The Creators: Book One by

“Willowbud?” a wonderful voice called from the bowels of my hole. Corruption’s heart fluttered alive, and so did mine. I thought about running again, but where would I go? I could either charge back into the earth, or into The Life Giver’s arms.

“Willowbud?” Brandon called again, his voice closer. He glowed an ethereal blue in the darkness, looking every-bit the god he was. The smooth, perfectly-circular hole I’d made shined with his light, and bathed me in its soft luminescence.

“How long did you know?” I asked him, voice ragged.

“From the beginning.” Brandon said, sitting cross-legged next to me.

“You were that boy in Gloria’s house, weren’t you?” I whispered, “The one hiding behind the door when I killed her?”

“Yes.” Brandon said.

“She’s still alive, isn’t she?” I asked. Brandon nodded in the dark, his features glowing beautifully.

“Who is Angela?” I asked, resting my head on his shoulder, unable to stop myself from seeking the comfort of his warmth.

“My sister,” Brandon said, kissing the top of my head, “and an infantile Sentient.”

“What?” I whispered.

“It’s why Angela can see Corruption,” Brandon said softly, pulling me into his arms, surrounding me with his love, “Sentients aren’t astral beings; they’re souls Life Givers preserved, but didn’t bind with.”

Somewhere within me, I felt a swell of realization, as if a question I didn’t know I’d asked had just been answered.

“So,” I said, nestling myself into Brandon’s body, surrendering to the comfort Corruption wanted me to feel, “you’ll have to bind with Angela to save her.”

“That’s right,” Brandon said, pulling me close, “but I’m having second thoughts.”

“Willowbud doesn’t love you, Brandon, Corruption does.” I said, not self-identifying with the woman whose name I carried.

“I know,” Brandon whispered, his lips moving against my hair, “Willowbud loves Astrid, doesn’t she?”

“She was warming-up to her,” I replied, “but Willowbud never felt love; not romantic love, anyway.”