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{{Template:Author|[[beautiful_chaos]]}}
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==[[Zerothian]] and [[autumn fires]]==
Grey clouds rolled over grey clouds, the perfect backdrop for the desolate road Zerothian straggled up. Dead grass rustled in the rising wind, hollow trees moaned and cracked, while the swinging of a rusty gate nearly completed this ominous symphony. All that is missing is the lone rook. A croaking from a crow perched on a dark, leafless tree startles him. It’s official. Creepiest. Place. Ever.

At the crest of the steep, wind ravaged hill stood a large ancient house, not in a state of repair to be considered a mansion, but far too stately and intact to be considered a ruin. He pushed his way through the swinging grate, trying to ignore how very like the mouth of a mad animal it seemed as it teetered crazily on it’s one remaining hinge, spikes askew. He hadn’t come on a dare, or to fulfill the requirements of a will, or even as the last refuge of a lost and lonely man. He had come because he was summoned mysteriously, and Zerothian had never been one to turn his back on a good mystery.

The heavy front door was locked (he had assumed, like all good mysterious houses, that the door would swing open at the lightest touch), and seemed so fully disused that it had retired from it’s Door duties and joined the ranks of Wall. To the right of the massive door hung a chain that somehow went into the house. To the end of the paper had been attached a note, written in the same neat, feminine hand as the note that had drawn him there. He grabbed it and brought it to his face and inhaled deeply. Yes, it was the same haunting scent, the same delicate stationery. “Pull twice, pause, pull once.”

He pulled the chain as directed, and a great creaking ensued from the door. With a final click, noise ceased and the wind seemed to pick up, driving Zerothian nearer the door. He tried the handle again, this time it turned. He threw his weight against the door and slowly pushed it open. Wood squeaked and snapped. Clearly he was the first to enter this way for years unknown.

The darkness of the hall overwhelmed him. There was some distance away the amber glow of a fire, but its light concealed far more than it revealed. As Zerothian’s eyes adjusted he saw that the room he found himself was of the massive, dark-wood paneling, animal heads on walls and skins on floor variety. There was a giant chair before the fire, its back to him, and though he could see nothing of his occupant he knew he was not alone.

“I have been waiting. So many I have beckoned, and yet it is only you who have made it this far.” A soft, almost childlike voice came from the creature in the chair. “Now tell me, why have you come?” the voice grew sterner, and had an eerie hollowness to it.

“I—I got a note—was it you? You’re the one who brought me here? Who are you? Why have you brought me here?”

“No, no, dear Nick, I am the one who asks the questions.” A shadow moved across the fire. A dark form had risen from the chair and approached Zerothian slowly, fire behind it, and a strong, cold breeze raced through the room.

“No one comes to see me anymore. I’ve been alone for so long, so lonely, so tired of everything in this place. I need new blood, new life, new purpose. But no one came, I beckoned for so long, I tried all I could, but no one would notice me. No one,” the voice dropped to a whisper, “no one believes I exist.”

“How can that be,” Zerothian muttered, “you are here.”

“Yes,” the form stood before him now, and a cold, small hand covered his, “I am here. For you are here. Now that I see you, now that I touch you, I feel I am finally alive.”

And the creature’s form became clear. Before him stood a young girl, lovely and youthful, skin radiant and hair long. He knew he had seen her before—was it in a dream? A magazine? Ah, yes, an internet forum. “Autumn Fires?”

“I knew you would remember. I knew you would believe.” She drew up beside him, so cold despite having come so recently from the fire. “I wanted you near me, to give me warmth. I want you in me, to give me life.”

“Um,” he stammered, longing to take this waif into his arms and warm her with his hot, wet kisses, “how old are you?”

“Oh, I look young,” her voice seemed distant somehow, “but I am plenty old enough for this.” And she looked up with him with the sweetest smile, eyes burning with hunger. Perhaps a part of Zerothian noticed the hunger was not lust, but it was not the driving part of him at that time. He kissed her lips, so cold, and so soft, and under his touch they grew warm, her kisses grew firm. His hands slid down her back, growing hot and strong as he went. As they undressed she grew warmer and warmer, until her skin glowed with a strange light, and her voice grew strong and forceful. Her eyes lost their sweetness, her face lost it’s youthful plumpness, and her eyes were unrelenting in their piercing glare. “Yes, yes, enough now. I need you inside me.”

He was taken aback, and the lustful passion that had swelled him a moment ago faded just long enough to delay his entry. He suddenly noticed that his body had grown cold and weak, and that the massive front door was slowly closing. “What are you?” He asked, but she had thrown herself at him in desperation, trying to force him into fullness.

“You fool! The fire is nearly out! The door is nearly shut! You must enter me now!”

But he sensed a further mystery, one that was strong enough to supercede his lustful desires. “What happens when the fire goes out?”

Her voice changed suddenly, growing sweeter and softer until she cooed like a sex-glutted siren, “Enter me now, Nick. It is the only way we can be together. Let’s not waste our only chance.”

But his curiosity was too strong. He ran to the door, heaving it open wide, and as the outside wind rushed into the hall, the struggling fire went out. Autumn Fires screamed, but all Nick heard was the moaning and wailing of the wind. He rushed back to where she had lain just a moment ago, but all he found was ash.

“I knew she was too good to be true.”