Stars and Other Monsters

Part One

Stars

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned.

-William Congreve

1

Day 99

The sun wavered high in the sky, its rays glittering across the unknown city below. It was surely given a name at one point in time- though no one could remember it. There wasn’t much this town could remember now. Even just past daybreak, there was a never-ending loop of reds and purples, never higher than just over the horizon. It was beautiful in its haze, if not the most beautiful sight anyone had ever seen. That was, if they could remember it. The people of this unnamed city were unremarkable, unworthy of sharing the golden light ricocheting off of the building walls. Their faces were blank, sullen, and empty. There was something about this place, and even its residents weren’t able to pinpoint the source of its oddity.

Luci looked towards the sun, her hair billowing across her olive-toned shoulders. A brushed finger across her collarbone, a hand running down to the frills of her dress. Her dress was befitting of her remarkable appearance, with intricate beading and lace more regal than any garment in the city. Her movements were smooth and gentle, contrary to the shape of her face and the point of her joints. She was out of this world.

Far too peculiar for this unremarkable place.

When Luci walked across the Earth, people stopped to stare. It had been this way for years and every day was the same; she slid past each face, awed with silent appreciation. Her eyes stayed forward, her determination set towards her destination. There was something special about this place, certainly by design, and she would have it no other way. She waited, here at the center of the universe.

People often did their best to avoid places like this; they would step around it if they could, their blood rushing if they came too close. The people in this town were unwelcome trespassers at the center of the universe, and she was the only one invited here. There Luci stood, dead center, her eyes closed and hands draped down her sides. She was waiting for something here, someone.

When Icarus looked out towards the horizon, his eyes glazed over like the evening glow. His bones creaked in anticipation as he floated through the city. He, too, was remarkable with his dark complexion that complimented the pink of his lips. The people of this city never remembered him, and though they seemed familiar, he couldn’t place a face either. He watched silently as they turned to him, like baubles fixated with interest. It felt as though something might be following Icarus, and with a quick turn of his head, he noticed a dark mist that snaked near his ankles. The feeling of unease flowed through him, and he hastened his pace.

His eyes glazed over with emotion when he saw Luci standing there. The gazebo was tall and pointed, quaint but distinguished. It was porcelain white with accents of yellows and purples to match the sky. From sunrise to sunset, she waited for him there.

He straightened his suit, tightly fitted around his tensing muscles. He, too, moved gracefully, powerfully. When Icarus saw her, the corners of his mouth twitched upward, despite his reluctance, and he stepped towards the graceful figure in the clearing. With her eyes closed as they were, Luci looked as though she could be a ghost- she might as well have been. The draw to her was pulling on him so hard he could hardly stand it. In no time at all, Icarus was at the center of the universe, and his mist faded away. It was what he had called it once before- the only time they had spoken. What else could it have been when it was the place he first saw her? Luci was there, and so, it had become the center of his world and beyond. Gods, he hated it.

Icarus reached out and touched her hands briefly, watching the intake of her breath. She opened her eyes to look at him and said nothing at all, instead falling into him. Together they took a deep step, their hearts clapping together in a similar beat. Where there was nothing before, now there was music pumping into the night. It was slow and deliberate. After an easy count of one, two, and three, he took a step back and held out a hand.

They moved with the beat; the music refusing to stop while they danced. Passersby seemed to disappear into their buildings and they were lost in each other. Luci reveled in this memory of dance; there was no space left at this moment when their bodies moved so close together, something to remember in a way no other person could in this unnamed city.

Icarus caught fire in front of her, and her eyes widened as they twirled. Smooth and sticky caramel flames traveled up her arm, golden strands wrapping around her. He spun her then, another breath of one, two, three. Luci’s body twirled as the sun drowned them and the wind lifted her dress up around her. The world followed her on her 360 to reveal a deep blue sky, littered with falling stars. If he was fire, then she was pure light, a spark to the night.

As stars glittered around them, the world emptied. There were no longer any blank faces, nothing keeping them from remembering. It was just enough time to let their bodies be. And it hurt, far worse than the fire licking at their arms. Luci caught a star in her palm then, lifting it to her face and blowing softly, causing it to streak across the street; she had created a star chaser in Icarus, and he twirled her relentlessly. They spun and spun together until they could no longer. They danced through the night, stars falling around them, and the music so loud it shattered eardrums. No one noticed but them.

When day broke, he let go of her hand and the music faded into nothing. Luci looked down at her feet, tiptoeing away from his embrace. There was something special about that sunrise, so hazy and purple. She looked at Icarus, taking in every feature of his face, determined to capture the way his eyebrows arched and the way the skin pulled at the corners of his eyes. They both stood, staring at each other for just a moment too long. Longing for more but getting nothing but a memory. She disappeared with the music in the wind and he fell to his knees. The hurt of abandonment filled his chest.

2

Day 100

Luci moved her hands down her sides, smoothing out the frills of her dress. The sunrise was beautiful, she thought. It was just high enough in the sky to say that it wasn’t far past daybreak. She couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than this city. It was surely named something at one point in time, though no one could remember it. All she knew was a face. Long and handsome, striking. There was an urge Luci couldn’t describe, pulling her towards something. She needed to get to the center of the universe.

Icarus walked downtown, purpose driving his steps. His suit was painted across his skin, the faces of people around him staring with lifeless eyes. There was something different about him, but he couldn’t quite place it. Each time he tried, the ribbon of memory unraveled from his fingertips, evading him. Tendrils of smoky darkness followed him where he went. Sometimes he tried to ignore them, they never harmed him, but the desire to run was almost impossible to withstand. If only his feet could take him there quick enough. If only he wasn’t stuck in this limbo, this place after life. It wasn’t much longer now; the sun was dripping by the second, stars threatening in the distance. He quit his worrying, keeping his walk steady and easily paced even though it pained him. When Icarus stepped out into the clearing he saw her in the middle of the gazebo, hands resting patiently at her sides.

Luci didn’t seem to know who he was, her expression was too serene for her to have remembered anything that happened between them, right?

Icarus could remember it all. He remembered the day he died, he remembered the monster who put him here...her. He remembered the way her face would twitch in the same way each time he saw her, not a second off. He remembered that there was no way out of here, that he would spend each day dancing, remembering.

If there was nothing else in the world but this, he knew they would always find each other at the center of the universe, if only for a moment.

They created magic together. They created destruction.

They danced ninety-nine dances and then one more, and the stars fell all around them.

Part Two

Death at a Funeral

The death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world.

-Edgar Allen Poe

1

Unlike most stories, Lola Duvall’s opens at a funeral. The circle of life had, once again, brought her face to face with the beauty of Death. Her jaguar eyes crawled across the scene, making note of every face in attendance. She was there looking for someone, though not the dead type you would expect in a place like this. This someone was very much alive. Lola popped her lips, taking in a breath of cool air; the wind whipped around her body and she almost laughed at the cruelty of it. The funeral nor the weather could ruin her purpose today. She had been called here, and Lola would finish the job that needed to be done.

I am here, and you cannot stop me, She murmured, watching as the wind took her words and warped them into nonexistence. The weather seemed to fight back, the wind twisting her words and pulling at them until there was nothing left. Strips of dark shadowed tendrils, invisible to most, found her then and pushed her forward to the sea of black-clad bodies; Lola tried hard to focus on the task at hand and less on the elements surrounding her. Threads of dark magic moved around her, so much like the wind but more menacing. Lola ground her teeth together silently, for once wishing for the gritty sounds of wet bone against wet bone, but the wind took that sound away too. She snarled like an animal as she fought against the elements. Lola and the wind had a relationship built on mutual hatred, but she was far too afraid of its power to dismiss it completely. She scowled, ignoring the breeze, and sauntered down into the crowd, an obvious air of disrespect laced in her movements. The gown flowed behind her, catching fallen leaves that clung to the bottom of the fabric as she walked. The wind, leaves, and tendrils followed her every step.

There was so much magic in the air, but those who were unwilling to believe it would only see darkness in the periphery of their vision or serendipitous wind gusts. Human minds were so naive, so easy to manipulate. They would always make excuses for what was right in front of them to try and rationalize what they were seeing. Humans were so undeserving of the life they were given. Lola wrapped her arms around her torso to shield herself from the cold, wondering if anyone else on the cemetery grounds felt it too. The sky overhead was cloudy and threatening rainfall, but she doubted it would get in the way of her mission; Mother Nature herself would not interfere with this. Lola looked towards the sky in a challenge, descending further into the ocean of somber faces before her.

Her dress wasn’t tight or formfitting, not like what she would wear on another day; instead, it was loose on her body, cinching her ribs comfortably and coming up into a gentle V. The sleeves fell gracefully across her upper arms, leaving her shoulders and collarbone exposed. This dress was a mournful one, not a smoldering one. It was meant for nice girls, not Devils like Lola. She swallowed, the air catching in her throat as saliva slid down. Lola’s mouth moved into a cocky smile as she weaved her way in and out of the crowd. Although she was cloaked in the same dull black as everyone else, she stood out. She would always stand out.

Why was everyone always so sad during a funeral? Lola was taught that the most beautiful part of life was death. It was when your body decided you had learned all there was to learn and it would return to the place it came from. It was when we were no longer servants of the wind and Mother Nature, and we could become night itself again. Death was not weakness, it was strength. She scowled. These people mocked death by trying to escape it; it was their fear that made them weak. She cast disdainful glances around her and the people all looked the same. The women were swathed in shades of black, lace covering their faces. The men were much more uniform, their suits tucked in nice and tidy. Lola wondered how many of them actually knew the deceased and how many came looking for a score. Be it sex, food, or companionship, funerals made everyone hungry for it. It was eerie, the way they all talked in hushed voices and moved around in unison. Her movements were far less gentle and hurried. Many people noticed but none dared approach the woman who descended upon them with leaves trailing her every step. She found herself in the middle of the audience, ignoring stares and trying desperately to find the one she was searching for.

The hearse came forward, and Lola felt when they all looked away from her and towards it instead. She trained her eyes forward, grazing over the crowd like a predator. Her focus wavered only slightly as the hearse rolled closer. The air smelled so much of death, and Lola’s nostrils flared. The tendrils wrapped around her leg, and the wind blew cool air that caused goose bumps to freckle across her skin. Her scowl deepened, refocusing. She was looking for a face, a particular one with a deep pink scar running from his temple to his jaw. It was new, still stitched together by feeble medical floss. He told everyone that he had been attacked by a jaguar. Lola’s lip twitched at the memory. He either blended in with the crowd well or had not yet made his appearance. Each face was hard to tell apart she noticed with a disgruntled huff, and the consistent pull of the tendrils must have meant she was not close enough. She needed to be close. This was not the first time the uncomfortable pull had brought her this close to death. Lola was married to it, she devoured every moment, and stood on the line between life and after-life. This adrenaline-inducing feeling overwhelmed her like a rolling force, and she settled into it. She could feel the spirit moving within the hearse, and the tendrils slithered from her legs and returned to the crowd eagerly awaiting its fill.

This mission was both given to and requested by her. He was now marked for death- how fitting in a place like this. Lola volunteered to take his life and was more than happy to watch the last light leave his eyes for good. They’d met only briefly before today; there were moments, nothing of significance, at least not to her. It took one look, and she had him wrapped around her finger. She moved onward in her search, her eyes burning like the pits of Hell. She was like a distant cousin to Medusa, without the petrifying stone stare. Instead, she burned them up from the inside. For her, just one look was like a match, and Lola could incinerate them all.

Her emerald eyes continued to scan, each new face giving her glimpses of the lives of the people in mourning. She felt like she needed to take their broken hearts and set fire to them with her gaze, that would be the only way to relieve them of this unhappiness, to erase the heartache completely. Their grief stained the air with a pressure that was so similar to that in her own chest. She let loose a breath, releasing her tension and relaxing the muscles in her face. Her jaw stretched, aching from the hold she had on it. Lola would not allow herself to feel sorry for these people. Humans were nasty creatures. They might have thought she was malice, but they would prove to always be far worse than she could ever conjure.

Is she in that car, momma? Lola’s head snapped towards a young boy and his mother standing just a few feet to her right. The mother looked familiar to Lola, but she blinked the deja vu away and cocked her head. Not everything she saw and remembered was her own memory, Lola unwillingly let the thoughts and lives of everyone here infiltrate her body, and the tendrils swirled around her unhappily. They couldn’t spend much more time up here, she had overstayed her welcome and needed to move quicker. The woman knelt onto one knee, wiping at her tear-stained face beneath the lace covering. She cradled her son’s small face in her hands.

Yes, she whispered. Lola had to take a step forward to hear her. The wind rattled around them in warning, but she paid it no mind. The hearse came to a stop, its brakes roaring loudly. Death was like a virus, something to be caught. She could see the fear in their bodies as they parted for the long black van, not wanting to be the first ones to catch it. The mother let go of her child, shoving her face into her now open palms, crying. Yes, she’s there, she managed.

Will I be able to see her? he whimpered. The boy danced on tiptoes, trying to see over the heads of those who loomed above him. The woman shook her head fiercely, dabbing at her tears and containing her grief, hugging him close as if trying to shield him from the realities of this harsh world. Lola wanted to spit at them.

I’m afraid not, son. It’s for the grown-ups only, she lifted herself from her knees and looked Lola right in the eyes. Humans and their grief. It fed her and gave her the energy she needed to complete her task. Lola smirked, turning her head and moving on. She walked up the stairs to the Cathedral, away from the collection of sheep, the hearse, and the person inside it.

2

She was seated in the upper pews with a clear view of the altar. Lola was intrigued by the sterility of the Cathedral, white from top to bottom and far too clean for death. Stained glass sent ribbons of rainbows to ricochet off the walls and her eyes narrowed at the brightness of it all. Lola rested her head on crossed arms across the railing and watched as people filed in. Guests parted naturally as they entered, the waves of black suits and lace dresses opening up for the pallbearers to move forward. The difference was striking, their black ensemble against the white walls and floors made for a compelling visual from up this high. Each step the pallbearers took was matched by their partners, and together they brought the opalescent casket in through the large doors and up towards the altar. Lola stood, catching no attention from below as the casket was rested on a bier and the room quieted around them.

The service was long and mundane. Humans didn’t even know how to throw a decent party, Lola was bored with it only five minutes in. The speakers were hard to understand past their gasping sobs and they spoke in such quiet voices it was a wonder they could even be heard from the upper level. Time passed too slowly, and the tendrils were tugging on her arm; wrapping up across her ghostly skin, tightening like an anaconda preparing for its meal. Lola felt the hard tug, threatening to bring her down the stairs headfirst. Nevertheless, she persisted. This was a favorite game of hers and the shadows, a version of hot and cold that she never grew tired of playing. She sought and they guided, albeit aggressive when the game didn’t move along fast enough. Which was certainly the case for them today.

She tapped her fingers against her sides as she slid through the growing collection of grieving bodies. She felt her instincts bring her closer and closer to the casket as if the being inside is what wanted her, what called to her. The tendrils didn’t try to stop her this time, they were just as curious, just as hungry for it as she was. Lola bumped into someone on her journey, hearing a quiet but painful exclamation. She looked down at the source of the noise, and, while she would typically ignore the call of dismay, what stopped her was its familiar face. It was not the one she sought out, no, this face was clear of any scars and as pure as they come. While it disgusted her, she felt a strange pang of interest for the small child at her feet. It was the same one she saw before the service. More curious than before, she noticed his round red cheeks and platinum curls that fell over his dark skin. She reached instinctively to touch his face, the shadows pulling in the opposite direction, back towards the original destination. Lola stopped and opted instead to pull on a strand of his blonde hair. Her tendrils hardened their pressure on her arm, trying to tear her away. She whipped her head around and snapped her teeth, though to anyone watching, it would look as though she was talking to herself.

When she turned back around she noticed that tears stained those rosy cheeks, and wondered briefly if it was her or the funeral bringing him such sadness. Lola didn’t apologize, instead bending over to see him at eye level. The boy looked away awkwardly. She remembered why she didn’t often seek out the company of children; they would always know what she was. Adults rationalized away the truth, children were not yet taught to do so. He looked like he wanted to run. It made her thin black lips curl upwards in a cruel-looking smile.

Would you like to see it, boy? She asked, laying a delicate hand on his arm. The shadows released their grip, content with this lost battle for the time being. His skin was beautiful mahogany and Lola could feel the dainty bones underneath his flesh. She looked for his mother, finding her several yards over speaking to another mourner. The boy looked her way too, then back to Lola.

See what? He asked, interest evident in his expression. Despite his fear, he was curious, and while in this situation it wasn’t smart to do so, she realized she appreciated children much more than their adult companions, if only for entertainment.

What’s in the casket, of course, she answered, her voice layered with amusement. The boy shifted from foot to foot.

Momma says I can’t see, it’s for grown-ups, he was only about seven years old and full of life. She could smell the years he had left on him and wanted so badly to swallow him whole. She wanted to take those years for herself. Lola pulled on the strand of hair again, watching the curl bounce while her other hand lay comfortably on his arm. She tightened her grip and pulled him forward, using as little pressure as possible. She couldn’t break those dainty bones.

She won’t mind, Lola cooed, Don’t you want to say goodbye? The boy kept shifting, and she could tell his restraint was wavering. His mother was doing him a disservice in not allowing him to see life for what it truly was. If she wouldn’t do it, Lola was more than happy to take on the job herself. The boy gave in then, chubby legs following Lola through the crowd. Further, they moved away from his mother, and up towards the dead on the steps. They were so close to the altar now, and she felt her mouth salivating at the proximity.

I miss my aunt, he said sadly, tearing his arm from her grip and grabbing onto her hand instead. Lola felt his tiny fingers interlace with hers, seeking comfort. She looked down and frowned. Grief made even children blind to the horror that she was. And this child, no longer curious, made her pull harder on his hand. She was not here to console him and offered him no reply. When they reached the casket, he was too short to look into it. Lola looked up to see the disapproval stamped across the faces of onlookers; she bared her teeth at them and lifted the small child by his waist to offer him a closer look. She heard a quiet gasp and his breathing quickened. When she peaked in herself, the shadows rumbled in satisfaction.

The woman in the tomb had the same long onyx hair, the same reddened circles around her eyes, and the same sunken cheeks. It was almost as if she was looking back at herself, and while she entertained the idea for a moment, she tore away her gaze. Lola set the boy down and he turned to look her in the eyes.

Will I look like that? he asked. There was a new quiver to his lip and fear in his voice. Lola narrowed her eyes. She would not let him grow up with fear, not like the rest of the sheep that meandered around the room like zombies.

We all will, she said, honestly. Lola made sure not to break their eye contact. She was no liar. It’s what happens with your lot in life. You are born, you make bad decisions, and you die.

Is that what you did? He asked. The question shocked her. Lola couldn’t imagine being rocked by a simple question from a child, but she stared at him, frowning so low that it touched her jaw.

How do you mean, child? She hissed, voice low and dangerous, challenging. The boy’s eyes widened in horror, taking a hesitant step back. His back bumped into the casket and it wiggled, threatening to collapse. His doe eyes made it seem as though he was getting ready to run, but she watched as he squared his shoulders. Children were so entertaining.

You made bad choices, he said. His voice was breaking. She didn’t expect him to be confident, not in front of a dead body, not in front of her. The dark tendrils swirled around her curiously, detaching from her and tentatively wrapping around the legs of the boy in front of her. Lola watched as it slithered around his tiny body. Her eyebrows raised and she smiled- trying to ignore the dread that filled her with each word he spoke. The boy stared at her, oblivious to the tendrils as they slid up his arms and lingered around his head. It found nothing interesting there, which didn’t surprise her. Children’s minds were as empty as a wheat field.

Stop staring at me, he complained. Lola blinked out of her trance and smiled. Her hand raised to touch the curl of his hair again, touching the tendril instead. She held out a finger, willing it to roll back up her hand and down to where it belonged.

I did make bad decisions, she said slowly. The boy looked at her with shock in his expression. Humans hated being right. He stepped casually to the side of the casket, casting a quick glance out into the crowd, looking for his mother. Lola had forgotten about the human beast and did the same. She could spot her easy enough, and when she’d broken away from the moment she had with the child she could see that there was quite a bit of commotion.

People were running around frantically, looking around pillars and screaming a name.

Henry! They shouted, Henry! The boy shook his head, as if he also hadn’t heard them until this moment, and pointed.

That’s me, he said, turning away from her. Lola grabbed for his hand, closing her nails into his skin and causing him to yelp. She didn’t apologize, instead, pulled him close so that her breath tickled his ear. She watched him shiver, delighting in the fear she could create in him.

If you make bad decisions too, you’ll end up just like me, she said, her smile curving upwards in a cruel grin. She let him go, leaving nail marks on his skin. They were red around the edges and left deep crescent indentations. Lola looked up and found the bobbing blonde head of a mother heading towards him. She had an angry walk about her, with a red face and glazed-over eyes.

I sort of hope you grow up bad, Henry. It’s fun on this side, Henry turned his head and started running. Lola watched his shoelaces trailing behind him. The kid had some magic working for him, allowing him to run without the fear of tripping. She laughed, a sound that ricocheted off the walls. People turned her way, their faces masking horror. She followed the boy and his mother, who was screaming obscenities at her and weaving through the crowd. Trying their hardest to get away from Lola.

She looked back towards the casket, watching for a sign of movement from the body inside it. The tendrils wrapped around her arm, tugging lightly. She had her fun, and now it was time to go. Her jobs didn’t normally take as long as this one had, and