Legacy Name: Glen

The Custom Blacklight Lasirus
Owner: helix

Age: 14 years, 11 months, 4 weeks

Born: December 7th, 2007

Adopted: 2 years, 6 months, 3 days ago

Adopted: June 1st, 2020


  • Level: 173
  • Strength: 433
  • Defense: 425
  • Speed: 425
  • Health: 425
  • HP: 397/425
  • Intelligence: 611
  • Books Read: 597
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Database Clerk

in the forest again

Sometimes, I dream in the day-time. I dream of him, and he comes back to me in pieces.

The first: a field littered with bluebells; all around it, forest — dense and unyielding. Its beauty is intimidating, unforgiving. Hostile. The trees stare at me starkly, tear through my soul in search of some dark secret.

To my left, he plays in the yarrow. He’s picked handfuls of it, set a crown atop his head. Little Glen, Little Glen, what are you the king of? Everything, he says. Everything? I ask.

Yes, he says. Even you. I laugh through gritted teeth.

The second: the two of us at home, awake late at night. Mama comes home and picks him up. She holds him close to her breast, like a cub. Her eyes are watchful and suspicious. She is protecting him. From what?

He clutches her tightly, little fat hands tangled in her hair. To him she smells like iron and rust. He hands her a flower he found in the meadow. (Don’t you think Mama would like this? I’d asked. He took it, stuffed it into his pocket with grubby hands.) She smells it, closes her eyes. A smile plays at her lips. To her it smells like sunshine and freedom.

Mama, I made you this, I say. I give her a wolf I’ve whittled out of bark. It took me three weeks to get it perfect. She takes it and frowns. Theo, why is this wolf so angry?

Why is he baring his teeth?

Don’t you like it? I say. She frowns. I snatch it away from her. Later, I crush it under my boots. It breaks into little pieces that I keep in the glass box Papa gave me before he got taken to the ward so he could Get Better.

The third: Little Glen sleeping peacefully at Mama’s side. She stirs; her eyes flutter open. Theo, what’s wrong? Why are you standing there? I don’t know, Mama. I can’t sleep again. Well, go back to your room. But can’t I sleep with you too? No, you’re a big boy now, Theo.

Quick, before you wake him. Shh. Back to your room.

In my room, the glass box sits in the only sliver of moonlight that’s made its way through the curtains. I take out the little pieces of the wolf and squeeze them tight in my hand, so tight they bite me and drink my blood. To them it tastes dark, like poison.

The fourth: Little Glen disappearing ahead of me into the trees. They stare at me more angrily than before. Wait for me, I call. His laugh bubbles up through the trees, softens them. For once they do not stare at me. Try to catch me, he yelps. I run after him. The glass box is tucked under my arm. It wants to be buried, put somewhere far away.

I wonder if the trees know where I will bury it. At the thought, their eyes focus on me again. They scowl, bare their teeth. Why are they so angry? Mama would ask.

And now: how did I get here, in this forest? I can’t be here, haven’t been since I was a child. Am I in a dream? I place my hand on the bark of a tree. It is rough, biting. I’m awake.

My breath is short. Which way is out?

I stumble into a clearing. In it is a shallow grave. My stomach drops. I step backward and a branch breaks. Another snaps, further away. The trees — something about them is hostile, murderous. What did you do? They scream. I feel eyes on my neck. Something is stalking me, watching me.

The fifth: Little Glen gasping for air. What happened that day? What happened to the glass box? What happened to Little Glen?

I shake my head. No, no. No. I rub my face. Wake up. No dreaming, no memories today. No more dreaming in the day-time.

But I can’t stop.

The sixth: Little Glen gasping for air. My hands around his neck. No! I scream. The trees know. I can see that they know. Eyes on my neck. Who — what — is watching me?

Little Glen gasping for air. My hands around his neck. The light goes out of his eyes and I put him in the shallow hole, along with the glass box. When Mama gets home I will put her here too. I will bring her here, and she will be with Little Glen, right where she wants to be.

I run back to the house through the dense foliage. Branches scratch me. They want to catch me, kill me. Something is following me. I look behind me. Nothing.

And then I see it, a looming form in the corner of my eye. A wolf. Why is he so angry? He snarls. My heart jumps in my chest. Little Glen? I cry.

I close my eyes. No. Wake up, wake up. No dreaming. No more memories today. (But I am awake.) I can’t remember how I got here. How did I get here from the ward?

He comes back to me now, no longer in pieces. He’s snarling, his breath hot on my face. The trees are watching, contented, for once.

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