Pan walked the streets of Scaldigir. She’d finally returned. She felt good enough; though, she thought she’d made it too late.

Ghosts filled the street. They wore familiar faces that she couldn’t quite place, as if she’d merely passed them on her travels, during all her years working in the heart of Pittura.

The buildings were worn. Cracks ran over their surfaces, and vines broke through the stone. It was like the old tourist town of Kallitech, without the harmony between nature and Scaldin.

Pan picked her way over broken pavement. As three ghosts passed through her, Pan nearly lost her balance. She caught herself on a broken streetlamp. The metal, forged like a vine, gave way beneath her hand. The streetlamp groaned and leaned a few inches off center. Pan bit her lower lip and pulled her hand back.

The ghosts took no notice. Pan wondered if she should call them ghosts at all. She was the one who they walked through, and she was the person they didn’t see. Shouldn’t that make her the ghost?

Pan hung her head and let more of the people pass through her. She felt a bit lost in this worn down Pittura, and she wondered if she were dead. She knew there wasn’t much to look forward to after life.

“Come down, here.”

Pan looked up. She checked the street ahead and behind. Ghosts continued to stroll and enter broken buildings.

A man passed through her, but she paid him no attention. She looked across the street and finally, next to her.

There she found the source of the voice. A dark arch, its inside perfectly black, punctured a wall of simple stone. Under the arch stood Little Pan – Pan’s look-alike doll. It was looking a little less little. In fact, Pan would term the doll life sized.

Little Pan, the doll, was not immune to the worn-down atmosphere. She’d lost her eyes and tried to replace them; one with a potato and the other with a bouncy ball.

Pan laughed without sound.

Little Pan rolled the makeshift eyes around their sockets, smiling. “Come inside. We’re all here.”

Pan frowned. She pointed at the dark space behind Little Pan.

“Who’s we?”

It wasn’t what Pan meant. She wanted to know whether Little Pan could rightly call a dark abyss a here. Perhaps, it was more of a hereafter. Pan nodded anyway and let the doll choose the meaning.

“Well, just everyone, of course.” Little Pan stepped aside. Her jointed fingers unfurled, and she beckoned.

From out of the dark, a great feline of white, topped with a rainbow horn and trailed by a rainbow tail, lumbered into view. Floof!

Pan clapped her hands together and held them tight. Just the sight of Floof was enough to give her the urge to squeeze.

Floof dragged her rear. She had no back feet. It was the factory’s time saving measure to create the softest, most alluring thing, with the least effort.

“Maw,” Floof said in her deep voice, deeper than most men’s.

Pan grinned. She clapped as if to say more.

Little Pan spread her arm wide, and other soft friends peeked into view. A floppy ghost tried to keep his head upright, and a rodent shook out its long blue fur.

“So, will you come in?” Little Pan asked.

Pan wore a wide smile as she crossed the threshold. The darkness immediately gave way, or Pan could say it shifted to the arch behind her. Now, the darkness blocked the street, and Pan had a view of a stairway down.

Ribbons formed banners along the wall. Since the stairs had no bannister, Pan put her hand on the ribbons. Clunks and puffs followed her footfalls. That’s how dolls and plush animals were supposed to sound. That’s how they got around.

Floof tripped and bumped past Pan. The feline tumbled down the stairs, end over furry end. She hit the bottom, shook out her white fur, and rolled onto her belly. Then, she dragged herself away.

Floof remained out of sight for a mere moment. As Pan reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw a table, set with delicate cups, elegant dishes, and most important – pastries and cake.

Pan hurried forward, but a guest at the table stopped her in her tracks.

Brynn, cheek in palm, gave Pan a half-hearted wave. “Welcome, I guess. Though, you should be saying that to me. They are your playthings. That makes you host.”

Pan took offense to that. She took offense to most things Brynn had said and would never say. Pan crossed her arms but joined Brynn at the table.

The other guests took their seats.

“Don’t get too excited,” Brynn warned in a whisper.

Pan frowned. She reached for a cookie and found it was cloth. Her mouth fell open, not to eat it. She looked back at Brynn.

Brynn said nothing, just gave Pan an I told you so glare.

Little Pan clinked her glass. “We’re here today to honor a very special artist.”

Pan stiffened. Somewhere deep inside, she smiled and thought, finally. Somewhere less deep, Pan grimaced and thought, Oh no. She couldn’t have it both ways: recognition and anonymity. But, as illogical and impossible as it was, it was what she wanted.

Little Pan gestured to a wall. Sheets covered statues and frames. Little Pan reached for a cord.

Pan braced herself.

Little Pan pulled that cord, and the sheets fell away. “The work of Cosmir Apateo.”

Who?

Pan didn’t know the man, so it was good that Little Pan explained it all. The doll droned on and on about how Cosmir was the youngest artist in Scaldin history to win acclaim. He was a mere thirteen years old, far younger than Pan. He was better than her too.

Pan’s warring internal selves alternated between jealousy and the realization that this was just the way things were.

The meal ended, and Cosmir never showed up, much too busy. Pan rose from the table. She left the others to the plastic and fabric deserts. She crossed the room and examined the paintings and statues. The pictures rippled like rubbery animations on children’s television. An abstract Scaldin woman faced off against an abstract version of a Soffigen. Their bodies spread over the façade of a building, formed out of shapes and angles unnatural to the humanoid body, but telling the story of movement and figure just the same.

In another painting, Pan saw a fairytale scene. Dipinta trees waved in a painted breeze, and forest spirits wove in and around the trunks, up into the leaves. At the center of the image, a silhouetted man and woman stood in each other’s arms. The image made Pan pause.

“Really gets you right in the gut, doesn’t it?” Brynn asked, at Pan’s side. She kept her voice low but full of feeling.

Pan nodded.

“Don’t worry. You can win acclaim for your dark deeds. You’re certainly the best reaper, though there isn’t much competition there.” Brynn smiled.

Pan glared, and Brynn held up both her hands. Slowly, Brynn backed away.

Little Pan hurried over and grabbed Pan’s arm. “We have other guests about to arrive. Please come greet them with us.” Little Pan gestured over her shoulder.

The other creatures, Brynn included, started up the stairs.

Pan shook her head and pulled her arm free. She looked back to the paintings. Little Pan waited a little longer. Then, she bowed her head and plodded away.

This was no party. There was no food. There were hardly any guests, and Pan wasn’t done looking at all the wonderful pictures she’d never thought to make. Pan crossed her arms.

A rosey garden, shown from a low angle, depicted four women having a picnic at a table. Pan thought they somewhat resembled her mentors, but Kat would never wear that hat. And, Brynn would never have that ugly bow upon her breast, and Chara wouldn’t bother with such a flowing skirt at her age. Spy might wear the hat upon the final subject’s head. She always did love a good laugh and some tacky attire.

Pan looked to the next picture, and the jealousy fell away. It spoke to her. She studied a blue scene of ghosts, all reached skyward and shouted to be heard. If that wasn’t eternal punishment, Pan didn’t know what was.

Hurried clunks and plops came from the stairs. Brynn ran down. She won the race against the others and headed for a big cupboard. She opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it.

The other creatures scrambled under the table. Floof pulled her tail in tight. They all cowered there, except Little Pan.

Little Pan’s head rolled down the stairs. “I told you to come greet them. Now, they’re pissed. Why did you have to be so disrespectful? Get away,” she added in a whisper.

Pan looked up to the stairs. She saw the shadow of wings on the wall and heard the soft voices of Merig and Cesarina, the first reapers. She would recognize her reaper kin anywhere, and not just because she’d heard their voices on old recordings.

Pan searched for a place to hide. The animals and other toys realized they couldn’t all fit under the table. Some took up spaces behind the pictures. No one left a space for Pan. Every one for themselves.

Pan backed away. The shadows danced over the wall, getting smaller and more distinct. Pan bumped into an image.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

It was a shadowed scene of a family dinner. All of the subjects smiled with opened mouths, shown in profile. All were happy, except for one feverish looking girl.

Pan looked behind the image, but there was no place for her to squeeze in. She backpedaled and slid behind a statue. She tried to slink deeper into the shadows, but a painting blocked her retreat. Pan whirled.

Aria’s house. It was idealized, but Pan thought the too perfect flowers and meticulously placed leaves suited the place. It was done up in pastels and great detail. Pan wished to be there. Aria’s house was always a safe space.

Panphila leaned close and felt that she didn’t look at an image. She peered through the garden arch and could just step inside.

Which is exactly what she did.

Pan grinned as she stepped into a literal paradise. It was warm. It was sunny. It was windy. She fled across the grass to Aria’s house. Wind threatened to outrun her as it ruffled the blades, but the wind had nowhere to go. Pan had Aria, and the addition of that destination made victory possible.

Pan stopped at Aria’s front door and pressed the bell. She heard it ring inside the house.

No one came to the door.

Pan pressed the bell again. She heard the same chime. Still, no one came.

Pan left the porch. She walked to the nearest window, leaned close, and cupped her hands over her eyes. If she squinted, she could see the silhouettes of furniture and a potted plant on the nearby sill.

Pan looked further and thought she saw a figure, topped with long curls that fell past the shoulders.

Pan banged the glass. “Hey, Aria! It’s me. Let me in.”

The figure moved.

Pan backed away from the glass and returned to a respectable place in front of the door.

The door opened.

“P..Pan,” Aria breathed. “How?”

“I walked. I do remember where you live, even if I’ve only been here twice.” Pan beckoned. “Come out.”

“I…I can’t.” Aria gazed down.

Pan cocked her head. “Why?”

“It’s just dark outside. Nothing but black.” Aria continued to look at her bare feet.

Pan looked down too. Then, back up. “Put on some shoes. Then, take my hand. You can see me, right?”

Aria nodded. “Yeah. You and the package are all I’ve seen outside.”

“Package?” Pan frowned. “Just get your shoes.”

Aria disappeared to the side of the door. Pan heard the slap of soles against floor and a short shuffle. Aria reappeared in a moment, wearing pink slip-ons.

“Now, take my hand.” Pan reached out.

Aria began to reach back but stopped. “Why? Where are we even going?”

“I don’t know. An adventure, I guess.” Pan thrust her hand further. “Come on. If I’m with you, you won’t need to see.”

Aria took Pan’s hand.

Pan held on to Aria and walked her through a spring festival. Night set the scene, with its chirping insects and twinkling lights in the trees. The festival lights were so bright that Pan couldn’t see stars. She was doing better than Aria though. Aria couldn’t see anything.

“You hear the music?”

“I do hear music.” Aria stared, moving her head slow, side to side. “It’s quiet, but I hear it.”

Pan frowned. Aria’s eyes remained open, unlike the times that aural light obscured her vision. Aria didn’t need to squint to protect herself from the abundance. This was the opposite, in the extreme, a blindness more total than most. Whatever blocked Aria’s vision, also dulled her hearing. It was like a circle had been set on her.

Aria sighed. “There’s nothing out here. I would have been better off if I stayed behind.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re better off with me.” Pan held tighter to Aria’s hand. She pulled and took them around the edge of the festival.

The music filled the air, growing louder. Flowers, both real and Scaldin made, adorned tables, chairs, benches, and a small stage. Scaldin strolled into the party, all of them still ghosts.

Pan smiled to see them, just the same.

“So, what do you want to do first?” Pan asked. “I can’t imagine that a party will be life changing, so why don’t we just relax and enjoy ourselves.”

“Alright.” Aria’s head turned side to side. “Where to?”

Pan searched the horizon with more success. She saw the park, filling with visitors. Next to the park, rose the stones of a cemetery.

“Graveyard,” Pan said. “Everyone seems to have come from there. Maybe, we can get nametags.”

“Alright,” Aria whimpered. “Take us there. Pan…is this a party for dead people?”

“Technically.”

“I don’t know about this…”

Pan patted Aria’s hand. “I’m a master of ghostly business. It’ll be fine.” Pan, in truth, was not sure she was.

The more she looked, the more it seemed like she and Aria were the ghosts and very confused about it too. Were ghosts masters of ghostly business? Pan couldn’t answer with a firm yes.

A few people crossed their path as they headed for the graveyard. The see-through men and women fluttered for the park and the festival. No one noticed Pan and Aria.

Pan crossed the cemetery gate first and entered an immediate chill. The lights remained behind. Nothing lit the air over the stones.

Aria stepped through. She still held tight to Pan. Aria shivered. “It’s cold.”

“Must be the lack of lights,” Pan said. “Watch for uneven ground. I mean…be prepared for uneven ground.”

Grassy humps and the unburied roots of trees jutted between lopsided stones. On every stone, Pan saw runes, some etched into ring-shapes or trees. And, every stone lay or titled at an awkward angle.

Aria tripped and stumbled into a trot. She caught herself, but Pan offered her other hand to steady her friend.

“Do we really need to be here?” Aria asked.

“I’m not sure.” Pan frowned. She stared over the yard of dead. Pan tucked Aria’s arm against her and gently took Aria to view one of the stones. Pan read the name to find it was not a name at all. “Here lies Scaldin independence.”

“What?” Aria held tighter to Pan. “That’s not true. It’s alive and well.”

Pan tightened her grip too. She guided Aria to another stone. “Here lies the Mother Tree, a symbol for no one.” Pan moved on to the next stone, taking Aria with her. “To the remains of the runes.”

“What is all this?” Aria asked. “It’s depressing.”

“It’s lies,” Pan said.

Music filled the air of the cemetery.

Aria perked up. “I hear that.”

“Me too.” Pan’s eyes opened wide.

In the center of the graveyard, she saw a Dipinta tree. Two of its lower branches strummed a harp. Other branches played other stringed instruments, and the tree itself sang. From where? Pan could not tell. It possessed no face.

Pan sighed and pointed ahead. “Do you see that Dipinta tree?”

The short, great trunked tree swayed with its music. Those branches, not engaged in note making, reached in all directions, unadorned with spring lights. The upper roots of the tree snaked the ground and reached between and around the stones, writhing slighting in time.

“You know I see nothing but you out here. You’re the only real thing for miles.”

Pan held Aria’s hand close. “Well, the tree is making the music. It’s a one-woman band.”

“It’s a sad song.”

Pan agreed. It was a lament. They had reached the end of time for Scaldigir, and it didn’t matter that Cosmir was a better artist than Pan because there was no one left to care.

Pan wove slow steps toward the tree, and Aria shuffled into place beside her. They stopped beneath the tree and held hands.

“We’re under it.” Pan looked up into the branches, through which she could see no sky.

Aria looked up as well, but Pan knew it was only because of the music. Aria couldn’t see anything in the landscape.

“What is this?” Aria asked.

“The end of the world, I think.” At that moment, Pan felt it was almost welcome.

“Hey!”

Pan and Aria both jumped.

Pan turned to see Vasilis. He ran over uneven ground, not missing a step. He was the police officer that gave Pan a multitude of tickets, though she’d paid none. He also refused to work with her in any kind of cooperative capacity and let her face Stiger the cannibal alone. Behind Vasilis, Casimir strolled, too confident for Pan’s taste. The investigator of all her reaper nonsense, and he solved the puzzle too. He just didn’t act on it quick enough.

Pan made a noise of disgust. “You’re not going to believe who it is.”

“Gavain?” Aria froze.

“No. Vasilis and Casimir.”

Aria hummed her disapproval. “What could they possibly want with us?”

“I don’t know. I thought this was the curtain call.” Pan turned to face the men.

Aria pivoted as well, brushing her feet through the dirt. Her pink slip-ons had taken on a greyish tinge.

Pan spread her hands. “What…?”

Vasilis tackled her, knocking Aria to the ground. Aria gasped and landed hard on roots and soil.

Pan remained standing but not for long. Vasilis pressed a small gun to her neck and pulled the trigger without hesitation. The landscape waved, and Pan could find nowhere to look that didn’t seem to wobble. She fell to her knees.

“Power suppressant,” Vasilis said, as he cuffed her hands behind her back.

Casimir finally reached them. He stood tall before Pan, and she struggled to focus on him.

“I’m sorry, but no reapers allowed in the graveyard. You know that.” Casimir shook his head. “Cuff her too.” He nodded at Aria.

“She’s not a reaper,” Pan objected. “And, neither am I. What’s going on? Why are you two the only solid people we’ve seen?”

Aria let Vasilis cuff her. She also let him pull her to her knees and jam her between the roots, side to side with Pan. Pan’s head wobbled, and she leaned, stabilizing her temple against Aria’s.

“You see ghosts all night and wonder why we’re the strange ones?” Casimir shook his head.

“But the tree…” The scene went black for Pan. Just before her vision gave out, she thought she saw the ghosts of reapers past. They hovered and laughed in the background.

Pan awoke. The ceiling above her still waved and wobbled, but the effect had diminished. Slowly, Pan sat up, and the bunk upon which she lay creaked. The chains that held it to the wall rattled.

“Pan?” Aria’s voice came from nearby.

Pan searched the cell, but she was alone. “Where are you?”

“I don’t think we’re in the same room. I feel a breeze. Is there a passage?”

Pan stared up at a window high in the wall of her cell. It led not to the outside but to another cell. It was a little socialization compartment for prisoners, though Pan wouldn’t have liked that concept half as much if the strongest, baddest woman in the world had been on the other side, jailed for murder.

Actually, she might find a match in such a woman, at least in some ways.

Pan’s vision swam. She sat still and waited for the waves to calm. “They threw us in jail for standing in a graveyard.” Pan put her hand against the wall. She slid her hand up the cold stone and stood atop her bunk.

It creaked in response but held. Pan stood on tiptoe and looked through the little window. Below Pan’s view, seated on a bunk of her own, was Aria. Aria hugged her legs to her breast. Her curls cascaded down her shoulders, leaving her tear-stained face bare and easy to read in its upturned state. All around Aria, everything lay dark. It was the darkness that Aria described.

Pan glanced back into her room. She still had visuals. She faced Aria again.

“Can you still see me?” Pan asked.

“I can’t see anything.”

Pan frowned. They weren’t at the end of the world. They’d stumbled back into the timeline, and it seemed like the fault should rest on someone. Volanter possibly.

Pan’s legs buckled, and she sank to her bunk. She relaxed and leaned against the wall, though it felt cold through her clothes.

“I’m sorry,” Pan said. “How about I paint you a picture?”

“How?” Aria half-laughed.

“First of all, you’re wrong about the jail cells. I’m in a jail cell. You’re on a bench outside, just keeping me company till my trial.” Pan closed her eyes and envisioned the composition. “You only think you’re in a cell because the bench you’re sitting on is against a short stone wall, topped by a trellis of wood. Flowers hang down. They’re too short to reach your hair, but they shelter you from a chill breeze.”

“What kind of flowers?” Aria asked.

Pan didn’t know the names of many flowers. “Purple ones, on a vine.”

“Oh.”

Pan felt a bit of that breeze she’d mentioned. It slithered through her hair and skated across her neck.

“Do you hear that music far away? I guess you said you were having trouble hearing it. That’s because it’s just so far. No one wants to party near the police station,” Pan said.

“That makes sense.” Aria shifted. Her clothes scraped across stone.

A creak did not follow the movement.

“If you look where you hear the music, you’ll see a quiet street and beyond that a garden. The festival is through that garden – on the other side – in a field. The lights are bright enough to make it hard to see any stars. But, that’s alright because the lights are purple and pink and gold. They make the kind of light that stars wish they could.” Pan saw it all herself, in her mind’s eye.

She’d given the garden an impression of shadow. Deep colors of green, blue, and brown mixed into the suggestion of flowers. The trees and the lights, she gave a blurry feel. The lights’ centers glowed bright, and the edges melted, blending into one another as if seen through glass.

“Oh, and don’t forget. Everyone is alive at this party. And, Gavain is waiting for you. He’ll understand if you want to keep me company a bit longer, but he wants to spend time with you too.” Pan placed Gavain in the shadowed garden.

He waited and stared at Aria.

Aria drew a sharp breath. “He’s mad at me.”

Pan frowned. “Why would he be mad?”

“I thought I told you.”

“Has his aura ever looked mad?” Pan, with eyes still closed, put a look of concern on Gavain’s face, washing away that anger that had suddenly been present. “He’s worried about you. He’s sad for you, not mad. If you go to him, he’ll cheer up – at least a little.”

“I guess I should. Pan, he’s waving me over. Do you mind if I…go?”

Pan opened her eyes. She felt that breeze from the window. She pressed her hand to the wall, curling her fingers to get something of a grip on the smooth stone. Then, she rose and stood on the bunk.

Pan stared out the window and gaped. She leaned too much and slipped towards the small, barred view. Pan caught herself against the wall.

Everything she had described waited outside. Pan searched for Aria. She grabbed the bars and tried to see out as far as she could. Just on the edge of her vision, she saw Aria meet Gavain in that garden, and then, they disappeared into shadow.

Pan pushed back from the window and fell onto the bunk. It bounced as she landed, and its chains rattled.

“Good luck, Aria.”