HE OPENED HIS MOUTH. His jaw barely wide to sweep in the magic. The particles were like snowflakes that graced themselves down on the emerald fields of his home. More like his Kingdom. He'd never forget this taste. Each magical spark had its own flavor: sweet, juicy like a crystal apple, salty like rainbow popped corn, and hot like the cinnamon and nutmeg zesty oranges. Yes. The magic that was created all around him and through others. His people.

Why didn't they see he was going to make the Kingdom of Thrive regain their power? Regain the resources that will sustain them for all the generations. Why couldn't his brother, Nicholas, understand? Listen to him for once.

The flavors swelled on his tongue. Then with just a simple thought: Bow.

The magic flowed through his thoughts and his hands. Every knee bowed. Men and women groaned. In unison, shields, swords, and long bows with arrows clanged on the mud. The battle stopped between his army and the rebels. Enforcers with fire and earth abilities had their arms stuck on the ground. No finger could be lifted up. Ruby sleeves and navy body uniforms were all in one position.

He grinned. His word made his rebellious citizens obey. The swirls of tastes turned against themselves and began to burn his tongue. His grin disappeared as he tried to cover his mouth, he moved over to the side and spat out the magic. Only one person knew of this.

The more I used their powers, he thought, the burnt stayed in my mouth.

King Malachi swallowed back his bile. Never allowing them to see his weakness.

He took one step closer, his heel dug into the squishy mud; there was no more emerald grass, footprints covered the battle ground which was once a hill. It was here his favorite place to play Knights and Sword fights with Nicholas. They would switch high grounds to see if the myth was true. His brother's laughter reminded him of a crow. A loud cawing and yet it pleased him.

Good away memory. You are the past. Nothing more.

Behind Malachi, there his castle was. The granite stone held together for centuries by his forefathers, and their fathers, and their fathers as the history claimed. Time and weather could not touch it. Each passing year, an addition to the wings showcased their wealth and new resources. This time, Malachi knew the golden foxglove and starlight lilies would encapsulate the majestic splendor that this Kingdom needed.

"This must end." His voice echoed in the open field, pulling from a nearby soldier's power to amplify. "If you do not heed my words then I will have no choice."

A man pulled himself off the ground. Sweat poured down his forehead. Body shook with a fierce velocity. "Brother."

Nicholas.

How did he not notice him there? Was it because of the gash on his forehead? That was unlikely for him to have because Nicholas's power was to weave newness in a person: healing. Was it because his eyes held nothing but pure disgust as Nicholas's lip curled? His ability to power through the suffering underneath Malachi's power to devour magic particles and nightmares? Malachi tasted no fear from Nicholas.

A sour and burnt soup was all Malachi could sense on his tongue.

"Let our people go," Prince Nicholas declared. "Do not force them into retrieving what is not ours to get."

"I'm not explaining myself to you." King Malachi took several steps forward to Nicholas. "I've done enough talking. You wouldn't listen."

"I could say the same for you." Nicholas's golden hair fell into his hazel eyes. From his gash, blood ran down onto his eyebrow and created a trail down to his jaw. Royal blood. "Forgive me, brother."

His hazel eyes had a glossy tint to them.

Why wasn't Nicholas healing himself?

Malachi opened his mouth. The leftover magic particles swept in. It was not like snowflakes this time, but something else entirely. Ashes. Nothing but dust. He hacked. The particles puffed out his mouth and nostrils. But there was a smokey element to it.

What was this?

This was different from his misused burnt powers.

He'd tasted stars, tasted dreams and nightmares that ran a man's mind round and round, but this.

Nicholas began to shake more. His usual olive tone was stripped away to a pale complexion. He kept his mouth closed, but Malachi could see Nicholas was fighting his own sickness.

Poison.

"What have you done to me?"

Nicholas's nostrils flared and small reddish appeared on his cheeks. "I've done nothing to you. You took without asking." One tear fell down his cheek to his jaw.

Malachi went over to the dry heave. Nothing came out. The smoke continued to wreak havoc on his lungs. His tongue was saturated with the poisonous magic. Whatever this was. This was the lowest of lows. The most aggressive and passive attack that Nicholas has accomplished. To himself and to Malachi.

"You'll die," Malachi hissed.

Nicholas's chest heaved up and down. "Maybe. But maybe not. Perhaps He will be merciful."

He. He who gave powers. He who gifted me the worst curse upon Avaloni.

"You have a choice," Nicholas whispered.

A choice. Where was my choice when I got this disease? When could I have stopped swallowing nightmares? Dreams?

Malachi with his last breath said, "When?"

❦ ❦ ❦

YOU KILLED HIM OFF?" Lucy slammed our apartment door, causing the next door neighbor's dog to start barking. Poor Frodo. He didn't deserve the loudness of my best friend and roommate's extravagant mannerisms. He needed a good walk around the complex building, but with their owners working nine to five, it was hard for him to get to experience the outdoors until they came home.

"Killed who off?" I laid on the navy couch. Three fluffy blankets wrapped around my ankles, torso, and shoulders. The air conditioner was on full blast with the unusually warm February. Fake spring was what Ohioans called it. The building couldn't figure out if it should be blasting heat or cold or maybe both.

Lucy slipped off her closed toe work shoes on our rug. Her black blouse swayed and her purse with a gold chain dropped on the opposite chair. In her hand, she held her iPhone. "Who? You know who. My favorite and everyone else's favorite character in The Man Who Swallows Nightmares." She plopped down beside me. "Malachi."

I retrieved my hand from underneath the covers and rubbed my left eyelid. Last night was a rough and amazing one. Good thing I had today off from work. Since writing my fantasy novel, my alpha readers' comments on clarity, plot holes, characterization, and consistency have been wonderful. I'd enjoyed responding and getting a better handle on what this story's theme was. Just a slight surprise. Almost every other comment was about Malachi.

olieclover

i need more chps in my kings pov 👑 👑 👑

badbbbb

malachi 4 life

romanc3i$life

Why can't Malachi have love? That's what he wants after all? Maybe he should get his own Kingdom?

h0th0th0t

i'd do anything for malachi

borntoread

I know Nicholas is supposed to be the love interest. But like, why am I attracted to Malachi? 😂

Unintentionally, somehow my writing got the readers to fall in love with Malachi, the villain instead of Nicholas, the Protagonist. The story was going great, but those comments. There was no love towards Nicholas. Was he too good to be true? I didn't know. The idea that someone who consumed others' powers, dreams, or nightmares could abuse others was "romanticized" didn't sit well with me. Inspiration came knocking on my mind at midnight. Kept me tossing and turning when the scene hit me. The answer to how to kill Malachi.

To tell the truth, I enjoyed it too much. His own power destroyed him. The irony and poeticness created a surge of passion as I wrote those words. I typed up the rough draft. Before I could chicken myself out of it, I posted it to my alpha readers at an hour that I'd not like to admit then crashed.

"I guess it did happen." I sat up. Stretching out to the coffee table where my now cold peppermint tea was, I brought the mug up to my lip and drank it. Throughout the day, I'd gotten up, cleaned the apartment, watched television, and cat napped. I've avoided my phone like I'd bombed my test and didn't want to find out the grade.

Triggers, man. The triggers that high school and college gifted me.

"What were you thinking Darlene?" Lucy grabbed my mug before I took another swig. "You can't go around killing characters like this is Shakespeare's 'off stage scene' with no backlash."

Ah. Oh yes, that could be why I've not checked my emails and the alpha reader app.

I shrugged. "I understand there will be some disagreement."

Lucy's dark brown eyes blinked at me. Several times. Her tilted head gave away her internal dialogue. "Some?" Her soprano voice went up another octave. "Some." The second time she said the word, it was harsh.

She brought her phone up to my face. My eyes had to adjust to the quick movement and closeness. Her bright screen was opened to the alpha readers app. Her newly gel painted light pink nails scrolled the screen up. Comments after comments of distraught filled the chapter. Hmm. That was the most engagement I've had in months.

Interest. I need to remember this-

"And I quote, 'You can not do this! You killed him off!' 'Angry face with cuss words over the emoji's mouth.' 'Why?' in all caps. 'What did Malachi ever do to you?' 'You little' and I won't finish that comment." Lucy began to read the feedback once she saw I was in my own thoughts.

"I'm going to stop right there. Most of them are cursing you, the author, and weeping over the fictional character that you made us fall in love with." Lucy folded her legs up, bringing them onto the couch. Her brunette hair fell down and hit her shoulders. She had her elbow resting on the couch's backing. Staring into my soul.

"What?"

"You haven't answered my question." Lucy stayed in her spot. She was near me. Her presence was welcoming and also imposing at the same time.

What was I thinking?

I imagined his American football retriever shoulders. I could see how his chiseled arms and gracious movement swayed over the marble floor of his castle. But most importantly how he reminded me of his voice. Of how he called me for help. Always taking and taking and taking. Never giving.

Yes. That's why I imagined taking him away. After all, he was never supposed to ink into the pages of a fictional character. Even if it was one characteristic. I thought at the time that attribute was okay, but now I realized it wasn't. Even though Malachi was never and will never be Brady. My ex-boyfriend. That reminder was there. 

I wanted something different. Something sweet like Nicholas. Even though I was hinting that he was slowly dying.

Maybe I needed to refresh the whole thing. Maybe I needed to pause on the writing until I breath and untie all the strands from reality to the story. Because that wasn't fair to any of my characters.

I scratched the back of my neck. "Yeah. I don't think I have an answer."

"Then please." She pulled me closer to her. "Take down the chapter. For now. Rewrite it. Or if you want to, put it aside and rewrite a whole new adventure."

"I'll think about it."

Lucy raised her eyebrow.

"I'm just trying to be honest," I replied.

"Fine." She huffed. She unbent her knees and hopped up the couch. "Tonight's my night for dinner. You know what that means."

"Pizza and hot dogs."

Lucy winked. "You got it!"

I laughed. It was the first joy in a couple of weeks. Abide in Me Publishing House had been on high alert and tension these past months. I'd been on deadline after deadline with me juggling my full-time job being Social Media Advisor. The schedule was a hamster wheel. One problem arose and then it multiplied to three issues. Today was the first time I've not been on my laptop.

Typing on Baby, my laptop, because she was my favorite and precious item, tonight sounded like pulling teeth. I sighed. Looking over to my right, underneath all the pillows and blankets that would get shoved off the couch. A tan leathersoft notebook was hidden. A silhouette of bluebells and roses were etched into the mauve tan cover. My journal. Wow. It had been awhile since I wrote on paper. 

I forgot where I'd bought this one from. Perhaps, it was a gift from - No. I dismissed the thought. It was not his. The notebook was mine. It didn't need an origin story. The fact was the notebook needed ownership and belonging.

Nothing is better than a fresh page.

I reached down. Of course, the blankets gave me resistance as I stretched my shoulders too far. Pain shot through my arm. I grumbled. Thumbing through the pages once the numbness ebbed, the lined spaces greeted me. A whole world to be explored, or re-explored to be precise. A matching mauve tan bookmark held the tenth page where all the characters from The Man Who Swallows Nightmares were listed. There were scenes from the beginning that I wrote down. Another chuckle fell from my lips. My fingernail grasped my lip as I turned the page rereading the words.

What I didn't notice was in the corner, where there were no pencil markings, there was a man. I didn't see it because there was nothing on the page. But underneath the page, beneath the lined spaces, his mouth opened. And no magic entered him.