There were two kisses Aurora remembered as her “first”. Naturally, there was her actual first kiss. The other was the first one she shared with Isabella. That was the first one that had felt right.

She promised to return to me, at the end.
It was clear that the end wasn’t that far off, now.

It used to be easier, I think. All of it. The reading, the writing, the walking, the talking, the work, the play. I feel like there must have been a time it was easy. Otherwise how would I have gotten this far?

Tap tap tap on the windowsill.

It startles me awake, just like every night.

Tap tap tap.

Years go by. You lose track. They disappear one by one, some as if they had never been. You lose connections and memories. Friends dear as life become passing thoughts. Then even those vanish and you’re left alone with only yourself and your dreams.

I returned my rental viola today. I hadn’t touched it in over a month, so it felt like time. I picked it up back in April. It was one, last-ditch effort to renew my study of music. I guess it didn’t really work out as I hoped.

The old gods. Huh. So they not only existed and interacted with the world, they had it in particularly for me.

Let me tell you about Iadya. I first met her in an official capacity, as one Councilor to another.

“Button one?”

“Tentacles.”

“Button two?”

“Tentacles.”

HUNGER

There was nothing but cold.

That and being tired, of course. And hungry. And lonely. And probably some sort of sniffle building up.

In essence, it really sucked.

Well here we are again
It's always such a pleasure,
Remember when you tried to kill me twice?

“I can't sing,” Aurora muttered. Her cheeks reddened, almost matching her lipstick.

Jevol was looking more casual than I'd ever seen him. His tie was actually loose around his neck. And there was another sign, even more telling, that I'd never witnessed: he looked tired.

“Just how many wolves were you planning on making?”

“As many as it takes.”

“That... makes no sense at all. Neither does it provide a meaningful answer to my question.”

“Blacklisted?” Kathy exclaimed. “What do you mean?”
I threw my laptop down on the couch and myself shortly after “I mean that every single company I've contacted has responded with a perfunctory 'no thanks' or hasn't responded at all. And I'm not exactly throwing around a commonplace resume these days.”

“I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go,” Mr. Jevol said. His face was as inscrutable as ever – and it might have been my imagination – but I thought I heard a hint of remorse in his voice. Probably my imagination. For as long as I'd known the man, he'd never emoted anything but dry cheerfulness.

“So what do you think?” I asked for the fifth time. Kathy had looked away from the sheaf of papers, so maybe she was actually done reading this time. She looked up at me, this time without the glare of annoyance.