Reverie

A New World

"I don't want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them." –Oscar Wilde The Picture Of Dorian Gray

Outside the hotel, deep within the grotto, within the dark musty catacombs of the cave, a rumble came. Loud enough to shake the ground and send the nearby animals running. Scampering towards their underground dens and logs, taking refuge from the approaching threat. The birds, who had been singing merrily were silenced. The crisp leaves fluttering across the surface of the water and the wind brushing through the trees accompany the noise emitting from the cave entrance. The rumble only grows, louder. Louder still. Until it reaches the daylight.

 had been stirred by the stark smell of human flesh. A child's flesh.

It had fed on some poor unfortunate souls who had come across Its path the night before, not the natives to this world, but rather the visiting humans. It had not been on this planet long. How long? It couldn't tell. But not very long. No sense of time. Just traveling across the worlds. Searching. Searching for somewhere. Some place to lay roots. And feed. Oh, how It needed to feed. The ache of the hunger that reverberated throughout It. Insatiable. And now a child is in Its sights. It had only fed on three young boys before leaving Earth, not nearly enough sustenance. It had been that way since It fled. Fled Its hunting ground. How It hated those who had since returned to the weeds. Their deaths did not dampen this intense hatred. Those who had also made It feel that new thing that was completely unfathomable; fear. And the realization It is not the being It thought It was. And the revelation that It was not alone. Both emotions eclipsed by the death of Its young. These feelings had stirred in It a hatred. Its hatred of them was only matched by Its hatred of the stupid old Turtle. That stupid old useless thing, now dead. Determination and strength and bravery had drove It from the personal gaming reserve It had made. Now, it was time for It to make a new one. Just as It had to create a new physical form after Its other was destroyed by those hated ones. A form that took twice as long to manifest. A form weakened by fear.

And It wants no more to feel. No new emotions. No surprises. Just hunger. Hunger and hatred.

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Galiago and Mirasal sat side by side on a bench near the back of the balcony. Kikara and the girls sat nearby, with her leading them in a small crafting project involving them spreading colored sand out in designs and patterns. This time would be short-lived, as they had to return to work soon as more guests arrived, as well as the tourists just wanting to see the place and revel in the beauty of the architecture and scenery.

"Look Masare!" Sarez grinned as she pointed to the design she'd made along the ground. "That's beautiful, my love." Mirasal smiles, her voice small, tired. The gentle breeze blowing strands of her auburn mane. They had all wandered outside to spend some quality time together before they said goodbyes. The journey was to last a week, with Galiago teaching the girls how to paint nature scenes as well as hiking and sight-seeing. Far away from here.

Sarez happily continued with her artistry as Ineti sat by her, working on her own, staring intently at the burgeoning creation filled with vibrant blues, reds and yellows.

"Mine's better." Ineti mutters, her eyes still pointedly on her work.

"No, it's not!" Sarez pouts, folding her arms in a huff.

"Girls pacero," Kikara chimes in, placing a hand on Sarez's back. "They are both good. Look," Kikara pours soft pink sand in a perfect circle. "Do it this way." Both girls mimic her, each with a different amount of success.

The sunlight reflected off the sheen of Mirasal's metal hand as she rested it on her forehead, the sound of the two little girls trading quips in the background. Galiago gave her a quick pat on her back. She flinched a little, unexpected physical touches not being her favorite.