#self-para.

oi , what the feck is goin’ on ‘ere ? ye takin’ da piss er summit , lort ? as a PROUD , purebred irishman there was no way on god’s green earth that he was drunk enough to be sick already , something wasn’t right here. it was RARE he got nauseated or vomited at all from drink , much less from two and a half glasses of whiskey. regardless , the werewolf had found his way outside for some fresh air and to distance himself from the bash’s UNRELENTING cacophony when the gang of green monkey goons decided to crash the party. in all honesty , bryce is just about the last person you would want to recap the ATTACK on the event seeing as he wasn’t really one hundred percent sure what was real or not that evening. 

BEHIND THE BOATHOUSE — I’LL SHOW YOU MY DARK SECRET

it was all just a big BLUR for the poor disoriented man. even after the green monkeys are gone and the silence is almost deafening as it settles over the once thrumming halloween festivities and destruction , bryce is WOOZY . the detectives voice was a sudden beacon of clarity in his fog , his instructions giving him some sort of direction and a familiar face to keep him tethered to REALITY — for a time , at least. the two found their way into the nearest thicket of trees searching by flickering flashlights and cellphone lights for any sign of the lost girl even with his vision FADING in and out , he refused to give up on any child. 

YOUR BLUSHING BRIDE — MY LOVER , BE MY LOVER , YEAH

how much time actually passed he had no idea , could have been minutes or hours but time almost felt dilated. his heart felt like it was beating EXTREMELY slow yet far too fast all at the same time , head swimming as he tried to fight off a steady onslaught of dizzy spells. the irishman tried his best to TRAIL a few steps behind eden at all times , but it didn’t take very long for at all for them to get separated. bryce heard a young girl’s giggle from somewhere behind him causing him to turn around abruptly , squinting hard into the DARKNESS as the dim yellow light of his flashlight flits between the trees , “ there ! “ he saw her , a little girl DISAPPEARING behind a large tree , “ edy ? oi , didja’. . . see that ?? i. . i’ll be back. . in a jiff. “ did he say it loud enough ? did he say it out loud at all ? was she too far away at this point ? he didn’t even know if his companion was AWARE he had stopped moving with her , that he had seen something.

DON’T BE AFRAID — I DIDN’T MEAN TO SCARE YOU —  SO HELP ME JESUS

before he knew it he was chasing after not only what he thought was the MISSING girl , but he was certain there was a woman also flitting between the trees goading him to follow them further into the dark throng of thick LOOMING trunks. there was something setting off warnings against the many dangers of following phantoms into the EERIE woods of pleasance , but he was in a trance or near to as he stumbled unsteadily over brush and tree limb. stickers and sharp thorns tear at his face as he crashes headlong through the dense vegetation after the PHANTOM BRIDE herself , savannah long since forgotten now. 

I CAN PROMISE YOU — YOU WILL STAY AS BEAUTIFUL — FOREVER

her voice , he could hear her voice so clearly for once ! it was a SWEET , entrancing siren’s song that was luring the dazed man unknowingly towards the black maw that was the deep depths of northwood lake. there might be something to the inherent FEAR of water some people have , it’s dangerous if you let it lull you into a false sense of security and you forget it’s SNEAKING strength. northwood lake was less a body of water to bryce winslow ,  he always viewed it as something more akin to the town’s stomach and right now especially it  was a big , black , starving , empty pit ready to DEVOUR him. 

MAKE UP YOUR MIND — & I’LL PROMISE YOU — I WILL TREAT YOU WELL

you would think that even if someone was sleepwalking that stepping into the frigid black waters of northwood lake would be enough to JOLT them wide awake , but bryce was none the wiser to the fact that he was striding into freezing water as if it was a warm summer day at the beach. the PROBLEM was he was experiencing something completely different to what eden moore witnessed when she finally broke through the treeline to see him collapsing into the lake’s inky black EMBRACE. it was edith , edith alby , he didn’t know how or why he knew but the irishman was positive it was the specter bride herself begging him to come into the DANGEROUS waters and ultimately to her. 

MY SWEET ANGEL — SO HELP ME JESUS 

bryce was nearly up to his waist in ice cold lake water when he finally grew close enough to get a good look at the bridal GHOST , her face was covered by her veil and as soon as he reached out to pull back her veil she lunged at him causing him to fall backwards into the waters MURKY depths. if eden hadn’t submerged from the woods when she had and reached him in time , he very well might not have made it at all. even still , he has no idea why he was so ill and DISORIENTED during the attack or if he saw the little girl or edith alby at all. everyone keeps suggesting sleepwalking , he’s starting to accept it since he had respect enough for northwood lake and the PARANORMAL activity in pleasance to know better than to ever enter the lake especially after dark.  

GIVE IT UP TO ME — DO YOU WANNA BE — MY ANGEL ? BE MY ANGEL — BE MY ANGEL — DO YOU WANNA DIE ?

—

a silence had settled over the house and a young angel crept up the stairs of his home, careful to avoid the spots he knew would CREAK beneath his weight. he approached the room at the end of the hallway, a burning curiosity beneath copper hues. he was cautious as he stepped one foot over the threshold, laying it slowly against the floorboards on the other side, as if he’d broken through an invisible barrier. he stood in silence once both feet lay flat against the hardwood, on the other side of the door, listening, waiting. with the closet door in sight, he stepped carefully towards it, avoiding faulty floorboards, moving in silence. he knelt down in front of the door, opening it slowly and WINCING when it groaned just barely, it’s frame worn with time. but he was SAFE because he could hear the monster sleeping, only a floor below.

with agile fingers, he reached out for one of the leather-bound sketch books, lying in darkness at the back of the closet. he wiped the dust from it’s surface. the book fell open to one of the first pages, a LAMB, drawn with oil pastels, drawn of naivety, of love. his mother had been an artist— and perhaps, she still was. was an artist still an artist after they had stopped creating? he turned the pages, works of art filling every page, filled with passion, with happiness, and above all, love, always love. that is, until he reached the center of the book.

the date was later than all of the others, the drawing in charcoal, drained of colour. the image, a warped version of his mother and father. she wore her wedding dress, but it was torn at the edges, his father not his father but his body with a monster’s face— a monster wearing a suit, vowing his love to her, offering the heart he does not have. his mother was drawn without a face, no expression to be read. his heart was beginning to pound in his chest. angel turned the pages, watching the twisted depictions of his mother’s nightmares unfold before him. the drawings becoming more erratic and disorderly as he went.

he stopped to stare at a particular page, a LAMB, like the one before, drawn in the jaws of a lion. he knew, almost immediately, his heart sinking in his chest. even if he wouldn’t admit it at first, he knew that the lamb was his mother and the lion, his father. he sat on the floorboards, drinking in the sight before suddenly starting to flip the pages with abandon, the drawings morphing with each page, becoming more and more frantic until they were nothing more than SCRATCHES of charcoal on torn pages. he slammed the book shut, and that’s when he realized he could no longer hear the monster’s sounds of sleep ringing through the house.

the silence hung, eerily. he had been distracted. how naive. he knew better than this, but curious had tempted, had pulled him to the secrets hidden in the shadows. he had been unable to resist, like a moth drawn to a flame. however, he did not feel satiated now. he felt sorrow, he felt FEAR. his heart felt as though it may beat from his chest, pulsing like a drum in his ears. he broke free of his statuesque position, moving as silent as he was able to place the book back where it belonged. then, the floor creaked beneath his knee.

heavy footsteps quickly began to make their way up the stairs and angel abandoned his mission of silence, moving back from the closet door and quickly shutting it, sure that he was heard, sure that he would be punished. his back had fallen against closet door as it fell shut and he stood facing the monster in the doorway. the monster’s face was already twisted with anger, not even fully aware of the situation but prepared to strike. ❝what were you doing, boy?❞ the monster growled, his voice low, reverberating. angel imagined smoke falling from the monster’s mouth, streaming from his nostrils as he spoke. he saw rows of sharp teeth behind a devilish curl of the lips, eyes that glowed red and talons that would dig into his skin. 

❝answer me,❞ the monster demanded, causing angel to flinch, having realized his own silence, lingering for too long. unacceptably long. his lips parted but he struggled to form the words, the imaginary timer ticking. and then, he felt brave. ❝why won’t you let mom draw anymore?❞ he asked, moving from his spot against the closet door, approaching the monster, slow in movement. ❝drawing doesn’t pay the bills, boy. you should understand that,❞ the monster tells him, stepping towards the boy, his son. ❝you should also understand that you are NOT allowed in this room, or to look through our things!❞ he states, anger in his voice as he grabs angel by the arm with a bruising grip, dragging him from the room and into the hallway. angel fought against his grip, the talons digging into his skin, begging his father— begging the monster to let go. 

Ocurre rápido, apenas unos segundos, pero las emociones que experimenta poseen una claridad divina, no el tipo de realidad falsa de un sueño, sino el tipo de crudeza que llega con un recuerdo. Se encuentra de pie, con manos fuertes y tan conocidas como las propias verificando por última vez las correas posteriores de aquella armadura que no le pertenece, pero que porta como si lo hiciera. Alivio (lágrimas de frustración ya se habían secado en sus mejillas cuando él aceptó su ofrecimiento, el de un plan que no puede fallar, que va a mantener vivos a los que quedan). Determinación (sabe exactamente qué hacer, hasta dónde tiene que llegar para que el impacto sea tal que la victoria se asegure, para mantener intacto el honor ajeno, tan preciado; y casi arrogante se sabe hábil, sabe que volverá). Esperanza (porque todo va a terminar, es él mismo quien lo va a terminar, aquellos diez años de una guerra estúpida, provocada por una razón aún más estúpida van a quedar atrás, y se abre la puerta de eterna y prometida felicidad). 

Levanta la mirada de su brazal apenas termina el último ajuste, la necesidad de verle antes de partir casi dolorosa, pero las facciones que ansía tocar se difuminan junto con todo a su alrededor en un torbellino de colores y una pesadez que aloja en su estómago. 

el spring break es uno de los momentos favoritos del año para hazel. este año, como siempre que tiene tiempo libre, buscó excusas para no estar en su casa casi todos los días. a sus padres, mientras fuera discreta, parecía no importarles. a veces creía que ni siquiera se daban cuenta cuando se iba por tres días completos.

en cuanto a sus oídos llegó la noticia de que habría un campamento en la playa, puso los ojos en blanco. “¿campamento? ¿acaso tenemos doce años?” se quejó con su hermana, entre risas. al final, decidió asistir. claro, ella siempre asistía a los eventos en willow creek. ¿había alcohol y chicos? ¡cuenten con hazel!

su atuendo consistió en un bikini color naranja neón, bastante llamativo, y para cubrirse, una camiseta oversized rosa que le llegaba a las rodillas y un sobrero café. 

en la fogata, hazel decidió marcharse pues los mosquitos la molestaban y, a decir verdad, no encontraba la gracia en sentarse a cantar canciones y asar bombones, encima ensuciándote con arena. “de ninguna manera” concluyó al tiempo que su mirada percibió algo que le gustó bastante: sebastián, el joven atractivo al que llevaba unos días queriendo encontrarse. se dirigó a él y sin perder más tiempo, decidió convertirlo en su conquista de la noche; lejos de la multitud, coqueteó con él por unos treinta minutos. no tardó en aburrirse del mismo, así que se levantó con la excusa de ir a buscar a su hermana, le dio un pequeño beso en los labios y se fue. 

para su suerte, la bendita fogata ya había acabado para entonces. meditando qué sería lo siguiente que haría, se dirigió hacia un stand de cervezas con una leyenda “paga $10, bebe todo”. bastante interesante, si le preguntas. “yo me apunto” le dijo a la joven que atendía, quien pronto le hizo saber que necesitaría un contrincante, quien ganara tendría un premio. hazel, déspota como suele ser, no tardó en localizar a penélope, la rubiecilla a la que le tomaba dos minutos sacarla de quicio. la retó, y ésta por naturaleza, aceptó. a pesar de sus mejores esfuerzos, después de cinco vasos de una cerveza que evidentemente había sido rebajada con agua, se encontraba totalmente asqueada. se rindió y la victoria fue para la otra. “uf, ahora la princesita nunca va a dejar de recordarme esto” se lamentó para sus adentros. 

el lado positivo de esto, fue que se encontró con emilia, aquella castaña con quien tantas fiestas y tragos compartió ese mismo spring break. para este punto no podía negarlo, se encontraba borracha. “¿ya te ligaste a alguien hoy?” cuestionó a su amiga, carcajeando al tiempo que movía su cuerpo al ritmo de la música que salía de unas bocinas. “deberíamos encontrar a alguien a quien ligarnos” propuso, no tuvieron mucha suerte y terminó por rendirse. eventualmente, perdió de vista a la joven.

"Mama," her son would asked her with a smile, "Do you think I'll get to play with the other kids soon? I hope they like me."

Amber was only eighteen when she gave birth to her son, Jayden. His father pulled the disappearing act almost as quickly as he came;  Amber hadn't expected much from him, not after he lied about being 'safe'. The fault was hers but the presence of her son in her life was far greater than the resentment she harbored for the man that disappeared. Her son was the reason the woman focused on genetics.

The work of a single mother was far more than she could have expected. Between classes, theories and disserations, experiments and failures, the woman would sit up with her son and tell him stories of heroes that came from Ceres. She would encourage him to be who he was and expand himself - there were so many people in the world outside that said 'No' to her son even before he got the chance to ask a question. Mutants were discriminated against through paranoia and cowardice - humans always recoiled from anything their mind couldn't handle.

But not Amber.

She would smile at her son. Her fingers would brush away his bangs as she reassured him, "Baby, they are going to love you. You're going to have so much fun, I promise."

Originally, the woman was against sending her son to daycare but she had been offered a job a Hyrian's Home and they offered it to her for free. How could she not accept? She could see her son while she worked. Wasn't that what mothers wanted?

At the time, Hyrian's Home hadn't earned it reputation. Not yet. During this run, Hyrian's Home was established as a home to help mutants and other powered beings learn to control their powers and abilities; it claimed to be a safe haven for all. Fresh out of college and her focus on genetics, it made sense that Amber would have been scouted by Hyrian's Home - "We want to get a better understanding of the mutant gene," they had told her, "We want to become better equipped to handle their abilities, their mutations. We want to be able to help them when they are in need of help."  Words were believable when the right person said them.

The woman's lab had been kept away from their 'students'. She came through a separate entranced, greeted by a different staff and the moment she entered, they ushered her son to away.  Every time, Amber would hug her boy - "Mama loves you, baby. I'll see you in a few hours. Have fun." - and she wouldn't see him until it was time for her to clock out.  At first, she would ask to see him but as time went on and she furthered herself into her work, she never caught the break to see her son.  

God, did she wish for the work hours to end.

Her work was solely focused on the ability alter DNA. The scientist thought it was a strange request - why would a home focused on helpin gmutants want to focus on genetic modification?  She would work hours on combining DNA and then separating it. At one point, she had gotten close to removing the strands of the mutant gene but ultimately, the DNA proved to volatile - it ended in failure and the moment it happened, the truth of Hyrian's Home became clear to her.

No one was in the lab at that time. There had been an incident that required Hyrian's Home to dedicate a majority of her staff to handling - something about a vigilante mutant hunting them? She wasn't sure. Left unattended, the woman headed beyond her lab and as she stepped into the forbidden areas of Hyrian's Home ...its horrors were finally revealed to her.

The studies she had been told were to help mutants were being used on the children this home was supposed to care for. All of those studies were theories and yet, as she walked through the cells, these children were being tested upon. Her heart raced but ultimately dropped as she walked further. 

These were young children, someone's baby and then ...her own.

"No," the word barely came out her as she touched the clipboard, 'Jayden Rhee, age three. Mutant. Volatile. Abilities: Multiple. Status: Deceased.' "No, no, no, no."

Amber ran into the cell and fell to her knees where her son had laid. Cold, unmoving, taken before he even got a chance to live. She ripped the IV out of his arm, removed the tubes that had been forced into him. Her fingers brushed against his cheek - bloodied, bruised and too tender for a child of only three years. Her breathing ran rapid, racing as she tried to figure out what happened - why? Why? Why? They were supposed to take care of him, to help him gain control.

"Jayden, I'm so sorry,"  she cried out as tears fell. The only warmth that came from her son were the tears that she shed. Amber stayed, holding her son and apologizing for not helping him earlier. "I'm so sorry, baby boy. I'm so sorry."

The woman hadn't noticed the passing of time until a guard from Hyrian's Home came to collect her - her work wasn't complete and they needed her to finish. Gently, she laid her son on the ground. She removed her lab coat and covered him. The woman forced herself to walk up to the guard. She stood in front of him, reached for his gun and in a swift movement, pulled the trigger with the gun aimed at the guard.  She returned to where her son was and picked up him up.  As she walked through the halls of Hyrian's Home, she shot at every guard who attempted to stop her - "Consider this my immediate resignation," she announced and left her work undone. 

She vowed to never let it be completed.

The days after were the hardest. 

Amber planned a funeral but couldn’t bring herself to bury her son. He was too young to have his life ended. The guilt that ate away at her began to destroy her; it ate away at her heart and with each memory of her son, it let her heart break. Grief was an awful motivator, especially for a scientist.

In the past, there were scientists who studied alchemy. 

Desperate to revive her son, Amber had thrown herself into studying alchemy. It was the scientific technique of understanding structure, decomposing it and then reconstructing it - in theory, it made sense: The Principle of Equivalent Exchange - only one thing can be created from something of a certain mass. In standard practice, The Principle of Equivalent Exchange can be divided into two parts: The Law of Conservation of Mass, which states that energy and matter cannot be created from nothing but at the same time, cannot be destroyed, and The Law of Natural Providence, which states that any object can only be trans-mutated into something with the same properties.

With this study in mind, Amber attempted to resurrect her son.

She drew the transmutation circle, etched into the ground with her own blood before she gently put her son in the center. It required energy and through the years, the woman had gathered energy from other entities: humans, mutants, mythical creatures from this world and the next. In that moment, she set them around the circle.

“Mama loves you, Jayden,” she said before she began the ritual. 

Resurrection through Alchemy never worked. In theory, it made sense but the practical attempt to bring back the dead never worked - the human soul could not return if it passed over.

As the ritual reached its end and the brightness of the energy faded, Jayden’s body stayed frozen and Amber lost her breath as she fell to the ground. Why didn’t it work? What happened? Why? All she wanted was the return of her son.

“Fuck,” she shouted. Amber hated crying but the woman had no choice. She couldn’t hold back as the weight of her failures fell upon her. She buried her face into her hands as she gasped through her sobs - what was the point of being a scientist when she couldn’t even help her son? “God fucking damn it.”

“Mama,” the voice was small, raspy and tired. “Mama loves me.”

Amber looked up through tear struck eyes. The boy still laid where she had left him but the sound came from him - she was sure of it.

“Mama loves me,” it repeated as it sat up slowly.

It wasn’t Jayden.

The different energies she had gathered from across the planets merged into her son’s body. He wasn’t human anymore, he took on the mixed form of the creatures she had culled energy from. Her son wasn’t a monster, not until she turned him into one.

“Yes, Jayden,” Amber forced herself to smile as she stood up from where she fell. Her movements were slow as she reached for her desk. “Mama loves you, baby,” she said as she opened the drawer to pull out a gun. She aimed the weapon at this creature, “Mama loves you so much, Jayden. Mama will always loves you.”

“Yes, mama loves me,” the creature repeated with a smile that mirrored her son’s, “Mama loves me so much.”

Through tears, Amber pulled the triggered.

“Mama loves you, Jayden. Forever.”