《The Abyss of Held Hands》


 One - January 1979 (mewithoutYou)

    Have you ever wondered what life would be like if you weren''t in it? If you had never been born into this world, spoken your words, and taken your space? I''ve pondered this idea since I was only a child, trying to figure out what it meant to be a person, partially formed and fleshed out in this masquerade of a life that I lived. I never really wanted anything for myself: I did well in school because my mother told me to, I behaved kindly because I didn¡¯t know how else to behave, and I knew better than to expect things from others. And so I would sit and ponder in a classroom full of folks, human and Othersiders alike, feeling connected to absolutely no one and getting the feeling that if I didn¡¯t show up to school anymore they wouldn''t even notice the empty seat.


    The rifts that opened up in January of 1979, long before my parents had ever even met, and destroyed any semblance of normalcy that one could ever say possibly existed. Suddenly, when you opened a door, or crossed a bridge, you had no idea if the reality you arrived at on the other side was ours, or theirs. People started getting lost, but strangely enough, some force from the other side began rescuing them. If humans ate from the tree of knowledge, the Folks of the Otherside ate from the tree of life. Millions of different creatures, humanoid and otherwise, began turning up from these folds. They spoke our languages, mirrored our cultures, sometimes even harkened to our myth and legend; maybe they were our myth and legend, and the stories we told through cultures and generations were glimpses through whatever sheer curtain had separated us all this time.


    Humanity got to mapping the folds, and before too long, we had a complex cartography of the new world, a conjoined map connected by portals and bridges. We began diplomatic relations between the governments of the two worlds. The first several conversations were pissing contests, showing the power of an atomic bomb compared to that of a wizard capable of rendering all satellite and radar targeting systems inoperable by simply uttering a phrase. Human leaders were stunned, having all of our bleeding edge technology made worthless by simple chants. When they realized that humanity was the lesser of the twin realities, human governments began to appeal to the Folk¡¯s sense of decency; happily enough, they agreed, on the condition that they be allowed to settle in our territories. That didn¡¯t happen until the year 1995, to give you a general idea of how stubborn human beings are. And I, the lowly human thing named Su-jin Park, wasn¡¯t born until June 11th, 1996.


    My family was quiet and kind. My father, a benevolent and steady Native American man who I¡¯m told never went a day without making the world a better place, passed away when I was younger; too young to even remember his face past a picture. So my mother raised me softly, but never understood me. Being born in a first generation Asian American household was hard enough, trying to balance the delicate life of arguing to my mother¡¯s landlord for her because her spoken English wasn¡¯t understandable enough for him. Being born in the wrong body on top of that, was a form of hell in and of itself. I didn¡¯t know what I was in those years (honestly, I still don¡¯t sometimes), but I knew what I wasn¡¯t: a boy, a human boy with a body and arms and legs and appendages that I felt sick even thinking about. But I was my mother¡¯s only son, and so these thoughts would often fall away to guilt.


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    Starting when I was four, she would take me on walks through the city streets and show me how to get around, mostly so I knew how to get home if I ever got lost. When we stopped for groceries she encouraged me to introduce myself and be courteous and forthright. When Folks from the Otherside walked by she taught me not to shy away; they were just like us, only they looked a bit different and were capable of different things. She would often remark on times before them, when people looked down on other people who were in the same situation, and how sad that was. She explained those differences, and though she had her judgements, she tried her best to keep it as neutral as possible. Looking back on those moments now, I love my mother for them, as they allowed me space. With that space came reflection, upon myself and how I fit in the world around me.


    When I began school, her lessons helped gain me some popularity amongst my teachers and classmates. When other children were often making their first acquaintances with folks from the Otherside, I was already well comfortable with them and their many habits, quirks, and abilities. In a way, I became a bridge between the worlds of the humans and the Folk, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged in a space. I was the friendly and kind one, unafraid to make friends and willing to go out of my way to make sure people got what they needed: if someone was behind on their arts and crafts project, I would stop mine and help them. That often meant I was behind on my own projects, but in my heart, I knew it was the right thing to do. Because my mother would do the same, and had done the same.


    Those early years, where malice wasn''t even a concept in the minds of most of my peers, were the happiest of my life. I flowed through the stressors of upholding peace like a stream through glacial ravines, cool and refreshing, unencumbered and clean. I came home from school every day with stories for my mother, peace I negotiated, friends I had made, discussions I had. Sometimes I even visited friends'' houses, and saw the lives of others from within for the first time; it was beautiful and serene, whether it was a three bedroom flat or a house in the suburbs. No one ever came to my place though: a studio apartment is a bit too cramped for playtime.


    Perhaps I should explain: my mother, on top of being a paragon of virtue for me, worked two jobs to pay for my private schooling. I lived in the inner city of New York, where public school had long become an afterthought, and the only way for families to ensure their children would get an education that would lead to college and higher advancements was to pay up. This was a sad truth before the rifts, and unfortunately, the welfare that poured in from the Otherside went to other more pressing things, like the adaptation of transport and housing. They would go on to make sweeping changes nationwide, but I wouldn''t learn that until I moved back over a decade later.

 Two - Kettering (The Antlers)

    My mother¡¯s death wasn''t sudden, but it was still a surprise. She started complaining one day about how she couldn¡¯t keep up with the younger coworkers at one of her jobs; a month later, she couldn''t do that job reliably anymore. They kept her on payroll as long as they could, but when winter came, they were forced to let her go. She kept her other job as long as she could, but she kept getting frailer and losing pounds. I heard her up in the early hours of the morning dry heaving, even though she hadn''t had anything to eat the night before. By the time they had her stomach scanned, and the cancer had shown its horrific face, it was too late to change the outcome, only the end date.


    I managed to stay in school with the help of grants given for my exceptional behavior and well-rounded performance, which took a load off of my mother''s mind. I took a small pride in this, as if I could ease whatever hurricane must be storming within her at all times. All her money went to the rent and a meager amount of food, simple enough for a child to manage. It was quiet in those days; I thought loneliness would kill me. I remembered lying awake at night, afraid the door would burst in and some mythological being or sadistic killer would come in, and I would be defenseless as they ruined the home my mother left me and stole me from the life that I knew, either through kidnapping or death. I wondered if all the other children were so terribly afraid of dying, or of having everything taken away from them so suddenly. It made me nervous, as being different was not something I wanted to be accustomed to. The class bridge couldn''t afford to be an odd owl, after all.


    But soon, my status began to slip away from me, as people became friendlier and more accustomed to each other, and needed me less and less. There was nothing I could do to force myself back into relevancy, and even if I could, I was too far down the rabbit hole to manage anything so brazen, and so I simply faded into the background, a ghost of my former self. I supplemented this by studying extremely hard, and so I kept my grants through academic achievement, but it wasn''t the same; no longer did I get the peaceful vignette of other¡¯s lives, only the unbearable suffering of my own. I could feel myself losing pounds too, but I didn''t really care at this point, as long as I got to see my mother that weekend.


    Many of the fears and worries that came with being a child were stolen from me the day my mother died. I was seven years old at the time. My grandfather, an older Korean man who had flown in in her final days, left me into the room, holding my small trembling hands in his warm, cracked electrician¡¯s fingers. He had never really spoken to me much, apart from a few birthday phone calls, and so seeing him in the flesh was as seeing a stranger. I was accustomed to introducing myself to strangers politely, but when he pulled me in for a hug, I could feel my chest tightening, and a small resistance in the back of my mind. A Headless nurse tended my mother''s vitals as we entered the room; she respectfully bowed before giving us the space to say our goodbyes. For my mother and grandfather, the words flowed like water: they spoke of all they had missed, and all they had remembered, all they had wished for, and all they had gotten. Seeing them speak like that made me wonder if my father would''ve loved me the same way; a small pang shot through my heart as I missed a man I had never met before and would never be able to meet.


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    When my mother and I spoke, it was stifled and awkward. We hadn''t spoken normally in a while; she would ask me about school, and I would tell her it was okay, even on days when it wasn''t. I think I wasn''t a good liar though, because she would stop asking things after that. But as she had more time, she began to open up about something dear to her heart.


    ¡°Su-jin, please come here,¡± she whispered to me softly from her hospital bed, barely louder than the beeps from the monitors. I hesitantly stepped forward. ¡°I¡­ I came to this land to make a new start for myself. But when I met your father, and I met you, I knew¡­¡±


    She turned away from me. I wondered why, but time has told me it was to keep tears from her eyes. ¡°I knew that you were the reason I was here. You bring me so much joy, and make every day so fun and new and exciting. I want you to have the world, and I wanted to be there when you got it.¡± She couldn¡¯t help it at this point, as tears began to flow down her cheeks.


    ¡°I''m sorry that I have to go. I don''t want to leave you, but sometimes we don¡¯t get to choose.¡± She proposed a small smile and took my hands in hers. ¡°You¡¯ll be moving to South Korea to live with your grandfather. I know it''s scary to leave everything you know behind, but you are such a strong boy, and I know you can do this. He has the resources to take care of you, so you''ll be okay.¡±


    As if that is what I was worried about right now, watching my mother dying in front of me, trying to put on a brave face for her child when I knew she was terrified. She had to be terrified; facing down mortality, leaving everything behind¡­ No wonder my grandfather offered to take care of me just to ease her burden. It couldn''t be easy on him either, but he was old, and death was a well-known acquaintance of his by now. My mother was Christian, and so she had this belief that maybe her husband was waiting for her somewhere out beyond the stars. I clung to that idea like a lifeboat, even if the concept of religion didn¡¯t relate to me much given the cruelty of the current situation.


    And then she said something to me that would set the course of my life for over a decade, something that would sew itself into my soul and leave me tethered to oblivion for so long that it will never leave me.


    ¡°You are just like your father,¡± she said so kindly, with a softness to her voice. ¡°Please never change.¡±

 Three - Seaweed (Mount Eerie)

    Never change. Never change. Never change.


    I had already changed so much from the boy she knew, and it hadn''t even been two years of illness we faced together. Boy. At the time, I didn''t know why referring to myself as such disgusted me so much, but I couldn''t help but feel discomfort at the idea of being stuck in this form. My mind was breaking into pieces trying to contort around this idea, ¡°Never Change,¡± but all I could do at the time was smile softly at my mother, tell her how much I loved her, and promise her that I wouldn''t.


    She died later that day; they didn''t let me see her body, but I imagined it looked a lot like the one I saw only hours prior, sad and sickly, just having stopped desperately clinging to life. The next week was the funeral. So many people showed up, people I had never even met. It only made sense, as my mother was the type of person to leave a lasting positive impression. There were so many people crying during the wake; there were a handful of indifferent children, looking around awkwardly, not really sure why they were there. I felt bad for both parties, weirdly more than I felt for myself. At the time my emotions had simply shut off, and I was a polite greeting machine, thanking others for the positive impact they had on my mother''s life, even though I was completely unaware of their existence until this moment in time.


    My grandfather stood behind me the entire time, hand upon my shoulder, resolute and strong. He would converse in Korean to those who could converse back, and share stories of my mother and her warmth, but otherwise remain silent. Every once in a while, he would squeeze my shoulder, which I inferred was his way of ensuring I was remaining strong, but it was unnecessary; my mother taught me everything I needed to know about introducing myself to strangers.


    I left for South Korea the next week, having very few things to pack, and even fewer people to say goodbye to. I''m sure I had friends, and people who would be sad that I just up and disappeared, but I didn''t want to deal with the reminders of a life that existed before this current version. It was an easy enough trip: just a few walks through some strange doors and I was on the other side of the world. My grandfather asked if there was anything he could do for me before we left; any wish he could grant that was in his power. I had only one; to leave everything behind, even my name. I wanted to be Avery, not Su-jin, and I wanted to be Grey, after my father¡¯s last name. He was reluctant, feeling like I was abandoning my mother and her culture, but he was a man of his word, and so I was Avery Grey from that moment forward.


    I enrolled in school there quickly, and hit the ground running academically; I knew the material, I knew English and Korean, and I was so far-gone that zoning into class was easy enough. But socially, I was a wreck; when people spoke to me, I tried my best to speak back, but my mother''s face came to mind every time, and so I would choke and say nothing at all. They quickly learned that I wasn''t a talkative person, and left me alone. They then learned that I was a people pleaser, going out of my way to help people in need, just like my mother wanted me to in her last moments. So they began to ask for help studying with their homework. The next year, they asked for help with their homework in general; pretty soon, I had become a class gofer for the tougher and more lawless peers.


    My grandfather didn''t know how to speak to me about how school was, or how I was, or about anything but groceries and teaching him sparse English. When he would try to ask, I would tell him and say it was going lovely, and that I was academically excelling, though that last part wasn¡¯t a lie. Apparently my mother''s death made me more than proficient as a deceiver, and so he took my words at face value and didn''t pursue any further. We would spend time together watching movies I was probably too young to watch, a personal favorite being Oldboy. I didn''t understand why it was twisted, I simply saw it as a deep revenge tale, but maybe that element was lost on my childlike mind. I imagined myself in the protagonist''s shoes, being capable of what he could do, and feeling a sense of thrill at the idea.


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    It was only a matter of time before I asked to enter extracurricular martial arts, specifically Tae Kwon Do. My grandfather, ecstatic at the prospect of me doing anything but study and sitting in a dark room, enrolled me immediately, and it was love at first practice. Academics and martial arts became life preservers on a white-water rafting journey that had become my life. Practicing against Othersiders was amazing; they would annihilate me handily, but I could feel myself getting better with every defeat, imagining the day I could win against someone so clearly above me in every physical sense. Pretty soon, I became stronger than some of those who oppressed me, who made me do their bidding, but because of my mother''s final words, I turned the other cheek still. The march of time went on: I suffered silently, watched movies with my grandfather, studied and practiced, until one day I was 16 years old and entering high school, the last stage before it was time for me to become something that others wanted.


    My body had developed as I had gotten older: my small, soft voice became a deep husk, and my slender frame and thin shoulders broadened and defined with muscle. I didn''t hate all the changes, but I did hate most of them: the way my Adam''s Apple shivered in my throat, and the hair that grew wherever it damn well pleased, and the genitals that just wanted to go off whenever they wanted, completely unprompted by whether or not I felt anything. It was a slow and horrible torture, with the only benefit being that I maintained a lithe enough form, and that testosterone helped maintain the muscle mass enough to fight well.


    Life was a fever dream, and I didn''t have any idea how I got to where I was; I had been a machine on auto-pilot, doing everything everyone asked of me, everything I intuited they might ask of me, and nothing more. Nothing for myself, except for fighting, which had numbed and become just another piece of the monotony, no longer exciting with goals to look forward to. On the mat, I didn''t try to win, because I didn''t like winning; it felt wrong for me to win, like I was cheating the opponent out of a feeling that I could never have felt anyways. So I faked trying, and got beat down, and moved on to the next one. The instructor tried talking to me about it several times, as I used to be the best human in the class, but I can tell he has long since given up on me.


    I enrolled in a prep school for a college in Seoul, even though I intended to move back to America after my high school years. I wanted a clean break from the people who made things hard for me in middle school; when I learned where they were going, I enrolled in a school in the opposite direction, even though it was a bit further away from home. Anything for a few years of peace. My grandfather disapproved at first; lately, there had been a string of unsolved murders in the area, and he thought the extra commute might make life more dangerous for me. I reminded him that I had almost a decade of Tae Kwon Do to protect me. ¡°But didn''t you see the story?¡± He answered, a concerned look in his eye. ¡°The state of the body suggests Othersiders might be doing it.¡± Eventually he let it go, because the prep school gave me a pretty nice scholarship, but he still couldn''t understand why I didn''t choose the school just down the road.


    Honestly, when I thought about the idea of being murdered in the streets by some stranger, I didn''t feel too much about it. I wouldn''t make it easy, but it wouldn''t be a hard battle either. It made me laugh a little bit, remembering childhood me cowering in fear in my studio apartment at the thought of strangers violating my safety. The fear was gone, replaced by a mundane sense of anhedonia. I couldn''t care about it, it didn''t make sense to care about it, and I was sure that if other people felt how I felt, they would get it too. I didn''t welcome it, but those who had suffered knew that death was not the worst fate to suffer in the world.

 Four - What You Wanted (How To Dress Well)

    I managed to ghost along in class just fine this time around; I knew how to avoid confrontation, how to avoid any attention or ire, and so I skirted the sidelines of the rich atmosphere of other''s childhoods, and watched them fall in and out of love, try new things, meet people. The vignettes I got as a child flashed in my mind as I watched them, silently; when they tried to get me involved, I had a litany of canned responses prepared, just detailed enough to satisfy, but not enough to get anyone interested. For all they knew, I was a quiet kid who just wanted to do well in school, and lived with his grandfather: I dressed the way they dressed, I listened to their music so I could comment on it, I watched their shows so I could seem somewhat relevant, but only just enough to stay out of the way.


    This mirage worked on almost every person I met; every person except for one, strange girl who couldn''t seem to leave me alone. Her name was Aera Lee, and she seemed to be fascinated by me for some reason. I didn''t gauge myself as particularly attractive; almost everyone else left me alone as a possible partner. But she seemed so intent on pushing past my bullshit answers that it almost was like she knew they were false. That thought frightened me, the idea that this woman could destroy the peace I had worked so hard to create, and so I mostly ignored her.


    One day though, I understood why she knew. As I saw her gofer drinks for her fellow classmates, a soft hazed-over look in her eyes, I knew immediately why she could sniff me out so readily; she was just like me. She had felt the things that I felt, the torment of being abject to her classmates'' wishes, and recognized the facade I put up. That day, after class, I pulled her aside quietly, and for the first time since I had left America, I let my guard down. I told her that I saw what she was being forced to do, and that she didn''t have to do it if she didn''t want to. I told her that she was better than being reduced to that, and that if she needed anyone, as long as it was out of sight, she could come to me.


    ¡°So you''ll be my friend as long as no one sees?¡± she replied, a wistful look on her face. ¡°That''s¡­ sweet. But I don''t need or want a pity friend.¡± As she turned to leave, I could feel the shame bursting in me like a ruptured appendix, like I could die right there on the spot. I couldn''t help it: I blurted it out.


    ¡°I was like that too!¡± She stopped, and turned back to me. ¡°I had to do stuff like that too¡­ But I changed schools and ran away. That¡¯s why¡­ That¡¯s why I don¡¯t say much.¡±


    She looked at me for a long while after that; it seemed to stretch on into infinity. I couldn¡¯t discern what was on her mind, as hard as I tried, but I figured out by now that it was worthless for me to discern the specific thoughts of my peers. After all, if I could manage that, I wouldn¡¯t¡¯ve had such a hard time making friends in the first place. And so I simply looked at her, and studied the arch of her nose, the shape of her lip as it contorted into a soft smile, the deep brown of her sleepy, thoughtful eyes. They made me feel comforted in a small way, as if some piece of me deep down was being disarmed, an IED implanted within me long ago finally noticed. But the moment was broken by the sound of her high-pitched, melodic voice.


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    ¡°How about we get out of here?¡± she proposed. And so we went to a tea shop in a neighboring town, where no one knew who we were, and we talked. I talked like I hadn¡¯t since my mother used to ask me about school, since before she was unwell. I didn¡¯t cry, I didn¡¯t emote; I spoke with a simple, flat intonation about things deeply personal to me, as if I were talking about a stranger or someone from a novel I read. But they were about me, and from me, and for the first time in as long as I could remember at the time, I could feel something other than misery stirring within my chest, though its name I did not know at the time.


    Several times during my stories, she would stop me and ask a simple question or two, but she mostly listened. The questions she asked, though, made me reflect on myself in ways that I hadn¡¯t considered: like, she asked me about if I ever missed my mother. I thought naturally, yes, of course I did, but as I thought about it, I considered the life she led in order to secure my childhood that I treasured so dearly. Working two jobs, and still having time to take me walking around the neighborhood; she probably never slept at night, probably skipped meals, probably didn¡¯t care for herself like she should¡¯ve. As I thought about it, I felt horrible shame and guilt rise in the back of my throat. When I looked up the causes of her disease, worrying about how she got it, they mentioned that these things and stress could be a causing factor: was my mother doomed to die simply from my being?


    I thought about what life would¡¯ve been like if she had sent me to public school instead, only working one job and having time for herself, to care for herself. I thought about what life would be like if we had moved with grandfather earlier, and she had support from friends and family. I was just a child; I knew that there was nothing I could¡¯ve done to change my mother¡¯s mind at the time, but the feeling gnawed at me for a long while after the question had been proposed. I think she could tell it did too, as she took the time to excuse herself to use the restroom.


    When she came back, we talked about my bullying, and she asked if I ever wanted to fight back. I told her no, that the thought hadn¡¯t really crossed my mind, but as I thought about it, I remembered having vivid daydreams in class, idle fancies in which they would take things too far, and I would be forced to fight back as ferociously and murderously as I could; my head would swim with these ideas, as if I had taken a drink far too stiff. Why did I envision these things, if I had no desire to hurt anyone? The shame returned, but I was ready this time, and swallowed it down. I revised my answer, and told the truth this time, seeing if it would make me feel better. Surprisingly, it did, and her reaction left the impression that she felt more positively about me for doing so; she leaned in closer, and her smile parted her lips to show a bit of her slightly-misaligned toothy grin.


    When I finished my story, the sun was beginning to set. Remembering that there was supposedly a murderer on the loose, I offered to walk Aera home, which she accepted. We didn¡¯t speak much for the train ride, but as we approached her house, she turned to face me, and said, ¡°let¡¯s do this again, Grey,¡± before she gave me her phone number, and made her way inside. I stared at my phone in disbelief; it was the first number I had ever gotten besides my grandfather¡¯s, and it was so nonchalant and sudden that it may as well have been lightning. The unnamed feeling spread through my chest, and I couldn¡¯t help but smile as I made my way home.

 Five - Youre My Dream (Proud)

    The rest of the school year was uneventful; Aera continued to be manipulated by her classmates, and I continued to ghost beneath the radar. But on the weekends, Aera and I began to spend time together; mostly at my house, where my grandfather happily welcomed any companionship into my life. But once a month, we would journey to another town, sometimes into Seoul itself, and we would spend time together. We never spoke about what we were: friends, lovers, somewhere in-between. I didn¡¯t really mind either, as long as these moments got to continue, then I didn¡¯t mind whatever label she chose to use in her head, or whatever place she wanted to take it. Because these days were the only days where I felt, in my heart, that I might actually be alive still.


    I began trying again in Tae Kwon Do, no longer throwing matches and desperately trying to become someone strong. Within months, I was once again the strongest human member of the club, and within a year, I was consistently beating opponents who had pretty strong natural advantages on me. Something in my mind had shifted, a single minded focus; I remembered Oldboy, and the lengths Oh Dae-su went through to protect the woman he loved. I thought of Aera, and her soft features, and delicate frame, and knew that whether it be a bully in school, or a murderer on the streets, I would want to be able to do anything in my power to protect the last spark of happiness in my life. The only problem was the muscular definition I was developing, but that was unavoidable; the impossible dream would have to die so the possible dream could live.


    I knew scientifically, I could be prescribed hormones and undergo surgeries to look more like how I wanted, but to be honest, the way I wanted to look changed so often, and I was so deeply uncomfortable with the idea of telling my grandfather, let alone the world, that I was different in some way. Unfortunately, though the magic of the Othersiders was powerful, the price for transforming the human body was not only outrageously expensive, it was not entirely paid in cash. Neither of these routes seemed feasible, and so I chose the path of least resistance, the one my mother set me on and told me to walk all those years ago.


    Soon enough, the senior year of high school was already halfway over. My nameless relationship had become something else; soft kisses exchanged in dark alleyways, held hands walking side-by-side down the street. I felt a semblance of joy seeing her face in the school hallways, a light spark of warmth that kindled my soul. I had begun to open up again at school, and people started to welcome me into their folds; this was something Aera did not like. She would scold me in private when I spoke to other folks, accusing me of flirting or abandoning her. So I shut that down immediately, and went back to being a recluse; anything for Aera¡¯s sake.


    There was a boy who simply wouldn¡¯t let me go back to being invisible though. His name was Joon-hu, a taller, athletic guy who dabbled in every extracurricular activity a little bit, from student council to cross-country. He seemed kind enough, but the days where he spoke to me were days when Aera became especially hostile towards me, and so I began to negatively associate him. Not wanting to start drama, however, I remained cold and distant, and decided to keep things at that. One day, he asked me if I could show him some Tae Kwon Do, as I had mentioned my activity in passing when I had started to blossom a bit. I asked him how he wanted me to show him, and he asked to spar.


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    Joon-hu was well-known to be a great fighter at our school, and so I became a little nervous at the suggestion; I had seen him fight, and knew I could win, but also knew that if I did win, the attention would come full-circle. ¡°I don¡¯t really like fighting outside of my comfort zones,¡± I replied, trying to get him to back down. There was no winning that situation, and so I decided to bow out before things became any more dire. Unfortunately for me, most of our homeroom class overheard the challenge, and they flocked to the request, enamored with the opportunity to see the mysterious challenger face their grand champion. I wanted to see Aera, to ask her what she thought and what she wanted; almost as if my prayers were answered, I looked up and saw her looking at me through some of our fellow classmates. All she did was nod a simple yes.


    When she spoke to me before the fight, she told me only one thing: ¡°don¡¯t hold back.¡± I was afraid of her request. I had told her everything I thought, and all I was capable of; didn¡¯t she know that by not holding back, I could hurt this poor boy? But then my brain put two and two together, and I understood: she wanted me to hurt him, to set an example for all who saw me as a potential friend. That I was not someone to be close to. I laughed a wry laugh; how very Aera of her. I walked into the sparring room, where much of the class had gathered, and where Joon-hu awaited, a smile on his face. I smiled in return, much like I imagine a doll¡¯s smile looks being painted on over another doll¡¯s face. When the fight began, it only took three hits: he threw a loose low kick, I punished by sweeping his other leg, and before he hit the ground, I punched him in the chest as hard as I could, slamming him to the ground.


    The crowd was silent; Joon-hu sputtered and coughed. I knelt next to him to guide some breaths back into him, and then left as quietly as I entered, headed directly home. Aera messaged me a simply smiley face that night, which I took as a sign of success. The next day, in class, no one said a word to me, and Joon-hu kept his distance. The plan had worked perfectly. That weekend, Aera beamed ear to ear as she told me how happy she was with me. She told me, for the first time, that her plan was to follow me home to New York, and to get a degree at an art school there, to stay by my side. That night, while my grandfather had fallen asleep on the couch watching old Kurosawa films, she and I made love for the first time.


    When she fell asleep in my arms, I reflected on the feeling of her, and the sight of her. I thought of her beautiful face, and her angelic little voice. I felt jealousy firing through my mind. I thought of my own body: this ridiculous, muscular, V-shaped torso, these large hands, this wide jaw, this prominent nose, these skinny hips, this disgusting, misshapen phallus. Every part of her was beautiful; every part of me was hideous. This moment was supposed to be a cornerstone of my life, a beautiful memory I took with me across the River Styx. Now, with this hideous figure I was ashamed to call my own, I remembered every touch as a violation, and every pleasure as a sin. I watched Aera sleep peacefully the whole night, knowing in my heart that I was the problem.

 Six - Inhale (Oliver Riot)

    My grandfather, though I lived with him for ten years, remained a mystery to me. He cared for me, obviously, and went out of his way to be kind and considerate, but seemed otherwise cold and distant, disinterested in my life as long as I did well and didn¡¯t cause problems. And so when I announced my departure for New York after my high school graduation, his milquetoast reaction was to be expected; a calm sigh, and an assurance that I could always come back if things became unsatisfactory over in America. Maybe he knew this was my plan all along; I thought maybe he knew a lot more about me than I knew about myself, but the thought passed when I mentioned I would be bringing Aera with me. He seemed happy that I would have company, and so he offered to host a going-away party for us and Aera¡¯s family.


    Aera¡¯s family; I¡¯d never met them, even though I¡¯d known her for over two years now. She kept her home life pretty close to her chest, but that night we made love, I spotted bruise marks on her abdomen, and assumed that things may not be alright at home for her. At first, I was furious, but I knew that if I got involved, she would never forgive me. Plus, I was already saving her by stealing her away to America, and so I settled with that. I confessed to my grandfather that her family relationship was rocky at best, and that the party would have to be just us three; he smiled softly and accepted.


    Graduation was a blur: people received their diplomas, and their families and peers clapped. When I went to receive mine, it was quiet; I enjoyed that moment of silence, and reclaimed my seat. Friends cried and hugged each other, promising that they would keep in touch; others chatted about their upcoming college experiences, and how they were just going from one thing to the next. It was true, they were just walking the line, but the line was good and safe and true, and there was nothing wrong with that. I simply wanted to return to the place where my mother introduced me to strangers and I felt closeness to the streets I walked again. So I left my high school campus, and didn¡¯t look back, knowing that everything I wanted to take with me, I was taking with me already. I swallowed a pang of regret that I didn¡¯t get to make those friends, to cry with them about transitioning to a new part of life, but I hadn¡¯t cried since my mother died, and I didn¡¯t intend to surrounded by what to me amounted to a mass of strangers, and so I simply walked away.


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    I had been accepted at NYU already, though I didn¡¯t know what I wanted to do yet; no scholarship this time, and so I would have to emulate my mother and get a steady job at the same time. Aera had been accepted to Pratt University, and intended to get an Arts degree; we would work and live together. The thought excited me, that this person who sustained me would be around me during all my home hours. I imagined coming home after a long day of working at school and maybe some diner or coffee shop, and seeing her sitting on the couch in pajamas or whatever loungewear she preferred, and the soft smile on her face at seeing me come home. I wondered if my mother and father felt the same for each other when they came home; warmth spread to my fingertips.


    By the time moving day came along, I had a fire in my heart; I had said my goodbyes to my dojo, the only relationships I had really ever made outside of school, and had my meager belongings packed. Aera and I were driven to the airport by my grandfather, who was quiet for the entire ride over, playing soft instrumental music on his stereo. When we pulled up to the departures dropoff, he helped us unload our suitcases, before he handed me an envelope, and embraced me. This embrace was strange; I awkwardly hugged back at first, telling him that I¡¯d call him as soon as we landed. But he didn¡¯t let go; he held me for a minute or two, his hands strong yet gentle on the small of my back. I stopped talking, and simply hugged back; he was a man of few words, but I could tell from his embrace that he was going to miss me.


    ¡°I want to thank you,¡± I said softly to him, and him alone, under the din of all the cars and planes. ¡°You took me in when I had nothing, and gave me a home when home felt impossible. I will never forget your kindness. Whatever you may feel, know that you changed my life for the better. I¡¯ll be sure to visit.¡± His hands began to tremble slightly, and I held him tighter. ¡°I love you.¡±


    He composed himself before letting me go, and giving me a soft smile, the soft smile I had learned to draw comfort from all of these years. I realized in this moment that he was a tether to this world, a tether that I would miss dearly, and I began to panic slightly at the thought of leaving him behind. But I knew that it was time to go, and I had my backpack, my carry-on, and my determination already packed, and so I returned his soft smile, before walking off with Aera towards the airport. Aera held my free hand and gave it an assuring squeeze; I composed myself and looked into her eyes, ready to begin this new chapter of my life.

 Seven - Nobody Loves Me Like You (Low Roar)

    Finding a place to live was relatively easy; NYU had some agreements with neighboring apartment complexes to allow students to rent at prices that weren¡¯t egregious. With Aera and I living together, it should¡¯ve been easy to make rent with student loans and money from jobs. There was a problem: Aera seemed to have trouble finding work. Well, it was more like she didn¡¯t want to work, and every job interview she had, she would come back with a story about how it was a poor fit for her. I got a job pretty quickly as a barista in a local coffee shop, near the campus of NYU, and so school and work being close together was a boon for me. But we barely made rent, and things were looking a little dicey.


    The envelope my grandfather had given me was full of money he had saved up for me, for my schooling and other future endeavors, and it was enough of a ballast to keep us afloat for a year like this, but unless Aera got work, or something else changed, we would be in trouble. I couldn¡¯t talk to Aera about it though; every time I tried, she would explode on me, accusing me of trying to solicit her, or abuse her, and turning the situation into an immediately hostile one. The dream I had of coming home to her soft smile started drifting further and further away, and I didn¡¯t know how to save it. And the sex. She kept demanding it, craving it, saying she needed to be validated in that way or else I wasn¡¯t fulfilling my role properly. So I did, even though every time we did, it set my mind on fire, and felt of agony and bitterness. My body felt like a wound, opened anew every time she made this selfish demand, and for the first time, I began to regret bringing her along.


    Things came to a head when I discovered my envelope from my grandfather was short a few hundred dollars; it turned out she had bought herself some new clothes at our living arrangements¡¯ expense. I invited her out to get a coffee with me, even though it was 8pm, because I wanted to be in a neutral place when I spoke with her about this; I was tired of being yelled at, and I had heard in a psychology class that this approach works best for disarming hostile situations. She agreed, and so we went for a walk, stopping by a diner a few blocks away to sit and talk.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to say this, so I¡¯ll just say what I found, and see what you think,¡± I opened with. She raised an eyebrow. ¡°I discovered that my grandfather¡¯s money was short a few hundred dollars, around the same time I noticed your wardrobe had gotten a little nicer.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll stop you there,¡± she said, a fierce look in her eye. ¡°You have no right to snoop into my business, and determine how I spend our money.¡± Her tone was indignant, and authoritative, as if she were in sole command of the situation. I thought back to all the times I had simply fallen in line with her demands, and realized that she truly was the one in command. My fingers tightened into fists under the table.


    ¡°I just think that something that expensive and important should be a conversation, not just something you do on a whim,¡± I expressed as calmly as possible, restraining the voice in my head that was screaming to just submit to her demands.


    ¡°Do you think you get to make demands like that? I moved to another country for you. The least you could do is get me some nice clothes, and take care of me.¡± She was serious as sin, her face devoid of any emotion. ¡°I put up with so much of your shit, you know? How busy you are, how you flirt with your coworkers and classmates when I¡¯m not around. You think you are in any position to make demands or ask for anything?¡±


    Why would she know about what happens when she isn¡¯t around, I remember asking myself. ¡°Are you following me?¡± I asked point-blank. It couldn¡¯t be; she has classes at Pratt when I¡¯m working, and she is usually home all day according to what she¡¯s told me so far. She just smiled and said, ¡°so what if I am?¡± I was stunned: not only was she not working, she was skipping classes to follow me around, keeping tabs on me. I remember thinking, what the fuck kind of relationship is this? This wasn¡¯t the love my parents had, or the love I saw in other people; this was dark, and deep, and sinful, and painful. I hadn¡¯t seen or heard anything like this before, and so I sat there, lost in the dark, unsure of what the fuck I was supposed to do. I simply felt sick, and so I got up from my seat and left the diner. Aera followed after.


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    As I dry-heaved in the back alley, Aera just laughed at me. ¡°I can¡¯t be with you anymore,¡± I said reflexively, looking up at her with watery eyes. She just looked back at me, and without missing a beat said, ¡°then I guess I will just kill myself.¡±


    I was in way over my head, drowning in a feeling and completely alone. I hadn¡¯t felt this awash in misery since the death of my mother; the person I confided in, trusted the most, was now the one twisting the knife in my heart. I dry-heaved again, unable to process the raw emotion of the moment. Panic began to grip my quickening heart; had I consigned myself to a life with a person whose love was so toxic and vile that it corrupted me from within. I thought of poor Joon-hu, and how I hurt him just because she told me to, all because he wanted to be my friend. She had molded me into something I didn¡¯t recognize anymore. I didn¡¯t understand what was happening at all, not the past, present, or future; I was completely lost.


    Suddenly, a knife was pressed to my throat, and Aera was held suspended to the diner¡¯s brick wall. Two figures, wreathed in shadow, humanoid in form, had appeared in the alley with us. The one holding Aera by the neck was at least seven feet tall, a lithe and lanky figure with an elongated neck. I couldn¡¯t see the one behind me, but from their stature and the force of their grasp, I reckoned they were human. The tall one chittered with its mandibled jaw before it began to clasp down on Aera¡¯s neck, siphoning her blood for its own. The human behind me laughed wryly and said, in a low husky voice, ¡°after the master is done with that one, you¡¯re next.¡±


    I responded by breaking his wrist and thumb, and flipping him over me in a fluid motion. I wrested the knife from his mangled hand before slitting his throat on the ground, watching him panic as the blood seeped endlessly from the wound. He was a young man, probably not even 30, but his eyes were a strange color, suggesting that he had been enchanted somehow. I looked up to the true threat, who had released Aera and looked me down with curiosity. ¡°Strange,¡± it said in a low whisper that echoed in my mind, ¡°I thought that thrall was rather strong. Perhaps you will make a better one.¡±


    It lunged at me, its long clawed hand reaching to disarm my knife from my hand, but I expected this: this Othersider didn¡¯t know that the knife wasn¡¯t the dangerous part of me. I dodged the strike, before grasping its forearm and punching its elbow with every ounce of my strength; thankfully, I heard a crack, and the creature screeched and recoiled. I regripped the knife and went back in to press my advantage, but the creature was swifter than I was, and managed to slash my midsection about an inch into the flesh; I grimaced, but still managed to find my target, burying the knife in the throat of the creature, and then wrapping my body around its back before stabbing away as many times as I could. It cried in pain, attempting to flee by climbing the walls of the alley, but as I buried the knife in its brain, it simply stopped, and fell back down to the ground.


    I landed flat on my back, the full weight of the creature on top of me, and I felt several of my ribs crack from the force of the fall. As I struggled to catch my breath, I saw Aera leaned against the wall, the blood draining from her frail body from the gaping wound in her neck. I reached out to her weakly, unable to move from my spot, when I heard a voice. ¡°Interesting,¡± she said, her voice saccharine sweet. I looked over to see a humanoid figure, long wooden staff tapping the ground, making their way up the alley. She knelt beside me, smelling of sandalwood and lavender. ¡°I can help you and your friend. Would you like that?¡±


    Something about this woman was disarming and gentle; from the small charms that gently swayed from her cloak and staff, I put together that she must be a witch or sorcerer of some kind. Looking at Aera, I knew that she would most likely die before a typical ambulance could arrive, and so I met the strange woman¡¯s gaze, and simply nodded.

 Eight - Tomorrows Song (è´¸lafur Arnalds)

    I had killed two beings; two lives had been ended because of me. The Othersider was unavoidable, as he was coming for our lives, and there was no other course of action against a being that powerful than to use every ounce of my strength to stop it. But that human. The look on his face as he bled out on the street underneath me, for that one moment, where lucidity probably took hold of him again and he realized he was going to die for something that was entirely out of his control. I could¡¯ve simply disabled him, made it so he couldn¡¯t fight anymore, but instead I went for the throat and slit away. He is dead because it was easier and more convenient for me in the moment for him to be dead.


    The witch began her work, tending to Aera¡¯s wounds, all the while looking at me. I don¡¯t know what expression I wore on my face as I looked at the two bodies that lay before me, clutching my broken ribs and breathing sharply and quickly through my nose: I imagined it was one of panic, but it could¡¯ve been one of serenity, as I had worn in times of peril prior. Either way, the witch, curious to know more, began to speak to me as she mended Aera.


    ¡°I saw the end of that. I saw you fight. The Siphoner, she has been on the loose for quite some time. Never would¡¯ve imagined a human would be the one to get her.¡± I saw Aera¡¯s wound stitch closed, and though the disgust of her still ran deep within me, I felt a slight comfort in the small of my back. ¡°Who trained you to fight like this?¡± she asked, her honeyed voice ringing like a bell behind my eyes.


    ¡°I learned Tae Kwon Do in South Korea.¡± I flicked my eyes back to the pool of blood beneath the man I had cut the throat of; the blood seemed black in the dark of the night. ¡°I guess the rest of it was instinct.¡±


    ¡°Instinct, huh?¡± she cooed, finishing tending to Aera, before sauntering over to me and kneeling down to meet my eye Her serpentine, orange eyes betrayed her otherwise human form as she addressed me calmly. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking for someone like you. Someone physically capable, emotionally mature, and willing to do what is necessary.¡± I simply watched her as she reformed my cracked ribs with a muttering of an ancient phrase, feeling the vitality return to my drained body, before she continued with her proposition. ¡°I want to perform a spell on you, one I¡¯ve been preparing for quite some time. The process would change you; you would no longer be completely human afterwards, but something more like us, though what exactly I cannot say for sure, as I¡¯ve never done this before: you would be my first.¡±


    I slowly got up from the ground, dismissing the offering of her delicate hand; I still felt wounded, but for the most part, I felt well enough to leave this alleyway. I picked up Aera, and followed the woman to her apothecary, a small shop only a block down the road from where I used to call home. A small neon sign, ¡°City of Embers,¡± hung dimly in the tinted windows of the building; above, a tenement building stretched into the sky. As she invited me in, many herbs greeted me with their flowery scents, and I was treated with the sight of a greenhouse-like shop full of exotic flora, each one with a medicinal or poisonous property worthy of keeping it tended and well maintained. A small hairless cat sat atop the lone counter space, sleeping peacefully in a warm-looking fleece bed.


    The witch led me behind the counter to a door, behind which a staircase led up to a small flat, sparsely decorated with a queen bed, a single, comfortable chair, a bookcase lined with dusty tomes, a small desk, and a kitchenette. ¡°Bathroom¡¯s back downstairs if you need it,¡± the witch suggested as I set Aera down on the floor leaning against the wall. I simply sat down next to her, criss-cross, and looked up at my host. She smiled at me, before getting into her chair. ¡°Straight to business? Fine by me. So, do you have any questions?¡±


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    ¡°Yes. Why are you doing this? Why me, specifically? What does this spell do?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m doing this because I¡¯m bored,¡± she answered plainly. ¡°That¡¯s not the whole answer, I also am doing it because I want to do something no one has ever done before, but yeah, I am a witch of considerable power, and I simply haven¡¯t tried to do something new in a long time. As for why you¡­ Tell me, are you a student?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I go to NYU. I don¡¯t have a major yet, but I like psychology a lot,¡± I answered.


    ¡°And what do you want to do?¡± she asked, in that same honeyed tone.


    I didn¡¯t know how to answer, but I felt I wanted to be honest with this person, as I was genuinely curious about this opportunity, and owed them for saving Aera¡¯s life, even though she and I were now on rocky terms.


    ¡°I want to help people.¡± It¡¯s what my father did; he was a police officer, having died during an Othersider terrorist attack when I was young, and it''s what he did in his life. It¡¯s what my mother did; I remembered all of the people who showed up to her wake, all of the lives she had touched simply by trying her best and doing what she thought was best. I thought of my mother¡¯s last words to me, the curse she cast: you are just like your father, please never change. I carried it with me for so long, for a decade of my life, and now I laid it bare at the feet of this witch, this desire of mine to help people, even at the expense of myself.


    ¡°Well, there is your answer!¡± she replied, a broad smile revealing sharp, dagger-like teeth. ¡°The last experiment I ran, the test subject, turned out to be far less than ideal a character. When I saw how you defended yourself and your girlfriend, I thought, ¡®this is someone with upstanding values that I can rely on!¡¯ And as for what the spell does¡­ If everything goes correctly, it will turn you into an Othersider. Think along the lines of an Elf or Faerie, but with a lot of extra features.¡±


    An Elf. I thought of their slender frames, their unique, beautiful faces, their piercing eyes. A Faerie. I thought of their soft forms, their feminine, striking faces, and their vibrant, colorful hair, and their wings. I might be able to fly. Fuck. I might be able to look at myself in the mirror and not be sick. I tried my best to keep a poker-face, but the witch laughed.


    ¡°Does the thought intrigue you?¡± she asked. I swallowed hard, and nodded. ¡°Well, do we have an accord then?¡± She held out her hand. I looked at it, and then her.


    ¡°Can I ask a favor?¡±


    ¡°Depends on the favor.¡± She eyed me cautiously.


    ¡°If I say yes, can you alter her memory so she goes back to South Korea and forgets about me?¡± I looked down at Aera, who was beginning to stir.


    ¡°Why do you want to get rid of her? I thought she was your girlfriend?¡±


    Without getting into too much detail, I gave her a short synopsis of what I had just learned that night about Aera.


    ¡°Shit. Done,¡± said the witch, who again held out her hand.


    I took her hand in mine, and the accord was struck.

 Nine - Petrichor (Keaton Henson)

    Aera went back to South Korea the next week, in a fugue state. I helped her pack her things, and said my goodbyes, extremely heartbroken that this person I had poured my everything into had become someone terrifying to me. I had begun to regret my decision to send her away, but the witch, who had since told me her name was Silaqui, told me not to shed too many tears on the situation. As I dropped her off at the airport, she seemed to gain a bit of lucidity as she began to cry when I said goodbye; I tried to rip the Band-Aid off as fast as I could, and before too long, I was in my apartment alone. I skipped classes that week, and pulled double shifts at work to earn back some of the money lost from Aera, all the while my mind focused on the date Silaqui had set for the ritual to be held, where my transformation would take place. It wouldn¡¯t be for a month, as Silaqui had to get the necessary resources and preparations in place, and so life trickled back to some semblance of normalcy for me.


    I started making friends in classes again, and with no Aera to restrict me, I could actually speak to them with no fear of recourse. We met outside of classes for study dates, and they even came to visit me at the coffee shop I worked at. I called my grandfather more often too; I let him know about Aera, and how things hadn¡¯t worked out. He was sad to hear about it, but I think he could tell I was feeling healthier, because he seemed more talkative with me too: he told me about the movies he watched, and I started making a list so I could watch them too and have more to talk to him about. That month was one of rest and relaxation; the calm before the storm.


    Before long, the day finally arrived; February 14th, 2015. Why Silaqui chose Valentine¡¯s Day, she explained, was for me; she wanted this day to signify the clean break in my heart, from the past with Aera to the future version of me. I personally thought the reason was shit, and that she just wanted to pick a funny day, but she insisted, and I didn¡¯t mind too much, so I relented. I did miss Aera, like a phantom appendage, but lately the memories of her had caused me to flinch physically when they occurred. Perhaps my body was trying to tell me that my deal struck was truly for the best.


    But even though I was surrounded by new friends and had the company of Silaqui, I couldn¡¯t help but feel truly isolated from the world, as if my only lifeline had been taken from me. Aera had known all of me, the darkest parts of my heart, and claimed me as her own anyways. These new people knew absolutely nothing about me, except for the formulaic nonsense I told them. I remembered the falsehoods and half-truths I fed my high school peers, and the isolation I felt then, and suddenly this feeling felt all too familiar. I felt foolish for feeling happy that I had been making ¡°friends¡± when I had only been putting on faces, and luring people close to steal their warmth when I had none. Maybe I am not the right one for this ritual, I thought as I entered that apothecary that fateful day.


    The front of the place looked much the same, but as I stepped into the storeroom, I saw sigils and glyphs written across all the walls, floor, and ceiling. The lone furniture was a single pad in the center of the room, just big enough to lay on, and adorned in flora and the bones of what I believed to be small birds. Silaqui was dressed in a fuschia robe with golden inlay, her hood up and hiding her face, her orange serpentine eyes glowing from within.


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    ¡°Welcome! Now, strip,¡± commanded Silaqui; I shut the door behind me, and uncomfortably acquiesced to her request. When I stopped at my underwear, she walked closer to me and said, ¡°I¡¯m not going to do anything that touches you, I promise. But I need you to be naked, because materials from this world can interfere with the spell. I need you to trust me.¡± Her glowing eyes exuded sincerity, and so, for the first time around a woman except Aera, I undressed fully. She handed me a wooden basket full of water mixed with some herbs, and told me to wash myself. After that, I laid down on the soft cushion in the center of the room, and she turned her back to me to ruffle through some loose pages she had with her.


    ¡°Will this hurt?¡± I had the sense to ask, finally, at the point of no return.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she responded, ¡°it will hurt a lot. That is why I needed someone strong. Their physical body needed to be able to take it, and their will needed to be great enough to endure the pain. I believe you have both. I¡¯m sorry, there is nothing I can do to numb this, and it will take at least a few minutes.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I responded calmly, though panic began to beat in my chest. ¡°Nothing worthwhile is pain-free.¡±


    She sat beside me, arranging her papers like a musician arranging a score they were about to play. ¡°I¡¯ve tried to recruit people for this before¡­ Most of them were afraid of changing. Of pain. Of being different. You are the only one who seems excited at the opportunity. I wanted to respect your privacy, but¡­ Is it okay if I ask why?¡±


    I looked up at the ceiling for a while. I had never told anyone this before, but this person had the potential to change my body, to make me look different than this thing I loathed so deeply; maybe, in this moment, admitting it was okay.


    ¡°All my life, I have been ashamed of my body,¡± I began, my eyes locked on one rune on the ceiling that looked like the Korean character ?. ¡°I¡¯ve been ashamed that I was born male, and that I grew up male, and that I have this male body that has this male appendage that does male things. It¡¯s not me. I don¡¯t know what I am, I have no idea, but when I see myself, I feel disgust. The idea of being different at all, for the price of less than an hour of pain, is worth it to me; for the chance that maybe, I can look in the mirror and see someone that I recognize as myself, and that can be in a relationship and feel love and know that the love is being sent to the right address, instead of some ill-fitting house that doesn¡¯t belong to you.¡±


    Silaqui sat in silence for a while, before she took out a pen, and began scribbling on her loose leaf pages. ¡°What are you doing?¡± I asked. ¡°Making some final calibrations,¡± she replied, before capping her pen, and saying, ¡°well, are we ready to begin?¡±


    ¡°As ready as I¡¯ll ever be,¡± I responded, my fists tightened into white knuckles.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright,¡± Silaqui assured. ¡°Now, here we go.¡±

 Ten - Everything In Its Right Place (Radiohead)

    Searing pain shot through my body as Silaqui began to mutter her spell. One by one, runes from around the room began to glow and lift off the wall, before slowly circling my body and making a small sound, like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird. My nerves were alight, genuinely as if someone had lit my body on fire, a fire that would never extinguish, but as I tried to writhe in pain, I found my body no longer listened to my commands. I was trapped in myself, merely a passenger on the ride for this journey through the mouth of hell. I thought of the pain I felt in the alley, when the Siphoner had fallen on top of me from three stories, and how even the pain from that moment wasn¡¯t even comparable to that which I faced now. But even still, my mind was resolute in its conviction.


    Next came the sound of cracking bones and splitting skin, as my physical shape began to violently morph to new dimensions. Each break was a personal, intimate suffering, and time seemed to slow to welcome all of them; each morphing of skin was a thousand tiny cuts, like a woodsman taking their time sawing down a mighty Sequoia. My eyes followed the runes as they circled me, the only distraction from the pain. I tried to identify what the runes might mean, or their common language analogue, but the agony was stronger than I, and pulled me away from making any meaningful connections. And so instead, I turned to my memories to anchor myself.


    I thought of my mother, having come home from work one day, too tired to play with me. She had gone straight to bed, and so I tried to make her something to eat as a surprise, but set off the fire alarm when I burned the eggs I was trying to make. She shot up from bed and ran over, accidentally burning her hands on the hot pan before she managed to quell my mistake. I remembered how she slapped me, how she scolded me for almost getting us in trouble with the landlord over fire hazard issues. I remember her going to sleep, and me crying for hours about how terrible I was for not being able to do anything right. I remember her waking up and apologizing to me about it, saying her reaction wasn¡¯t okay, and I remember accepting the apology, but knowing she had been right in the first place, and that she had nothing to apologize for.


    Suddenly, the pain didn¡¯t hurt so bad anymore. I could hear my body rippling as it morphed and changed into its new form, and I could see the light of the runes entering me, transforming me into something entirely new, but I was now miles away, in a land of my own making. It was a familiar land to me, one I retreated to often when things went sour, or I was in need of reprieve. In fact, in some way, shape, or form, I came here every day. I came here when I was working, my body on autopilot as I reflected on how Aera had every right to treat me so poorly. I came here during classes, writing the PowerPoint slides down verbatim, and remembering my mother¡¯s sunken eyes and final words. In this world, I was free to dwell in abject misery as I deserved, while my body made the connections it needed to make and traded faces to do so.


    I floated in physical torment, far away, and thought of all of the people in the world who probably deserved this miracle that Silaqui was performing more than I did. I thought of how miserable some people were, and how their misery was more deserving than my own. I didn¡¯t even know what that meant, ¡°deserving,¡± but all I knew was that I had my whole life handed to me; I had a mother that gave me a home, a grandfather who gave me a home when my mother couldn¡¯t any longer, I was able to go to college and live in New York, and now my impossible dream was being made possible through the most magical of circumstances. My parents would be ashamed of me if they knew how selfish I had been, sending the only person who ever needed me home to her abusive family just because she scared me a little bit. The ¡°curse¡± my mother laid on me wasn¡¯t the curse: I was. With this power, if only one time, I wanted to help people. With this power, I wanted to take the pain and sorrow from people who suffered like I suffered. In the words of Nirvana, I wanted to eat their cancer.


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    And then the pain stopped, and my attention returned to the room around me. Silaqui looked down at me, a shocked expression on her face.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I asked, looking up into her fiery eyes. She blinked back at me, unanswering. I sat up, aware that I once again had control of my body. I looked down at myself, and saw small, dainty feet connected to long, slender, shapely legs. The color of the skin seemed off, a strange grey color, and the runes that floated all around me before now adorned my form, but the shape was straight from a dream; I looked down more, and saw slender, effeminate hips, with nothing where a phallus used to be, and not a single hair to be found. I felt a tear drip down my face; I must¡¯ve died during the procedure, and went to heaven, as this was as surreal and heavenly a sight as I had ever beheld. I looked at my hands; slender, piano-player fingers on dainty hands, connected to toned and beautiful arms, wrists tender and soft. I looked at my torso; genderless and lean, not even nipples remaining to betray what once was. I covered my face in my hands and began to sob quietly. Silaqui was right: I had made a clean break from what once was.


    ¡°There there, it¡¯s¡­ shit, it¡¯s okay,¡± said Silaqui, who had awkwardly begun rubbing my back. ¡°It¡¯ll take several months, but I¡¯m sure I can figure out some way to reverse at least a few of these changes.¡±


    I looked up at her, with what I imagined to be a look of horror and confusion, and made an effort to stand up. To my surprise, despite my limbs and body looking so frail, I felt stronger than I ever had as a human, and hoisted myself with a grace and ease that had been unknown to me all my life.


    ¡°Reverse?.. Please, don''t. This is¡­ I can''t describe it. I don''t have words¡­ This is perfect.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you might not say that when you see your face¡­¡± said Silaqui nervously, as she gave me a robe of my own to put on and led me out of the room. She grabbed a cosmetics mirror and gingerly handed it to me. As I opened it and examined my face, I began to understand her hesitance; I looked more like an Elf than I did any Faerie, with androgynous yet striking facial features and pointed ears, but I looked unlike any Elf I had ever seen in my life. They had complexions of the moon, sun, or trees, but mine was different, more of ash. My hair was raven black, its waves ending at my jawline, and there were runic markings along my face and neck. And then there were my eyes, a piercing red that seemed to almost bleed from the pages of my irises. I looked over myself for a long while, for the first time realizing that returning to my old life would require far more than a simple explanation.


    I let out a little laugh as I looked at myself. ¡°Wow, this is scary¡­ But it''s light-years better than what I was. I¡­ I want to stay like this. I don''t want to change or reverse anything.¡± I looked Silaqui straight in the eyes, with what I hoped was a determined expression on my face. She took her hood off, and smiled at me, a gentle smile, before she hugged me, for the first time since I had ever known her.


    ¡°You did a good job. Go home and rest, I¡¯ll fill out the paperwork that says I transmogrified you, so your school and work know.¡± I looked at her with a quizzical expression. ¡°What,¡± she slyly smiled back at me, ¡°did you think you were just going to leave your entire old life behind?¡±

 Eleven - Surrender (The Antlers)

    Silaqui offered to walk me home, which I accepted, as my mind and senses were firing at an acuity and speed that I was not accustomed to, and I was feeling rather overwhelmed. As she found some old clothes that would fit me, I realized I could hear her heartbeat acutely, and knew intuitively the beats per minute of it, and that she was slightly hungry, and that she was getting close to whatever her ancestry called a period. I heard the cars rushing by outside, counting each one as they drove by, and smelling from the fumes of the car and from the weight of their tires on the ground the general makes and models. A siren drove by, and I covered my ears, its screeching drone like nails on a chalkboard. It only took two minutes for Silaqui to find me clothing, but it felt like three times that length. I wasn¡¯t sure if my brain was made to process this much information, but I guessed I would figure that out as time went on.


    When we walked the streets, I was acutely aware of each step we took, the direction I was facing magnetically, how far above the ocean I was, how many people were within 100 meters, what those people smelled like; the list of information went on. It was a sensory attack, and I could feel myself panicking a little bit, but almost as soon as I started, the panic would begin to subside, and a wave of serenity would wash over me, and I would regain control, and things would make sense again: I think my brain was getting used to its new processing power in real time. Silaqui looked over to me as I walked beside her; she used to be shorter than me, but now we were about the same height, with her having a slight edge.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to need you to call me every day and tell me exactly what is going on with you, okay? Like, no stone unturned, every detail, got it? And twice a week, you are to visit me and check in with me physically, alright? If you miss any of these things more than once, I will hunt you down and karate chop you, I swear,¡± she said, half jokingly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll call you every day, and visit you twice a week,¡± I repeated back to her. This brought her some comfort, and she seemed to relax a bit more for the rest of the walk. When we arrived at my place, I asked if she would be okay getting home, to which she replied by simply disappearing in front of me. I walked up the steps to my apartment, which was in a state of slight disarray. I began cleaning, not feeling especially tired, and when I finished doing that, I felt a pang of hunger, so I began to make food. When I satisfied my hunger, the desire for sleep still didn¡¯t come, and so I inspected my new body and began testing its capabilities using some of the free weights I had in the apartment; lifting all of these basically felt the same as one another, and so I just assumed that meant whatever strength I had was just that much higher than what I had before. So I went to the list of movies I had kept from my grandfather, and started watching them one after another until the sun came up.


    The next day, I went to my grandfather¡¯s money supply and took out a bit of money, before walking to the nearest thrift store and buying myself a new wardrobe of clothes that I had always wanted to wear but never felt okay with allowing myself to: a dress, a nice button-up and slacks, an off-shoulder top, skinny jeans, soft leggings. I then used the rest to buy a pair of new sneakers that fit my feet, as I felt that was probably important to keep on top of. I went back to my apartment with my new clothes, and changed into a nice outfit, before grabbing the paperwork Silaqui filled out for me and heading to the Social Security office to update my citizenship and registry. Strangely, the paperwork stated that my transformation was the result of a botched job to alter my human form, and had obscured many details about Silaqui, but I leaned into the lies. After all, she had saved me, and so who was I to question her desire for anonymity.


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    When I finished with Social Security, I went straight to the cafe where I worked. When they first saw me, my coworkers were afraid; I could tell from how their heartbeats quickened. But I spoke with my new voice, husky yet soft, and assured them that I was no one to be afraid of, before asking to speak to the manager, and stepping into her office. When I explained who I was, and showed my paperwork, Ms. Plantera was shocked, and I could tell she was trying to think of some way to fire me without firing me, but luckily, Silaqui ran over the law with me last night, including that it is illegal to fire someone for being transmogrified, even if it was with consent. And so, I left the office, and reintroduced myself as Avery Grey to my coworkers, who laughed with me about my serious entrance.


    When I went into the school¡¯s admissions office, I saw many turned-up noses in my direction. Perhaps it was the facial tattoos, I mused to myself as I made an appointment with the registrar. When I finally got it, it was a relatively painless process to change all of my in-school information to be updated to my new Othersider information. The person I worked with remarked on how rare my situation was, stating that only two other students had ever been transmogrified in the history of the school. I thought that sounded about right, given how expensive getting the procedure done is, and how extremely rare it is for it to happen accidentally or without intention. For the first and only time, I thanked the Siphoner for allowing me the opportunity to show Silaqui I had what it takes to endure the operation and become this new person.


    As I shook the hand of the registrar, my mind was filled with a memory. I was standing over a child, a little boy, bruised and helpless, shaking. They were bleeding from a spot on their side, with tears in their eyes, looking up at me. I was wearing a suit and tie, and had a belt in my hand, gripped as a weapon. The child was afraid, begging me to stop, but the feeling in my heart was a sadistic joy, a comfort that this frail thing could do nothing to stop me, and that they would love me anyways afterwards. As I let go of the registrar¡¯s hand, I looked at their suit and tie, and at their belt. It had the same buckle, the same tan hue, as the one from my vision. He had a strange smile on his face, and I could hear his heartbeat with a strange serenity that it did not have before I had shaken his hand. Before I did something I couldn¡¯t take back, I left his office.

 Twelve - The System Only Dreams in Total Darkness (The National)

    I was in shock, remembering the feeling of hurting that little boy, of enjoying the feeling of hurting that little boy. I stared down at my open palm, quivering, and thought about immediately making the trip to the apothecary to discuss what the fuck just happened with Silaqui, but I thought again, and realized if I told her this, she might take away my new form. Unsure of what to do, I simply attended my classes for the day, taking my notes in autopilot mode, completely zoning out. It wasn¡¯t long before someone stopped me in the middle of campus; Zachary, an acquaintance from a few of my classes, had seen this weird kid sitting in all of Avery¡¯s spots and wondered what was up. I stumbled on words for a while, before explaining that I was Avery, and that I had been transmogrified.


    ¡°No fuckin¡¯ way,¡± he answered, looking at me from top to toe. ¡°You look like a total babe now! That¡¯s crazy! What happened? I didn¡¯t know you were rich!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not. I just happened to be in the¡­ right place at the wrong time?¡±


    ¡°... That''s not really an answer,¡± he responded, his hands behind his head. ¡°So, did you wanna look like you just stepped out of a horror movie?¡±


    ¡°No, that part was an accident.¡±


    ¡°Right on. Well, hey, as long as you¡¯re alright, then I guess it¡¯s fine,¡± he replied. I smiled a little at this response; it seems the kindness of strangers can still surprise me. We chatted for the rest of the walk like we normally do, and when we got to the next class, he introduced me again to everyone, who seemed to take a keen interest in me. I listened to their heartbeats as I talked to them, and could tell which of them was still afraid of me, and which was more curious or cool with me. I gravitate more towards those folks, and soon, I started just talking with them about things. About the new look, and how though some of it was regrettably edgy and dark, a lot of it was more in line with what I wanted. I listened again for heartbeats, and to my surprise, the people around me were calm. I laughed, probably the first genuine laugh they¡¯d ever heard me make; when they asked me why, I simply responded that, ¡°I spent my whole life afraid of changing, and now that I have, even though it''s only been a day, it¡¯s already been the most freeing thing I¡¯ve ever done. I¡¯m glad I was able to.¡±


    Though the darkness of that moment with the registrar remained in my stomach with me the rest of the day, the light of these moments with people who I thought might be good enough to be friends remained in my heart. I decided that I wouldn¡¯t let that moment get to me, though I avoided touching anyone else for the rest of the day. When classes ended, I hurried to my shift at the coffee shop, and cheerily got to work, though I had been delegated to clean-up duty from being on the front lines. Perhaps this was for the better, as it helped me avoid contacting anybody physically. I chatted with my coworkers about the change with the same attitude and attention I did in class, and sussed out those whom I believed I could depend upon and confidants. There weren¡¯t as many here, but I was glad there were a few still; we made small talk throughout the day about their own classes, as they were students too, as well as my changes. By the end of the day I felt emotionally exhausted from all of the conversation, and so I made my way home.


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    I decided that I should call Silaqui and tell her what happened, because I promised I would, and to not do so would be dishonest to my original intent. So I dialed her up, and the phone rang three times before her soothing voice hummed through my receiver:


    ¡°Good, you kept your word. So, what¡¯s the situation? Any side effects? How did all the paperwork go?¡±


    ¡°Everything is going great so far. I haven¡¯t needed to sleep, though I¡¯ve still been hungry. I tested my strength, and I am far stronger now than I used to be. Paperwork went okay, shit took forever, but it all worked out, and I still have a job and am enrolled in school.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t slept? Are you tired now?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not. I am exhausted emotionally, but that¡¯s from all the talking I¡¯ve had to do today.¡±


    ¡°Interesting. Well, then I won¡¯t keep you any more. Unless there is anything else that happened?¡±


    I thought hard about lying and saying nothing, but I am a sucker for honesty,


    ¡°Well, when I shook the registrar¡¯s hand in his office, I had a¡­ vision.¡±


    ¡°You had a vision? Of what?¡±


    ¡°Well, I had a vision of¡­ Myself, beating a child. Except I was him. And ever since then, I¡¯ve had this dark pit in my stomach, like I ate a black hole. I think I¡­ I know it sounds weird, but I think I took some of the darkness in him.¡±


    There was silence on the other side of the phone for a little while.


    ¡°Hello?¡± I asked, afraid that she might be upset with me, or thinking of revoking her gift.


    ¡°I need you to come see me,¡± she said, with a seriousness to her voice.

 Thirteen - Lump Street (Frightened Rabbit)

    That pit in my stomach felt turbulent as I made my way through the city streets, as if it intended to simply bust apart, detonating me like a bomb on the sidewalk. I began to feel a raw fear and hurry, moving faster than I think I¡¯ve ever moved in my life, nimbly dashing through pedestrians before finally arriving at the now comforting site of the City of Embers. I moved my way inside, and saw that there were customers in the store; Silaqui was tending to them as a shopkeep should, but she saw me standing in the doorframe, and gestured for me to go up to her loft. I just barely made it to her home before I collapsed onto the floor, catching myself so as to not disturb her customers.


    I listened through the floor to their conversation; the Minotaur at the counter is buying medicinal herbs for his pregnant wife. Silaqui speaks to him in a polite and cheerful tone, one I haven¡¯t heard her use. I feel anger at the thought that she has voices she shares with others and not with me, a politeness and kindness that I am not afforded. Just like that, the dam breaks; the darkness in my stomach bursts open, and begins to flood my body with an immense feeling of power, of a strength that felt intoxicatingly potent. But then it hit my brain, this darkness, and suddenly I was that man again, striking his child, enjoying it. The feeling washes over me, the sadism and hatred, and suddenly I felt acutely aware of the heartbeats of everyone around me. Their fleeting little heartbeats, and with my exceptional power, and how they were all children to me at this point, and how I could take whatever I wanted, and how all I needed was something to want. I began to laugh on the floor, tears streaming from my eyes; what the fuck was happening to me?


    Silaqui came into the room and looked at me, and I could feel the cortisol in her body spike and her heartbeat quicken. ¡°Avery, are you okay?¡± she asked, a genuine concern in her voice. I sprung up from the floor with a violent and graceful motion, now facing her. Her face changed when she saw me, into something of surprise.


    ¡°I feel amazing. Like I could do anything I wanted,¡± I replied, still crying, as a war was being waged within me.


    Silaqui wasted no time: she immediately began to gather several items from her kitchen and gather them into a mortar and pestle, grinding them into a paste, before diluting it in hot water and offering it to me. ¡°What is this?¡± I asked, having paced around the room while watching her make it.


    ¡°It is a sedative,¡± she replied, an anxiety in her tone that she tried to mask with a smile. ¡°I¡¯m hoping this will calm you until I can figure out what is going on with you.¡±


    ¡°Why do I need this? I just told you, I feel amazing!¡± I replied, though my body took the drink and began to sip it immediately. I think deep down, a part of me knew that what was happening with me was unsettling and wrong, and desperately wanted to deescalate the situation. My mind was on fire; two consciousnesses were battling in my mind, one hell-bent on the idea that I use my gift to satisfy whatever cravings I could imagine in my sadistic little heart, and the other remembering the feeling I had when my mother hit me, and the sorrow I felt the sleepless night afterwards knowing that I didn¡¯t deserve to want anything. These two completely opposite thought processes were threatening to tear me apart, and deep down, I just wanted it to stop, even though the power and feeling were so sweet and commanding.


    I got halfway through her medicine before I could no longer stand on my own two feet; as Silaqui guided me to her chair, I felt cared for in a way that was strange and foreign to me. When I sat down, she took the cup from me and looked me over in detail. For the first time, I noticed that the markings on my body were a shade of red, like the color of my eyes; no wonder she looked so shocked when she saw me. I saw a glimpse of my face in the mirror, and saw my raven black hair had turned a ghostly white, and my eyes glowed fiercely; I looked even more terrifying than I normally did somehow. All of this because I shook hands with one person. I began to cry again, this time from sorrow; this body, this gift I had been given, would be taken away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.


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    ¡°What¡¯s wrong now?¡± asked Silaqui, as she came back with some magical examination equipment.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to change me back now, aren¡¯t you? To that other form, that other body.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± she said, getting to work on measuring my magical potential and psionic energy, ¡°I would totally do that¡­ If I could.¡±


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± I replied. ¡°You mean, you don¡¯t know if you can change me back?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, with the final adjustments I made to accommodate you and your situation, plus with this new wrinkle¡­ I don¡¯t think being a human is ever going to be possible for you again. I can change you again for sure, but the process would take years, maybe a decade, with how entrenched this magic seems to be in your system. I¡¯m sorry, I know I said I could, but¡­ You might be like this for a while.¡±


    My mind raced. I was so thankful, as I loved my new form, and my abilities, and the friends and comforts I had acquired with it. I had no desire to part with it, so hearing it was basically permanent was actually a comfort. But not being able to touch people without eating their darkness¡­


    ¡°Is there any way you could mitigate the symptom involving physical contact? And why doesn¡¯t it work on you? You touched my back after the ritual and nothing happened.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± she answered, switching one strange medical device for another. ¡°Maybe the absorption through physical contact doesn¡¯t work on Othersiders? Or at least specific Othersiders? Or maybe it only works on people who have sufficient evil in them? I can¡¯t say for sure yet, but what I do know is this: your psyche changes to match the evil that you absorb, and your power grows as you eat these¡­ It feels dumb for even calling it this, but these Vantas. Like, significantly; your power matches that of a low level wizard. As in, if I taught you, you could cast spells. It¡¯s incredible, I¡¯ve never seen anything like this.¡±


    I didn¡¯t feel very incredible as I sat sedated on the chair, though at least my mind had slowed to a crawl in comparison to what it was before. I thought about how sickening it felt to have that influence over me, and how much worse it felt that I enjoyed it from the bottom of my heart. My mother would be disgusted with me, and if my understanding of my father was correct, he would be disappointed that I succumbed so easily to the call of the void. I wondered what would happen if I had touched hands with someone darker than that man; I wondered what would¡¯ve happened if I had listened to my earlier instincts and kept this to myself, and simply gone home to deal with this myself. I could¡¯ve eaten more of this darkness in a lust for power; I could¡¯ve hurt someone, truly done something horrible and permanent, like that night in the alley with Siphoner and the man who didn¡¯t have to die but died anyways. All because of me. I know I have the potential for evil, but Silaqui doesn¡¯t, and can¡¯t. If she knew, she would be afraid of me, and she would never let me be free. As much as I wanted to do the right thing, I had a shameful and desperate desire to live this new life I was given as I wanted to.


    ¡°I think I¡¯m alright now. Mentally that is; physically, I don¡¯t think I could move from this spot. Thank you for helping me Silaqui.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re back to your senses,¡± she said, breathing a sigh of relief. ¡°And I¡¯m glad you immediately came to me. It proves that I was right to trust you with this power. I¡­ I know how awful this must feel for you, but I want you to know that I¡¯m really proud of you. This wasn¡¯t easy for you. I may not have the abilities you do, but I at least have some empathy, and I can feel it in you; you¡¯re suffering. You are extremely resilient, more so than any human I¡¯ve ever met, and¡­ Forgive me if I sound like a corny dumbass, but I am thankful that I found you out of all the folks in New York.¡±


    I had no words for her. None. No one had ever spoken to me like that, at least since Aera, and even then, her words in hindsight were veiled manipulations. This felt real, sincere, like someone baring a piece of their heart to me, trying to cross an insurmountable gorge I had created between myself and the world and extend a hand to me. I felt horrified for a moment, a genuine terror, like I had fucked up somehow, and she was showing me courtesy because of some pity. But the look on her face, the shimmer of her draconic eyes, told me otherwise. I felt whatever was in my chest beat once, and the warmth of blood rushed throughout my body, and I couldn¡¯t help but have a genuine smile flicker on my face.


    ¡°I think meeting you has been the best thing that has ever happened to me.¡±

 Fourteen - Ceiling for the Sky (How to Dress Well)

    Silaqui had gone back down to help customers; her apothecary was more busy than I had thought. As I sat there, feeling the power and evil slowly leave my system, I felt relief begin to wash over me, a simple joy that this feeling wasn¡¯t permanent. But then the realization began to settle in, that I would be physically unable to touch anyone skin-to-skin, or else I would be risking a repeat incident of today. Silaqui might¡¯ve been able to help me this time, but what would I do if she couldn¡¯t? What would¡¯ve happened to me if I had gone home? I simply resolved that I would have to avoid contact with people, but then I thought of all the friends I was making, and the ways they made me feel. I didn¡¯t desire anything sexual in nature from them, but the thought of never being able to hold someone¡¯s hand, or kiss them, or hug them was beginning to make me depressed.


    But then I thought of Silaqui, and the kindness she was showing me, and the honesty and friendliness, and the immunity she seemed to have to my unique ability, and I wondered if she would want to do those things with me. My face became flush, and I tried to dismiss those thoughts, but her kindness was soul-piercing in a way that was unavoidably beautiful and baring. I knew that it was strange, to feel this way for someone who was basically my doctor, but I couldn¡¯t help it; imagine, if you would, an animal that had only been poked and prodded its entire life, and then suddenly, one person bathes it, feeds it, and takes it home. Of course that animal is going to feel something for that person, and in this case, I was that animal. I had just gone through something awful and traumatic, and she saved me; not only that, she saved me with an open heart and a smile.


    Fuck. Was I falling for her? I began to feel warm inside, but then, suddenly, I thought of Aera, and my blood went cold. I thought of punching Joon-hu, and laughing about it. I thought of killing that man, a man who didn¡¯t deserve to die. I thought of my mother, who worked herself to death just trying to give me a life I don¡¯t think I deserved in the first place. And then the happiness of love was replaced by the knowledge that loving me was never a good idea, and that wherever I went, I left a trail of suffering in my wake. I couldn¡¯t love her; I couldn¡¯t love anyone. I wanted to feel warmth, but maybe this curse was a blessing, puzzle pieces falling into their proper place. The universe wants me to distance myself from everyone, and so that is what I must do.


    The medicine had run its course, and I felt as I did before I had shaken that man¡¯s hand, and so I grabbed my belongings, and made my way downstairs. Silaqui was speaking with a customer, but when she saw me making my way to the door, she excused herself and walked towards me.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you¡¯re up and about, but are you sure you¡¯re good to go? You were just in some deep shit, and I¡¯d like it if I could keep an eye on you for a little while longer, just to be sure.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I replied, a practiced calmness in my voice, ¡°it¡¯s all out of my system. I¡¯m back to normal again. Thank you for helping me, I really appreciate it. I¡¯ll call you tonight and give you an update, okay? But I don¡¯t wanna distract you, you seem really busy.¡± I gestured to the customers in her shop, and she nodded.


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    ¡°Okay, I understand. You do look normal - well, you know, back to your edgy elf self - so yeah, if you think you¡¯re good, then okay. Just call me tonight, got it? And keep to your schedule, every day, call me, and twice a week stop by.¡±


    ¡°Can do,¡± I replied, and made my way to the door, before stopping halfway through. ¡°Hey, Silaqui? Thank you, again. You really saved me,¡± I remarked, before slipping out the door, not waiting for a reply. As I made my way through the city streets, hands in my pockets, I looked up at the sky; it was already dark, the February sky shifting with dark clouds and the slightest hint of the dusk. I felt a deep frustration in my heart, a kind that needed an outlet, a kind that needed violence. Usually, I would let this out in a dojo, but between school and my new form, I haven¡¯t really found a place that would take me in. I considered my options at the moment, but all of them required money, and I was considerably broke. But then an idea came to mind, one that seemed to kill two birds with one stone, and suddenly I found myself stalking campus, my hood up, and a scarf concealing my face.


    I decided I would vent my frustrations on the man who caused my episode, the one who so egregiously hurt his child. I knew that this wasn¡¯t something that was okay, but honestly, I didn¡¯t care at the moment; my heart was deeply wounded and in flux, and it needed something, anything, to make things better. My father was a man who believed in good, and in law and order; I believed in good too, and that if everyone chose to do the right thing, the world would be a better place. But the sad truth was that both humans and Othersiders often chose to do wrong; I saw it every day growing up, and simply chose to swallow it, because I thought I deserved it. But that child, that poor defenseless child, did not deserve it, and tonight, I would show this man the other side of the relationship he had with his kid; I would show him helplessness.


    I saw him leave the building and begin to walk down the street; I wasn¡¯t sure if he had a car or not, but I followed him nonetheless. The sky was now pitch black, the lights from the city being the only guide along our way. He walked slowly, his breath visible in the cold night air, and his heartbeat calm and slow; his nervous system was sympathetic, calm, as he sipped what smelled like coffee from a thermos. As he walked past an alleyway, I made my move: within a second, I had moved 20 feet and was upon him, throwing him effortlessly into the dark of the alley. He yelled, his thermos falling to the ground, and again, in a moment, I was standing over him, my gloved hand over his neck.


    ¡°I know what you do,¡± I said to him, my voice a low growl. ¡°Your child, I know you hurt him. You beat him, mercilessly. You are a bad father. And so, I will show you the other side. I will show you what pain is. And if you choose to continue to inflict pain on your child after this, then you are irredeemable, and I will come for more than a lesson next time.¡±


    I began to beat him. Not as hard as I could, as that would easily kill him; instead, I began softly, with an extremely weak punch. It did nothing to him, and so I tried a little harder, and this one made an impact, but not enough. So I went harder. Then I went harder, all the while ensuring that he could make no sound, no cry for help; I beat him, and the little darkness in my own heart began to fade away little by little. When it was satisfied, I let loose one last hit, and knocked him unconscious. Kneeling over his bruised and battered body, I applied some first aid to ensure he wouldn¡¯t bleed out in the alley, and then made my way out and down the street calmly, leaving him there to wash in a pool of blood, a baptism of my own making.

 Fifteen- Broken (Patrick Watson)

    I got home, and locked the door behind me, my mind swirling; what had I done? I sat on the floor, swaying softly, as I processed the day I just had, overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it all. I knew it would be eventful, my first day in my new form, but I had turned it into something completely warped and twisted with my actions. This was the person who was capable of hurting Joon-hu, and of killing the man in the alley. It wasn¡¯t that I could consume the evils in others; I myself was evil. I began to question whether I was the right one to receive the power I had when my phone began to ring. I picked it up; Silaqui was calling me, probably to follow up. Oh fuck, I had no idea what I was supposed to say¡­ Was I supposed to be honest? Being honest has been good so far, but I think admitting to assault would be crossing the line. I answered the phone, resolving to keep this incident to myself.


    ¡°Hello, Silaqui.¡± My voice was devoid of emotion, as much as I tried to fake easiness.


    ¡°Hey Avery, just checking in. You were supposed to call me, remember?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sorry, I just¡­ It has been a really long day, so I was catching up with movies that my grandfather recommended to me to try to calm down.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah? Which ones?¡±


    Shit. I began to scramble around for the list. Took me a few moments to find it, but before I could compile an accurate list of movies that I hadn¡¯t already seen, Silaqui spoke.


    ¡°Listen, that pause speaks multitudes; something is obviously wrong, and you definitely weren¡¯t watching movies, because it¡¯s only been three or so hours, and you should be able to remember one or two movie titles immediately, so what really happened?¡±


    I froze. I should¡¯ve known to get my facts straight; she may look and act young, but I always got the sense she was older and wiser than I¡¯d ever know. I began to panic, not knowing what to say, even with my accelerated thought processes. But then a memory flashed through my head, one of my mother, when she was alive and well. I had taken candy from a bodega as a child, not understanding that was stealing and it was wrong. When I began to eat it in front of her, she calmly asked me where I had gotten it. When I told her, she explained to me calmly that there were rules we had to follow, and that those rules existed to protect people. She explained how my father lived to protect those rules, and that taking that candy was breaking them. When I started crying, she hugged me, walked me back to the store, and gave me the money to pay for my candy. She encouraged me to apologize, and when I did, the store owner just smiled and said that it happened all the time. He and my mother chatted for a bit, and then we left, just like that.


    I started crying, an uncontrollable sob, as I remembered the day I had, the month I had, the life I had. And I couldn¡¯t help but bare my soul to Silaqui that night over the phone. I talked about my father, and how he died trying to do the right thing. I talked about my mother, and how she died trying to do the same. I talked about being sent to a foreign country to live with my grandfather, who didn¡¯t understand me. I talked about being bullied and ridiculed and ostracized, and how Aera and I found each other and I felt like someone finally understood me, only to find out that I was being manipulated and abused and lied to the entire time. Silaqui listened patiently as I unloaded years of trauma and pain, a broken faucet spewing filth and caustic waste. She took a moment to pause, before she said something so profound, it carved itself into my soul:


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°And the entire time, you were in the wrong body, with the wrong parts, and the wrong gender; the pain of these things must¡¯ve felt so much worse knowing you had this part of you that you could never share with others. I¡¯m so sorry Avery¡­ Your heart must¡¯ve been broken from the start.¡±


    I don¡¯t think anyone had ever understood me like that before, not even Aera. Aera, who I had shared the dark of my heart with, could never have empathized with me like this; the few times I tried to tell her, she called me strange and disgusting. When I would act anything less than the stoic man after that first encounter, she would keep me at arm¡¯s length. She saw me as nothing more than a means to an end, a man to tie herself to that would hold her up, even if he himself were drowning. But I wasn¡¯t even a man, and I could never have shared that with her. But with Silaqui, I could share things, and she would understand. Suddenly, I realized that maybe it was okay to bare the dark parts of me to her as well. Maybe she would understand that I wasn¡¯t the beacon of goodness my father was.


    ¡°I have to confess to you, Silaqui. That night you found me, when I killed the Siphoner, there was a man there too.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she says, ¡°I remember. His throat was cut. I assume you did that?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I did. But I didn¡¯t have to. I recognized he had been ensorcelled by the Siphoner, and I had already knocked him down. I could¡¯ve just knocked him out, or disabled him in some way, but I killed him. I didn¡¯t have to, but I did.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s okay, Avery,¡± she responded, a softness to her voice. ¡°He came after you and your then-girlfriend. You responded in kind, in the heat of the moment. I think that things could be handled differently, but you aren¡¯t to blame for it; you were only human against insurmountable odds.¡±


    ¡°But that isn¡¯t all,¡± I said, with an exasperated tone. ¡°Tonight, instead of going straight home, I found the man who made me¡­ Whose memories and Vanta I took into me, and I followed him. I pushed him into an alley and¡­ I let my own evil out. I beat him, Silaqui. Savagely. He is still alive, and I called the paramedics on the way home to ensure he would be taken care of, but I destroyed him, not because his evil was still in me, and not solely to deal some divine justice for his little boy, but because I needed to. Because I¡¯m evil, Silaqui. I¡¯m so sorry, but I think you gave this body to the wrong person. I want to be like my father; I want to help people. But I¡¯m twisted and broken deep down, and my wires are all crossed, and I look at myself internally and it¡¯s like a funhouse mirror. I don¡¯t know what you want from me, but I just want to be honest with you, because you¡¯ve been nothing but good to me. I¡¯m so sorry.¡± I¡¯m sobbing again, my heart in tatters that I don¡¯t feel can ever be mended. This is it, I think to myself. This is where it all ends.


    Silaqui doesn¡¯t speak for a moment; the line is quiet, except for a soft breath. I wonder what is going through her mind, but remember again that this wondering is impossible for me.


    ¡°Avery, you are being so hard on yourself. You¡¯ve been expected to be perfect and obedient your entire life; it¡¯s no wonder you can¡¯t see yourself clearly. Everyone has evils in their hearts; those who say they don¡¯t are lying. Some are just benign evils, while others, like the man you hurt, are severe. When I saw you in that alleyway, desperately clinging to life, having protected what I assumed you cared for from something that should¡¯ve been so clearly beyond you, I knew it had to be you.¡± There was a long pause before she spoke again. ¡°Next time we meet, I¡¯ll tell you the real reason why I created you. But until then, know this; you were not a mistake, and I don¡¯t regret my choice at all.¡±


    I took a small comfort in her words, and as we said our goodbyes, I began to look forward to learning more about myself, Silaqui, and our new bond.

 Sixteen - One More Light (Linkin Park)

    I waited a few days before visiting Silaqui again; during that time, I attended my classes and went to work as I used to, though this time with much more caution. I dressed warmly, though this new body felt neither warmth nor cold, an immunity that brought as much comfort as it did unease. I wore gloves as a safety measure, a thin cotton barrier between me and a repeat of the incident with the man I beat in the alley; speaking of which, I spent some time around the building where he worked, and did not detect him there, so I assume I put him in the hospital for an extended period of time or he simply does not want to come in to work out of fear. Either way, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a small sense of accomplishment, and a shame for feeling that accomplishment. I socialized with the folks that I had identified as safe, but I tried to keep a further distance from them; to be honest, I was afraid of myself and what I was capable of, and I didn¡¯t want to ensnare them in the trap that was knowing me.


    One person kept trying to bridge that gap though, an Othersider named Kall. They were intimidating on the surface too, long black hair that covered a face that supposedly cursed those who looked upon it. To save their classmates, they wore a mask underneath to obscure themselves. Their expression was beautiful, always wearing these flowing dresses from many different cultures, each of them suiting their slender frame and angelic features perfectly. I really liked them, and if it were any other circumstance, I think I¡¯d want to get closer to them. But I was afraid that I would accidentally brush their exposed hands with my own, and discover something horrible and hidden about them, and the illusion would be ruined. Or even worse, they might discover that I was rotten to my core, and this beautiful, fragile thing we had would shatter just like that. So I kept my distance, even though they were so kind to me, and empathized with the feeling of looking scary but wanting nothing more than to be kind and to know others.


    My job was easy enough, with me being delegated to background duties so as to not scare customers. I resigned myself to my new position, and was starting to get comfortable with it, when someone I worked with often as a barista spoke up for me, a woman named Aisha. I didn¡¯t speak with her often, but she was quiet and kind, and I helped her reach things she couldn¡¯t, and when customers berated her, I would always step between and try to assuage the situation. I¡¯d never once heard her raise her voice, but as I walked past the management office one day, I heard her yell, advocating for me.


    ¡°Why did you put Avery on cleaning and stocking duty!? They were our best barista!¡± she exclaimed with a panache I didn¡¯t know she had. They. The organ in my chest fluttered at being referred to as such, and I could feel whatever magics now comprised my heart and body shift in response, like a dog wagging its tail.


    ¡°You know we can¡¯t have something like that as the face of our business, Aisha,¡± said Ms. Plantera, with a resigned tone to her voice. ¡°I agree, Avery was extremely good at his job, but he can¡¯t show his face now like that. To be honest, looking at him scares me a bit; imagine how much it¡¯d scare customers.¡±


    I decided this conversation might make me feel something I¡¯d rather not, and so I left to continue my duties. Later that day, when I was ready to leave for home, I stopped by Aisha, who was taking a break from her shift.


    ¡°Hey, Aisha. I just wanted to say¡­ I didn¡¯t mean to, but I overheard a bit of your conversation with Ms. Plantera, and I wanted to say thank you for thinking of me. I don¡¯t mind my new position, and I understand why I was put here, but your thoughts make me feel safer here. Please let me know if you need anything and I¡¯ll be there,¡± I told her, a soft smile on my face.


    She paused for a moment, thinking, before looking up at me from her seat. ¡°Could I get your number?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Oh¡­ Yeah, sure. Yeah. Sorry, I¡¯ve¡­ Uh¡­ I¡­ Yeah,¡± I replied, choking on my words. I remembered Aera, and how she would feel knowing I had another girl¡¯s number in my phone.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to if you don¡¯t want to,¡± she clarified, an understanding and friendly smile on her face.


    ¡°No, no, I want to. I just¡­ I¡¯m really awkward, and this is the first time anyone¡¯s asked me since the change. Thank you,¡± I said, feeling a lump form in my throat. We exchanged numbers, and I made my way home, feeling like I had made connections that would¡¯ve been impossible to me if I had stayed in that other ill-fitting form.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Soon enough, the day came where I met with Silaqui; we chose to meet at the diner where she first saw me, to mark the occasion. As I sat there, having arrived ten minutes early, drinking milquetoast diner coffee, I could feel the organ in my chest fluttering. I wasn¡¯t sure how today was going to go, but I knew that Silaqui was a being that deserved my honesty and my trust. She had given me something that I could never be apart from, something that in only a few short days had completely revolutionized my little life, and turned it into something precious and worthwhile. Sure, there were things about it that seemed to be awful, but when I thought of the suffering I felt daily in my old body, with my old abilities, I knew that I wouldn¡¯t go back for any reason. This is something I wanted to keep with me, even if it meant I couldn¡¯t touch another person for the rest of my life.


    I watched Silaqui elegantly walk through the entrance, and without looking anywhere else in the diner, she locked eyes with me and made her way to my booth. Her outfit was more casual than normal, a dark hooded sweatshirt with an elegant design of some tree from the Otherside formed into ribs, and red plaid slacks. I thought it strange that I noticed her outfit, as fashion typically slipped outside the purview of my mind; maybe it was because her ethereal beauty seemed to starkly contrast the mundanity of her street clothes. Or maybe it was because I was beginning to feel a strong attachment to her. I shook the thought from my head as she sat down, ordering herself some pancakes and a coffee.


    ¡°So, Avery, any new developments since our call last night? I know you¡¯ve been making friends and getting people¡¯s numbers, but nothing abnormal, right?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I replied softly, sipping from my mug. ¡°Just friends. I wear gloves, and take precautions to touch no one.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± she replied, pouring an obscene amount of cream and sugar into her own coffee. ¡°I can tell just from sensing and looking at you that your psionic and thaumaturgic levels are back to their normal, so I don¡¯t think I need to take any samples¡­ What do you think? Have you been having any thoughts that aren¡¯t your own since the incident?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said again, looking outside at the cars on the street, tightly packed in lines. ¡°Ever since you gave me that drink, my thoughts have been my own. My strength and ability has been back to baseline, as far as I can tell. I feel¡­ well, normal.¡±


    ¡°So we have something that is able to reliably calm you down. Excellent,¡± she says, finishing her pancakes. ¡°So, I want to talk to you Avery. I need to, actually. You¡¯ve been doing an amazing job being honest with me, and so I thought it was time I was honest with you.¡± She sips her drink, and locks eyes with me, her piercing draconic gaze threatening to shred my soul. ¡°As you might know by now, turning a human into an Othersider is possible, but the procedure is extremely rare, and can take years and a lot of magic, and often results in a very specific Othersider being created. What I created with you is something that no one has ever done before, Avery. I need you to know that; no one can know how you were made. If someone asks, just say you were a botched job, okay?¡±


    I swallowed hard. I had no idea that what I am was so complicated and unique. I nodded in response, unable to find words in the moment.


    ¡°As you might''ve guessed from the orange dragon eyes, I''m a dragon; however, in terms of ranking, I''d say I''m close to the top of the charts. On top of that, I am a scary fucking good wizard.¡± She stretched in her seat, as if what she just said wasn¡¯t something that would fill a normal person with awe and terror. ¡°If the world found out that someone like me existed, the restrictions placed on me would be horrific, and I would never see freedom again. But I look out at the world and I see it suffering; I see so many things going wrong, and I can¡¯t do anything about it myself, or else I would be locked away for the rest of this world¡¯s existence. So I started trying to make things that could help people for me¡­ Champions that could help the world and make things better. I only made one other before you Avery, one being of exceptional power that I hoped would change things. But they¡­ uh¡­ died¡­¡±


    I could see the sadness in her face, hear the sorrow in her voice, and I knew she had been close to this Champion of hers. Without thinking, I reached across the table and held her hand, giving her a reassuring smile. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± I said, smiling at her. ¡°Keep going.¡±


    ¡°They died 17 years ago¡­ It took me that long to recover. I only resolved to try again in the last year, but couldn¡¯t find anyone that I trusted; mostly because I didn¡¯t trust anyone. But then I saw you, and decided to gamble. I don¡¯t know why exactly, but I did; something in me told me you were the one who would fix things. You¡¯ve done nothing but assure me that my gamble was a winning hand, and so I have to ask you, Avery Grey: will you help me fix things?¡±

 Seventeen - Alright (Keaton Henson)

    I sat in a stunned silence for a moment, unable to take in or give information, trying to process everything I had just been given. There was so much to unpack, so much information presented and some bombshells between the lines that I felt needed answers. I decided to start with the broadest question I had first, one that I felt was the least pointed and easiest to answer.


    ¡°What do you mean, fix things? Like, you want me to be a superhero or something? Rush in and save the day when people need my help?¡± I asked, a sarcastic tone to my voice.


    ¡°More or less, yeah,¡± she responded, not an ounce of levity in her voice. She was as serious as she had ever been. I matched her gaze, her fiery orange eyes, and swallowed hard.


    ¡°So, what I did to that man, was that¡­ was it what you had in mind?¡± I was confused, as when I told her, she had seemed ambivalent about the actions themselves, and more concerned about my own well-being. But now that I knew what she wanted, it felt strange, her tepid reaction.


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t want you to savagely beat people who are weaker than you; there are police officers and law for that. When you found out what you did, the proper response would¡¯ve been to get evidence and report it to the police. I could teach you how to do that, since you have the capacity for magic. Go invisible, sneak into his house, get what you need, and leave, if it bothered you that much.¡± She spoke with a slight indifference to her voice, a tone that made a small fire rise in the back of my throat.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t see what I saw, Silaqui,¡± I responded, a low growl underneath my sultry voice. ¡°This man, he¡¯s the kind that hides the bruises under clothes. He¡¯s the kind that puts on a smile when CPS comes to the door. I could feel it. I am not leaving that in anyone¡¯s hands but my own.¡±


    Silaqui looked at me, and I could see her expression change to one of sincerity. ¡°Hey, hey, it¡¯s okay Avery. Look, I¡¯m sorry. I was imagining you saving entire cities with your power, helping thousands¡­ I guess it slipped away from me for a moment, the dire importance of one innocent life. You were right to do what you did. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    I took a deep breath, and relaxed my posture. ¡°It¡¯s okay Silaqui. I know what I did wasn¡¯t the best, but it¡¯s all I know. But how am I supposed to save an entire city, Silaqui? Am I even capable of that?¡±


    She looked at me, a small concern in her brow, before responding. ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t think so. The others I made were beings of exceptional power. Your ability is far beyond a human¡¯s, and greater than the average Folk, but it¡¯s still not enough to change anything major. Maybe the best course of action is to be an everyday kind of hero, then; stop what you can stop, and let what is above you go.¡±


    I thought about it for a moment, before a memory flashed into my mind: the feeling after the bubble of evil in my belly popped inside Silaqui¡¯s flat, how the raw power flooded my veins, and how I felt capable of doing anything I wanted.


    ¡°What if I ate someone¡¯s Vanta on purpose?¡± I asked, with determination in my voice. ¡°In the moment after I consumed it fully, I felt capable of doing impossible tasks. We could try and see if that would allow me to do what you wanted.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t do that,¡± Silaqui answered immediately, a concern in her voice. ¡°I saw how that made you feel, how horrific that was for you. To make you do it on purpose¡­ That seems like torture. I can¡¯t allow you to do that, Avery. Not just because you might hurt someone again, but because you will definitely hurt yourself.¡±


    I sat there for a moment, unsure of how to respond, before simply nodding. I wasn¡¯t sure what the right thing to do was, and I only wanted to help this person who had helped me so much, but maybe she was right; maybe torturing myself wasn¡¯t the way forward this time. I felt powerless in my inability to do what SIlaqui truly wanted me to do, to save things and help people like my parents would¡¯ve always wanted. This in itself was torture, this knowledge that even with the help of such a powerful being, I still wasn¡¯t good enough. Maybe I¡¯d never be good enough, for Silaqui, for my parents, for Aera, for my grandfather, or for myself. I began to sink into the booth a bit as the thoughts weighed heavily on my mind. But I had another question I wanted to ask.


    ¡°So you said you were a dragon? A powerful, magic dragon, capable of many things?¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡± she responded quizzically, unsure of where I was going with this.


    ¡°If you are so powerful, why can¡¯t you just do things yourself? You know, use the magic to hide yourself while you do things, and then sneak away when it¡¯s over?¡±


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    She sighs a heavy sigh, and leans forward in her seat. ¡°I release a pretty potent¡­ Let¡¯s call it a scent, when I use my abilities. Any dragon worth their salt would know if they were within a mile of me. The government, some criminal organizations, you name it, they probably have a greater or lesser dragon in their ranks. I¡¯d be found immediately. I could only perform the ritual with you because my apothecary has layers upon layers of protections that hide that scent. It is one of the only places in the world where I can use my magic and not be seen.¡±


    I thought about how frustrating and difficult that must be for her, to have all of this power and ability, and the desire to use it for good, and knowing that she couldn¡¯t. The frustration of watching the world change around you, and knowing you had the power to mold it yourself, but being afraid to step into the light and risk everything to do so. I couldn¡¯t imagine the sorrow in her heart as she sent her Champion out to help her achieve that goal, only for them to die; the responsibility she must feel for their lives, lost because she put them forward into the world stage. But something she said made me curious¡­


    ¡°You said that your Champion died 17 years ago¡­ They wouldn¡¯t have had anything to do with the Central Park Incident, would they? My Dad was one of the first responders to the scene¡­ He was killed by the Othersider that escaped that day.¡± I saw Silaqui shift nervously in her seat, but she did not answer. ¡°My mother never talked about that day, probably because of how painful it was for her. I was only two, so I have no memory of it, but from what I learned later, it was a massacre caused by two warring factions of Othersiders fighting in the park. Did one of your Champions try to intervene?¡±


    Silaqui sat in silence, her brilliant eyes distant and lonely. Her hands were clasped in front of her mouth, almost as if in prayer, as she sat, pondering. I was about to speak, assure her she didn¡¯t have to delve into things, before she spoke first.


    ¡°One of the factions that day was my Champion and her crew. They had found out an Othersider was using their ability to manipulate people into following their rule in the park, and so they went to confront them, with some allies as distant backup in case things went wrong. I don¡¯t know the details, as I wasn¡¯t there, but things apparently went wrong, and¡­ well, my Champion, Helena, was killed. She was only trying to do what I asked, to make the world a better place, and I led her and everyone that believed in her to their deaths.¡±


    Again, I grasped Silaqui¡¯s hand, tightly this time. ¡°You didn¡¯t do anything wrong. Your Champion, Helena, didn¡¯t either. You both wanted things to be better, and put your heart on the line for it. Just like my Dad. I don¡¯t blame him for being there, for dying and leaving me and my Mom alone. I missed him like crazy, and I wished he could be there with us, but I knew he died trying to do the right thing. It¡¯s how he lived his life, and how he wanted my mother and I to live ours. Helena was the same, and you aren¡¯t at fault, Silaqui. I¡¯m so sorry you lost your friend. I¡¯m so sorry it took you so long to trust again. But I promise I¡¯ll be careful. I promise I will hold on to you with all of my strength.¡±


    I locked eyes with Silaqui, and for the first time, saw a shimmering tear fall gracefully down her cheek. I felt the organ in my chest stir; even crying, she was beautiful. I slowly let go of her hand, and returned to my casual seated position, a soft smile on my face. This conversation was everything I¡¯d wanted it to be. I felt a deep connection to Silaqui, a connection I hadn¡¯t felt since my mother passed away; no, since before my mother had gotten sick in the first place. For the first time, I had someone I could rely on, and who I felt could rely on me. This feeling was a rush, a pleasure that flooded my spine with a joy incomparable. I think I was smiling, a large, beaming smile reflecting the warmth in my bones, because Silaqui returned a smile of her own, one that I wanted to sear into my brain, to retain for all time in a vault, so that when things were awful I could pull this image out and feel this warmth once more.


    ¡°I will be your Champion, Silaqui. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for guiding me when I was lost. Thank you for saving me, not just in that alley, but in my heart¡­ I love you.¡±


    Wait, what did I just say? Fuck. I immediately started fumbling, trying to think of something to say to cover that awkward statement, but when I looked at Silaqui, she had a peaceful, reassuring smile that made the panic fade away.


    ¡°You¡¯re a weirdo,¡± she laughed, melting the tension that I felt. ¡°But I want to thank you too, for letting me be part of your life, and for showing me that it is safe to trust again. I¡¯m not comfortable using the ¡®L¡¯ word, but know that you make me feel safe and reassured, and that I am so gay for you. I have many¡­ Well, let¡¯s call them ¡®partners¡¯ right now, but it¡¯s mostly physical. But, knowing that, would you want to be in a relationship with me?¡±


    Holy shit. I felt my heart: wow, my actual heart, pounding in my chest. I felt it again; it wasn¡¯t just a foreign organ in a new body, it was my heart, true and proud, strongly declaring it was alive and well. It yearned for this, a connection with someone who truly cared about me. It felt strange; at first, I thought of Silaqui as a guiding figure, almost motherly, but she was just like me, a person trying to get by. I may be several hundred years younger, but she was honest and kind, and wouldn¡¯t take advantage. I¡¯d never been in a polyamorous relationship before though, but I imagined it would turn out okay; after all, love was love, and a person didn¡¯t really belong to one person only. I imagined my parents and that whole generation of marriages and monogamous relationships being modeled to us; but I was already so vastly different from them that this jump to a different relationship model seemed like nothing compared to what I had already done.


    ¡°I would like nothing more,¡± I said, taking her hand in mine once again.

 Eighteen - New York (Peter Silberman)

    I walked back to my police cruiser with a box of donuts in my hands. I knew half of them would be gone before I got home to my wife and son, but I couldn¡¯t help it; my job was stressful, and the donuts and some coffee helped take the edge off of a hectic day. Most of the time, I cruised the same city streets, waiting for calls to come in on the radio, or looking for trouble to rear its ugly head. In the past, dealing with said trouble was easy enough; just a foot chase, or maybe a car chase, and then I handcuff ¡®em, read them their rights, and they get in my car. But now there are Othersiders to worry about, and so we have all sorts of special equipment and training to deal with it. Now, when I get a call, I have to defer to a manual if they are not of this world, about 50 pages thick, full of what-not-to-do¡¯s and bureaucratic bullshit that I need to tiptoe around. On top of that, some of them are so dangerous that even if we get the call, I¡¯m supposed to call someone else if I see them; what is the point of having a gun if it doesn¡¯t do anything to these Folk?


    I sat in my cruiser, eating donuts and sipping lukewarm coffee from a thermos. It was mid-afternoon, which meant it was almost time to go home. I thought of my sweet little boy, who looked so much like his mother. I hoped he grew up to look more like me; it was a selfish desire, something I would never tell his mother, but being Native, I took pride in my heritage, and always wanted a child of my bloodline to proudly represent my tribe. I couldn¡¯t wait to teach him about the Iroquois, and their traditions. I grew up on the reservation, only having moved to New York for school and then the police academy when I dropped out of college. What a waste of time that was; I didn¡¯t learn a thing, and everyone was so self-absorbed and closed-minded. The only good thing I got out of that was meeting Sung-jin, my wife, at the restaurant near the college where she worked. It was love at first sight.


    My daydreaming was interrupted by a call from the radio; with an intensity, the dispatcher put out an all-hands for a fight in Central Park between some Othersiders. I looked over at the manual, knowing that the best thing to do would be to let someone equipped to deal with Othersiders handle this, but my heart told me that I needed to step up. What if someone needed to be saved? What if my arrival was the difference between someone¡¯s life and death? I turned on my sirens, buckled up, and peeled off towards the park as fast as I could, steeling myself for whatever may come. As I approached, I could hear the sounds of warping metal and a strange science-fiction-esque noise; when the park came into view, I could see bright flashes of pure white lights and molten sparks emerging from above the trees. I began to think that this was above me, but the park was a highly populated area, and I needed to be sure that everyone had evacuated safely.


    I drove over the curb and into the park a bit, before stopping and getting out, drawing my firearm and looking around. Sure enough, there were scared civilians taking cover behind and underneath benches and food carts. One by one, I ushered them away from the park, but the explosions were getting closer, and I knew I was running out of time. Suddenly, people started running towards us, screaming, and I trained my firearm up, unsure if they were civilians or part of the problem. They just ran past me, away from the trouble; but that was when I saw the source of it all. A woman in armor, dented and broken, stood with their back towards me; with her were three companions, all badly wounded. All of them had a sigil on them, a shield with a draconic eye in the middle. Walking on a bridge towards them was one man, his hair white as snow, dressed in formal winter clothing even though it was over 60¡ã outside. The woman and her party seemed worn down, breathing heavily,


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    I saw it too late, the little girl behind them, crying underneath the park bench. But one of the armored men turned around and saw her, and when the man with white hair unleashed a burst of light with a wave of his hand, that armored man dove in front of the girl, and was vaporized saving her. I sat there confused; what exactly was I witnessing? But seeing this made my instincts kick in, and I ran forward to secure the child, and escort them away. As I got closer, for a moment, I heard their conversation.


    ¡°... Helena, how could you be so naive? The world is a cold and bitter place. There is no room for altruism,¡± said the man with white hair, with a hint of sadism in his voice.


    ¡°You sicken me. You¡¯re a monster, and it¡¯s time you paid the price, you bastard!¡± yelled Helena, overwhelmed with emotion.


    I got the little girl away, her mother waiting at the edge of the park for her. I didn¡¯t have time to listen to her thank you¡¯s, as I knew enough to know what I must do: this Helena needed help, and I was going to help her. As if on cue, several other officers arrived, and I explained what I knew to them. Most seemed hesitant to follow through on this information.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay if you don''t want to,¡± I replied, ¡°but if you do nothing, then isn¡¯t that just as bad as helping?¡±


    I began to move in, and to my surprise, many of my fellow officers did as well. We backed Helena and her remaining men, who were deep in battle with this strange figure. When Helena gave us a clear shot, we opened fire on the white-haired man, riddling him with bullets. He fell to his knees, and Helena leaped in for the killing blow. But it was a facade, and the white-haired man was prepared. He ran a sword of light through Helena¡¯s chest, impaling her. As he looked into her eyes, he smiled, before using his other hand to behead her. We opened fire again, but the bullets seemed to do nothing to him. He looked at us all, and I saw in his eyes a look of annoyance, like one might have when one sees ants in their home.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to your misery,¡± he said, and a pulse shot out from him. Suddenly, I felt a chill run through my body, and memories began to flood my brain. The first time I rode a bike, gone. My first Christmas, gone. Going to the zoo with my parents, gone. My first kiss, gone. Moving to New York, gone. Meeting Sung-jin, gone. My wedding, gone. The birth of my son¡­ No. I wouldn¡¯t let this man take any more. I stood up, as my fellow officers and the other followers of Helena writhed in agony on the floor. I raised my pistol, and fired at the man once more.


    ¡°You will take nothing more from me!¡± I exclaimed, a fire burning in my soul.


    In an instant, he was in front of me, and that fire was snuffed out. His presence was overwhelming, even though he was shorter than I was. His eyes shone with colors that brilliantly writhed with a rainbow, and his face was striking and beautiful. His smile was disarming, though I knew in my bones the true evil behind it. He laughed, seemingly at me and my panicked, frozen state, unable to run or react. He placed a hand on my shoulder, and raised his other, a small light forming in his palm.


    ¡°I can think of something else to take.¡±

 Nineteen - Fluorescent Adolescent (Arctic Monkeys)

    I had always felt like there were pieces of me that were either broken or missing, pieces that everyone else seemed to have. Imagine if you will a pane of glass between yourself and the world, that everyone has to see through. Most people¡¯s panes of glass are clear and pristine; they see the world as it is, and the information they receive through it is unaltered, and their interpretations of it are unaffected. In this same room is a mirror; most people¡¯s mirror¡¯s are precise and complete, and when they see themselves, they see an unaltered, accurate depiction of themselves as they are. In my room, the glass is warped and dyed, and everything I see in the world is dark and sorrowful as a result. When I see myself in my broken mirror, it sickens me, and I feel like there is nothing there worth looking at, let alone worth loving.


    But Silaqui said she liked me. This person, whose opinion I held so highly, who had taken the mirror in me and begun to fix it slightly, who had taken my pane of glass and chiseled it slowly into something beautiful, said that they cared for me. Was something like that even possible? Was I allowed to be this happy? I left the diner, and began my journey home with my head abuzz, my many depressive and anxious egos wrestling with this newfound love. I thought of Aera, and felt a pang of guilt that I had left her to fend for herself; but that pang went away, replaced with the comfort of Silaqui¡¯s words and assurances. I knew this was the right path, and I knew I was walking it. I had never felt more sure and at peace with this fact than ever before. I may not be able to save cities, but I was going to be a Champion of Silaqui, and that would begin tonight.


    As I made my way through city streets, I listened closely for the sounds of distress, a cry for help; when there was none, I went to my apartment and opened the window, hoping to get a better vantage point. Realizing that simply listening for trouble was probably not the way to do things, I sat down and tried to think of other ways to find people to save. I thought of comic books, where people use police scanners; but I wanted to get to the crimes before they had even been reported. There has to be a better way, I thought to myself as I sat below my open window. I closed my eyes, trying desperately to think of ways to help people, when suddenly, I felt something within my stomach pulse. I recoiled at the feeling, snapping my attention back to the room; what had just happened? It felt¡­ Like one might feel when they are hungry, and they see their favorite food just sitting in front of them. It was only for a moment, but it was ravenous and uncomfortable.


    Every instinct told me to never access that again, but there was another aspect to that pulse that caught my attention. When it happened, I could sense something else; through walls, I could feel this strange darkness all around me. Maybe if I concentrated, I could pinpoint where stronger sources of Vanta were. I strengthened my resolve, silencing the voice in my head that was begging to run from that experience, and closed my eyes. For a moment, there was only the dark, swirling behind my eyelids with shapes like a Rorschach; but the hunger bit into me deep and hard, like a wolf going in for the kill. It begged to be fed, and I felt ravenous for something more, something savage to consume. When I succumbed to this hunger, I felt it, a point to the southeast of me, where Vanta was gathered in a large quantity, about 13 blocks away. The last thing I saw before I opened my eyes was the Rorschach shift into a crooked smile.


    I collapsed onto my side in a sweat, panting heavily. I was back in my room again, but everything felt foreign, as if I had been away for months. My stomach growled, upset and anxious, and my mind was aflame, but my heart remained steady; I was a Champion, and I was going to remain one, no matter what. I took my time getting onto my feet, before going to the closet and getting the winter outfit I used to obscure my figure and face the other night. I put on my gloves, and left the apartment, heading towards the location I had felt out. The night time streets of New York were statistically unsafe; when Othersiders became prevalent in our realm, gun laws became extremely lax, so that people could have easier ways of protecting themselves. These laws benefitted gangs and outlaws more than the common citizen though, and so crime became more commonplace as time went on; definitely not the quiet and sweet city I remembered walking through with my mother, though maybe that was because she protected me from those things.


    I arrived outside of a nightclub called Liberty and Love; the neon sign depicted a man and a woman inverted from each other in seductive poses. A line entirely composed of humans formed outside the door, with a large human bouncer standing guard at the front. It seemed this place catered only to human-folk, at least, on the outside. I knew of some gangs that operated like that, trying to ¡°cleanse the city and take back what was rightfully theirs.¡± Things like that disgusted me, even when I was a human; every living being in the realms deserved a space at the table, even animals and plants. Humans weren¡¯t special just because we grew up in an isolated box and told ourselves that we were the best for millenia. Sure enough, my elven eyes spotted a tattoo on the wrist of the bounces, an Ace of Hearts; these people were members of the Lonely Hearts Club. I saw a side door past the bouncer, and decided to use some second-story work to make my way past him.


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    I went into an adjacent building¡¯s alleyway, and climbed the fire escape to their roof. Looking down at the club, it was about three stories drop with no fire escape or purchase to climb down on. I trusted in my new body, and simply jumped onto the roof of the club, over 20 feet in length and 20 feet down, and landed with a nimble roll, no damage sustained. I double checked my legs and feet to make sure I was okay, before I dropped into the alley and slid into the side door. I could hear the deep thump of the bass through the wall as I made my way into the backrooms of the club; the music made detecting heartbeats impossible, so I had to rely on sight and skill for sneaking through this club. I still didn¡¯t even know what I was looking for: somebody to stop, some reason to fight them, something to save, it didn¡¯t matter. But I felt the evil here, and knew something was going to go down.


    I ducked into a supply closet with no one else in it, and closed my eyes again, hoping to get a better sense of where to look. Again, the insatiable appetite for Vanta appeared, so strong I could barely keep standing. I searched the area again; strong sources from the club itself, but the true Vanta, the one I had felt earlier, was below us.


    ¡°Wake up.¡±


    My eyes shot open. I was alone in the supply closet still, music still raging outside. What the fuck was that? I barely had time to register it before I heard the door to the closet begin to open; time moved in slow motion, and I reacted with an animalistic, yet martially-trained efficiency. The man opened the door and walked in nonchalantly, unaware that I was behind the door. With the movement of a viper, I kicked the back of his leg, and heard the sound of a snap as he fell to the floor. Before he could yell, my hands were around his neck, cinching the scream in his throat. The thought flashed through my mind, snap his neck, but I thought of Silaqui and what she would want, and simply squeezed tightly until he passed out instead.


    I closed the door behind me, and stealthed my way closer into the club, making sure to avoid any more altercations until I saw what my target truly was. I didn¡¯t find a staircase anywhere, which was surprising, but as I felt around the manager¡¯s office, I found a false door guarding a path down. As I made my way down into the hidden cellar, the first thing I noticed was the smell; a perfumed scent, like one of the plants in Silaqui¡¯s apothecary. A pink light shone as if refracted by water, a light show deceptively beautiful for the sinister activity that happened within. I made my way into the large den, and saw a dozen water-filled tanks with beautiful women, presumably sirens, hooked up to IVs and tubes. I felt sick to my stomach as I saw these poor Folk being bled dry, with tables of humans refining their blood into some kind of liquid. In another spot, people were using this liquid as ear drops, and sitting there, drugged out of their minds.


    I looked at all of these people, and I felt an illness begin to fester in my bones, an illness of humanity and greed that ignited and became a sincere and honest bloodlust and rage. No more hiding. I walked down the stairs into the den, and punched the wall, shattering the brick with my fist. Suddenly, all their eyes were on me, and I stared right back. I started breathing quickly, the moment suddenly setting in; there were at least 20 of them standing up to attention, looking ready to fight me, and I counted at least ten more upstairs. But my heart was pounding, and for some reason, I couldn¡¯t help but smile; this is what it meant to be a Champion.


    The first five rushed me at once, their knives brandished, and they might as well have been children. One took a stab at my chest, and suddenly, their knife was in their own neck. Two and three tried to restrain me to make things easier, grasping for my arms. Before they could get a firm grip, I punched two in the neck, snapping his spine, before breaking three¡¯s arm and punching him full-force in the chest, most likely crushing his ribs. I didn¡¯t care that they were dying from this; in fact, after seeing the brutality they inflicted on these sirens, I wanted them to. Four and five, fearing for their lives, just slashed wildly at me; I took four¡¯s knife, a large Bowie knife, and severed her arm with it, before embedding it in five¡¯s skull.


    Suddenly, the sound of gunfire erupted, as the other offenders joined in. I got tagged by two rounds before I took cover, but it didn¡¯t hurt nearly as bad as I thought it should have. When I went to inspect the wound, the bullets were embedded in the skin. I pulled them out of me, and watched as the wounds began to stitch themselves closed. I really wasn¡¯t human anymore was I? I laughed at how fortunate I was to meet Silaqui, to know how to fight as well as I do¡­ In that moment, being fired on, people rushing down the stairs to kill me, I realized that if I hadn¡¯t suffered the way I had suffered, then I wouldn¡¯t be the me I am now. And I felt joy from the bottom of my heart.

 Twenty - Even (Julien Baker)

    I decided that now was the time to put the full power of this body to the test. I allowed my mind to sink into the deepest state of deceleration it could, and suddenly, constant fire turned into one bullet every three seconds. I moved my hands; I could still move normally, a testament to the speed of my form. I took a deep breath, and ran from cover, picking up a knife from one of my earlier assailants. As I weaved through bullets making my way to my assailants, I felt elegant and free, like a dancer on a stage, performing a beautiful ballet for an adoring audience. When I would reach an assailant, I would slash their throat, the blade cutting through like butter with the strength I put behind it. I continued my way through them, testing my limits: I got a little faster, a little stronger, and in the last swing, I severed the head of the gunman completely, without using the knife.


    The other gang members came down the stairs, followed by the big bouncer and a woman in a luxurious suit. She had blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, and a strong jawline with broad shoulders. Her build was lean, but I could tell she was strong and fierce, and judging from the other¡¯s deference to her, I reasoned she was the leader here.


    ¡°Why are you causing a ruckus in my establishment?¡± she said, her tone incredulous. I laughed at her question; down here, the bass was muffled enough that I could hear her rabbit heart beating. She was afraid of me; hell, with all the adrenaline pumping through me, this werewolf heart threatening to burst out of my chest, I was afraid of myself. But I still felt this power, this joy; maybe that made me an evil person, but it was me or them right now, and I didn¡¯t care anymore.


    ¡°I am here because I could smell your sin from miles away. And I will end you.¡± I pulled down my scarf and showed my face, the sadistic grin underneath now plain to see. I looked down at the guns on the ground, and thought of how easily I could end this if I used them. But there was an animal in me, screaming, and I needed to satiate it. So I ran towards them, as fast as I could, and they couldn¡¯t even draw their guns in time. As I slaughtered the henchmen, I thought of what Silaqui said about the man in the alley, how fighting normal humans was like fighting children. Should I feel guilty about what I was doing to them? I reached the bouncer, and hesitated for a moment; he responded by stabbing me in the chest. The knife pierced deep into me, his strength much more than that of the average human. I cried out in pain, staggering back down the stairs, before yanking the knife from my chest.


    ¡°Eat.¡±


    I took my glove off, and swung past the bouncer, before grasping the neck of the blonde-haired leader. Suddenly, I was in the void, watching her memories. She was a murderer, arsonist, kidnapper, she hooked people on drugs to control them with a vice, she pimped out people who were desperate for money. I saw their mortified expressions, and felt the satisfaction in her heart as she dominated these people, taking everything they had just to elevate herself a little more. I drank these Vantas, feeling them enter my bloodstream, and I felt my body bursting with power, far more than what I had received from the man in the office. I snapped back to the room, releasing the woman, watching her crumple into a sobbing heap on the floor. The bouncer tried to grasp for me, but without looking, I twisted his arm, causing two compound fractures in his forearm and shoulder.


    I turned around, and looked at the carnage I had wrought, the blood I had spilled. Several people were still in the room; they were noncombatants, drug addicts or drug mixers who were whimpering and crying in corners, scared for their lives. I rejoiced at their misery; they deserved to be scared. They were just as guilty, and there was only one man stopping me from tearing them apart too. The bouncer went to strike me again with his good arm, a last desperate attempt at life. I raised a hand, and he burst into a black flame, screaming in agony as he tumbled down the stairs. I watched him roll around, but the flames were unquenchable, and he lay still after a moment. I began to walk down the steps towards the people, cowering, when a voice stopped me in my tracks.


    ¡°What have I done?¡± the woman shouted over and over, looking at the madness of her creation. Was she truly regretful? My sadism gave way to my curiosity, this power still new and foreign, and so I put the glove back on my hand, walked back up to her, and grabbed her face, pointing it up at me.


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    ¡°What have you done? And what will you do to fix it?¡± I asked, the growl in my voice feral and fierce.


    ¡°I¡¯ve hurt people,¡± she said, tears flowing down her cheeks. ¡°I¡¯ve done nothing for the last decade but hurt people and Folk. And I want to atone. I''ll call the police. I''ll tell them everything. Please, give me a chance. You can kill me later if you want, I deserve it, but please, these people deserve justice.¡± There was an authenticity to her voice, a sincerity that I knew was unmistakably true. Suddenly, the bestial desire for blood and fire began to quiet in me, as I saw what my power could truly be. It would take time, and I wouldn''t stop bombs, but I could be Silaqui¡®s Champion.


    ¡°Call the police, and tell them everything you know. I won''t come for you if you do, but you will go to prison. That is how you will atone. You can talk of me if you wish. But do not describe me, please,¡± I requested. She nodded in response; I wasn''t sure if she would keep her word, but the positives of her confession outweighed the negatives of being outed in my mind, and so I simply let it be. As I walked away, she immediately pulled out her phone, and dialed 911.


    I stopped in the alley outside of the club, a storm in my head. Deep sin ran through my veins, and trouble tormented my mind. This Vanta I had consumed, it whispered sweet desire into my heart, temptations so inviting that I couldn¡¯t help but indulge. I felt so hungry, an insatiable appetite that I knew could only be filled by more Vanta. Even though I was ready this time, and I was willing to consume her Vanta, the feelings I had were abysmal. I felt amazing power, but an incredible urge to run rampant and do everything my heart desired. Right now, I wanted to run free in the night, test my limits more, hurt more people, but I knew better; Silaqui would tell me to rest and wait for it to clear my system. Silaqui, even when she wasn¡¯t with me, will be what saves me tonight.


    I made my way home, putting my full disguise back on, aware that I looked terrifying in my powered state. As I walked, I thought about the bouncer, and how I lit him on fire without even thinking about it, those strange black flames that didn¡¯t go out. Silaqui told me I was capable of magic, but I thought magic required incantations; I wasn¡¯t aware you could do magic innately. Maybe this was a skill I could hone, so I could control it without having to consume Vanta. As I walked up the stairs to my apartment, I could feel things begin to tranquilize within me; maybe Vanta wasn¡¯t as bad as I thought. But then I remembered what I did before the Vanta, how many people I killed, how it felt to slice through flesh like butter, to snap bone like twig, and how much I truly enjoyed it. Maybe the Vanta wasn¡¯t the problem; maybe the problem was me.


    I sat on my couch and watched one of my grandfather¡¯s recommended movies. As I saw the samurai fight each other in black and white, battling for their lives, I wondered if the people living in those times felt the same thrill that I felt against all of those people tonight. I thought of the smile on Dae-su Oh¡¯s face after he beat all those men in that hallway, knowing he conquered them, that he was better. This was why I trained so hard as a human, to be strong enough to never lose anything I didn¡¯t want to lose. But I must¡¯ve turned into a monster somewhere along the way, a sadist that took joy in hurting others. I shamed Joon-hu with violence, hurting him when I could¡¯ve made a friend. But I remembered something in that moment, a memory I had blocked away for a long time.


    Aera and I were sitting in my room, kissing, when she wanted to take things further. That day I had a harsh realization about how masculine I had become, so I tried to shy away, saying that I was tired from Tae-Kwon-Do. She kept insisting, and insisting, and before long, the insisting turned to begging. She told me she needed me, that it was painful for her, that if I didn¡¯t it meant I didn¡¯t love her. I said no stil, as my body felt like a used dish ragl; these were things she said to me often, and I had grown accustomed to being bombarded with coercions. But then she took an Exacto-knife out from my desk, and pulled up my sleeve. When I asked her what she was doing, she responded by cutting me quick and deep, a small flow of blood streaming down my arm.


    ¡°Now you know how I feel,¡± she said, a smile on her face.


    My thoughts returned to the room, only moments later, and tears were in my eyes. What had I become?