Exhibit 11: "Cause Fear"

The nightmare in Howe was rudely personal. Not the worst it’ll get, but still a bitter taste.

We slept in the church of Death. I, naturally, slept on the altar, because that’s some pretty potent sacrilege—I was also, naturally, accosted by bad dreams I’ve already described. Wasn’t nothin’ new, but it was targeted, no doubt.

Then I wondered something I’d never thought twice about: were the gods even looking at me? Or had I been jumping at imaginary shadows my whole life? I doubted it was even Death himself who delivered the nightmare, just a lackey. I wondered if the gods ever really watched any of us. I suppose that’s the distinction; maybe Elder Gods are too busy being unknowable to know any of us, and the Messenger Gods are the ones who show themselves.

I remember pestering Constance about why Death was considered a Messenger God. Never seemed right to me, being the single universal experience people have. He told me Death was more of an underworld-afterlife kind of deal, and true Death was just the flipside of Harvest—more commonly known outside this gallery as Life. Every life given and taken away was part of her, and subject to her whim.

Now might be the time to talk about the funeral.

I’d never been afraid of being in front of people before. Ian and I spent most of the week leading up talking through our feelings—at least, I thought I was—and he wanted me to speak at it. I figured it was the least I could do, but I desperately didn’t want to. I was good at shouting, and irreverence, not soft remembrance. Hell, when he died in front of me, I dragged him away like a sack of potatoes, laughing about how heavy he was.

So, yeah, why should I be the one to talk at the fucking funeral? So I can fuck it up and storm off?

I didn’t fuck it up. I did a pretty by-the-numbers obituary. It’s hard not to mention any gods when doing that for a priest, but I managed it. I stared at my script, not looking at anyone, so I didn’t know if they thought it was odd.

Hate to say it, but every night afterward, every lonesome moment, I’d pray. It wasn’t like Constance had taught me—it was mostly a quietly seething interrogation. Why did you kill him, and Why did you make me this way, and Where are you, where have you ever been, and all that. It was an awful undignified way to go, no thanks to me. I wonder what the last thing he felt was. If he knew what was happening, I bet it was fear. No thanks to me.

I found myself shrinking back into myself in Howe, and Lunaris, and further. I was plenty curious in those Death temples we explored, those crypts, and that got us into trouble. Pretty much any time I touched something—a gravestone, a skeleton, a big spherical statue with a single hateful eye carved into its middle—ghosts and ghouls would appear and attack us. I researched undead with Euphor first chance I got when we hit the books after Howe—how to kill ‘em, how to track ‘em. They bit whole chunks out of my triceps, which you can see here. Not that I was using ‘em much.

They got both me and Promise pretty good, though he scorched ‘em all right after. We sat in a crypt with his dad’s name carved above the top as we dressed our wounds.

It was packed with gravestones. Hundreds. Promise knew that couldn’t be right—his ma died in birthing him, which is why Reishan cast him out, called him Repellam. Promise had one, and even Timera did, which freaked me out until I saw the years.

Her birth date was before Promise’s, and her death date was before she came to Simplecreek. By our estimation, she’d been dead for fifteen years, then resurrected—probably by Reishan. Just another thing on the pile to ignore and blame Harvest for. She was in charge of every life, so she could at least hold a tighter leash.

Hearing about Euphor’s imprisonment, and Keelo’s work, and Promise’s family… made me get all shy again. I hadn’t been through shit, I had no right to mope like this. Even Timera had hidden hardships I had no clue about, before I was born. It didn’t all center me.

Which was good, because I never wanted it to. Most attention I’ve ever gotten I’ve chafed under. When people know you they start wanting things from you, and I never wanted that. All I ever wanted was to sit up in trees and watch, and read my books when there was nothing to watch. It beat all the noise in town, and it quieted the noise in my head. When people came close, I made the shadows jump at ‘em and they didn’t bother me again.

Now that I think it, I was… I was a pretty quiet kid, actually. There was only one person who broke through all that early on, and you’ve probably heard plenty about her tonight, but I’ll keep saying it until my voice dies.

When I had my solitary patch of forest near the library as a kid, Carmen came out and said hi. She didn’t run away from the shadows, so I hid behind a tree. She tossed a vial of apple juice Gretchen had made onto the grass, smiled, and walked away. The next day, she was back with a whole bottle.

When I came back from my big nature walk, she ran up and hugged me shamelessly, all excited. She ignored the jeers and the whispers, and but I was too focused on people’s expectations—I wanted to break ‘em. I didn’t want anyone thinking they knew me well enough, so they couldn’t pin me down, or get all domestic with me. Friendship felt like confinement.

It would’ve been easier otherwise. I’ve thought about that a lot. How much easier life would have been, would be right now, if I could just be like her naturally. It seems so much easier to just love without abandon.

That’s why I kept leaving her. If being known and loved was restrictive, she was a maximum-security prison. Even Euphor couldn’t withstand that—I don’t know. Whatever it took, it was a strength I didn’t have.

And then the assholes I was running with started to get that way. Euphor’s encouraging smiles during training, or Keelo’s exasperated reprimands when I said something too crass, or Promise’s painfully pleading eyes when we’d talk until we thought we might just kill ourselves. Carmen was all that rolled up into one, but we’d laugh so much it took the edge off.

With my party, the laughter was becoming scarcer. Every step we took, whether wrenching the second Favor from a headstone and hauling ass away from zombies, or accepting the third Favor embedded in a royal tiara in Lunaris, was a step closer to the end. It became clear to me that I really was running toward the horror now, and what I’d left behind would keep chasing me in different forms until it finally got the message and left me to die alone.

This is a more abstract piece. We’ve got a lumpy, crooked-teethed skull in the center, and colorful auras pressing in on it, cracking it, almost breaking into where the brain would be on a living fella.

Honestly, this one is the hardest to present so far. Feels terrible to stand in front of my best friend, my other friends, and say their love is a cage. I’m trying, really. I trust you to see that. I just have to get this out of me.

I don’t hate any of you. I love you so much it makes me want to fucking vomit. Seeing you hurt makes me hurt, which… hurts. I’m new to this shit, give me some grace.

I didn’t want anyone to grieve for me. I didn’t want my life to be a millstone around someone’s neck, like Constance will be for me and Ian forever. It’s so goddamn heavy. I thought I was close to depositing it and every other hurt I’d gathered over eighteen short, miserable years. I was terrified of leaving, and terrified of what I’d do with the rest of my life if I didn’t. I tried so hard to burn every bridge.

But the through-line must remain. I became truly aware of what I was running from, instead of paying it lip-service every morning and then turning my brain off, then renewed my resolve to die in such a beautiful explosion even the grim reaper would leave me the fuck alone.

GALLERY OF FORTUNE SIMPLECREEK—RECEIPT—9/18/1316

EXHIBIT #11: "CAUSE FEAR" SOLD TO EULARIA LAUTENS (95 GP)