A Self-Study Within A Broken Mind

I came back on the last Monday before Christmas. It was going to be a short week at work, but I was sure it would be as difficult as always around this time of the year. Countless people wanted to take time off, leaving the work in less experienced hands. I entered the library at the main large room, with my shimmering green clothing already on. Fyntn appeared from a portal at the top of the stairs as if to urge me to come up. When I did not, he walked through and arrived next to me at another portal. “Hey, Fyntn,” I said. “Think we have a chance today?” “Even if not today, are you going to stop trying?” “No, you’re right,” I said, nodding. “Doesn’t matter how long it takes. Even if I can’t get them back together until next year. I’ll try until I can bring them back.” Fyntn said nothing more, only created a portal into a darkness that opened up to the three beds crowded in the conjoined room upstairs. We stepped through as the back of one claw smoothed the air to patch the portal small...

My fire was always considered the odd one out. My mom pretended to like the fact that it looked like a rainbow, but Dad and my brothers were never that good at lying. It was unique, unheard of even, but in their eyes only weird. My mom’s fire was lime green, like the shadow mages and their minions. She had good standing in their circles because of this fact, expanding relations with a powerful force. Dad’s fire was the classic orange-red. He was very common among firemongers, and the fact that Mom ever gave him the time of day was a miracle. His classical nature made instant pals with the other clans who kept up their orange-red fire circles. My elder brother Henry’s fire was a gentle orange, like that of twilight just past the sunset, lingering from blue sky to the gentlest orange horizon. I always loved that about his fire. He was artistic, putting shows on for our family and clans. This gathered a lot of interest from girls. He could be so sweet one moment, and very mean the next. T...

How does one describe the fears of all who reside in the light? Do you not call it darkness? If that is your answer, then I am the entity you call darkness, alive somehow. I know not myself how I survive, but I see, I smell, I feel, I hear, and I taste, just as you do. The cold does not bother me, while you, it kills. That is why you light fires, while I cling to the shadows. You're weak. I'm strong. You tell stories of me, such horrible nightmarish tales, but I cannot say they are untrue. Your fellow humans look to the dark as a thrill, and it is from there where I strike. They scream and cry, but in the end all is silent. This is not about survival. The dark is my domain, my home, I defend it. There is another name that humans call me, a name devised by them of no understandable origin, but I enjoy it. I am a Garavand. I listen to them, to you, humans. The shadows hug me, hide me. So many stories of you are created right before me. I watch the darkness within these humans ...