Crispen Heavensley had spent most of his life feeling the glare of the darkness on his back, it running long, cold fingertips along his cheeks and neck.

He never thought he could feel warmth. It wasn’t in his cards. He knew what he was and where he was and no one ever told him he could change it.

Ironic that a refracted could alter the courses of every other living thing except for themselves. He’d only ever met one other Refracted, a deeply wrinkled hunchback that slid a tray of grey mush into the darkness once every waning fourth to make sure Crispen stayed alive.

Sometimes the boy would change the gruel just to see how he could, but it always turned out the same- grey slop turned to vibrant long green beans.

He hated green beans.

And when Crispen grew tired of the dark, he would conjure things up in his head, creatures he’d like to meet, places he’d like to visit, stars he’d like to befriend.

He never once thought that the magic that allowed him to escape the darkness was also what had kept him prisoner among it.

Creatures of the Refracted were never meant to do anything more than their purpose. They were vessels for the void and they carried it and its nature to perverse throughout the layers, feeding. Always feeding; its hunger never sated.

But Crispen had been a complication. He had had a mother, a full-blooded human mother of strong magic. And the boy was never meant to wield such strong magic, was never meant to be born. But he was given life and because of it, and what he had yet to do, he was shackled to the darkness, kept locked away in the best interest of the layers. But what of his best interest?

He was a child and he was easily frightened, easily given over to nightmares and tears. 

To keep his sanity, the boy would move the darkness around him, letting him peer into the world outside, a world of harsh reds and deep blacks. He could taste the fire on his tongue, bitter and unrelenting, and feel the void calling out to him.

This would cause the boy to cry; the outside was just as dark as his prison. His tears were always eagerly devoured by the darkness, yellowed teeth breaking through the shroud of black to give the boy an approving smile.

He never felt better after crying but he always made himself stop. If he hadn’t there wouldn’t have been no one else there to tell him so.

One day, the boy was peering through a tiny portal in the darkness watching a creature of black holes feeding on an abyss. As he watched the creature  attack the dark with clawed hands and venomous black holes, a tiny flutter of color passed his eyes.

Crispen wasn’t sure he’d seen anything; perhaps he had finally given into madness. But then he saw it again, clearer, a vibrant creature running back and forth across the plain where the abyss sat, a look of similar sadness in its eyes.

The boy couldn’t help but feel something in his chest, the empty cavity swelling with something the boy had never felt before. And like that, his coal eyes grew white, making the darkness shrink away from him. His shackles broken, the boy found himself outside next to the abyss eater, the tiny creature still running back and forth in panic.

The abyss eater growled at Crispen but before the brilliant light of the boy’s eyes, the creature choked down its fear, the blacks of its holes growing wider, the giant spikes on its back smoothing along the creatures pale skin.

It turned and ran and as it did, Crispen saw the fear; it smelled of sulfur and rotting meat. It took a moment for the boy’s skin to cool, the heat he felt surging through him something he had never felt before.

As it did, his eyes adjusted and he saw for the first time, what the darkness had kept at bay. It wasn’t magnificent in scope or a landscape more beautiful than words, but it was something, and the boy delighted in it.

He felt the dry, coarse texture of the black earth squirm between his naked toes. Felt the hot and heavy wind blow through his hair, its tiny claws pricking at the corner’s of Crispen’s eyes. He saw a sea of red sway in the wind off in the distance and the never ending rains in each tiny crevice of abyss. It was dark outside, but it did not contain him, and Crispen felt at ease.

As Crispen gazed out onto the horizon looking out onto a thin veil of mist past all the black, he felt a tiny prick on his calf.

He turned to see the tiny creature, a shade of color he’d never seen before, three eyeballs embedded in each of its palms. It had a crop of hair similar to his though black, and it stood in the boy’s shadow staring up at him with pleading eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Crispen whispered, his voice deeper and coarser then he was used to, rusted from unuse. The creature just stared up at him.

“I don’t have a name,” he continued, never thinking he’d have the time for one.

“Wrong,” the creature said, it’s tiny mouth pulled into a thin line, it’s head shaking vigorously. The tiny necklace it wore around its neck jingled as it did so. Crispen laughed.

“So you know my name?” he asked.

“Wrong,” it replied again, the eyeballs in its palms blinking in unsion.

Crispen was fascinated by this tiny creature.

“And why am I so wrong?” he asked. “I do not know my name. So certainly you must if you feel so strongly.”

“Wrong,” the creature spat, hitting the boy in his calf with its tiny hand.

Crispen released a yelp and fell forward, the dirt cushioning his fall. Before he could dust himself off, the creature had placed its hands upon him.

“You know your name, of this I am certain. Every creature has one. Names are not given. They are found.”

“And what is your name?” he asked.

“I am Teffy,” the creature said, its lips pulled back into a smile. “And I am violet. A rare shade for my kind to have.”

“So it’s called violet?” he repeated. “It’s a lovely color.”

Teffy’s smile grew big, her eyes going wide as she did.

“What is your name young one?”

Crispen’s face turned into a frown; he still hadn’t found his name, but as the humid air attacked him he saw a blur of something.

Like Teffy, it was violet but it smelled different. Smelled lovely. A scent that he could only describe as honest though he didn't know why. As he focused on that scent and the color violet, words he had never heard before came into his mind.

“I’m Crispen. Crispen Heavensley,” the boy began, Teffy nodding in approval. “And I’m delighted to meet you,” he finished, patting the creature on its  head. Teffy released her grasp on him and returned to his side.

“So why didn’t you talk earlier?” he said. Teffy said nothing. The boy sighed.

“Back to this game are we?” he asked.

“Wrong."

“It seems like all you do is grumble,” he said, and feeling refreshed, he conjured up a door.

He didn’t know where it lead to or what he’d find behind it, but he wanted to leave and find more scents, unlock more colors. He was no longer a prisoner of the void. He was a boy who’d found his name and he would never give it up. As he went for the door handle, Teffy eyed him curiously. He chuckled.

“You come too, little grumbler,” he jested. “I can’t leave my only friend behind.”

The creature smiled and nodded and then hurriedly climbed up the boy, finding a nice spot on his shoulder to sit on. As the boy and his grumbler walked through the door, he made a split second decision.

“I think violet is my favorite color,” he whispered, Teffy nodding in agreement as the door closed behind them. “And I don’t think I’ll be giving that up any time soon,” he added, a brilliant sea of green that smelled fresh staring at him on the horizon.