Shokcaster

•~Prologue~•

Shokcaster was a town unlike any other. Tourists came from all around the world to gawk at its not-so-hidden assets. Few people lived there for the affordable housing and "friendly" neighbourhood. The typical townsfolk women wore large dress skirts, covered in lace and brims in shapes, sizes and colours of anything you could imagine. The usual townsfolk men wore long coats with small vests, ruffles and overly-ornate cuff links to accompany their obnoxious hats with pompous feathers. It had a bittersweet atmosphere, with bright and cheerful colours in the architecture and flowers, and a dark secret behind the walls and deep beneath the earth. This secret contrasted largely with it's most well known feature- honesty. No one here could lie, no one could fake a smile. Everyone was their true self, or at least they would be in the end.The reason for this was nighttime. Where most villages would sleep and rest and cower during the time the sun was down, it was when Shokcaster was most alive. Horns or a halo would materialise atop everyone's heads, dependent on their true nature. If they were taken over by their inner demons then it would show on their bodies, in the shape of sharp red bones out of their skull. If all of their intentions were kind and for the good of everyone, they would be gifted with a glorious ring of light hovering above their head. Weddings were traditionally at midnight, where the bride and groom would hold each other no matter what form their hearts took. People would always come to bask in the towns "magic", celebrating when their horns or halos rose, as the moon did. Scientists stayed in hotels to study the large rock in the sky, and the ornaments that would sit upon their heads. Philosophers would break their minds over it, questioning everything they knew after witnessing this praised spectrum. What they had gathered was nothing. There was no explanation to the phenomenon, and there was no explanation to the odd event that followed.

17 years ago, a bomb was accidentally dropped from a faulty plane dangerously close to Shokcaster, a mistake on the militaries part to say the least. This lead to the townsfolk having to wear gas masks every time they stepped outside, out of fear of breathing in unknown substances. 9 children were born that year, all girls, yet they all had one thing in common other than their gender. None of them had a halo, nor a pair of horns. Their mothers wept when nothing sprouted from their tiny little soft skulls, fathers hung their heads in shame as the babies kept their human figures with stars swimming in the sky like fish in the ocean. As these girls grew up, they became bad omens for the town, untrustworthy and tainted. Some of their parents tried to hide it, others punished their daughters, the rest told their girls they were beautiful no mater what. And yet despite the adults desperate last attempts of housing normal families, they were treated like dirt by the older citizens in the neighbourhood. They would be denied basic rights such as going through a walk in the town night and day, attending any of the parties, being treated like the other students at school. Each of the girls became friends, developing strong bonds with one another over their shared differences. Every time the town had a social event, they would go into the woods and hold tea parties of their own on a oddly placed dining table. Dressed in odd clothes and makeup, they would skip around and play children's games, singing and dancing not worrying about their individual hells at home. The woods was their safe haven. When they were in their own houses, they were in just as much danger as being in the towns square. One father attempted to deal with the problem by executing his daughter, much to his wife's dismay, yet she still lived after the axe came down on her fragile neck. After saving enough money, one family with their special daughter moved away, able to afford some other place to live in a much more comforting area. After 17 years had passed, the maltreatment had ever so slightly faded, the girls felt the beatings as now familiar, but they themselves didn't feel normal. If they were lucky, there were no older folk in the town, meaning they could go out without being noticed. Anyone else eventually forgot to raise their torches and pitchforks. The tradition was still thriving, even after one friend leaving, the girls still gathered around at the table raising their tea cups, books, pens, paint brushes and flowers to the most random of toasts. They were content with themselves for the time being, yet they still felt the world was just too cruel.