Yui-chan

It sounds like a wonderful idea, Zadown. I, for one, will look forward to seeing them all in one place. Thank you, ~Yui

Okaerinasai, Madoka-sama. Welcome back. We're always glad when you can come and visit or stay. I hope all is well for you. ~Yui

Wow. Now, there's a list... Let's see if I can add anything to your extensive reviews. Neon Genesis Evangelion - I've seen probably more of it than you have, though even I haven't seen it all. If you take into account the fact that I have owned the entire series for ... many years, that says a lot. I couldn't make it very far into Eva. It's too painfully-angsty and downright depressing. Now, I don't mind a little bit of drama... heck, I generally love drama and suffering and good, gut-wrenching angst. However, it has to have something else as well, and the portion of Eva that I've seen has nothing else. Well, except maybe giant organo-robots on extension cords. I'm sure there's a reason that Eva's much-loved by the anime masses, but I have yet to discover it... Rurouni Kenshin - What's wrong with the opening track? I really like the Kenshin music as a whole, though to be honest, there are better songs on the OST than that bouncy opening. And... oh, lords of everything... if you're listening to it in English, that would explain a lot. It's only good in Japanese, which I consider to be a general rule of all things anime, writing and dialogue included. Dubbing kills it in more ways than one. >_ Full Metal Alchemist - I'm about 2/3 of the way through the current stockpile of episodes, and I really enjoy this one. The characters are so lovable, yet also spiced with some of that good old angst and suffering. I look over Aegon's shoulder every once in a while, so I know that it's still going to be good when I get to the most recent episodes (He's always ahead of me. *sigh*). I'll be surprised if it does go downhill, as thus far, I can't find a single aspect not to like. Naruto - This is another mega-popular one in Japan right now that's just making its appearance here in the US. I've watched about 1/10th of it and 'skimmed' (meaning, watched over Aegon's shoulder) the last 1/10th, and I think it's great. At times, I can't help but start thinking about DragonBall Z when the fight scenes involve large explosions and take five episodes, but to be fair, it's not really a good comparison. Naruto has about 5-gajillion characters that all are worthy of development, and the scripts sprinkle backgrounds, thoughts, weaknesses and strengths for each and every one of them in the midst of ninja-test tournaments and life-threatening battles. The best part, though, is the fact that, despite having a generally heavy and serious plotline, the anime is really good at being funny. Uzumaki Naruto is a cheerful prankster of a kid even in the face of curses, enemies, mortal battles, shocking revelations, deaths, possessions, and the general nastiness of a magic-ninja-riddled world. Fushigi Yuugi (or The Mysterious Play) - I know this is a little old-school by now, but I have to mention the anime that got me into anime in the first place. If you want a little bit of a love story, a lot of adventure, a bevy of fascinating characters and complex relationships between the 'good guys' and the 'bad guys', and no small amount of tragedy, this is the anime for you. Every time you think you know where the plot is going, it twists. Every time you think you understand how characters feel about each other, they do a dramatic shift. The story bounces back and forth between ancient China (in which they speak Japanese, apparently. Don't ask me. ) and modern Japan, following a pair of Japanese schoolgirls who get sucked into the past and become part of two different sets of people who are questing to try to resurrect two of the four celestial gods and gain three wishes by doing so. Best friends become enemies. Strangers become best friends. Enemies become allies. Love becomes hate, becomes love, again. ... I love complexity. Full Metal Panic (and Full Metal Panic Fumofuu) - This is a story about a 'special' schoolgirl who's been targetted by terrorists and gets a young man assigned to serruptitiously guard her. Of course, said young man, despite being high-school age, has lived a military life since childhood and has no idea how to be a normal human being. 'Serruptitious' doesn't last very long with him pulling guns on people and blowing up shoe lockers at school. The rest of the story is split between budding feelings between the guardian and the guardee, anti-terrorist missions with the independent military organization he works for, and defending the girl against the people who are after her. Humor is a large part of this anime, but by no means the extent of it, as there is everything from that tense, behind-the-sleeve anime romantic interest to mecha battles to kidnapping and murder and heroic self-sacrifice. Every character is well-established and interesting, and though the pace may start out a bit slow, the plot is mysterious and suspenseful. I really enjoyed this one. Oh, and the OVA (...Fumofuu) is just hilarious! After all the serious plot stuff was done, they added a teddy-bear suit and a lot of blanks to the militaristic main character's arsenal. Who knew a love-addled teen could make such good use of them?! Okay, that'd better be the end of my list. I hope it's been useful and a little bit comprehensible. Yours, ~Yui

Peredhil, You may certainly submit a work you've already posted in the Pen as long as it meets the other guidelines (size, really, being the only one. ). Thanks for the support you two. I hope it'll be a fun experience for you if you find some time to put something together. Yours, ~Yui

Pennites, If anyone is interested in a little bit of healthy competition, 'Keep It Coming' e-zine is sponsoring a short story contest until the first of May. (Follow the link for all the details.) The prize is nice, tasty cash as well as a feature spot in the E-zine and the potential for a writing contract of your very own. Fantasy readers also might be excited to hear that the one and only L.E. Modesitt, Jr. is one of the judges. ... some of you might also be interested to know that I'm another judge, but I doubt you'll be quite as excited. Anyway, if you feel the urge, I hope you'll join in the fun. Thanks, ~Yui

{Transfered from the freewrites thread in order to consolidate poems.} Swim the Pitch-Black Sea 21 March, 2004 (Created as a caption for the digital painting of the same name.) There you wait in darkest night, silent but for breath. There you wait with dimming sight, counting down to death. There you wait, a soul adrift to contemplate your end tumbling to infinity with fear your only friend. Take my hand. Let me show you all the naught between the living flames. Let me show you all I've sought in dancing, midnight games. Let me show you leagues of empty, cold and lonely space flowing ever outward at eternity's slow pace. Take my hand. Fly with me through rainbow veils that touch and cling and sigh. Fly with me through diamond tails of comets passing by. Fly with me on winds of sunlight wafting through the void, seeking dreams of distant shores already long destroyed. Take my hand. Swim with me the pitch-black deep of interstellar sea. Swim with me as down we sweep through empty ecstasy. Swim with me to sanctuary, crystalline, blue sky and let me give you one last kiss before I say goodbye.

Isn't it wonderful how thin the line is between wisdom and crazyness? What a great plan, Ozy-san. I'm glad it helped you. Katy, I wish I had something wise to tell you, some great advice to give you that would change all the shortcomings you see in yourself in the blink of an eye. However, I don't, and I couldn't even venture a guess as I'm at least as imperfect as anyone you could name. Sometimes, I think accepting the parts of you that you regret is the more difficult and meaningful task than obsessing over changing them. Sometimes, I suspect that it's the prerequisite for freeing yourself up emotionally enough that you -can- change and grow towards becoming the person you want to be. Know what you view as your shortcomings. Acknowledge them and work at understanding - not so much what caused them in the past, but the thoughts and feelings, the underlying emotions and insecurities that sustain them today. Trace the pattern of what's inside you and map it completely before you worry too much about trying to force it all to change. It looks to me like you've already started, so I suspect you should just carry that forward. Take it beyond 'I guess this is why...' and think about what makes you you until you can say 'I know this is why...' In my profession, you have to know all the details of a system before you can change it. Maybe it applies to the more complex system of you, too. Best of luck, ~Yui

We will be waiting eagerly for you to return, Yuki-san. I hope your trip is an amazing and enjoyable experience for you. Zyaa mata, ~Yui

Elladan and Elrohir are fascinating creatures as Peredhil plays them. Elladan, especially, though Elrohir has an air of mystique about him in my mind that's very enticing. I would be afraid of doing them an injustice, just as I would if I tried to 'play' Peredhil. Contemplatively Yours, ~Yui

#18 Swim the Pitch-Black Sea 21 March, 2004 (Created as a caption for the digital painting of the same name. It can be found here.) There you wait in darkest night, silent but for breath. There you wait with dimming sight, counting down to death. There you wait, a soul adrift to contemplate your end tumbling to infinity with fear your only friend. Take my hand. Let me show you all the naught between the living flames. Let me show you all I've sought in dancing, midnight games. Let me show you leagues of empty, cold and lonely space flowing ever outward at eternity's slow pace. Take my hand. Fly with me through rainbow veils that touch and cling and sigh. Fly with me through diamond tails of comets passing by. Fly with me on winds of sunlight wafting through the void, seeking dreams of distant shores already long destroyed. Take my hand. Swim with me the pitch-black deep of interstellar sea. Swim with me as down we sweep through empty ecstasy. Swim with me to sanctuary, crystalline, blue sky and let me give you one last kiss before I say goodbye.

I am frightened of you. o_o I think that says enough by itself. ~Yui

I, too, will accept the nomination and consider myself very lucky to be in such esteemed company. Thank you. ~Yui

Thanks a ton, Wyvie. In some ways I feel like this was a bit of a 'cheat' on my part since I've been through the other side of what the character in this was feeling. I can only assume it was so realistic because of that, but as long as it's good for an enjoyable story to share with others, I'm happy. Thank you for yet another thoughtful critique. You da bomb. Yui waits 'till no one's looking, then passes Wyvern a nice, shiny geld under the table. "Next time use 'amazing' more, Scaly. I like 'amazing'. Oh, and maybe if you jump around in jubilant glee or wave your arms around or something more flashy, that'd be good. We gotta attract a lot more people before I can get my droves of screaming fans established. Step it up a notch." "But Yui," Wyvie whines in response, "you're not paying me enough to--" "Eh, eh! Don't forget who knows just what was in those 'high-quality Almost-Draconic Brand veggie burgers' you sold to the monastery over the hill. Do you really want me to let the Warrior-Monks of the Sacred Squirrel know why the Pen's trees have been nice and quiet lately?" The almost-dragon blinks and grimaces, showing a mouth full of jagged teeth that would be frightening on anyone else. "... so, do you want girlish squeals of delight with your jubilant glee or just the glee?" Yui grins triumphantly. "You're so good at girlish squeals. Go with those." >:} (Purely a joke. Don't worry... I don't really pay him a whole geld per glowing critique. It's more like a 5 for 1 deal. )

Home... The heavy word hit the web of Kaleyra's mind and stuck there like a captured fly, its impact ripping the thin strands of control that she'd woven over her swirling thoughts and chaotic emotions. So much had happened. So much had been lost. The Pool of Eternal Reflection, whether a lie or not, had been destroyed, and with it went her only hope for saving her meager race from extinction. It didn't matter that she hadn't collapsed the cave herself. It didn't matter that they'd won against the poor, misguided angel who had. What mattered was that she would be returning to her home with empty hands and ugly excuses. She had failed miserably - failed completely. The thought made the winged woman's heart ache, and she lowered her head, rounding her shoulders against a new kind of pain that dwarfed the bruises and aches from her body. I knew I wasn't good enough. The doubts bubbled up from the dark well of insecurity she held inside, the ripples of their passing flaying her with blades of self-recrimination. The hurt was well-deserved in her eyes, the least she should suffer for the monumental scope of her shortcomings. What had they cost her people? What had she cost her mother and her family and her grand, ancient culture? The questions rose up like a sea of black, angry claws to snare her and drag her down into a miasma of self-loathing. "Kaleyra?" As Myth and Captain Wallace went their own ways, Gyrfalcon's smooth voice interrupted her misery, his tone heavy with concern. He ducked his head down to catch her gaze. "You've been quiet. Are you alright?" No. The young Avian glanced away, unwilling to meet her companion's eyes. "I ... would like to go verify that the surgeon knows how to use the Eriastor nerificus that we picked on the island and check on Timothy and Elena, and then I think I will endeavor to rest. You can find me below decks if you have need of me later." She moved to turn away, but Gyrfalcon gently caught her shoulder. He knew her too well to be fooled by the off-putting answer, and he cut straight to the issue that truly weighed on her thoughts. "Kaleyra, I know it's probably not much of an offer, but if New Muriska can do anything for your people..." "... thank you, Gyrfalcon," the scholar responded after a moment, her face turned in profile to him as she glanced out over the ocean unseeingly. "I'll ensure that my mother knows of your offer when she and the counsel decide our next steps. Now, if you'll excuse me." Kaleyra tried to pull away from the half-elf's hand only to feel him tighten his grip stubbornly. His calloused fingers snagged in the worn blue fabric of her tunic, the pressure just enough to keep her from moving without bruising the tender skin underneath. With an inward groan, she resisted the unspoken command and tugged, unwilling to face him – or anyone – with the turmoil she was feeling, but he proved to be more stubborn and more powerful, despite his injuries. After a moment, the scholar was forced to turn back and face him, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Please release me. As I said, I'd like to—" "Stay here and talk to me? Ah, good." Gyr tried to smile and turn the moment into a joke, but the hurt and uncertainty he found in his friend's expressive eyes sabotaged his attempt. Instead, he just sighed and leaned against the rail beside them, mindful of his injured arm. "You know that even if you had managed to use the Well, you wouldn't be here right now, don't you?" The Avian frowned and pressed her palms against the smooth wood. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Had I lived, I would have succeeded. Had I died, I would have been no worse off than I am at this moment. Indeed," she muttered, her tone so low that even the keen hearing of Gyr's elven heritage had trouble discerning the words, "perhaps I would have been in a better situation..." Gyrfalcon gripped her shoulder tightly. "No, you wouldn't have been," he said firmly. "When there is life, there is hope." Kaleyra let her head drop forward, resignation written in every line of her body. "What hope, Gyrfalcon? The Pool of Eternal Reflection held the last of it, the last of three generations of struggles to find a way to survive, to rebuild. Whether it was a lie or not, it was the end of the path. I was their last hope." "You're still alive, and so is their hope," he answered, his voice as gentle as his hand where it rested on her arm. And what a flimsy and insubstantial hope I am. The black thought stabbed at her despite his reassurances, but Kaleyra shoved it back, summoning instead a weak smile and a hint of gratitude. Whether she could believe the half-elf's words or not, she couldn't deny that pure kindness and care motivated them, and that touched her through her self-recriminations. He didn't deserve to have to suffer through her doubts. He didn't deserve to have this day ruined by her failure. Hesitantly, the winged woman lifted her hand and placed it over his, finally looking up into his bright eyes. "Thank you," she said sincerely, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "You never fail to be kind to me, though I don't deserve it." He smiled and gently squeezed her arm. "Yes, you do deserve it." Kaleyra, feeling her cheeks warm under the ranger's regard, dropped her hand and her eyes and subtly pulled a veil of practicalities between them. "You should come with me to the surgeon so that he can properly treat and bind the lacerations on your chest and arm. They would benefit from some stitching as well, if he has any supplies." Gyrfalcon regarded her for a long moment, then bowed his head. "As you wish, but... please, think on what I've said." "I promise," the Avian assured him as she turned away from the ocean and the first hints of dusk in the cloud-dotted sky. "I will consider everything very thoroughly..."

In that case, I most enthusiastically nominate Wyvern! If he's not a 'unique type of character', then I'm quite certain I don't know who is. Wyvie-kun, will you accept? Alaeha, are you going to want graphics for your 'quiz results'? Perhaps that'd be a way to get even more people involved. You could solicit artistic volunteers. Rushing off, ~Yui

Peredhude, Integrity is a word too seldom used in this time, I think. But luckily, there are still some who know it and use it to define themselves. They give me hope. WrenWind, I'm sorry to leave you fishing for the tissues. Those bleak emotions can be a little too infectuous. Thanks for reading. Yours, ~Yui

Friends, Please forgive me if you've seen this before. It's not quite new, but when I came across it in my archives today I realized that I couldn't remember having ever shown it to my friends here in the Pen. It seems unlikely to me as this place is always the first stop for anything new I write, but I couldn't find any evidence that I'd posted it. Thus, in case I forgot to share, here's 'He Never Broke a Promise'. I think it might have special meaning to a few of us... Thank you, ~Yui He Never Broke a Promise 4 April, 2003 One day... She sat in the gentle curve of the bay window, warm from sunlight and the heavy air of summer, a small figure in an overlarge shirt and a pair of white socks. They were his, of course, and wearing them as she'd slept had been like cuddling in his strong arms all through the night. His scent, that musky cologne he loved combined with the spicy tang of his aftershave, wafted all the stronger in the heat and swirled around the window alcove on the currents of what little breeze flowed. It was enough to let her imagine that he was right behind her, standing there as he had a thousand, thousand times, as much to look out the window as to grin at her reflection in the glass. For one moment, she entertained the fanciful notion that if she turned her head, she'd see him there, his hazel eyes twinkling with his smile, his perpetually-disheveled hair gleaming with auburn highlights in the sunshine, and his ever-ready hug just waiting for her pleasure... Ah, but she knew better, and so she kept her gaze fixed on the dirt road leading away from the house. She forced herself to remember the sight of him as he walked away, head high and wide shoulders squared, his bag slung comfortably over his shoulder. She'd cried to see him go, of course, but there was pride beside the sadness, pride and the comfort of his promise to return as soon as he could. He never broke a promise. Ten days... The sun shone with its usual vigor on the cushions of the bench that lined the bay window, lovely and comfortable though cooler than it had been in the days before, and she sat as she had every morning, gazing out at the green, summer day from the folds of another of his shirts. It was the last that he'd worn, and today she would have to wash it and suck the scent of him from it as she had with all the others. Without that comfort, she knew it would become harder for her to avoid the longing she felt for him, but she was resolved to face her longing with his courage and confidence. He'd be proud of her for when he returned, because no one would be able to say that she'd moped or complained when he'd been away. She would take care of things and keep them well in order, and when she missed him so very badly, she'd write him happy, reassuring letters to make them both feel better. She knew she could persist, because no matter how long it was, he would return to her as he'd said. He never broke a promise. One hundred days... The lively yellow of the sunlight had shifted weeks ago to the fragile grey of hard winter, but it still shone through the haze of thin winter clouds with determination. The warmth in the bay window now came from within the house instead of without, and she could feel the frigid air outside trying to leech it away through the thin glass. If the weather had its way, she would be shivering there in her favorite seat, but the ever-constant hard work of the heaters kept her warm despite the challenge - those and his oversized sweatshirt, of course. What a delight it had been to find that! She'd nearly forgotten the scent of him in all the time since last his shirts had shared it with her, but now she could look forward to its comforting embrace once more from all the winter clothes she'd pulled from his closet. Now, she could almost imagine that he stood behind her, again, his smile reflected in the glass. Almost. It was just that the window had never once been cold when he'd been standing in it, and yet today it was utterly frigid. Still, she was warm and worked hard to stay that way until the day he returned. He had promised that it was only a matter of time... And he never broke a promise. Three hundred days... The dead-grey light of the sun fought and clawed its way through the cloud cover to just barely struggle in through the bay window. Where it rested, a shadow hint of warmth blossomed in the cool air, but it was a fragile and fleeting warmth that barely held true in the gentle circulation of the house breeze. She sat quietly as she had for so many days that she'd lost count, wearing the overlarge sweatshirt that had long ago lost his scent and staring out at the snow. If the summer had seemed a bit cooler than normal, the renewed winter had proved bitterly, dangerously cold. The simple dirt road on which he had left so very, very long ago had been hidden beneath winter's white ice for day after day, and even the desperate struggles of the loving house could barely keep her warm. The cold was no longer gently leeching the heat from her; now it sucked it away voraciously, consuming and destroying all that she struggled to create and then leaving her uncomfortable and bereft. She could leave her window seat, but in truth there was nowhere to go that was comfortably warm this bitter winter, so she stayed and stared out at the grey world, holding the image of his face before her. If she often had trouble recalling the warmth that his smile always held, at least she could still imagine just how wonderful it would be to feel the strength of his arms, the solid warmth of his embrace when he returned as he'd promised. He never broke a promise. Six hundred days... There was no sun that morning as she sat her seat in the bay window, the clouds of deep winter had long since defeated it, blocking out not only its light but its vital, life-giving heat. She shivered as she huddled deeper into his sweater and sighed to realize that she couldn't remember the long-gone scent of him. It was the way of things, now, after so terribly long... The road upon which he'd gone and the memory of his silhouette in the sunlight were both equally hidden beneath the weight of winter. The dream of his smiling face in the panes of her window had been consumed along with the heat; her mind's eye now only saw a shadow-man, vague of feature and devoid of familiarity. That the memory of his embrace had become similarly empty was a source of unyielding sorrow in her, and that sorrow had come to define her life in those cold, dark months. Hope and faith both dangled from her heart on the end of a fragile sinew, and she despaired. When they, too, fell to the encroaching ice, she would be finally lost. There was no struggle left in her, no fight, and very little life. But always she reminded herself that he had promised to come back to her, and he never broke a promise... Six hundred and one days... The sun had died in the night, of that she was certain, and warmth was only a memory. There was no light in the bay window, a fitting reflection for the dark shell that had once been her heart. She had not slept the night through, but instead had kept silent vigil over the death of her last ounce of strength. Like a puddle of water in her hands, the harder she had tried to hold onto it, the faster it had flowed between her fingers until now, in the midst of a morning that was no different from the night it had been born from, she watched the last drop strain to fall away. With it would go her life and her hope and her will until there was nothing left but the empty place he'd left behind, but truly she was too numb to feel the grief that knowledge should inspire. Instead, she lifted her eyes from her misery to gaze one last time on the place where that hated road that had taken him away from her lay buried under the snow... ... and there she saw him, limping towards the house with his bag slung over his shoulder, his crisp uniform adorned with a bright Purple Heart. In that moment, the sun burned through the dark clouds and hit the world with all the comforting warmth at its command. Winter shattered like the glass that stood between them, falling away before a joy so profound that it seemed as if even the deep snow would melt beneath its power. She will never remember the seconds it took her to get outside, for the next thing she knew she was running barefoot towards him through December. The cold could not touch her. And then she was in his arms, again, feeling the strength and warmth she had nearly forgotten, breathing in the scent of him that she had lost so very long ago. She clung to him with the strength that had nearly fled and marveled that she could ever have lost sight of the radiant warmth of his smile. His voice, soft as he whispered happiness into her hair, was a song played after too much silence, and his embrace was all she could ever need to feel safe and loved. There was no more winter within her, no more space for cold or despair to fit amidst all the warmth and love, because he had returned to her... because he never broke a promise.

Katzaniel, That's very kind of you. I'm so glad you've enjoyed some of these. They're actually a lot of fun to write since they're fast, free-flowing and unfettered by prior or later plot consideration. I'm still working towards 25. Slowly. I do have writing around here as well as some poetry, but it seems like they're all getting a little older by now. A lot of what I've written for the Pen in the past few months is limited to posts in Conservatory roleplay threads. (If you haven't already, check out 'The Gaze of Eternity' if you want to read a fun story. Wyvern runs a great plotline!) You'll have to be sure to let me know what you think of anything you find. I'm always glad for critiques and comments that can help me avoid mistakes next time. Thanks, ~Yui

Oh, wonderful, Salinye. Congratulations on getting the house and on surviving all the stress involved. I hope you and all your belongings have a quick, safe and easy transition into your new place! Best wishes 'n hugs, ~Yui (and Aegon)

#17 Cycle The world is empty. It's so quiet that I can hear my veins flexing with each beat of my heart. It's so still that I can see the blood flowing behind my eyes, a ghostly reflection of motion on my retinas. There's nothing to pull me out of myself. There's nothing out there to focus on. There's nothing. It chills me to know that, but it's a certainty that's lodged firmly in the center of my spine, tingling its way like an errant spark from synapse to synapse as it travels the nerve paths of my body. No matter what my will says, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, I can't help but feel the nothingness in every part of me. It's as autonomous as my heartbeat, and I haven't the skill to suppress it. I can only wallow in it, drowning in the knowledge that I have been thrown into an empty place to exist alone. I cannot change it, so I will wait... I will drift and listen to the song of my body. I will make my own motion. I will be my own company for as long as I must because I must. Light flashes in red, green and blue from all sides, vicious darts of energy that end as often as not in screams and death. I watch them coldly, knowing as I do that one will probably come for me soon, but such is the way of things. My kind started the cycle of hatred that has come around to us, and a very large part of me believes that we deserve the violent end we have arrived at. The rest of me aims, fires, ducks, reducing the innumerable enemy by one. I am dreaming. Or is it merely remembering? Whichever. It doesn't matter that it hurts to dream, that the imagines stab imaginary wounds that tighten the muscles banding my shoulders. Dreams are better than nothing. Their return fire spits rock and grit into the air by my face, and I turn my head to shield my eyes only to find her there with her blood-slick face shoved too near to mine. I recoil, growling at her in my surprise and frustration, but she only smirks and says something crass before popping up over the ruins that are our shelter to cut down another of their little toy soldiers. I can hear her sandpaper voice, like an echo in the emptiness, and a muscle in my cheek spasms under a sudden surge of loneliness. In another time and place, the strength of my reaction might have made me laugh, but as it is, I want to cry instead. I never even liked the militaristic bitch, yet I would give anything to have her here with me now, someone to help me absorb all this emptiness. Of course, that's quite impossible... The bolt that takes her in the chest is bright blue and singing a perfect B-flat until it slices into her ageless flesh and falls as dead as she does. I don't bother to catch her; it would be wasted motion, and she's not quite in a position to appreciate the gesture. Really, I'm more inspired to sigh, and I do so, wiping the splatters of warm, blue-black blood off my face. One down, how many to go? Not many. I look at the positions around me and see more still, empty bodies than living fighters, and I know that we won't be able to hold them for more than a few more minutes. It could be disaster, but in that moment, there's a static crackle that dances across my skin and sets the fine hairs on my neck on end. My smile is a grim one, but one nonetheless as the spreading front of energy tells me that it might be alright. It's like one of those old, lighted signs, blaring to the world that the threshold has been breached, and it gives me hope for the first time in ... in too long to remember. It inspires me to reach down and gently close her staring eyes before I dart out into the open in my mad rush to reach the circle. There isn't any more time. Time. Oh, there's so much time, now. I turn it to dreams and exercises, to vain efforts to stretch myself beyond nothingness and drag myself out, claw my way back to ... anywhere. Somewhere. I have to will my heart to beat, now, or it will stop due to sheer apathy. I have to remind my muscles how to move every once in a while, lest I lose the ability entirely. In the times when the memories recede, I play games with my own brain, forging new paths, finding new patterns, tickling my cells with signals the likes of which they've never felt before. Still, though, the emptiness gnaws at me. I suppose it's only a matter of time... The seconds tick by like an eternity as my stride eats up the distance. I can feel the heat, every now and again, of a close miss, and my body is tense in anticipation of the one that will burn into it, spreading the agony that I know from past experience. I've been lucky before, but I don't actually expect that luck to last through to the final hour. I haven't lived a good enough life, especially for the millennia since the revolution. I have too much black ether clinging to my soul to be worthy of surviving this day. That's why I'm stunned when I throw myself behind the last barrier and find that I'm still breathing. The air flows in and out, not seeming to leak through any new holes in my body. The blood pumps through my veins, apparently unperturbed by any breaks in the vessels that carry it. Fingers move. Toes wiggle inside my heavy boots. Hell, even my ears are fully functional. The fact that I have lived through the gauntlet of laser fire amazes me to the extent that I waste precious seconds just sitting there, eyes wide and mouth agape as the stones around me explode in tiny showers of rock and the screams of the less lucky ring out from the aisle. I'm shaken from my stupor by a spectacled labrat, and he grabs my arm, leading me to the apparatus and the crackling nimbus of energy that writhes around the rend they've created in the fabric of space. I stare at it for a moment, listening to him telling me that I must go quickly, that there's no more time. Others have already gone, and if we are to survive, we must send as many as possible before they can destroy it. He tells me all this, but really I'm not listening. All I can think of is how beautiful the rift is and how completely it contrasts with the ugly reality we've made for ourselves. The thought from my dream sticks with me for a very long time, and as I play my games and pass the infinite time, I can feel it always tickling at the back of my mind. A reality that we made for ourselves. A reality that we made... The labrat gives my arm a shove before turning away to find others, perhaps to help others. I know what he wants of me, and even while my thoughts are on the stupid choices my kind have made and the ignorant mistakes that have lead us to this end, I bend my knees, crouching to prepare the leap that will take me away from the consequences of our towering arrogance. That's when time slows down, and the laser beam that has cursed me streaks into my sight, a blood-red blur aimed like an arrow at the fat, metallic regulator sustaining the rift. Horror hits me, but it doesn't stop me. Mid-leap, it's far too late to do anything more than watch as light explodes from the ruined mechanism, rippling through the open threshold that is meant to take me to another world, a safe place. I watch it flow, watch it warp and twist and change in the instant that it swallows me whole and snaps shut behind me. I feel myself plunge into the raw center of existence, my body spasming as the electricity there dances over my skin. I hear myself shout a warning long moments too late, smell the ozone scent of power, taste the blood in my mouth as my teeth clamp down on my tongue. And then nothing. Lots of nothing. Aeons and millennia and god-forsaken eternities of nothing that I'm so inexpressibly tired of. I choose to change it, and it no longer seems outside of my reach. I choose to build it into something wonderful, and after all this time, I know that I am very much capable of doing so. I want to create something that will be better than the place I came from, and in doing so, I will pay homage to the honorable enemies that my kind wronged. With a smile, I stretch an immortal hand out into the emptiness and speak for the first time since that bloody day when we Elves finally lost the war. "Let there be Light."

I can't feel the beat. I'm very sad about that, because I know that it's likely to have much more to do with my broken little brain than your enjoyable poem. I think I am missing a few poetry muscles. I'm sorry. ~Yui

Yui skips around the room in childlike glee, anxiously awaiting the splendor that will be the Guilds!

Yep, I agree with Vanessa. What makes a book's full 'title' is both author's name and title, so ... "The Gift of Fear" by Tralla Q. Person is different from "The Gift of Fear" by Someone Not Tralla. If you doubt me, do an Amazon search by title, and see how many you get with the same name. Heck, I have two books called 'Anatomy for the Artist' sitting on my bookshelf at home, but they're as different as night and ... well... evening. Completely different authors. No worries, Tralla. You don't have to change your title at all. When you publish, can I get a signed copy, though? Yours, ~Yui

Two days later, Yui sat quietly in her favorite chair in the Pen’s library, her eyes on the book in her lap and her thoughts on a surly young man who was probably off sulking in his chambers. Cioden Darkeye. The past few days had verified something that she already suspected: he was a fascinating mess, a man of skewed vision and a very deep-rooted rage who’d decided power would be a good substitute for whatever it was he truly wanted. After the conversation about his father, she thought perhaps she could guess at some of what the mage was missing… Ah, but what do you really know? She sighed to herself, shaking her head at her silly attempts at psychoanalysis. Cioden was a mystery, and after three separate visits to his sickbed over the recent days, she was quite convinced that he worked very hard to stay a mystery. Anger was his shield. Blind and often irrational rage was what he resorted to when questions went in a direction he disliked or when anything she said to him so much as hinted at vulnerability or dependence, and he had an alarming tendency to break things. Yui smirked to herself and was forced to admit that if she could fix them again with a wave of the hand, she probably wouldn't be too bothered about breaking glassware, either. It did tend to be a very therapeutic anger management tool, even if it was hell on her nerves when he broke them in the process of throwing them at her. Each day since she'd begun her quest to learn more about the enigmatic Cioden Darkeye, she'd found one reason or another to be grateful for the time she'd spent developing fast reflexes. They were a bit of a necessity in his presence. The thought had the young woman laughing aloud into the quiet space, her eyes crinkling. He amused her. From the first, when he'd awoken in the infirmary all wounded pride and angry hauteur, she'd been intrigued, fascinated by his depth of feeling and the extent to which he misled himself just to believe that he was invincible. In a lot of ways, he reminded her of the part of herself that few people saw, and perhaps because of that, she found she could no longer leave him alone. What had started out as a tricky plan to help someone who would never admit that he needed it had turned into a ... strange social experiment, an exercise in understanding a complex man as well as a chance to learn more about her own hidden rages and urges. Though few outside of the Huntress would know it, she and Cioden shared far more similarities than just their use of the shadows. "There you are." Yui started slightly at the cold voice behind her and turned to see the object of her musings striding towards her. "I've been looking everywhere for you." Summoning a smile, the woman ignored the accusation in his tone. "Good afternoon, Cioden. I see that you're feeling better," she answered politely. The black-clad man's scowl deepened, but he ignored the blatant reminder of his weakness. "I require the rest of the information about the beast. Preferably now." "Do you?" She couldn't resist a quirk of the brow as she carefully marked her page and closed her book. "Well, in that case, I suppose it's very convenient that I happen to have just finished my chapter." Yui forced her lips to stay neutral despite an urge to grin mockingly at him. She felt a bit like a kitten batting at a toy; the urge to prod his temper was just that irresistible. Cioden's lip curled into an enraged snarl, and she watched him clench his fists at her impudence. "I have quite enough to deal with without suffering your inane remarks, Huntress," he growled, his eyes narrowing to ink-black slits. "I'm sure you do," the woman answered dryly, unperturbed by his reaction. It might have been fun to bait him further, but she really didn't want to risk him going destructive in her library. She might have a harder time forgiving him for breaking a book than one of his many beakers and bowls. "Why don't you take a seat, and I'll tell you the entirety of my conversation with the creature in the shadows, then?" He eyed the seat she indicated for a heartbeat before folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the bookshelf behind him. "I'll stand, thank you. Enlighten me." Yui grinned a little at that, shifting in her chair so that she could face the enigmatic mage more comfortably. Once again, his mood had shifted in an instant, and he stared at her not with malice but with an intense interest. She could practically see his keen mind whirring as he readied himself to absorb her every word. Fascinating. With such a rapt audience, the young woman found it very easy to recount the details of her encounter with the pearl-skinned being that called itself the 'Master'. She shared their words and her own observations about the creature's temper and powers as well as the danger of its hypnotic gaze, wondering all the while at the reaction he was hiding behind his expressionless face. Cioden did nothing more than nod and interject with the occasional insightful question until she finished her tale with a shrug and a sheepish grin. "... and after that, I awoke in your chambers," the Huntress admitted with a little bit of embarrassment. "The entire experience must have exhausted me, though I can't say whether that has to do with the beast or with the shadows themselves." The man across from her sniffed haughtily. "Your method of traveling through the shadows is inefficient. Given how long you stayed within them, I'm not surprised you were curled up like a defenseless child on my doorstep. You let yourself be too weakened," he said, the contempt in his voice making it clear what he thought of that foolishness. Feeling stung by his tone, Yui merely shrugged, her eyes cool. "It was worth the risk." "Oh?" Cioden quirked a brow at her, frowning scornfully. For a moment, he seemed about to say more on the topic, but then his eyes narrowed and he waved a hand as if dusting whatever thought he'd been entertaining off the tabletop of his mind. "It got you closer to being killed than you know, woman." Yui smirked. If the mage thought that revelation would shock her, he was overdue for a new clue about her nature. She nodded slightly, well aware of the defenses around his chambers. "I have been wondering why you didn't kill me when you found me there," came the question, and she speared him with a curious look. The woman could practically hear the curses Cioden thought as soon as the question passed her lips, and she watched with an unhealthy amount of amusement as his eyes sparked with renewed rage. Apparently, she'd hit a particularly sensitive nerve, because he lunged at her, snagging his hands in the front of her cloak and hauling her out of her seat. The Huntress barely suppressed the instinct that had her reaching for the dagger hidden at her hip, her grey-green eyes widening slightly as the man shoved his face close to hers. "I should have," he gritted out between clenched teeth, his fists shaking with the suppressed urge to hit something. Perhaps even her. This time, the young woman couldn't look at those black eyes and feel amusement at his anger. There was a layer of hurt there, an uncertainty that lingered behind his typical reaction and tainted it, making this rage more authentic than most. She would have been willing to bet that Cioden wasn't entirely certain himself why he didn't kill her, and knowing him, that was a weakness that he was having trouble stomaching. He'd shown her a pointless kindness, and to him that would signify vulnerability. No wonder he'd been so surly with her since that day. To a man like him, some of the blame would have to lie on her shoulders. Yui tried for a placating answer, resting her hands on his wrists as she got her feet under her. "It's lucky you didn't, then. You might not have found out about the Master's weaknesses as quickly if not for our barter." It didn't work entirely as well as she'd hoped, but at least her respectful tone and neutral wording didn't make him any worse. Cioden scoffed and turned away, releasing her as suddenly as he'd grabbed her. "Our barter," he repeated, pacing away as he calmed himself. At the far end of the bookshelf, he turned back, watching her straighten her cloak again. "Come with me. I have a debt to pay, and the sooner I fix your ignorance about your own abilities, the sooner I can get rid of you." With a sarcastic retort on the edge of her tongue, Yui snapped her mouth shut and leaned down to pick up the book she'd dropped. "Very well," she answered, turning away to place it on a nearby table. As Cioden strode out the door, she trailed along behind him, busily contemplating all that she'd just learned about her unwilling partner...

I may be a little late, but I hope you had a very pleasant birthday. Here's to hoping that this year will be full of chances to grow, improve, explore and enjoy. All the best, ~Yui