The Adventures of Miriam and David: Three Silly Puppies

It began, as it always does, with a girl and a boy. The girl had long dark brown hair, it was thick and reached her waist. She took very good care of it, and made sure to wash and brush it every day. Her name was Miriam. The boy had short curly brown hair, bright blue eyes that are always kind peer out from around a beautiful roman nose. His name was David.

They did everything together. From reading on the couch.

 To pulling wires.

To battling cults and dragons.

 And saving puppies.

One day Miriam and David were trekking through the mountains; when they heard a whimpering sound.

“We should go find it,” Miriam, the adventurous one, said.

“Make sure to bring a snake kit just in case,” said David, the prepared one.

When they walked around the curve of the mountain they discovered a small wooden box. Inside the box, were three wet puppies.

“We need to take them home,” David said softly. “We have enough money.”

“They’ll be able to have adventures with us,” agreed Miriam. So they took the puppies home. They quickly realized that they were three very silly puppies.

The first puppy they named Adara. She had bright red fur and was very good at talking with other puppies. But she was very silly…

Sometimes she expected herself to do too much.

“Silly Adara,” Miriam admonished. “You don’t have to do everything. Just take everything one step at a time.”

 So, Adara did. She found it much easier.

The second puppy they named Isaac. He was very pretty with his black fur, and his dark eyes. He could remember everything, even after a few seconds. But he was very silly…

Sometimes he couldn’t stop sleeping.

“Silly Isaac,” David admonished. “If you want to rest, lay on the beach. Then you can get tan while you catch some ‘Z’s”

 So, Isaac did. Hang loose dude.

 The youngest puppy they named Eli. He was extremely smart and could make up worlds in his head. But he was very silly…

Sometimes he forget to do things until the last minute.

“Silly Eli,” Miriam and David grinned. “The best thing to do is write down what you need to do and when.”

So, Eli did. He got everything done, and still had time to run around magical worlds.

And they had many adventures together.

The End

The Ice Queen

The Ice Queen (Prologue)

Author notes: A fairy tale comedy, this is about as serious as it's going to get.


Once upon a time…
It was said there was a land that was full green planes, and fertile farmland. The warm breeze often passed through it, and the people of the Land were joyful and happy. It was the type of place where puppies played with kittens, who endured it in their usual snobbishness. It was where the lion would play with sheep, without the biting part. Or perhaps it is the exaggeration of a past ended age, because it did end.
All things have to come to an end; even sun and warmth. This end began with the sudden illness of the King of the Land. Slowly at first, he was unable to stay on his feet for very long. He would refuse food and go to bed early. Then one day he collapsed while attending a fair. He was forced to bed by the healers of his house, and his seven month pregnant wife spent the next two months by his side. She tended him, washing off dirt, talking and supporting. Eventually the King could not walk at all, as if something had eaten the muscles of his once strong legs. He succumbed to his illness the day before his wife went into labor.
Grief stricken the Queen stayed alive only to whisper her daughters name.
Only a few days after and the court was in ruins, no one knew who was supposed to ascend the throne. The royal family had no relatives to speak of. The healer who had helped bear the young Princess clutched her desperately to her chest. Things continued this way until eventually the doors of the palace were flung open. A cold breeze fluttered through the grand hall and a man stepped into the golden room.
A cold smile formed on his lips as he past the nobles who all shivered and drew into themselves. He wore a white cape thin and silky that seemed to caress his form. He had a short white beard that covered his whole lower half. White boots moved over sturdy white leather pants. He wore silver buttons and a white silk shirt.
He bent over the healer and took the new born baby from her arms. As he touched the princess her hair turned white as snow, and her skin became icy.
“I will care for her until of age,” said the man. “For now I will take these lands for Mr. Winter.”
And all around the Land small snowflakes began to fall. Eventually the freezing cold covered everything, and the crops died. People began to shrink into their homes… and the Princess grew up.
When she came of age, Mr. Winter did hand the throne over to her as he said he would, but when he left the snow and ice did not go with him. He had left a shard of himself deep with the new Queen. The Land would remain barren, cursed to an eternal winter.

The Beginning

The Beginning

All kids grow up. There’s no way to stop that, and sometimes it’s harder than parents may have originally thought.

After I decided to leave the church with my parents there was a deep seated guilt. It followed me for the rest of sixth grade and continued into Junior High. I remember the first time I watched the Simpsons I thought I was going to be struck down with a falling piano. Taking my first sip of Coca Cola was a little nectar of sin, in retrospect it may be that I just didn’t like the taste.

In Junior High I began to get into Egyptian history. I only make note of it because when I went back to the Book of Mormon I was able to pick out everything wrong with its Egyptian history. Joseph Smith definitely just cut off Osiris and Anubis’ heads. I began picking up on inconsistencies myself instead of relying on my parents to pick it out.

And I did want to decide for myself. That was important to me, my parents told me I could be any religion I wanted. There was a phase right after leaving the church that my Mama and I studied Buddhism. I even told people in High School that I was Buddhist. Papa became an atheist fairly quickly in my mind. It was only logical, if the Mormon god wasn’t real, then the things that made him not real made other Christian gods not real. It didn’t take long before all three of us agreed on that.
Junior High was also the first time I told someone I was Ex-Mormon and not just Non-Mormon, it was the difference between someone looking surprised at you, and them looking horrified. I revealed it in a paper I wrote. It was an assignment given in my English class to write about the event that changed us most in life. It was very hard to write, and even harder to turn in. My English teacher was very polite though, and didn’t write any notes that could have been interpreted as horror.
The first church I remember going to after leaving the Church of Latter-day Saints was the Universal Unitarians. I thought it was strange because we didn’t have to dress up for it, I could just wear jeans. In fact that part of it was so strange I didn’t like going.

Soon our family gave up on going to a church altogether. Instead we went to the movies, which make more sense than any of the churches we went to. We also played golf on Sunday. My brother started to tell people that we went to the Church of Golf. It became a running gag in our family.

It was fun; it was amazing what I started to notice after I stopped thinking in the confined terms that the church gave us. But it was difficult. I didn’t just go from refined conservative Mormon to thinking liberal agonistic in a few years. It took a long time for me to even realize that I didn’t want to be Mormon anymore.

The person who helped me figure it out was my best friend in Junior High. She was a depressed sort of person, very shy, like I was. We got along fairly well; we had similar interests for a little while; mainly video games and anime. But she was a very devout Mormon, in fact I think me being non-affiliated religious at the time made her more devout to me. I wasn’t very happy during Junior High (but really who is?). This was of course due to my hormones going haywire. I eventually got on birth control in seventh grade, which helped to start evening out my temper. But that wasn’t the only reason.

My best friend kept inviting me to Mormon activities, first to church, I knew by this time that all Mormon children are taught to convince Non-Mormon friends to accompany them, I remembered being taught that. Then she invited me to a young woman’s camp (or something similar to that). I came home that night after accepting, very distraught. My Mama, the wonderful person she is, commented that I didn’t have to go if I didn’t want to. I ended up telling my friend that I was sick.

There was one sentence that stuck with me through all these years that my best friend said, “If you just started believing again you would be happier.”

I was deeply hurt. Not offended or angry, but hurt. It was because she thought I wasn’t happy due to my belief… not my lack of belief, but my belief. It was a moment of enlightenment. For the last few years, deep within my subconscious I always thought I’d go back to believing the church. I wasn’t unhappy because of lack of faith, I was unhappy because I wasn’t moving forward, I hadn’t realized that I didn’t believe it anymore. I had to move on to the next step in my life to be happy, I had been held back too long in one spot.

So that’s what I did, I moved forward. This included getting new friends. This sounds awful, but I had been moving onto deeper thought, new interests, and a happier life style. I couldn’t stay friends with someone who was still in the same spot as ever. So I moved on, I don’t regret it except that it probably hurt her deeply.

I became best friends with Amanda (whom I hope doesn’t mind that I used her name or put her in here) who was also leaving the church. We became best friends by the end of ninth grade, and I was happier. I was studying new religions and cultures. I was discovering the world not only outside of Utah, but outside of the United States. There were so many different ways of thinking. I loved every minute of it.

Eventually along the way my pursuit of knowledge replaced spiritualism in my heart. I had that overwhelming wonder at wonder, and the Rosetta Stone instead of wonder at Christ. It was the exact same feeling, but I didn’t need a spiritual connection to have it. This was in high school, when I realized I didn’t need any of the religions of the world to be happy. I didn’t need them to feel content with myself.

I was, I was beautifully happy with myself. I didn’t feel guilty over drinking coffee, or swearing, or watching the Simpsons (I have since started watching South Park). I didn’t feel any hesitation in informing my peers that I was not only Non-Mormon, but Ex-Mormon. I was angry with the church for a long time after I realized they had damaged me, that they had blocked my growth for a long time. But I’ve found an inner sort of peace with them, I still get angry, but the relief and knowledge that I’m not a part of that anymore is magnificent.

The world has become so breathtaking.

Hello, my name is Adara Latour and I’d like to bear my thoughts:

I know the church is not true.

In Strange Ways

In Strange Ways

For many years I believed that the beginning started when I was twelve. It was only after reflection that I realized it had started long before my birth; at least it had for my parents. For me it started when I was fairly young. I wasn’t more than the distant flash of what was called a sunbeam. Sunbeams in that time were young children who had not yet risen to the age where the ritual into teenage years could be performed.

The first church I remember going to is now a faded yellow color, there are streaks of brighter yellow on the bricks as if God had built it for a quick place to pee. But in my memory it will always remain a dull gold. It was a small church, at least in comparison to the newer churches, and housed at least thirteen wards (not mental wards, though I questions this now, but the name for a timetable of the neighboring towns that came to it). Even though it was a small church and was all that I knew of my religion, the Mormon faith itself had a majority in the rest of the Utah public.
It was here that I first started questioning my faith, and it was here that my parents decided it wasn’t theirs.

Our family would have been considered avid church goers to the rest of the world, we attended a three hour meeting every week on Sunday, sometimes as early as half past seven in the morning, which should be considered an ungodly hour. We prayed at every meal, despite my stomach’s protest, and I remember being taught to pray every night. I prayed out loud for the first several years of my life. Besides church we attended mid-week meetings of Primary activities, Relief Society and Priesthood (I mention only these three because at the time there was only my Mama and Papa and me, be aware that besides these there were also Young Woman’s, Young Men’s, and Singles). Not that I ever went, I was busy with Youth theatre which was on the same day as Primary activities.

One of the few things that carried on past our religious phase was the weekly families get together; then called Family Home Evening. I later renamed it to – Awesome Family Movies on Sunday Time.

It was during the Sunday meeting that I first thought something disparaging about what I was being taught. After the Sacrament meeting (a time in which we practiced vampirism by imbibing the blood of Christ, and cannibalism by masticating his body), we were split into ages and sexes. I went to Primary.

The Primary school teacher sat across from me and the other sunbeams. We sat in a semi circle so that we could see the picture and diagrams she had brought. She smiled the smile that I have come to know very well. It has a touch of kindness, sympathy, and happiness all wrapped up in the sort of blankness that you usually only see painted on marionettes when the artist could think of no other emotion to portray. It is the smile of those who have spent more than twenty years believing everything they hear.

The teacher wore a dress that went past her knees and had a floral pattern that is now reserved for the exclusive use of old lady curtains. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun and was a mousy sort of brown color. We had dresses and suits on as well.
As we began the lesson she pulled out cardboard cutouts of characters and began to talk about them.

“Our Heavenly Father created man in His own image,” said the teacher, “and put him on the world He had created. He could see Earth because His planet is very close to ours. And after He put us here, He said that He would test us, to see if we were worthy to become like Him.” She danced the figure of God around the small circle. “Heavenly Father was once like us, mortal, He worked hard to become what he is, and He expects us to as well. But not everyone agreed with His plan. There was a man named Lucifer who thought Heavenly Father should tell us all what to do, then all of us could get into heaven and become like Him.” The figure of Lucifer argued with God, then another male figure came up to them. “Jesus, Heavenly Father’s first son, told Lucifer that it would be wrong to take our choices from us. Lucifer said that it would be worth it if we could all get into heaven. Soon the argument got out of hand and Lucifer, always jealous of Jesus’ close relationship with their Father, said that Heavenly Father had chosen Jesus’ plan out of favoritism. Heavenly Father became sad at this accusation and declared that Lucifer could not remain in Heaven if he opposed them. Lucifer refused to acknowledge Jesus’ true view and was cast down from heaven…”

I remember thinking at the time, besides ‘I’m starving, when is this over so I can have lunch?’, that Jesus and God were jerks for making Lucifer leave just because he questioned them. At the time my parents were teaching me the unorthodox view that I should question everything.

The next rite of passage for a Mormon child is baptism. This takes place when the child is eight, instead of a newborn. This is so they may have a choice in getting baptized or not… or at least have the illusion of choice. I remember the surprised look on my Bishop’s face when my Mama brought me in and I told him I didn’t want to get baptized. Don’t think it was because I was becoming enlightened at such a young age, it wasn’t. There was no overly complex theological reason for refusing it.
A week earlier my older cousin Anna had been baptized by her father, who was a part of the Bishopric, had her baptism as a private event. I was informed that I would have to get baptized with five other people.

To an eight year old this is the pinnacle of unfair.

I didn’t really notice at the time, but my Mama had an amused smile on her face through the whole conversation that followed my refusal. The bishop was very insistent that I should be baptized, until eventually he told me I had to because Heavenly Father wanted me baptized. The next week I was baptized by my Papa.
I was the only child ever baptized in my family.

I never really thought to question my faith again until fifth grade. It wasn’t in church, this time it was during an activity for plain old normal public school. My fifth grade teacher had put up on the board a list of priorities, I don’t remember very many of the now, but it was things like ‘Television, school, friends, etc.’ we went around the room and everyone erased one priority, one that we didn’t care about. I was the first and I erased ‘Popularity’ fairly quickly. At that point in time I hadn’t realized that I would need popularity to get jobs and get into Medical school, etc. What I was thinking was that what you looked like and thought shouldn’t be dependent on the people around you. I still hold to that.

My memory of what was erased throughout isn’t very good, but I do remember the end. We ended up with “religion” and “family” as our top priorities. I remember a very quiet classroom as the last person debated on what to erase, or perhaps my perception has been clouded with how I feel about it now. The boy stood up and moved toward the board. He picked up the eraser and passed it over family.

A sick sort of feeling settled into my stomach. It’s there every time I think about it. The teacher didn’t look surprised, no one did. We were always asked after we erased a priority why we did it. This time was no different, the teacher asked the boy why erased family instead of religion.

His reply, “I thought of it as a man putting a gun to my family’s head and threatening to shoot them unless I renounced my faith. I believe that I will see my family in the next life, but Heavenly Father wouldn’t let me see them in heaven if I renounced my religion.”

I looked down at my desk, and imagined the situation. I imagined a gunman shooting my Mama and Papa, my five-year-old brother, my baby brother… I thought about it for a long time, but I couldn’t reconcile letting someone shoot my family. I thought about off and on for years. This was the true start of theological dissonance for me. I couldn’t understand why God would punish someone for saving the person they loved.

I was disturbed for the rest of the day, but I didn’t talk to my parents about it. I didn’t think it was right to worry them, I wasn’t saying the church wasn’t true after all, and I didn’t want them to think I was. I didn’t know that at the time both my Mama and Papa were deep into studying the fundamentals and history of the church. I was used to Papa talking about history and philosophy, that was something that I enjoyed listening to ever since I was able to open doors.

Perhaps the whispered conversations that Mama and Papa had reached my ears and I internally processed them. I remember listening to Papa say in slightly disturbed slight angry terms that the type of horses in the Book of Mormon didn’t exist in the New World at the time. I remember a big black book that they would read (I discovered later that it was a book about the wives of Joseph Smith).

Later, I remember sitting out in the moon lit clubhouse and swing set Papa had built and listen to my Papa and Mama talk. Mama had basically left the church by this time, but Papa was still meticulously going through ever scratch of evidence he could find. Within the next few years we began to stop going to meetings, my Papa turned down a teaching position in the Elder’s Quorum, Mama stopped being the Relief Society first counselor (compassionate service leader).

I remember very well when they finally told me they didn’t believe in the church. We had just moved to our new house in Pleasant Grove, it was a hard change but it pales in comparison to the whole foundation of my childhood being yanked out from under me. Though perhaps that isn’t a very good comparison, it makes it sound like it was a bad thing. It did hurt, like all change does at first, but it leaves a shallow scar that just emphasizes other features instead of detracting from them.

I remember sitting on our wood floor in the kitchen eating (we didn’t have a table yet), my back was up against the arch. I was twelve by this point. My Mama and Papa came up to me and told me that we weren’t going to be going back to church, that they didn’t believe in the Mormon faith. Then they handed me an envelope from Aunt and Uncle.

It was a letter saying that I could go to church with them since my parents weren’t, I don’t remember the exact wording, but I do remember what happened after. My parents told me it was my choice; that they wouldn’t make me give up my faith. That I could go with my Aunt and Uncle if I wanted to. That’s when the very movie like flashback happened. I remembered clearly that moment in the classroom, when the word family had been erased forever. No one was holding a gun to my family’s heads, they weren’t about to be crushed by an anvil if I decided to go with my Aunt and Uncle. But I was old enough at the time to realize, this was the type of decision that changed relationships forever. If I decided to go with my Aunt and Uncle I would lose the close relationship I had with my parents, and I treasured that. I treasure it even more now that I’m older. I wouldn’t give it up for the world.

And I didn’t… because family was a higher priority to me then religion.

That was the beginning. Not an end, but me being on one stage and then taking a step through the back curtains only to find another stage on the other side. It took a while. I floundered in those curtains for a long time, but when I ended up at the new stage I found it was beautiful.

Most people talk about the innocence, magic, and fantasy they left behind in childhood, I never regret leaving that. The wonder of the world, the strange exotic places, the food, the creatures of the sea and sky, the unknown of the stars, the beautiful people, the majestic buildings, the snow covered mountains, the rise of empires the fall of empires, the adaptability, the innovation, the sparkling dust that is only visible in sun or moon, the birth of kittens…

Life. Life, cannot be replaced with the magic of childhood, there is no comparison. Life is huge, it’s now, and it’s real. It’s something that we touch, and hear, and see every day. It’s beautiful.

That was the beginning. It opened my mind to something so wonderful it could never be expressed in mere words, or even pictures. And I can never express the gratitude to my parents, I can never express how much they’ve given me without even trying, they’ve let me fly higher than any religion would have let me. They’ve given me the ability to be me; the young girl full of questions, and curiosity.

Be Thankful

Notes: I was being very cynical when I was writing this... happy Thanksgiving everyone!



Be thankful for clothes so fine
Be thankful that the sun will shine
Be thankful for the straight standing pine
Be thankful for food to dine.

Be thankful for freedom rare
Be thankful for our great health care
Be thankful for the dreams to be billionaires
Be thankful that we don't swear.

Be thankful that we have no more slaves
Be thankful that our military is so brave
Be thankful we stop all knaves
Be thankful for being saved.

Being thankful can not be forced.
And I have to wonder why I should just acquiesce.

Clothes so fine bought with money that is mine
Shining sun, made by no one
Tall straight pine, knocked down to build a rail line
Food and juice, could be given for someone else to use.

Freedom is through, only wanted for you
Health care not so great, you can find better during a prison break
Billionaires are nice, but only for a price
Swearing is small, compared to the violence of the world's brawls.

Slaves were freed through grace, we made them in the first place
Bravery is relative, when so many are corruptive
But what are knaves, if not someone else's braves
No need to be thankful, having someone push their gospel.

So remember this Thanksgiving,
To never push your own cheering
To let everyone do their own thinking
On what it means to be thanking.

Myra Anne

Myra Anne



Come home, come home
Myra Anne, Myra Anne
The sun is setting
Myra Anne, Myra Anne

The sky’s turned red
Myra Anne, Myra Anne
Come home, come home
Myra Anne, Myra Anne

Run home, run home
Myra Anne, Myra Anne
The red rain’s a’fallin’
Myra Anne, Myra Anne

Is it too late?
Myra Anne, Myra Anne
The lightning here explodes
Myra Anne, Myra Anne

All the heroes are gone
Myra Anne, Myra Anne
Sprint home, sprint home
Myra Anne, Myra Anne

Lay down, lay down
Myra Anne, Myra Anne
You’re home, you’re home
Myra Anne, Myra Anne

Don’t cry no more
Myra Anne, Myra Anne
Red rain’s ran through
Myra Anne, Myra Anne

It’s time to sleep
Myra Anne, Myra Anne
Don’t be scared of the dark
Myra Anne, Myra Anne

Detinos on the Easter Holidays

Detinos on the Easter Holidays

Warnings: Drunkenness, underlining sexual tones, two men kissing, pessimistic view of Easter. Detinos in general.

Notes: All of Detinos' butlers are called Geoffrey, in case you couldn't tell from the previous stories. This is a fantasy. Detinos is immortal in a young forever kind of way.



“Because it’s really a fertility holiday,” muttered Detinos to the empty room. The vodka bottle in his hand dropped unceremoniously to the ground. “So why, am I not out getting laid, by several people?” He chuckled in self pity. Groaning the immortal curled up on himself.

Detinos was situated quite comfortably on his couch in his condo. The condo was at the top of Detinos World in New York. The condo’s walls were all glass making the city’s tiny lights seem like stars. Especially with how Detinos’ head was spinning. Wouldn’t it be weird if the lights fell into the sky? The immortal giggled. Oh, he was way too drunk.

“Sir?”

He hadn’t been this drunk in century.

“Sir?”

This wasn’t his fault.

“Sir?”

Why was he remembering this now? He locked these memories away. Deep, deep into the darkest places. In the alleys where lights never came on in the night.

“Sir, are you alright?”

He hated Easter.

“Sir! Do you need a Doctor?”

Idiotic Pagan turned Christian holiday. This is your fault entirely Geoffrey.

“I don’t need a Doctor. Don’t be silly Geoffrey.” His eyes turned up to his butler. This one had black hair, and he was young. Very young, why he couldn’t be more then thirty-five! His eyes had closed involuntarily. “I am just spectacularly drunk.” He blinked as his head was pulled up and then placed on a lap. Geoffrey’s lap. A hand brushed his forehead, and he snickered. “You used to do this all the time, on Easter,” he whispered. The hand paused.

“Who was he?”

“Who was who?” Detinos murmered.

“The original Geoffrey. Who was he?” Detinos opened his eyes again and looked up at the blurry face. He frowned.

“No! I can’t” Detinos shouted gripping the man’s hair almost desperately. Blood was caked in the chocolate colored locks.

“It’s alright. I want you to live Captain,” the man smiled, his hand came up and brushed Detinos’ hair back from his eyes. “My Captain.”

“But-“ Detinos hissed with tears in his voice. Another hand brushed his neck possessively.

“He’s fading, do it quickly,” said a voice that sounded like three.

“A lesson that I had to relearn,” the immortal said in a sober voice. His teal eyes squeezed shut in anguish. He sat up slightly and brushed his lips against the butler’s. “Geoffrey…” Detinos gave a shuddering dry sob, but no tears came.

“Detinos,” whispered Geoffrey. The immortal kissed the man again.

“Don’t leave me.”

It was another hour before the immortal had fallen into a fitful sleep. The butler looked down at the sleeping man and shook his head. “That’s not my name,” he said softly. He moved gently away, placing Detinos’ head onto the soft pillow below. The new Geoffrey moved over to the glass walls and looked down on the city celebrating. He smiled ironically. The city celebrated the rebirth of Christ, after they had tortured and murdered him. All so they could feel better about themselves.

He moved away and pressed a button on the remote. Curtains appeared in the ceiling and dropped gracefully in front of the glass blocking out the burning lights. Geoffrey sighed and moved out of the room, leaving his employer to his nightmares.

Detinos shivered and opened his eyes. He looked at the door as it clicked shut. He sighed slightly and began to sit up. A hand, the same hand, pressed upon his neck keeping him stomach down on the couch. The immortal froze before grim smile appeared on his lips.

“What do you want?” he asked in a drawl that had a tint of drunkenness. An older man stepped into his view. He was smiling grimly, the white hair flowing gently down until his shoulders. His outfit seemed to blend perfectly into the shadows. He leaned heavily on a cane and his back was slightly bent. The Curmudgeon, was the form that he had decided to appear in. The hand on his neck tightened slightly at the immortal’s tone. He glanced behind himself to catch the sparkle of silver. This man was middle aged, strong sturdy shoulders. The Caviler, sat on his haunches straddling Detinos’ lower back. Now where was the third?

Ah, Detinos twitched slightly as he felt a hand caress his calf. The last was a younger man, in poet clothes a charming smile and dimples. The Swain, was possessively moving his hand further up his leg. The Triangle, trio, (Detinos snorted slightly) the trinity, had descended onto the world.

“I am of course flattered,” Detinos said trying to keep his mind straight, “that you would visit me.”

The Curmudgeon gripped the immortal’s chin roughly, jerking his eyes up to meet his. “We wanted to make sure-“ he said angrily.

“-that you were still ours-“ continued the deep undertones of the Caviler.

“-and hadn’t given yourself over to love,” finished the higher voice of the Swain. Detinos gave a harsh laugh.

“Love is a figment of humanity’s over active imagination,” the immortal said dismissively. “Why would I give myself up for such a thing?”

“We are glad-“ said the Swain with a sweet smile.

“-that his death-“ grumbled the Curmudgeon.

“-wasn’t in vain,” whispered the Caviler. Detinos stiffened under the hands.

“My memories,” he said angrily. “You brought them forward. Why? Why now? Why today?”

“Today is the day of martyrs,” replied the Caviler.

“Today is the day of rebirth and renewal,” said the Swain messaging Detinos’ upper thighs with both hands.

“Today is the day of-“ the Curmudgeon smirked and brushed Detinos’ lower lip with his thumb. “- fertility.”

“Ah,” Detinos said almost smugly, but the wavering grief took away from the effect. “So that is what you want.” The Swain breathed in, and the Cavilear let out a woosh of air, ending with the Curmudgeon sighing.

“Yes,” the three voices said as one. “Show us that you are still ours, our agent.” Detinos obediently opened his mouth as the Curmudgeon kissed him.

“Good,” the other two whispered. Detinos shut his eyes and all the lights went out.