you were fourteen.
you had rage you didn’t know how to control. you had gotten punched earlier in the day, by some guy with a lot of bravado who ended up in detention with you. you’d been told for the second time that day that your rage needed to be controlled and that violence is never the answer, except maybe it was, because these corn cuties were taking down your whole group of misfits one by one, and it seems like the world was working against you in cosmic ways you didn’t understand. (surely it was an accident. surely you were meant to succeed. right?)
you were fourteen. you were attacked by a corn gremlin, and you laid on the floor as the rest of the detention members also went down.
you were fourteen. you were the first one to die.
you didn’t die alone. you went to orc heaven—your own hell—alone, but you were brought back, and the same kid from earlier who told you violence was never the answer looked at you with disillusioned eyes and confusion. it was your first day.
you were fourteen. it was your first day, and you died.
…
you’re seventeen now.
you’ve got a house that’s a boat that’s not as cool as the van that’s a boat and you’re steering it through a storm that wants you down and a crew of dragons that wants you dead.
you’re not alone. there’s a pilot kid, but he doesn’t matter. there’s the werewolf turned guidance counselor turned best adoptive father to like, half of your party, but he doesn’t matter.
there’s a saint. she matters.
do you remember when we died?
she’s a force to contend with, a godless cleric, the saint of the goddess of mystery, the chosen one of another goddess.
she was fourteen, and it was her first day of school. you didn’t know her then, but you know her now.
i shouldn’t be up here! she cries, blood dripping from her mouth, but she’s got a manic look in her eye.
do you remember when we died?
it might happen again.
..
you were fourteen. she was the first person who showed you kindness. and hours later, you died together.
you’re seventeen. together, you’re heroes.
her clone is pregnant. may cassandra help you all.
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There’s a version of Riz that’s always stuck in limbo, falling off a cliff. There’s a version of Adaine that’s always impaled on the horn of a unicorn, triumphant up until. But they knew who they were. They didn’t lose everything before they’d even begun. If they hadn’t survived, they would have had a legacy and people who mourned who they’d become.
Kristen was fourteen with worshipful eyes and too much hope in good prevailing over everything else. Gorgug was fourteen with rage he couldn’t control and kindness he could control even less.
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or: Kristen and Gorgug died together. They don’t talk about it as much as they should.
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