I awoke as the sun dipped over the horizon. My bed was still lumpy and uncomfortable, and I knew as soon as I had enough money, I would definitely make this hovel liveable! Imagine having your own kitchen, and not just a pot hanging over a hearth.

  My eyes found themselves drawn to the window, staring at the orange hues of the sun setting as the night took stage.

  I had to head down to the basement.

  The farm was eerily quiet, with my undead works hidden in the loam, Mirchie sleeping in her house, and Ophelia still missing – probably hunting Laertes somewhere. I couldn’t even hear crickets and grasshoppers chirping.

  It was just this odd stillness.

  I looked into my closet to pull out my black dress; cleaned and washed. I slipped it on, donning my white gloves, and taking Levan’s scythe with me. I exited the house to see nothing but my crops growing, so it was easy to just head towards the basement.

  The stairs down creaked as I traversed, and the false cellar looked haunting in its gloom. I tapped on the fake keg which slid out of the way, allowing me to enter the crypt.

  The crypt was clean and empty. I hadn’t been using it for much, since outside of Ophelia who enjoyed her time here, the basic undead were much better hiding in the Loam. But now, without even their presence, the stone crypts and flickering torchlight made every shadow a source of danger.

  My white hair on my arms sticked up, and I could feel my breath quickening. My heart beat erratically, as I looked to the east wing. The Preparation Room and Soul Storage Room beckoned. I wanted to go anywhere else but the west wing.

  But the West Wing had the fresco, and the hidden door to the altar. My feet turned towards the veiled face of the Dead Goddess, and pushed the entrance open.

  Smoking wisps of shadows lurched from the door, creeping out, clinging to the corners like claws. The torchlight of the crypt could barely bathe the unending abyss in its orange glow.

  I stepped inside.

  The central brazier ignited in green flame, but the room didn’t illuminate. The only thing left was the throne made of bones and skin.

  I tried moving, but my legs locked. I could feel the intention go to my knee that made it jolt, but my lower leg and foot wouldn’t budge from the ground. I tried the other foot, and the same sensation.

  I took a breath and counted to four. I exhaled.

  My body still trembled, but I could move. Slow, terrified steps to the throne, but it was movement.

  “Do not stand… …and weep.”

  Her voice was intoxicating and sweet, sounding like four people – two men, two women – speaking together in harmony.

  “I am not there… …transcending night. I am... light… on ripened grains… on a thousand bids.”

  I could not tell if that was meant to be comforting or confusing, but I didn’t really get a chance to consider it. I turned around to stare at the green flames. Each moment caused the tongues of fire to lick at the sky, beckoning me closer.

  I sat down.

  The seat was cold and soft, and the cushioning yielded to my back. I shifted in, awaiting something.

  Bony fingers wrapped around my face, sprouting from nowhere! Cold, white bone pushed itself against my skin, and the fingers held tight. I could hear the world outside shift, and the unending breeze of winter to fill this damp room. I heard water drip and ripple, and could smell the overripe scent of rot.

  The bone hands released my eyes, and even then, I couldn’t scream.

  I don’t think I was permitted to.

  I sat on a throne in the middle of nothing. No up, no down. My feet pressed onto the ‘floor’ and found it sinking deeper and deeper, making no contact with… well, anything.

  No central flame to orient myself, and even the door back to the Crypt was gone.

  I tried to make sense of anything here, but all around me was an unending expanse of black.

  And then I saw a white light. It was distant at first like a dot, but it might as well have been a lighthouse in this monochromatic palette. I tried to focus on it, but then noticed another. And then another. White dots appeared all around me, above, below, in front and behind. The ones that were close to me hurt my eyes, but the ones that were far away looked beautiful.

  “Hello?” I finally managed to state, fear giving way to curiosity.

  “Hello…. Hello… hello…” The echo repeated.

  I blinked.

  In front of me was a massive eye. Black, leatherlike skin surrounded it, but the central pupil stared forward.

  I was staring at an eye; the blackness so deep was a pupil. The colors around where the flecks of the iris. I could see stars.

  I wanted to reach out to touch it, but my hand wouldn’t obey. The eye however pulled back, and the black, trunk-like ‘tendril’ sporting it in the center withdrew like a coiled snake.

  The iris was… color. I recognized the primary colors of light; red, green, blue. I could even see cyan, magenta, and yellow – and all the different mixtures that the three poles made.

  But it was the central part, where the iris met the pupil that caught my attention. The color there was… odd. It looked milky white, with a strange hue of green mixed with beetles. As I stared at the color, a strong sense of loneliness filled me.

  But not just loneliness. It was an idea and a concept at once. I felt lonely through the separation of two friends who would never see each other again.

  I didn’t even have someone like that, but that entire concept burned into my brain, and worse yet, to my emotion.

  A name

  Sivi-lyr-iak. The color of remaining alive, when one friend died. The color of loneliness - that specific one.

  I refused to look at the other points of that black hole, where colors and ideas became one thing. I had enough with just this one, and stared into the blackness itself.

  A slick, slimy slit appeared in the center, as the eyeball opened into a mouth with several tongues.

  “Sweetest… daughter…” it said in a voice that I knew I would hear in the future, and one I met in the past.

  I opened my mouth, trying to call upon my courage. No words escaped my throat except for a wobbling squawk.

  The eyeball’s mouth slid upwards to make a curved approximation of a smile – or perhaps a laugh. As it drew in air, I felt that same sensation all around me. I swallowed, not wanting to look, but I did.

  Thousands of eye-tendrils, hidden in the blackness between stars, were staring at me. They wrapped around and upwards towards a central figure so far off in the distance, with glowing red… what I had hoped were eyes.

  But if that thing had eyes, what were these?

  A wet, slimy tendril lapped at my chin, breaking me free from reverie and replacing it with shock. The tongue, smooth and small like a rabbits, extended. From the pink muscle an arm came out which twisted in hundreds of directions. It had 8 fingers, and each one had an eyeball where the fingernail should have been.

  The only thought going through my head was a simple word.

  Fractals.

  Irrationality.

  My brain burned, and I just sat in place.

  The eye looking at me withdrew the small tongue, and continued to stare.

  Something wrapped around my waist, and tugged me off my chair into the unending blackness. I was brought towards the eye.

  The next time my eyes opened, I was seated at a small table in my hovel. The room smelled like stew, with cheap beef and scrumptious carrots and juicy potatoes being boiled with water and beef fat. My stomach growled, but I had to look around again. The hair on my arms relaxed, and I took a deep breath.

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  I inhaled greedily, sucking in as much as I could. The air was crisp and clean, and my heart stopped beating so erratically.

  I felt my legs obey when I tried to stand, coming to full height. I looked around again, before my eyes caught on the window.

  I screamed.

  Behind me was a dead woman. Well, she should have been dead.

  I immediately turned around to look at Ma, who picked herself up from settling the hearthfire. Her face scrunched, as she looked right at me.

  “I swear, everyday you go be a little bit more strange, Ashy. Now sit down.” Ma commanded, her voice sounding exactly like her.

  My body obeyed, though I didn’t know if it was because I was listening to her, or if I was made to. Ma approached me though, and her warm hands stroked my hair. “Now, what did you get yourself into, girl. Hair as white as snow, and cousin’ so much trouble?”

  “You’re dead,” I flatly stated, staring at the window to look at her reflection.

  “That I am. That I am.” Ma confirmed, but didn’t stop stroking the strands. Even though I knew she shouldn’t be here, I leaned back into the chair to follow the sensation.

  “You’re not my Ma, are you?” I asked, wanting this over with.

  Ma didn’t say anything, but looked at the window. I watched her, before realizing she was looking at my eyes through the reflection. I looked away, but her other hand softly cupped my chin, and pulled me to look at her.

  “Amelia Hart awaits in The Plains for her… sweetest daughter… but Ashley Hart is destined for Torrent, the grand Necropolis. I have such big plans for you… sweetest daughter… but this is the only form your mind will accept.”

  “Rhe–” I began to ask, but she put her fingers on my lips.

  “All the dead belong to me. All the living will come to my domain. You are seeing this in terms of yes and no, of today and tomorrow, of past and future. You are thinking like a girl.”

  Ma leaned in. I could smell her perfume, and my arms instinctively reached up.

  So Ma embraced me, her red hair falling atop of my white. She was warm, so soft, and I felt my eyes tear. She whispered in my ear.

  “Do not stand, By my grave, and cry—I am not there.

  I did not die.”

  The voice was the four tongues at once again, but one of the female voices was replaced by Ma’s. I stared at her.

  “You do not look old, sweetest daughter. If that is your biggest concern from the words of the living…” Ma’s hand stroked my pale hair, and the vibrant hue of red returned. She stroked it again, and made it black. “Think of this as a treat for you, as you are earning my favour and following my command. I will undo my witchmark. I will let you change it as you please, sweetest daughter.”

  I looked at Ma/Rhyvesta/Rhea. Putting those three identities at once burned my head.

  “Ma.” Ma answered, even though I didn’t ask. It made me nod though.

  She turned away back to the bubbling stewpot and scooped out a serving. She brought the wooden bowl to me as I still watched in confusion. “You haven’t been eating well. Too much into your work. Good, but you are not immortal, not yet.”

  I took the bowl from her and inhaled. “Could... I even eat this? Am I not dreaming?”

  Ma looked at me. “You are a guest at The Dark Mother’s house. If you did not leave fed, she personally would be insulted.”

  Even if I wasn’t hungry – and I was – that line alone scared me into compliance. My shivering hand touched the spoon, but Ma’s hand came to rest atop my fingers.

  Her voice split into four. “Did I do something to scare you, Sweetest Daughter?”

  I stared at her, unsure of how to answer. I was an ant staring at a God. Her mere presence alone frightened me.

  Ma chuckled. “Ah… first meeting. Yes. I see things in cycles. I understand, you are the beginning of it. We will meet again. Have met. Always meet.”

  She released my hand, and pulled out a wooden chair to watch me. She said nothing, and the silence made me feel as if I did something wrong. Ma chuckled at my thought.

  I brought the spoon into the bowl and lifted it upwards. I blew on it, and tasted it.

  Adrian’s recipe was like Ma’s. He had changed some proportions, made it healthier, and had his signature care. I could tell the difference.

  Which is why I wanted to note there was no difference. It wasn’t an imitation, but the work of a desperate [Housewife] trying to feed her daughter, making comfort food for me.

  “I don’t get it.” I finally admitted, putting the bowl against my lap. The heat burned, but the confusion was worse.

  “I am your Ma,” Ma said. “We are in the world of the dead. Your… our.. Goddess can not interact with you in her proper form without you shutting down. You aren’t able to comprehend it. And her avatar in the real world would frighten you. So, I get to see my little [Scholar], if I deliver the message across.”

  “So, it’s not a trick?” I repeated.

  “Even if I said I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be able to prove it,” Ma shot back. She always challenged my assumptions… and this felt right.

  I nodded. “So… what did you want, Ma?” I asked, wanting to change this topic.

  “To see you. But our Dark Mother has said I can talk to you fully, and find out what’s happening with your life, when you learn to serve the cycle.”

  “I was already going to kill Elizabeth Bazerie, Ma.” I told her, which made her flinch.

  “I… see. I wasn’t aware of what your tasks were. I was to wait till you finished your communion, and then she and you would talk. Are you doing alright, Ashy? Is the boy taking care of you?”

  I frowned and looked down at the bowl. I… guess I just admitted I was a murderer to my mother. I didn’t want to continue this conversation right now. “He is.” I quickly said, realizing I avoided talking to her the last time as well.

  I then quickly brought the bowl to my lips. I ate and swallowed quickly, hoping this would just end.

  As the bowl emptied, I stared forward into Ma’s eyes. There was no physical shift, no sense of difference. But, it wasn’t Ma sitting in front of me anymore. Yet, I still felt… loved, and watched.

  “Yes, you are to kill that failed one who abuses the Cycle. The dead are dead, and souls are resources. The living are dead, and are resources. You are to manage my cycle, [Necromancer]. Not to dominate, not to execute, not to control. Bazerie has earned my ire, and she desecrates my temple and my teachings. She holds onto one of the Phylacteries of my Disciple, like you do too.”

  The scythe came from my inventory, and in the world of the dead, I could see the green, spectral glow of a nascent life. “Levan can be brought back?”

  “I will teach you how to become like he - a [Lich] - in due time, sweetest daughter, but for that to happen, I must teach you of the cycle. Stand up, and come with me.”

  She stood, and looking like Ma, I found it easy to stand and follow. She opened the door to my hovel, and….

  My fields were infected with slugs.

  “This isn’t real, is it?” I asked Ma.

  She ignored me. “A slug is a parasite that eats into the cycle. The fruits of labour are consumed by those who eat greedily. Eradicate them, [Necromancer].”

  I blinked in confusion, and stared at the fields. I raised my hand, and those… slugs… became people.

  I saw Cadence Rather, who had killed and harmed. Lowry Mila - a [Nurse] who had murdered many under the guise of care. Jonathan Crow, a [Bandit] that was known for torture and murder.

  I blinked, and the slugs disappeared.

  My fields were overgrown with weeds.

  I said nothing this time. That seemed to be the right answer.

  “Weeds are those who sprout too many. Those that take, give. Those that give, take. Balance and moderation is the first rule of the cycle.”

  I raised my hand up… and this time, I was confused.

  Families, entire families with 15 children. Kingdoms that grew fat and large. Tax-collectors who took too much.

  Ma turned to me. “You are the caretaker of the cycle. To give is to take. To take is to give. Your first lesson, to learn about the world of the dead, is to balance the ledger. Find someone who takes from the world, and end them. Find someone who ‘gives’ too much to the world, and end them. You may not collect their souls, or bodies. I must verify your choices on my own - so use Levan’s Scythe to send it to me.”

  She paused.

  “You will be rewarded for your obedience, sweetest daughter.”

  I frowned. “What does this even mean?”

  “The System held your hand for too long. Research. Learn. Discover. I will give you one word of advice: There is no ‘good or evil’ or ‘innocence and corruption’. Remove both the parasites that take from the world, and the weeds that ‘give’ to the world. Danu speaks of the dangers of both.”

  I said nothing.

  “You may use your tools - that [Night-thing] that follows you is fine. However, you may not speak of your task or request aid from those not part of your command. Not to the Child-Killer, the Daughter of a [Whore], or the Defiler of Amaril’s edict. Not a single word spoken to the Community Helper, your best friend, and an acceptable father figure. Do not think in good and evil. Think in balance.”

  “...I can’t talk to Madeleine, Jasmine, or Noel?” I confirmed, unsure of her descriptions.

  Ma looked at me, but didn’t answer. “One more thing, sweetest daughter. It is normal to fail. Do not fear failure. Understand it. Removing slugs from the field is easy. Removing weeds is not. If you seek my succor, I will aid you. I can not expect my daughter to run, when she has not even learned what it means to crawl.”

  I took a breath, and turned to Ma. “Can I say goodbye at least?”

  Her hand came to my face to stroke my cheek. “There is no goodbyes. Just ‘I’ll see you soon’. You may, sweetest daughter.”

  Ma’s body stayed the same, but… she felt different. Her hand stroking my cheek turned into a hug, and she pulled me into her warmth.

  I only had one thought on my mind though, and a question that only she could answer. “Ma… did you want me to come visit?”

  She looked at my face. She held me still for a moment, before sighing. “There are no goodbyes. Just… another day. I had wanted to see you before I passed on… but now? I can see you everyday. Maybe that’s all what life is. The best choices at the time, that lead to new opportunities?"

  I bit my lip.

  So, I did fail.

  But it worked out. I held onto Ma for a moment longer. I closed my eyes again.

  The world shifted around me, and I found myself standing in the fields. From within my house I could smell stew cooking, and in the distance, I could see Ophelia and Laertes approach.

  I ignored them to go inside and confirm the existence of the stew. I entered the hovel…

  …and boiling over the hearth was Ma’s cooking.