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I apologize profoundly for the delay. Decepmyth's borders were breached, and we've been having a lot of trouble over the past few weeks, so we had to close the veil between Reality and Decepmyth for a few weeks. You Realists call it "writer's block." We call it "border trouble." 

Day 11 

Wren was silent. She only broke this heavy, though invisible, depression to call out halfheartedly: “Here!” When Danie called her name. Everyone was scared. Especially when Danie picked up a rubber rat by the tail and declared him Squeak. It would be funny if they weren’t alone on a snowy plain, unsure if they would see each other again or if they would survive. Alone... or not alone. Who was doing these things? Turning people into objects left and right? Was it someone lurking around the mountain... or one of them? Wren began humming aimlessly, and the humming turned into a low, unintelligible tune, and the tune became a song; rising clear and strong into the blackness. She looked around at the others who were watching her and stopped, embarrassed. Everyone blinked in confusion. Wren had forgotten that her voice was enchanted. She stamped her feet against the snow in frustration; crunching out the endless white. It gave her comfort to be in charge of something in a world that seemed in charge of her. 

John was frustrated. He stood at the base of the lone mountain, whistling sharply. Where was Poe? The raven usually flew right to his master when he called. After waiting impatiently for a few more minutes, John spotted Poe diving from the coal-black sky to meet him. 

“Poe, listen. The others have run off and their scattered. There will be many more disappearances until I can protect them, you need to—“ Poe cawed sharply, cutting off John’s frantic monologue. 

“What?” John asked, “You mean… she is the lantern?” 

Poe cawed again, twice. John’s eyes widened. 

What do you mean she’s gone? Kidnapped? But… the poem! She doesn’t know the rest yet! I have to warn her.” John turned to leave, but then he suddenly remembered why he had come. 

“Poe, go talk to Dad and ask him to please stop showing off, and I’ll rescue Elizabeth.” 

Two figures separated into the night. One was an ink-dark ember, threading its way through the heavy darkness. The other was a frantic boy weighed down by doubts and a longing to be recognized by his parents. But, unknown to the others, there was a third person. A shadow, hiding behind a mask of innocence. Only, the shadow did not look so innocent now. 

ESQM was advancing. The magic trio (the cloaked boy, the glowing girl, and the swift raven) were separated. There was still another nearby person on the endless plain. Someone whose platinum-blonde hair juxtaposed so perfectly with the darkness that it made her a visible, easy target. 

“Brookeira,” ESQM whispered, smiling villainously. Alight with fear, Brookeira’s ice eyes settled on the traitor. 

“You. I never would have guessed,” she murmured coldly, “is this world so deceiving as to mask a villain, to hide treachery in the lively cloak of snow, and to twist reality into a different dimension? If so, I want no part in it.” 

“You think you can choose?” ESQM rasped. 

“I think I should have a say in where my writing comes from,” Brookeira lunged. Laughing, ESQM held up her hand, stopping her in her tracks. 

“You loved the snow, though it will now will be bittersweet to you, as it is the last thing you will ever see…” 

I believe that Baelfire has brought to us a very important fact: ravens are highly flammable. 

Day 12

Baelfire was sitting. In an extremely surrealistic place. 

“Would you like some tea?” The Man Of A Thousand Words asked. Baelfire shook his head. Bending over his collection of handkerchiefs, he lit one on fire (handkerchiefs are very flammable). Shyly, he glanced up from his flickering flame, but quickly put his head down again. It was really too much to take in. Full of hospitality, The Man Of A Thousand Words (whom I will now call TMOATW) had immediately invited Baelfire to sit after conjuring up an armchair, formed from the word “chair.” The table, the tea, the air—everything was formed by words. Very noisy words. 

“CAW!” At first, Baelfire thought it was another word, but then:

“CA-aw! Caw!” A raven flew into the cavern and settled on Baelfire’s nose.

“Ahh!” Baelfire shook his handkerchief, which was still on fire. Note to self, he thought, ravens are also very flammable. Flames crept up its glossy black feathers, narrowly missing Baelfire’s nose. 

“CAW!! CA-A-AW, Caw!” One spilled cup of tea and a few singed feathers later, Baelfire decided he was done with fire for a while. 

“Ca-a-ahw,” the raven cried dejectedly. 

“Yes, Poe, I know it hurts,” TMOATW said gingerly, “did F.Q. send you?” That was what he called his son: “F.Q.” John was simply too Realistic. 

“Caw, Caw, CARAWH! Cahw,” the raven related.

“Oh dear, I quite forgot about the Realists. Go tell them I didn’t mean to scare them, will you Poe?” Poe cawed exasperatedly, and then flew off into the distance. TMOATW had also forgotten that Realists cannot speak raven. 

Shifting Sands was enticed. 

“OOOH! An pie, yum!” 

“Wait! Stop!” Daniel skittered across the snow, getting her favorite Anakin Skywalker pajamas wet in the process. 

“Where’s Masked Piester?” She questioned. 

“Uh… I don’t know?” Shifting shrugged innocently. So the evil magician had struck again.