough. Molly was learning. Men were brutal creatures, and smart, but they could be beaten for all of that if you could get them alone.

The saddled, straddle-legged pony followed her away from Scarborough’s crushed body. Miles, and hours later the next traveler approached as the equine pair cropped at a patch of sweetgrass grown tall off a-ways from the roadside. She watched him closely. This one was different in appearance and temperament. He walked, rather than riding, with a carriage straight, and tall. This man stepped out quick, with a purpose, his arms swinging like great, pace-setting pendulums at his sides. A strange, non-threatening song blew from his pursed lips, a sound more animal than human, almost birdlike. She was intrigued. The man passed on by. When he was gone she wandered back to the road. Nose held high, she snuffled at the disturbed air in his wake. That air smelled of woodsmoke, grass, and perspiration, smells she knew and understood. This man smelled of sunshine... yes, sunshine has its smell, just as rain does. Do not doubt it... and he smelled of pine. This man’s back-track smelled of all that she longed for; of mountain meadows, flowing creeks, and freedom. She followed in behind him, leaving the pony to crop at the sweetgrass. Her curiousity for what good things might lay in the man’s front-tracks was another of her endearing virtues, and it was that curiosity which drew her along in his back-track.

She followed from a good ways back, at a safe distance, her caution smartly winning out over her curiosity. While she did not necessarily want a man, she instinctively needed one. She craved one’s attentions and protections. But she intended to choose her own this time, rather than the other way around.

He knew she was there. He turned several times to look back. Once he even turned around and started toward her, but she was too skittish, her cautious virtue back in play. She back-tracked away, so the man also stopped. Seeing her discomfiture, the man did not push to get close, but continued on his way. When he did so, she resumed her following, keeping the same comfortable distance between them.

It is a misconception that mules are lazy. She actually enjoyed this man’s brisk pace. She liked the way he whistled a cadence and walked in time to it. She especially liked the way this man smelled. The closer she got the more she liked his looks. He was tall and thin, but sturdy. He wore a black slouch hat above a soft, red beard. The beard hid his mouth like the hat hid his eyes, so that all there was to read was his posture. His long legs made for long strides. Stiff, scarecrow shoulders hung proudly above a straight, ramrod back and those steadily thumping boots. He was difficult to read. This man shared her virtue of stoicism... and he smelled of sunshine.

The man stopped at dusk to make camp. She hung at the edge of his fire’s light, feeling it’s warmth, comfortable in its reassuring glow. He spoke gentle words to her, calling her “Molly”, but he did not approach her. He seemed content with her company, pleased just to have her near, expecting nothing else from her. When morning came he packed his few things, invited her to follow, and set out once more upon the road. She did follow, closer now, trusting her instincts, her virtue of steadfast faithfullness pulling her along behind him.

Here at long last was a man for Molly.

I remember everything!

I can see everything, too.

I am in a cell!

I know why I've been saying everything wrong, too.

I remembered small things-like names-and then forgot them.

I'm not crazy, and I'm not Evedia's daughter.

I'm the daughter of Queen Sarie, and King Joque, who are not evil.

Evedia is evil.

She stole the whole kingdome from my parents, and used me to do it!

I have to stop her! I though vicously, running to the door.

But, I couldn't get out.

I was locked in, of course.

Besides, what could an eleven year old girl do?

Spread the word. How foolish, I told myself. Just stick it out!

Wait, stick it out! My key!

I stuck my arm out of the bars, holding my dungeon key firmly in my hand.

I was suprised Evedia hadn't stole my key, or that she hadn't changed the lock on this door.

With a flick of my wrist, I was free!

***

It was easy to sneak away. I had lived in this castle most of my life- I knew all the best hiding spots.

Once I was outside, I raced to the nearest village, ready to tell my tale.

Yet, what if no one believed me? Evedia had everyone under her spell.

Wait- everyone?

Yes, that's it! If everyone was under her spell, then some people might start to remember.

Even Evedia couldn't keep three thousand people under her spell.

I would have to find everyone who remembered.

***

"Let's go down to Muffin Spectacular," a little kid told his parents.

My first target!

"McMuffins of Eva, you mean?" the dad corected.

It was changed to McMuffins of Eva once Evedia took over. That means that kid is remembering.

"It is Muffin Spectacular, Joque," the women said.

Wait, Joque? That's my dads name! These people, they were my parents!

As for the child, I remember him now... my mom was pregnant when I was tricked to Evedia's side.

Before I could stop myself, I yelled "MOM! DAD!"

The sight of my face seemed to help them remember, and they were freed!

"Imil," my mother gasped, suprised about everything.

"Wait, your Imil?" My little brother asked. "I'm so happy to meet you! My names Imi."

"Imil... your alive!" My dad exclaimed, seeming to not know what else to say.

"Not for long, though," someone snarked.

I knew who said that, even before I spun around. "Evedia," I snarled.

"Evedia?" A man asked. "Oh, wow, Evedia!"

His wife shushed him, and, at the same time, a young girl grabbed her brother's hand to keep him from walking towards the evil woman.

They had seen past her beauty, even though the men were still entanced.

That was, until she pulled out a bow, and pointed an arrow straight at my heart.

They had reconised me, too. They could see my 'mother' was about to kill me.

Fogginess left their eyes, they all remembered. And they all charged towards Evedia.

Vonrael Solus is the main character from my book "The Afternoon King" and is such a pleasure to write. This is what I wish his life could be like. Sorry it got a little long!

Vonrael sprawled out on his back in the clearing, soaking in the morning sun. Tendrils of clouds wove through the sky. He kept his eyes focused on the endless blue as they drifted past. The winds high above him called down with joy in their countless voices. He smiled back. He wouldn't be joining in their games today.

He patted the dusty ground beneath him. "I suppose you are too busy with summer to talk today," he murmured quietly. The mage listened as the earth grumbled to itself far away. The stolid element hardly ever had time for him these days.

"Are you talking to me or to yourself again?" Vonrael sat up as young Esrum emerged from the cave rubbing his eyes. "I never know who you're talking to."

"I was speaking to the earth," Vonrael answered.

Esrum narrowed his eyes in wary disbelief. "People can't talk to the earth. It doesn't have a mouth."

Humans cannot speak to the earth, but dragons can, Vonrael sighed inwardly. He rose from the ground and brushed the dust from his legs, saying, "I am a mage, Esrum. I can speak to the earth but today it is preoccupied."

The boy walked further out of the cave. The disbelief had softened to an inquisitive twinkle in his eyes as he looked up at Vonrael. "Does it ever say anything back?"

Vonrael remembered what he had seen in the wake of the armies: scorched fields, soaked plains, soil mangled by the wheels of carts laden with stolen lives. A sudden heat rushed down his arms. The mage pushed the memories from his mind as he shook an errant flame from his left hand. "The earth once asked me for help," he said. He tried to hide the edge in his voice but the child heard.

Esrum kept his eyes on Vonrael's hands as he asked, "And what did you do?"

"I helped it."

The mage laughed as Esrum stuck out his tongue. "You always give half-answers," protested the boy.

"There are some stories that you cannot hear yet. I have kept many things from you but today I will be able to answer some of your questions." Esrum opened his mouth, but Vonrael held up his hands to halt the river of questions before it began to flow. "However, I have already chosen which ones."

"But how?" demanded the boy. "I haven't even asked them!"

Vonrael offered Esrum his hand. "I have seen the way you watch me. You ask if I am talking to myself but you know that is not what I am doing." Esrum still hadn't taken his hand so he offered it again. "Would you like to know who I am speaking to?"

The brave boy took a small step forward, staring at the hand held out to him. His eyes darted up to Vonrael's and the mage glimpsed the frightened child he'd been not so long ago. Esrum reached out and took Vonrael's hand. "Yes," he finally answered. "Who are you talking to when there's no one else around?"

"Well, besides the earth, I speak to the winds the most." Vonrael took a deep breath and blew it out. "That is how I greet them."

Esrum took a deep breath and yelled. Vonrael raised his eyebrows at the noise that startled birds from the nearby trees. "Do you think they heard me?" Esrum asked with perfect concern.

A gust of wind blasted through the clearing. Vonrael and Esrum laughed at the clear answer. "They are the easiest to get along with," Vonrael said through a smile.

"Who else do you talk to?" Esrum asked. The boy gripped his hand in tight desperation.

"We will go to the river," Vonrael said and led the boy through the trees.

"Is it just this river or is it all the rivers?"

"I can speak to all water, but it is rarely worth it." Vonrael helped Esrum clamber over a fallen tree. "This particular river is kind to me. I grew up here next to it. The ocean north of here is not too friendly. The lake just before the mountains is indebted to me."

Esrum considered the mage's words in silence as they reached the river. Vonrael stepped in gingerly. A sensation like fingers wrapping around his ankles brought a small smile to his lips. Esrum stepped in after him and dug his toes into the silty riverbed. "Why is the lake indebted to you?"

"I helped it."

Vonrael couldn't help but laugh at Esrum's frustration as he stomped his foot and splashed them both. "Is there something you haven't helped?" he cried in exasperation.

The mage pursed his lips as he thought. Esrum pulled him along through the river as he chased a school of fish. "I suppose I have the favor of storms. I fulfilled the final wish of a Storm dragon."

"How?"

"That is a story for another day." Perhaps for a day that never comes, Vonrael thought. "I have not helped the frost. The frost has helped me, though."

Esrum huffed, "I won't ask."

"No, this is something I may share with you. The frost holds me accountable. It holds me steady. It reminds me that the power I have is only borrowed."

The boy stopped in his tracks. "Borrowed from who?"

Vonrael stood in a patch of sunlight. "I have told you of Beritru before."

"Oh." Esrum dropped his gaze to the river. "It's from her."

"From her and all the other dragons who have helped me. I would not be who I am without them." You most of all, Beritru.

"She's who you're talking to when you talk to the fire," Esrum said. There was no question. The boy was certain.

"Yes. I speak to the fire because I hope she hears me," Vonrael sighed. He raised his free arm to point to the sun. "But I know that she hides right up there where I cannot reach her. I know she is watching." But are you listening?

Esrum squinted at the sun through the leaves. He looked away quickly and rubbed at his eyes. "The winds are the nice ones, right? Do you think you could teach me how to talk to them?"

Vonrael tried to look stern. "You will first need to learn the rune. Even so, the winds may not deem you worthy of conversing with them. You must earn the favor of a Wind dragon before the winds will heed you."

The boy grinned up at him. "So you'll teach me? I'll finally get to meet a new dragon?"

The mage's facade broke and he tousled the boy's hair with a laugh. "Yes, I will teach you."

"When can we start? Can we start now? Please?"

Vonrael looked up at the sun in thought. What was is that you told me all those years ago? He turned back to Esrum with wisdom worn and ancient. "We will begin tomorrow."

Name: Harris Argyle

Age: 35

Weight: 250 lbs ("pure muscle," if you'd asked him)

Physical Appearnce: Bulky/Beefy/Muscular; long orange beard; large scar running from left eyebrow, around eye, and down jaw; buzzed orange hair; bright green eyes; freckles visible everywhere there isn't hair; full sleeves of celtic-looking tatoos on both arms, and some vine tatoos sprouting from his ankles; it's been said he also has a heart on the back of his neck, near his hairline, but it is a mystery why.

Personality: Boisterous, extremely competitive; humorous; slightly unruly; often seen with a flask; remembers his childhood with fondness

Other Details: has a ball python for a pet; loves blonde women; born in Eidenburg; His one weakness is his mother's homemade shortbread; Been single for two years, when he broke up with his long-time girlfriend(as you might guess, she was blonde); full-Scottish.