In a dusty storage room, somewhere in a respectable museum, sat a box. It contained a curious artifact, the purpose of which had never been divined. The fact that it was made of gold and gems had categorized it as art, albeit art that was atypical for the region and timeframe of its creation. Too valuable to dispose of and too abnormal to display, it sat in storage, seeing the light of day only when curious academics unearthed it to marvel at its uniqueness.
It glowed red, fulfilling a part of its purpose.
No one witnessed it siphon the energies from the monster it was built to imprison.
No one witnessed it prepare the next stage of the plan.
No one marveled at the forethought of their ancestors, preparing for every scenario they could imagine.
No one witnessed the counterattack, centuries in the making, build up to its release.
No one had tested the artifact, avoiding possibly triggering Armageddon.
No one had the forethought to anticipate what happened next.
No one had noticed the dislocation in what they thought was a flawless alexandrite sphere.
No one saw the energies expand the dislocation into a submicroscopic crack.
No one felt the rouge pulse of magic it released.
No one realized it wasn’t the first.
Six sisters took note.
(Pas de un)
The fat, white flakes that fluttered down left him practically deaf and blind. A more jarring effect was that they scrubbed the air, stealing every scent that might tell him what was approaching. Still, as much as they hid the world from him, they hid his retreat from the world.
The preceding months had been a cascading series of disasters. Perhaps it was simply one prolonged disaster. Regardless, the effect was the same. His pack was abandoning him. More than half had skulked away without warning or explanation.
There must be a new alpha somewhere, waiting to take him down. He would need to grow his pack, not just to counter the immediate threat, but also to propagate his legacy. His plan was already underway.
Things had not gone entirely as planned. He had merely intended to test the wards as only the parents had been present. His main prize, the little girl, hadn’t even been in the house. She was a strong bitch who was sure to produce healthy litters.
The sun had yet to give up the sky. Still, the change had come.
The storm had hidden the moon's glory. Still, the change had come.
The moon had clearly been waning, with only a sliver glowing. Still, the change had come.
The wolf had stood on four legs where the man had stood on two. Two minds shared one goal.
The two adults had foolishly left the protection of their wards. The blood that painted his muzzle bore mute testament to their error.
The night had not been a total loss. The bitch might be past her prime, but she would keep his nights warm. Besides, she still might bear a litter. As for the dog, it really didn't matter whether he lived or died. Still, the real prize lay out of reach.
The girl child was his real objective. She was rumored to be strong. She had yet to blossom into maturity. She was the perfect candidate.
The element of surprise was gone. She would be vigilant. It wouldn't matter; he would still take her. Now, however, he would have to be patient and pursue his secondary objective in the meantime. The bitch would have a short respite.
He looked skyward and mused. His pack would grow. He would be ready for any challengers. The snow had transformed his world into a mass of white. Why had the change come?
Clotho cried.
(Pas de loup)
The cage was much too small.
There was no room to turn around.
Foul magics reinforced the metals that held him.
They had put him here.
They had snatched up the child.
The child was his friend.
They had made her scream.
When he had come to help, they had been ready.
He had charged with his horn poised for a killing blow.
The blow had never landed.
They had caged him, instead.
They had let the child flee once he had been caged.
The pink monstrosity kept trying to touch him, a touch he would not suffer.
They had brought him far, far away from his child friend.
He was a prisoner.
He wasn’t the only one.
The large one had just returned.
He had returned with a firebird.
A circle of metal, centered on his chest, glowed as he commanded the bird to do his bidding.
The bird had danced around a circle marking the floor, bobbing its head as it went.
Then, the magic of the area grew heavier.
One of them removed the purple cloth it had wrapped around his head and a black smoke poured out.
The smoke, instead of dissipating, rolled into a position inside the circle.
Magic grew even heavier.
Suddenly, six beams of black light leapt from the smoke.
Five went north.
One went forty-two degrees inwards of north and towards yesterday.
The smoke seemed to grow denser.
Evil hung heavily in the air.
Then, the unknown magic came, homing in on the spell already in progress.
It was red.
It rippled through the magic already present.
It shattered the enchantments on his cage.
*Clang!*
It was now their turn to scream.
Dike delighted.
(Pas de cheval)
The phoenix regained his bearings abruptly.
The last thing he remembered was sitting on his perch in the office of his human.
Then, he had heard the song.
The song had been carried on the winds of magic.
Then . . . nothing.
Then, he was here.
There had been snow; now, there was none.
He was outside, and a summoning circle glowed on the ground.
A grotesquely large woman dressed in pink lay not far from him. A red, hoof-shaped welt marred her face.
Just beyond her, a human he recognized from the school huddled in a ball, clutching his stomach.
Most importantly, a huge man hung impaled on the horn of a great unicorn stallion.
The horn had gone through a medallion the man had been wearing, cleared his center of mass, and exited out the back.
There was no life in the man’s eyes.
The unicorn shook the man off its horn and turned deadly eyes upon the woman.
Something was forming in the circle.
Something was solidifying, something evil.
It was time to go!
He was too weak to do much of anything.
He could flee.
He could take the unicorn with him.
He had enough left in him for that.
With a burst of strength, he launched himself onto the back of the equine.
Before calling upon his innate magics, he heard a voice from the circle unknowingly echo the words of another.
“Why am I pink!”
*Fwoosh!*
Atropos agonized.
(Pas de deux)
As she pranced about her backyard, she knew they were pushing their luck. Still, a little excitement went a long way. Their daughter had called to let them know that she was going to a party. With the storm coming, this was the perfect time for a few laps around the yard.
This wasn't the first time they had engaged in the thrill. They had always waited until they knew their neighbors wouldn't be home. The storm was an extra layer of cover, hiding them from potential onlookers. Their fur would keep them warm.
They knew it was a stupid risk. They couldn't help themselves. They were on their third lap when she realized her husband's breath no longer warmed her neck. Curious, she reversed direction, coming back to him with a questioning look on her face. He gazed with unfocused eyes. An orange blossom hung from a tube stuck to his flank.
Panicked, she turned to retreat. She felt a sting on her flank. Looking back, she saw she now sported the same decoration as her husband. This was not good. She stumbled.
Lachesis lamented.
(Pas de valse)
The dosshouse was definitely not the appropriate place for the meeting, even though the hourly rate was still within per diem. It was almost unthinkable that they would be here at the request of a mere technician. However, the man had insisted that their normal meeting rooms had been compromised. The man had insisted that the highest levels of the organization had been compromised. The man had insisted that the director had wanted him to record a meeting that no one could remember happening.
They had scoffed. Still, they had come. They could recognize themselves in the recording. The technician had been right. They had an adversary who had the ability to infiltrate to the very heart of their organization and erase their memories.
That adversary had not known of the new measures the director had taken. The entire situation almost seemed to be a joke. No one was laughing.
One turned to another. “You have a safehouse in the sewers?”
“It’s an old bunker.”
“He put a lot of emphasis on the painting. That was an unusual way of denoting a room,” another commented.
“How do we know this is genuine?”
“My secretary remembers me mentioning going to a meeting at that time.”
“We have to assume the entire headquarters is compromised.”
“A threat assessment is going to be needed.”
“We need defenses.”
“We need to leave ourselves messages.”
“We are in uncharted waters here.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Believe later, make plans now.”
Eirene emoted.
(Pas de bourrée)
With the storm coming, the best place to be was in front of the telly, drinking a large mug of hot mulled wine.
Like so many others, that was exactly where he was. His wife snuggled against his side. They had been worried about their children until the letter had arrived by owl letting them know that they were with an adult and were going to a party and would be back later.
He was almost jealous that they were not going themselves, but the alone time would more than make up for it.
The telly wouldn’t be staying on long.
He was taking a sip as the anchor from the American cable news channel finished introducing himself.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have some world-shattering news this evening. In that vein, the first thing I would like is for each of you to check your calendars. Please note that the date is not April the first. What you are about to hear is absolutely true and is the culminative work of our friends in England. It is so shocking that I am hesitant to say what I’m about to say.
"In fact, you may want to be sitting down for this.
"Seriously, sit down.
"In the next hour you are going to witness the amassed evidence of a secret society living under our very noses. People, once persecuted have withdrawn from the eyes of the world taking secrets upon secrets with them.
"You see, I am here tonight to tell you that magic is real.
"That’s right, you didn’t hear me wrong.
"I’m not crazy, neither are you. This is really happening.
"Magic is real.
"Wizards, witches . . . they exist, as do dragons, werewolves, goblins, and funny little beings called house elves. They all exist, and these are only the creatures that we have verified. Without leaving our own planet, we have proof that we are not alone.
"I repeat, magic is real. It's been hidden for generations, but it exists. Those who practice it have done everything in their power to keep it secret, up to and including wiping the memories of anyone hapless enough to witness any instances of magic.
"I’ll give you a few seconds to let that sink in.
"Yes, you can check your calendar again; it still isn’t April first.
"Here’s the kicker. This news should be the biggest story of the day. Nothing should be able to top it. It is almost obscene that it ends up being second tier to our lead revelation.
"If you weren’t sitting down before, do so now.”
The anchor took a deep breath and stared directly at the camera.
“Aliens walk among us.”
He and his wife shared a worried glance before returning their attention to the telly, all thoughts of an evening alone fleeing.
Outside snow swirled completely obscuring vision after just a few feet.
The storm had arrived.
Eunoma erupted.
(Faux pas)
Chaos advanced.
Fate receded.