#;pjo

The clouds of her breath hung in the air as she pulled the frayed edges of her coat closer. It was too small for her, the hem of the sleeves came to rest at the middle of her forearms, but it was sufficient enough. The numbing cold of the pavement seeped through the thing souls of her shoes. She had stuffed her hair into the collar of her jacket (despite how uncomfortable of a feeling it was) to act as a scarf. The holes in her jeans had been covered with duct tape. It wasn’t the most fashion forward style of dress, but it was the only one she could afford. Her last attempt at stealing a new wardrobe had gone horribly wrong and she was stuck with the tatters she was wearing.

She wished for the serenity that came with the countryside. The quietness that came from being miles away from the hustle and bustle of the city, the peace that could only be found in the secluded green hills lined by rising mountains on the horizon. It would nothing like the country of her homeland - she couldn’t think of a place on Earth that would as beautiful and breathtaking as the rolling hills of the Irish country, but it would have been close enough. She was used to the chaos of the city, but even Dublin was nothing compared to the concrete jungle of Manhattan.

Sleep was always difficult to find. Even after spending two years in the city, she still couldn’t force herself to block out the constant noise. She heard every wail of the sirens, every horn honking, and every shout. The city never slept. And neither did she, it seemed. But the noise of wasn’t the only thing that kept her awake. It wasn’t that she couldn’t sleep, not exactly. It was that when she did sleep, she was bombarded by nightmares so vivid they seemed like reality.

While the events varied, they struck to the same theme - destruction. Fire was always present, angry raging fire that swept across her vision, burning anything it came into contact with; metal, cement, glass - everything turned to ash in its embrace. The earth always moved. It trembled and shook, much like that of an earthquake. Buildings would crumble. The ground would split. The oceans would churn with anger as their waves mercilessly beat at the land. And there was always a woman.

It wasn’t the catastrophe that scared her. It was the woman. She always looked the same; hair as black as soaked peat and a face as pale as sand. She never opened her eyes. Her lips were spread in a permanent smile. She looked like she was asleep. And when she spoke, her mouth remained unmoving, but her words were loud and clear. She always spoke of destruction and death - a new world forged from the downfall of the current one.

There were monsters too, though she saw those both in dream and in reality. They roamed the streets of Manhattan, invisible to the city's inhabitants. But they were not invisible to her. She would see them slinking through the allies, gathered around people sitting on benches who threw bread crumbs to the pigeons, walking out of schools and business buildings alike, but no one seemed to notice them whether they had a single eye in the middle of their face, or if they were lumbering reptilian creatures. She never understood how they couldn’t tell monsters had integrated themselves flawlessly into their society.

The monsters always seemed to notice her. Just the other day, she’d been chased halfway across the city by a gang of frenzied bird ladies who’d been perched in the trees of Central Park. It was by sheer luck that she’d lost them. The week before that, she’d been pursued by a girl with a brass leg, who wasn’t thrown off as easily. She’d survived the encounter, but not unscathed. It was by a miracle that the gashes she’d received hadn’t become infected. She’d taken care of it as best she could, but there was no telling just how sanitary her makeshift patchwork had been. It was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened.

She pulled the sleeve of her jacket up and examined the bandage. It was dirty and in need of changing, but she didn’t want to risk rewrapping it with a dirty cloth. The wound was still tender but it was healing, albeit slowly. Her fingers gingerly danced around its length, and she winced when she touched a particularly sore part. Maybe it already was infected; she made a mental note to clean the wound as soon as possible.

Exhaustion worked it’s way into her being. Over the past two years, she had perfected the art of staying awake for days with little sleep, but even she wasn’t immune to basic human needs; her most recent three day streak was beginning to take its toll on her. She found it difficult to focus on any one thing for too long (more so than usual) and she found herself plagued by several ‘out-of-body experiences. It was high time for a nap.

She stumbled through a particularly dark alley in search of a place to lay down. Sleeping on the streets was dangerous, no matter what city, but in such a large city with monsters roaming freely, there was no such thing as a safe place. Each time she took a rest, it was a risk - but it was a risk she had to take. After a few moments of searching, she came across a rusted old dumpster. It was far enough away from the wall to allow her adequate room to lay down and it was large enough to hide her from anyone who found her alley.

With a tired sigh, she plopped down and tucked her arm beneath her to act as a pillow. The dumpster didn’t offer the most pleasant of smells, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She shifted a couple times to get comfortable and closed her eyes. Within minutes she was asleep.

The dream that visited her that night wasn’t like the rest.

She stood in the middle of what looked like a cathedral. Grecian columns lined the outer edges of the aisle. The room was further illuminated by torches, which had been placed at even intervals. In the center of the room, the aisle met with another aisle that ran perpendicular to the first. The intersection was several feet wide on either side. In the center, a dark circle had been laid into the marble. When the sunlight touched it, it seemed to ripple like water. On either side of it, were two moons - one waxing, and the other waning. They were smaller in comparison to the large circle. Mist hung high in the ceiling and rolled around her feet.

At the center of the large circle, which she had deducted to represent the dark side of the moon, stood a woman. Her hair was black night, but it shone like in the torch light. Her face was pale and ageless; she could have easily been twenty-five or fifty. Her eyes were as green as emeralds. She wore a dark chiton with a silver rope that looped around her waist. The outfit itself was simple, but the woman wore it like a million dollar dress.

Her face was neither kind nor rude. She looked impassive yet curious, as if she were taking her into consideration.

“Morgan O’Connor.”

The name echoed through the room. She felt a rush of cool air wash over her. Every fiber of her being was alert. She couldn’t take her eyes off the woman.

“I have seen your future,” the woman said, “and it is one full of toil and hardships. You will stand at the crossroads, not once, but several times. Your choices will define the course of the coming times.”

Morgan blinked. Her words filled her mind. She understood them, just as any person would understand their language, but she could not comprehend the meaning of what she was saying.

“You alone could either tip the scales in favor of either side. The Fates have given you a destiny that is not at all friendly. There will be no ease and peace for you in the near future.”

“What do you mean?” Morgan’s voice sounded strained and unnaturally tiny in the large room.

“I can not say,” the woman replied, “the Fates forbid me from speaking of it, but I can tell you that it will not be easy. I have sent you help. They will escort you to a safe haven, but what comes after that will be forged by your decisions.”

“Who are you?”

The woman’s face remained impassive. “You will know soon enough. Now prove to me that you are worthy, and I may assist you further in the future.”

The mist swirled thickly around her. It enveloped her in it’s embrace, and then she was gone.

Morgan woke to the sound of growling.

Perched at the top of the dumpster was a creature with the face of a man, the body of a lion, and a long scaly tail tipped with a poisonous barb, which swayed back and forth as the creature eyed her. Its fangs were bared. Its feet clinked against the metal in anticipation. Then the creature let out a loud roar and lunged.

Morgan was barely able to roll out of the way. She hit the pavement hard and scaped the palm of her hand on a particularly rough patch of broken brick. There was no time to assess the new wound. The monster padded towards her with a wild grin on his face. His tail flicked dangerously behind him; the dark scales shone eerily in the little light the streets provided. “Nice hiding place,” it said. “It’s a shame I found it.”

Morgan sneered and shoved an erant lock of hair from her face. She reached for her waist where she kept her only weapon. Her fingers closed around the cool hilt of the dagger and she drew it. The blade glowed a pale orange against the dark of night. She held it in front of her and pointed the blade towards him.

“You think you can kill me with that puny weapon?”

“I’ve killed other monsters before.” Morgan snapped.

Despite the ferocity in her tone, her hand shook. The monster stepped towards her. She scrambled back until she felt a wall press into her back. Either side was open for her to run, but whether there was an escape route or not didn’t matter; escape would be useless if she couldn’t outrun the creature.

The monster laughed. “I must admit, you have held out much longer than most of your kind.”

“My kind?” Morgan scowled at the creature. “Is there something wrong with being Irish?”

He continued to laugh. “So you don’t even know what you are, and yet you’ve managed to survive this long?”

She forced aside her confusion. The monster was trying to rile her up, to force her to let her guard down, and she refused to let it happen; she still had the wound from the last time she’d allowed herself to fall for a monster’s trickery.

“Is there a problem with that, buddy?”

“No. It just means you’re more resilient than the rest, but that doesn’t matter. You won’t defeat me.”

The creature jabbed his tail at her. She rolled to the side and the barb sunk into the wall just inches from her face. Morgan scrambled to her feet and darted out of the alley. Something streaked past her ear. A thick spike had embedded itself into the side of a car parked at the curb. Adrenaline sang in her veins as she tore through the streets. People swore and shouted in protest, but she paid them no mind. Their few moments of discomfort meant nothing to her; her life was on the line and she couldn’t be bothered by a few angry New Yorkers.

The monster was much faster than she was. He barreled after her and within seconds, he was right at her heels. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his tail flick once more. Pain exploded in her left calf and she fell. A high keening sound escaped her lips as she rolled over, her vision blurring around the edges. It was unlike anything she’d felt before; nothing but pure agony laced throughout her entire body.

“You won’t die,” the monster said, “but you will suffer until I decide to devour you, though, I’m quite entertained by this display.”

Morgan grit her teeth and seethed. She would not meet her end here. Despite the pain and her blurry vision, she struggled to her feet. Her hands trembled as she held onto her dagger for dear life. She’d spent the past two years fighting off monsters and digging through dumpsters for scraps. She’d survived several dangerous situations; this was not going to be any different. She nearly collapsed when she tried to stand, but she forced down the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake her.

“Your kind really doesn’t know when to give up.”

The creature crouched, ready to lunge.

She took a shaky breath. It was now or never.

It sprang towards her, and in one swift movement, faster than she had ever though she was capable of, she dropped to the ground and slammed the dagger upwards. There was a considerable amount of resistance, but it struck true. The monster gasped.

“Impossible!” he gurgled. “One blow shouldn’t be enough! You insole-”