Mentions: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

Suddenly he was there.
He did not remember waking up, standing up or anything, his senses returning. One moment he felt being hit in his chin and now he stood here. No pain, no visible damage. He, just, was there.

Alexander looked around, he seemed to be in the middle of the tent camp. The camp itself was bathed in moonlight, and the aforementioned moon was up in the sky. Lit up by the light of Solaris. It's light reflecting down to the mortals on the earth.

The ethereal being just was there, watching.
Alexander looked down, down to the earth. He saw a patch of dirt, trodden over. Scarcely any sprites of grass were left. Most under the shoes of innumerable wizards passing through or hidden under the upturned mud.

He clenched his fists.

He had failed, once more he had failed. The chance of a question, of perhaps a lead on what had happened to him. Lost. A puzzle piece to the greater picture, once in reach,now shrouded in shadows. Perhaps eternally lost. Gone.

His clenched fist hit his thigh. The frustration needing some kind of outlet.
Yet, after all that he had cried, the countless hours in Hogwarts and in shitty apartments and the abandoned streets of London. He just... felt empty. The regret and sadness had mostly passed. Or at least been buried. Now, he just felt empty. The rage and frustration was still there, but only slowly simmering. The coals of hatred lowly burning, not dying out, but waiting for another opportunity to consume him.

Now, what was left was resignation. Left with his regrets and disappointment.
A deep sigh echoed through the camp. Alexander's hands went to the back of his neck, as he closed his eyes. Before looking upwards and opening them again. Looking at the moon itself. As he felt a small stabbing sensation in his eyes.

How he wished he could be a moon, or other inanimate being. An automaton. At least then he would not have these feelings. Right now, memories of happiness were just far-off memories. The sensation of having polish wood and bow in his hands, the rhythm of the music. The sensation of laughing with his white-haired albino friend. Memories of first learning magic, the joy as he watched a feather proudly rise into the air.

Memories, the magic of life. Now lost to him.

He let out a second sigh of regret and his face turned downwards to the earth. To the lone sprites of grass.

He felt a pit in his stomach, just a heavy weight almost pulling him towards the center of the earth. To the warm hearth where he could be consumed by the magma, to go away in a warm blaze. Or more likely screaming in pain as he was boiled to death. But at least there might be a small sensation of warmth inside him.

Face turned downwards Alexander trudged, not sure where to, but just trudging through the camp. Maybe he would return to London. Continuing to wallow in misery and abject poverty, return to the rumbling in his stomach. The emptiness in the crowds and the sensation of laying on a mattress with the faint smell of piss dominating.

The nearly full waxing moon hung above Aida like an inescapable sword of Damocles, but the pale girl plodded below it obliviously. The meaning of day and night was lost on this insomniac girl who no longer had any conception of time. She would not feel the end of the cycle as it fell upon her: this skeleton of a fae simply put one foot in front of the other, ignorant of where they were taking her on yet another of her hallucination-filled walkabouts.

With a splash Aida’s black boot sunk into a muddy pool and, in her near-death stupor, Aida could not save herself from falling when the mud sucked the boot clean off. Crumpling down face-first, Aida got a mouthful of the muck while big, wet clods latched on to weigh down her clothes. Spitting mud, Aida mused back to the much tastier breakfast Ileen had cooked for her two days prior. Were it not for that meal Aida would have not eaten for an entire week, unable to trust food provided by Hogwarts anymore in the wake of the house elf incident. Caught between an animal need to eat and her promise to always remember, Aida had been choosing to not risk her memory of Alexander. It was only Ileen’s breakfast that now gave Aida the strength to pull her head up. Aida’s dirty hands wiped at her eyes and she opened them onto the moon’s brilliant white face reflecting in the sprawling puddle. Also reflected in the puddle shone Aida’s pale, thin, dirt-splotched face. Transfixed, Aida squinted and blinked. She could no longer recognize the face as her own, but instead she saw the face of the White General glaring at her. The mage general told her to get up, and so she did, smooshing mud off her body as best she could. It was too difficult to walk with one boot and so she discarded the one she still had. The socks, too, were only weighing her down in the muck and so she threw them away, too. In this dream they would simply disappear. The earth oozed beneath Aida's bare feet as she straightened up. March forward. Find the strand to unweave time. March. Bring him back. March.

And so Aida marched, one foot and then the other, moving forward. Just trying to go forward. Somewhere, forward. She would not allow the grown-ups to stop her. March. A sigh seemed to overtake the camp and Aida walked on– forward– past a boy who also wandered beneath the moonlight. Another hallucination. Aida had to keep moving forward if she was ever going to find a way to bring back Alexander. One step, two steps… a familiar smell. A smell like home. It didn’t make sense. Aida took another step, but stopped. She didn’t know what it was, but she stopped. The smell of mud was strong, but… no. It was strange. In her hallucinations and dreams there had been nothing like this. Aida’s heart constricted but she didn’t know why. Swaying slightly Aida felt a chill in the night air, no doubt intensified by her puddle-soaked clothing stealing away her last remaining heat into the night. Yet, it was still there: the smell of home. Aida felt like she could die.

Interacts with: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

Alexander walked through the camp grounds, trudging through the mud. Eyes downcast. Then he heard footsteps,and glanced towards the sound itself. He wondered who would still be out here at this time. At a time where most would sleep, where most would be in the embrace of Morpheus's arm.

As he looked upwards, to about the person's torso level, he saw a thin figure. With albino white hair. He kept trudging for a few moments before standing still. His mind processing what he was seeing. He looked up and turned around, and seeing a pale figure walking.

The light of the moon reflected brightly of the albino white hair. As he turned to look and saw her figure, even though she looked frail. As if she would be picked up by the breeze and carried off into the night by just a swift breeze. He saw how she trudged for a moment longer. Saw her heavy steps, lacking the grace and energy they possessed at Hogwarts.

He took a few steps forwards from the side so he could see her face and he was shocked. Her skin was saggy, almost like certain photos from the second World War, though less exaggerated than in those cases. And suddenly Alex could not help but feel as if Aida's spirit had been taken. The life sucked out of her as if like a dementor. Was this his doing ? Had he by leaving, condemned Aida to such a fate, one so reminiscent of what he was facing now. But something that she might have faced alone, where he had at least had some support.

And yet, he saw the slight glistening of Aida's eyes from the edge of his own vision. He saw the soul in them, the shock, disbelief and great sadness.

He felt the heavy environment around him, as if the tension could be cut by a knife. Such a frail and emotional moment. As if fate itself was looking down on them and had brought them here. He gaped for a moment, unsure of what to say, unsure if it would break the moment and set everything scattering down.

A heavy gulp came down, even though his mouth felt as dry as if he had not had water the whole day. And Alex could very faintly taste the irony smell of blood still in his mouth. Though it might just as well have been a phantom of his imagination.

His mouth opened and closed several times. He was unsure of what to say, then, with a second heavy gulp. And with much uncertainty and nervousness spoke.

"Ä..... Aida..." gulp "Is.... is that you ?" His fingers were fidgetting. He was biting his lower lip, his very hand was shaking. He could feel his eyes growing wet once more, as they hadn't since he had left Hogwarts. The tears he had thought dried up re-emerging. Now faced with something else, the bond they had unintentionally broken. He had unintentionally broken.

The air was heavy, and Alex could not help but feel the goosebumps and agitated hairs all across his arms and legs. The frailty of body and soul that dominated him.

Aida drew a hood over her bone-white hair as she wondered if the supposed hallucination of Alexander was actually some form of magical creature, stealing the wishes from her mind to clothe itself in a most tempting guise. The creature’s scent grew stronger as it drew up alongside her. As Aida caught the faint smell of blood on the wind, her ever-present haze of hunger fell away with the rush of adrenaline. A clarity overtook Aida’s mind and she closed her eyes. Had Death itself come to take her away? Senses sharpened, Aida picked up the scent of sweat and smokescreen– smokescreen like on the night of the mosp, yet the floral note was gone. There was no burnt, acrid, oozing insect smell either. It was like an incomplete memory. Yet, Alexander’s characteristic scent was indelible in her brain.

Aida could not allow herself to be fooled by specters or demons, but if this were truly the Reaper what did she have to say? Looking up at the brilliant moon, a warped smile cracked across Aida’s face. Despite the unending agony of hunger pangs and the grief of failed promises, she would not go without a fight. She still had to find a way to save Alexander. Aida knew she did not have the strength to run nor to fight back, but she still had her mind. Turning to face the figure in the night, Aida’s iridescent blue-violet eyes locked with Alexander’s.

"Ä..... Aida..." gulp "Is.... is that you ?" said the figure with Alexander’s exact tone and accent.

If this is an illusion, Aida thought, it is magnificent. A perfect image of Alexander, though thinner than in memory. Each strand of hair, each shadow on his face– truer each than the sum of her faded imaginings over the passing of several months. He was too perfect to be a hallucination. Drawing in a cold breath of air Aida decided this was most likely a demon of temptation, blocking her quest of returning the real Alexander by presenting her with an utterly convincing fake.

“……….” Aida could not help but smile darkly. Perhaps she could play with this demon and somehow convince him to reveal how to she might go back in time, or where Alexander’s body lay so that she could resurrect him. Better yet, maybe they could make a deal. First, however, she needed to know what kind of entity she was dealing with. “…… If...” began Aida, startled by the sound of her own voice. Aida giggled for the first time since the night of the Ball, but like her other deranged laughs since she had lost Alexander, this one too was a twisted expression of pain. “…… If….” whispered Aida, leaning in close to the boy’s ear. “If a boutonnière were not flowers but were French and drunk, what might it be?” riddled the girl, stepping back. Her shadowy grin never lapsed: however dangerous this game might be, she was grateful that she might finally have a lead… even if it meant a deal with Death himself.

If the creature were able to know something as specific as what Alexander had whispered the night of the ball, Aida would know the creature to surely be quite powerful due to either mind-reading or omniscience. In such a case, Aida figured she should try to outright make a deal since she would have otherwise little power. Alternatively, if he did not know the answer then she would to try to get the being to reveal any information he did have that might lead her to the solution. Worst case scenario, if this were Death and she were not able to make a deal for Alexander’s life, she could at least delay the inevitable by luring him into a conversation. Perhaps she would not make it one thousand and one nights in her condition, but if her last moments were looking upon this underworld Doppelgänger of Alexander’s then she would try to make them last.

@Alexander Varellion

Interacts with: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

He could not help but take a few steps back. Seeing the expression on Aida's face.
He had seen her in dark moods before, but never like this. Never like it was something else watching from behind the visage of Aida. Something that did not belong there. Her eyes shone with a dark cruelty in them, as if she wished to squeeze everything of worth out of him. As if he was just a tool that could be used.

And yet, yet in her eyes and in her laugh. A deep, hysterical sorrow was reflected. As if she was hurt to the very core, and wished to make the world feel a fraction of what she felt herself.

He..... was not sure. Was this really Aida or was this something else, the behavior was just so different. Yet it still acted in a manner like Aida would.

Maybe someone had done something to her mind. Like his memories had been removed, maybe Aida's memories had been twisted. Getting her to be like this, dark and hysterical, laughing at the world and it's cruelty.

In the last three weeks Alex had seen quite a few things, some which he would probably remember for the rest of his days. But this, truly this shocked him the most to the core. The visage of his friend, twisted like this. Into some phantom, or like a wraith had posses her body.

Then she asked her question, and Alexander could not help but get a small, remorseful smile, as he thought back on a simpler time. When all they had to worry about was the follies of students and the fate of mosps. A moment of positivity, a small shining light consumed in the great abyss that was to come.

In a broken voice Alexander spoke. "I.... I guess in that case I must be a dwarf."

Then, a chill went through him as he realized the creature had not answered his question of if it was Aida. Maybe it was the darkness that had already been inside Aida. Maybe it had in some way taken over the rest of her being.

He bit his lip.... then his eyes narrowed and he spoke forcefully. Tricks would not work now, and truly, he was too emotionally confused right now to pull a convincing one off. Especially if it was some kind of dark creature that had possessed her.

"You did not answer me. Are you Aida ?"

He was then silent for a moment as he considered how to continue on it.
"Lie and I will make sure that whatever you are, you will be send back to the abyss you belong. If you are not Aida then tell me what you did to her.... and if you are my friend. Then tell me how I can help you" At the end his expression softened, and he could feel a small salty tear going down his cheek.

As Alexander stepped back, away from Aida, the fae skeleton felt a pain in her chest. Blinking hard, Aida tried to understand why a demon would behave this way, as if shocked or pained by Aida’s behavior. Perhaps the creature’s guise was really so cunning, portraying itself exactly the way Alexander would be if he were here. Yet, a sort of dissonance shivered through Aida. A pain. A guilt. She knew she had not answered his question, but did a demon deserve honesty? Perhaps the demon had in fact stolen the real body of Alexander. What answer was owed to he who pretended to be someone else? Yet, for this girl who could not lie to a giant spider to save her own life, Aida knew that she had been deceptive by trying to slink into the quiet darkness of her hood. That this creature had Alexander’s face and mannerisms made her dishonesty feel all the more terrible.

No... thought Aida. She had been lashing out at the demon. It was not this creature who had killed him, but her. Aida and her failure to properly strategize, to see the right way to protect Alexander. It was her fault for having summoned him in the first place. It was her fault Alexander was dead, not this creature’s. The demon did not deserve this. It did not matter if this creature was playing on her sympathies by taking the shape of Alexander. This was wrong. Aida felt regret.

Alexander, on the other hand, gave Aida the kindness of replying with his broken voice. "I.... I guess in that case I must be a dwarf."

Taking one step forward, Aida’s pulled down her hood, wanting to reply, but the cogs of consequence were already turning.

"You did not answer me. Are you Aida ?" said the boy, causing Aida to stop in her tracks. He had noticed.

"Lie and I will make sure that whatever you are, you will be send back to the abyss you belong. If you are not Aida then tell me what you did to her.... and if you are my friend. Then tell me how I can help you."

Knife in her heart, Aida knew that the creature had seen her deception clearly. Further, the boy was reversing the situation on her by suggesting that maybe it was in fact her that was the shapeshifting demon. Looking down at her pale hand in the moonlight, Aida observed the bony thinness of her fingers. This was not her body. This was not the Aida she knew. Was it possible that she was lashing out with a silent accusation of being a body-thieving demon in order to displace her own guilt for being one? Looking up, Aida considered the boy’s proposition as a tear rolled down his moonlit face.

Real Aida would never make Alexander cry. Real Aida was not this skeletal shell, nor would she deceive even demons. Real Aida was strong and took care of herself in order to be there for those she cared for. Shaking her head, the girl squinted. Even if Alexander were gone, she needed to be strong in order to save him from the death she had caused. What had she done? Was she even really Aida, or was she convincing herself of this after having taken over the albino girl’s body? Another pang of guilt struck Aida as she realized she had been failing to keep a promise of avoiding death. No, no, no… This was all wrong. The broken promises, her broken body. Whomever she was, this could not be. She could not let this be. Whether demon or no, it simply hurt too much to see the boy cry and it was too terrible to live a lie any longer.

Stepping forward again, the girl attempted to respond. “I’m sorry… I…” she began, but her words broke, choking in her throat. She had to reply, but she did not know the answer to the boy’s questions. Was she Aida? If not, what had she done to her? Was she his friend? If she was his friend, how could he even help her? Chewing her lip, Aida did not know. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes to focus.

Imagining herself in her cave, Aida could almost see its earthy configurations, hear its water dripping, and smell its mineral air. And there he was before her, aligned in space exactly where the boy had stood just a second prior in another phase of reality. Breathing in, Aida sensed the smell of Alexander. Then, drawing in another breath and letting it go, Aida understood that in whatever ways this demon was like the boy, she would still love those qualities. However, if he was a demon she still had to find the real Alexander... no matter what. Alternatively, if this were the true Alexander, she had to find out what happened that would bring him here like this. Demon or not, Aida knew she must find out the truth. This is what she was: a truthseeker. Aida would never stop looking until she knew she had found the real Alexander. For months she had burned for the truth– what had happened to him– and the quest had never ended. She had to figure this all out and redeem the promise she broke when she had forgotten how he had died. Whether or not she had recently been a demon possessing the body of the albino girl, and regardless of any failures the fae-like girl had made, this was Aida now.

“I’m sorry,” started Aida again, looking into the boy’s green eyes. Greener than she had remembered. “I am Aida. It was wrong of me to not answer you before.” The girl thought back on the boy’s questions and breathed in deep. “For all this time… all I really wanted was to find Alexander.” Aida stopped, considering the possibility that this might actually be Alexander after all. The green of his eyes shone back through the night. Could it be – could it be that this was how it all worked? The mysterious forces of time magic? What if she had succeeded? Had an Aida in the future turned back time and resolved the situation such that Alexander had never died? If this girl was Aida from the current time, then of course she would not know that she had succeeded in the future. Yet, did that imply that Aida still needed to do something in order to save Alexander, or were there now two Aidas in different timelines? Or, was she in fact Aida from the future, and therefore different physically, having paid her memories in order for Alexander to have survived? Silently, Aida grabbed her chin in thought, never taking her eyes off the boy. What if Alexander's missing years had never been forgotten, but he had in fact unwittingly travelled through time?

This boy had correctly answered Aida's question about the boutonnière. According to Occam's Razor, the truth probably followed the simplest explanation. Which was simpler– a massively powerful, omniscient or mind-reading demon, or a boy named Alexander whom Aida (or somebody) had managed to save with forbidden magic?

Was it true? Could future Aida have succeessfully found the key to time magic and fixed everything such that now Alexander had continued living as if she had never killed him at all? If so, what proof could she ever have that the timeline was altered or split? Maybe Aida had no power to discover now if she had successfully saved Alexander. Yet, did this explain the strange sense of lost time during the house elf incident? Then again, if Alexander had actually had years of his memory erased, then how and why? What had happened in their lost time? Aida had to know if this was the real Alexander or some demon, and to know that she had to understand what had happened. Only when she knew she had recovered the real Alexander could Aida's quest be complete.

The darkness fell from Aida's eyes as she beamed at the boy– perhaps demon, perhaps Alexander– and she breathed a long sigh of relief. If this was a demon she might catch him in a lie, but if this was really Alexander maybe he could help her understand what had happened. Suddenly Aida knew the answer to Alexander's question.

“I want you to help me understand what happened since that day with the house elves. Please. Everything depends on what the truth is."

With a soft, genuine smile, Aida felt heavy shackles melting away like blackness into the dawn. “When did we last meet, and what has happened since then?" Looking more closely at the boy, Aida noticed that his hair was longer than she had ever seen Alexander have before. This boy even seemed older than the boy she once knew. His face was etched with unknown burdens and again Aida picked out the smell of blood lingering in the air.

Mentions: @Aida Mòrsgor-Ama Ellwood

As Aida, or at least the creature that looked like Aida, seemed to cry. Her voice broken, uncertainty clouding it as well. He had to resist not hugging her. To give her some comfort. To help her in this trying time.

Yet he did not know for sure if this was Aida yet, though the uncertainty seemed to imply so, he still did not want to take any chances. And even if this was Aida, she was acting like a different person. It is wiser to wait and see whether his intuition was right. That was what his mind said. But his instinct and heart wished to reach out to her and give her comfort.

The mind won out in the end, but it wasn't easy. As he stood there, hands clasped together, biting his lower lip as he listened to Aida/the creature spoke. Resisting it's immediate cry for help as it looked in his eyes. As he saw the pain in them, that pain mirrored in his own. A cry for help and companionship. Even if neither was willing to truly acknowledge it.

Then it/she gave her apologies. And as it/she said that it was in fact Aida Alexander looked deep into their eyes. Piercing, trying to push the cascade of emotions inside of him to the side as he tried to see if it was lying. If there were any nervous tics. Was it biting it's lips, were their hands shaking too much etc. And yet as he looked, he could see no sign of dishonesty. Only the Aida that he had always known.

This was followed by her saying that she had been looking for him and he felt as if he had been stabbed in the heart. The general cascade of emotions around him condensced into a blade of concentrated emotion. Of great guilt. As he realized that this state was at least partially his fault. That if he hadn't left she wouldn't be like this. Or at least be doing better.

Another wound in his scarred heart, a wound of a different sort than the other. But still there, hurting him with every pulse of his heart. A pressure that was now crushing it.

From this wound, he bled, and thus as it/she asked what happened he could not deny. Even if mentally the chance was not certain, in his heart he knew this was Aida. And to deny her the answers, some measure of comfort would be a crime that he could never forgive himself for. Even if his life was to end on this day. He just couldn't deny such an earnest request from something with the visage of his friend and who acted so much like her.

Especially as she smiled at him, and the guilt simultaneously grew and shrunk. Shrunk as some measure of happiness had returned to Aida, grew as it just emphasized how much pain he had brought onto her. Thus, his words bled out of his mouth. His guilt unconsciously poured into them.

"A... Af..." deep breath "After the kitchen, I went back to the common room after....... you know what" Heavy breaths, another large gulp.

"A few days after that we met to talk about our plans for the summer, and I..." gulp "I told you that I had not talked about what had happened to my parents yet... that I was too unsure. So the day after... I did." Alexander's hands folded around his nose in a downwards swipe, catching the edges of the eyes where extra moisture was gathering.

"So...." Heavy breathing. "I did. I sent a letter to my parents and they......"

Very deep, shaking breaths. Tears now clearly flowing down. As in this moment he continually had deep swallows and was almost unable to breath/talk for several moments. Before a broken voice spoke. Filled with regret and sadness. "They think I am dead" As he spoke the last word his entire voice trembled. And he could not help but go and sit down. His knees in a v position. A heavy sobbing emanating from him. As he just sat there.

Then after about a minute, Alexander continued talking. Still very sad but now somewhat calmed.
"After learning that.... I ...." A deep sigh of guilt. "I avoided you. I was unsure, did not know what to do.... I just wanted to wallow in my own misery."

A hand through his hair and another deep sigh.
"It just...... it was too much. I did not want you to get dragged into whatever was going on with me. So I avoided you until the end of the year. Then..... then I went to London. Stayed there for a few weeks, hung out with a guy and just kept to myself. Then... "

He put his hand to his head, trying hard to remember.
"The n one day I got some letter from an owl, something about a fight club at the London Quidditch Stadium camp. It piqued my interest and I went there."

The breathing was now calm, the worst of it had abated. But there was still some pressure on his chest.

"There, all the Slytherins were invited and said they would be able to fight for a great prize from Vladimir if they manged to fight him. A question..."

Alex's flat hand went accros his face. Faintly recollecting the pain of being punched.
"Victor was there as well, he was the one presenting everything and there was a crowd. I fought but my team did nothing and I lost, I just remember that uppercut from one of my classmates and then darkness."

"Then suddenly I was just standing outside in the camp. Just having lost, I wandered around and then I saw you.... and I guess the rest is history."

Aida watched as Alexander’s face contorted silently and she felt pain as it all ripped into him. The fae-like girl did not know why the boy was hurting so much when she spoke, but Aida had an otherworldly sense for what creatures felt. Her intuition had sometimes been silent, but never had it been wrong. If this was all a demonic act, it was top-level for sure, but Aida’s animal instinct always knew the truth. Whether demon or Alexander, the torment was real. This creature was hurting badly as it was, but with its Alexander countenance the reverberations on Aida amplified a thousandfold. He looked into her eyes as if searching for some indication of who she really was, and Aida smiled back at the creature without any concealment of her own mixture of joy and agony. The boy’s eyes held more than Aida had seen before, inside the Alexander she once knew, but what this creature had seen was still a mystery. Then the being began to speak about what had allegedly happened to Alexander, words about a letter and his parents’ reply breaking out between gasps of breath crushed by some invisible force. Voice trembling, the boy sat down and sobbed.

Demon or not, there was no way for Aida to deny the calling. Aida moved to the boy’s side and sat down next to him. His pain was real. Aida’s heart knew. She just would not admit what her instincts were trying to tell her. She had to be logical, find evidence. Proof. Rolling her head back to look at the moon, Aida remembered what she had told Alexander when he first discovered that he had lost a piece of himself– that the truth was there and that they would find it. Aida thought back on her interaction with Ileen, when Aida could not determine if the Slytherin girl was real or just another of her insomniac hallucinations. Aida had decided then that even if Ileen were not real, she wanted to treat her the same way anyway. Now, sitting beside this weeping boy who so appeared to be Alexander, Aida found herself no longer able to hold it all in. Aida leaned her shoulder against the boy’s shoulder as he sobbed, jostling slightly with the raggedness of his breathing. In truth she wanted to hold him, but she feared it would somehow hurt him.

After a minute, the boy continued his reply. He spoke about how he had avoided her, about London, and about a fight club involving Vladimir and the prize of a question. About fighting. About being hit. How he had lost and was now suddenly here in the camp. Aida’s nose tingled as it told her that his story was true; the blood, sweat… and smokescreen? The smell of conflict as she knew it from the night of the ball, just with slight details changed. The boy’s hand moved flat across his face as if recollecting the pain of a blow. His breathing had calmed down, but it was clear his pain lingered on even as his story ended.

Feeling the warmth of the boy’s shoulder, Aida flashed back to the mosp burial at the lake. Alexander in his hand-me-down suit giving her the first hug she had ever had. His voice when he said she had done the right thing. This boy now was telling her truths about how his parents no longer saw him as their real living son. Aida could feel it. The pain.

The immortal moon shone down on them both and appeared almost full, with less of a shadow sliver than before. Aida could feel it. This was the boy from the night of the mosp burial. Turning her head to look at him, Aida saw Alexander’s face as it glistened in the white lunar light.

“I never forgot you. I will never forget you. I never gave up… never...” whispered Aida as she, too, began to sob. Alexander had been so alone.