The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
Despite her insecurity and fear, these new fashioned plastic handcuffs encouraged her. "They would be better in pink... whatever". She waited for the old handcuff of cold metal. Frozen claws that would eat her skin at the slightest touch as if they were made of acid. The situation had not improved at all, but as long she could avoid looking directly at the officer, she would feel a little more relieved. The whole situation was completely new. Would it be easier the second time? One thing was sure, it was much better not to see his gun or badge. Both signs of his authority over any civilian. And she also got the change to blatantly lie without looking at his eyes. She will had to work in her angelic voice. Her acting lessons were not going to be good. He was an officer trained to uncover lies. "You ..." She stuttered. Part of if was because she was scared. Another bit was insecurity. She did not know exactly what to say. The words crossed her mind quickly, but none seemed right. All looked like a big lie. "...will not believe what happened." It was as if she had been late for an appointment and tried to apologize. She spoke quickly, trying to finish her story before something worse happen. Trying to modulate her voice so that lie would be credible. She never invented such an absurd story. His father had never asked for it. Celeste just was not in his list of priorities. "I was just examining this suspicious looking ban, and then..." A dramatic pause to gain some time for her brain to keep building the unlikely story. Once the weak ideas were placed in place, she continued... "All of a sudden these kidnappers appeared out of nowhere." Generally, her lies were quite convincing, but usually she did not have handcuffs and was taken to a police car in the middle of the night . Knowing that lying was useless, she started again. Not a lie this time. "I am the daughter of a very important person." She added. Hoping the police to get the message. "If you do not believe my history, ask for money and lets end this right now." The little voice in her mind commanded it. Of course she did not have the skills to send her message to another person. At that time the van was the last thing in the world that mattered to her, it was not hers but anyway she still followed the officer's orders exactly as he said. "Now what?" She asked when she finally gathered the courage and achieved to speak again, both challenging and uncertain. Almost on the verge of tears.
Her two previous experiments clearly showed that the stored color could only overwrite one color at a time. A color for each dose. No matter the extent or the intricacy of the figure, if it had a different color with enough space to move, it would move. What if ...? She took the piece of cloth and spread it on the floor in front of her. Then, the girl put three new pieces of paper over the fabric, each separated by one centimeter. Beginning in the first blank page, she drew two parallel lines that passed through sheets and fabrics alike. At both ends she drew an additional line, so that the color would remain locked up there. In these long black walls. One more time, she copied the golden with the intention that the pasted golden would moved to cover the entire road. Her singing began, a small plea or an order .. maybe both. Whispering. The golden jumped form her nail to the paper. Some grew up stopping at the end, blocked by the line connecting the other two parallel lines. The rest of it projected in a perfect radius away from her nail. Unstoppable... it crawled through the paper until it reached the edge where it stopped suddenly. The golden did not want to go any step further, as if it were the end of the world. Although upset, she could not help smiling. She was imagining tiny little voices. There was nothing ahead, said an imaginary voice. Impossible to go on, said another voice. As if the color was a small boat full of sailors. A frightened crew. She thought.
Despite her smile, the girl felt like her little spells were passing the bill already. She needed a break soon. Still, she took another piece of paper, the last one left. And drew two imperfect circles side by side. Both circles provided two small empty spaces inside of them. She cut a small piece of a paper that still had golden color and stolen it, leaving another new piece of paper in gray. And then again copied a little more, from another segment of golden paper from the same sheet. But this time she took it with her left index finger. Without waiting for an encouraging result, her gold nails were positioned at the center of each circle. Her left hand on the left circle. Her right hand on the right circle. With her fingernails in contact with the paper, she began her prayer. Although she repeated the words over and over to be absolutely sure she was concentrated, nothing happen. It was exactly what she expected, but she felt very insecure and frightened, Had she lost her powers? She quickly raised her right hand, leaving only her left index finger in the center of its circle. This time, while repeating the name of the color and achieving an absolute concentration, the golden began to leave her nail as it had done before... Relieved, Celeste concluded that she could only copy or paste one color at a time and only from one source at a time.
Although the music was not strong enough to cover the irrelevant conversations of the other diners, it was strong enough to cover her own thoughts. She felt like her head would explode if she kept listening that music. It was very disturbing, to the point of they were like cries and lamentations of the beyond. These sounds ripped out of the very soul of the piece turning art into mere scribbles. Desperate and with no escape from that hostile environment, she almost shouted with all her strength just to cover the noise of the piano, fortunately at the last minute she remembered that it was not ladylike and left that idea aside immediately. Then, changed to Plan B. Drum her fingers against the table. To any casual observer it could be a mere protest. She was impatient, and that was her way of diverting the attention from the music that sounded worse at every minute. But, no. With satisfaction, Celeste proved again and again her muscular memory created by hours and hours of practice. Her fingers were not moving erratic and uncontrolled as people thought, but following the music on a imaginary keyboard. She was ahead of the speed of music, remembering those beautiful melodies all by herself. When she was satisfied with her warming, she called the waiter with one hand while with the other she took her phone and called her bodyguard. To the first, she ordered to take out the pianist, to the second, she asked to find another piano player as soon as possible. The tyranny of the murderer of pianos was over.
With superhuman grace, the young pianist moved to the elegant black piano resting on the side of the restaurant. The carpet at her feet cushioned her steps so it was possible to hear the voices full of expectation of the nearest tables. In her new throne, she could see every tables without missing a single detail. Besides the view, she was in a privileged place with excellent acoustics and beautiful lighting. When the first notes of moonlight sonata interrupted the silence, the entire restaurant vibrated with joy at such a beautiful melody. Everyone, including employees, stopped what they were doing to see what was going on. The dissonance from before had completely disappeared as if by magic, replaced by soft notes chained one after the other with the exact timing producing an excellent interpretation of the piece composed by Beethoven. The small concert went from being a torture to a feast for the ears, and from the background to become the star of the night. Her fingers danced on the white keys with surgical precision, staying in each note just long enough. Some notes were held in a harmonic long sound, others were just a short sound used to quickly jump to the next key. Almost finishing the first piece, like a modern DJ, the girl added a small fragment of her own to chain Traumerie from Robert Schumann to her previous interpretation. To her delight, there was no way to determine when she changed of piece. The change was so subtle and so well executed that the two songs seem to merge into a single master piece. At the end of her performance, her waiter approached her to inform that her food was ready. She was sorry for having to leave the piano after only two songs but she was very hungry. So she moved back to her table, accompanied all the way back with congratulations from the nearest table.
From her vulgar throne, a simple metal chair, she watched her station impatiently. She could not understand how she had received no bids. It was unforgivable. In absence of another culprit, she decided to throw cold stares of contempt to her lonely station, loaded with so much hatred that it would not be surprising for the station burst into flames. Excess of hatred, the doctor would say while checking the smoldering corpse. Fortunately spontaneous combustion was not in her list of powers. She was so focused on her staring contest with the poor inanimate object, that she never noticed the boy cat approaching until it was too late. His claws closed around her delicate hands with such speed that she could not react. Paralyzed with fear, the girl could only watch. Silent horror reflected in her eyes. Just to contribute to her growing panic state, the intruder kissed her hand, giving ample time to check his cat ears very clearly. There was no doubt. They were real ears. Cat ears. Hairy. Would he has fleas? Just thinking about it, she felt attacked by imaginary fleas. Itching all over her body. To resist the urge to scratch. took all her willpower. It was not ladylike.
How did it happen? Was it her fault? Or he had used some kind of feline ninjutsu? She doubted for a second but the answer was there. Clear as water. "It was pure negligence." She repeated again and again. Without wanting to give credit to the stranger for his smooth running and accurate strike. Or his sweet words that uttered only truths. "If not for the ears..." said a little voice in her head. And another one silenced it quickly. "Speak softly but carry a big stick." Surely it was all a trap. When she finally regained her composure, she took her hand away as quickly as possible and gently deposited them on her lap, a gesture of protection. Her left hand shielding her right hand. The kissed hand. As if the place where his lips had touched her skin was fatally wounded. Instead of resorting to a severe but righteous whip of her hand, she chose to direct all her anger in a blaze of words. Soft words but spoken almost in a shriek. Bad for sensitive ears. "Don´t you dare to touch me again with your dirty lips." The queen paused in her speech. Took air and asked with new energy. "How much did you bid on me to have these privileges?" Her eyes constantly stabbed him, while her voice shrill kept that rage that can tear ears and concrete alike.
When the carved wooden doors of the "Chiaro di Luna" opened in unison, the sweet song of a stylish piano escaped clashing against the weak sounds of the night. She heard several notes, most weak and confused but nevertheless that music invited her to come in and enjoy. The lovely voice of a man shacked her away from her reverie, The man asked very politely for her name to check the reservation. After a quick glance, and for her delight, the boy pronounced her surname with the purest Italian accent followed by several courtesies. Although the restaurant inauguration was two weeks ago, it was still necessary to book several days in advance. Probably the famous chef and his molecular gastronomy were to blame. The restaurant also had its charm. It was a work of art, in which every detail was shining with the warm lights of chandeliers. From the curtains to the carpet. Each piece of furniture was unique.
With each soundless step into the restaurant, her blue evening dress danced with the music accompanying the movements of her golden hair. She was not surprised in the least when most of the guests turned to devote false smiles of welcome at the very moment she walked inside. Then, they analyzed and judged as she expected. ¿Manfrella? They wondered. Trying to decide if they ears were deceiving them or not. Her family could be unknown, for some others even famous. But according to most of them... always infamous.
Once at her table, away from inquisitive eyes, she listened with horror as the promising music had become a torture to her sensitive ears. The notes that before were weak, now sounded entirely audible for the first time. At irregular intervals, the low skilled pianist failed one or two notes producing a heartbreaking dissonance. With the delicacy of a lady but the authority worthy of a queen, she demanded to the closest waiter to immediately fire the bastard who was murdering that poor piano. Quite frankly, the boy said it was the first thing they would do the next day. "Not enough." She thought. Displaying a mocking smile that did not mean anything good. The waiter added, with genuine concern that unfortunately their pianist had an accident of last minute. "Very touching..." Said the girl, without really feeling anything for the man she did not know. Then she took the carte du jour and discussed its contents with much expertise. And after a silent deliberation, she made her request. The waiter disappeared quickly with her order. After that, the child was free to glare maliciously at the incompetent pianist. Was it her imagination or it was getting worse?
This time, just for fun, she took one of the sheets of paper and deftly drew a long sinuous maze of black walls. It started with a single corridor but after a pair of twists and turns it split into two independent paths. Simultaneously, both corridors were transformed into two more. Often, as the heads of the mythical hydra, new passages were created for each severed "neck". The tunnels had thousands of different angles as the corridors twisted and straightened in endless laps. Every corner seemed even more devious than the last one until the point that even her creator did not know the right path. The maze started at the lower edge of the sheet, but just in case, to avoid any leakage she took care to emphasize the edges. Skilled black lines formed a complicated array of tunnels that increased in number and size from the first original tunnel to the three other edges of the paper sheet. Superior. Right. Left.
With renewed energy after the hearty lunch and refreshing nap, her concentration was impeccable. Her mind quickly created shields and other defenses to stop the invaders thoughts. In order to produce only one thought echoing in her head. "Golden" The word emerged from her lips in a small whisper to help her mind to focus only on that word. And at the Queen's orders, a large circle of gold escaped from the sheet of her previous experiment. Another gray circle occupied its place. With a slight tingle of anticipation, she slipped her fingernail on the fragile paper and hovered to the entrance of the maze. Once she located the exact point where to start, her nail anchored there and she started to sing softly, encouraging her mind to do the same and return to the absolute concentration she needed. The gold of her fingernail slid easily into the maze and dutifully moved respecting the black walls, following its course at every turn. It was trained as a mouse to find cheese. Only that the liquid gold that moved through the maze did not have a mind on its own. If it did have a mind, Celeste did not want to know what that thing wanted. And even when her eyes were under that veil of selective blindness where the golden was only of a light gray, the progress of the river of gold was admirable. It never doubted. Just moved. And when it came to a fork, it just divided and continued. Without stopping at any time. Gradually the golden maze was filled with brightness, until all the corners were completely painted.
Time was unstoppable, the worst of all tyrants. While ordinary people walked casually, trapped in their thoughts. Greeting. Smiling. Pretending. She tried to hate them but she could not. That masquerade was both repulsive and hypnotic. Friends and enemies exchanged glances and greetings, smiles and words without the slightest concern. And while that pretentious dance was executed in the background, she had not received a single bid. Her station was alone, a sad allegory of the tower at the end of the world in which she was trapped. She waited with the only company of her exotic treasures. In the hope of being rescued by a noble knight. But nobody seemed to notice her beautiful black eyes, or her gorgeous golden hair, fine skin or refined manners... no. Of course, the queen was not pleased with this behavior.
Did she have to admit to be a mutant for someone to be interested in her? She thought. Enraged. But immediately dismissed the idea as an absurd occurrence. She was not sure if she was a mutant, she could be a witch, a goddess or any other supernatural creature. But mutant, no.
She assisted with the promise of men fighting for her. Maybe in a violent but never old-fashioned sword duel. Or with cold revolvers in the first light of dawn... unfortunately, now it was clear that if someone was going to fight for her, he will do it with horns and claws... The girl was not sure to want to keep the winner. She needed an insurance policy. From its small but expensive handbag, she took a modern cell phone. Two quick stabs of his nail and the small device soon communicated her with Max. "If I call you again, I want you to bid a thousand dollars on me." Confused but not enough to disobey, her bodyguards quickly accept the order. In the limousine must be enough money for an emergency like that. After that, she settle to wait for a fish to bit the bait.
She was expecting it, but still the little courage she somehow achieved to raise was not enough. It faded instantly and she almost jumped on her place when that voice sounded far above her as if the police officer was a colossal giant. She also found that his voice was extremely authoritarian, almost angry. Or was it just his badge doing the trick for him? Anyway, she did not even dare to look straight at him. She kept her black eyes on the road, as if she was really driving... giving him occasional glances of terror. "Hi..." The girl said with extreme concern, not really knowing what was the procedure for an arrest. Should she shake his hand? Should she come forward and give an excuse? Or should she wait for him to question? Her concerns were elevated above the clouds at the time she heard "MRC". Mutant Related Crimes. It could not be, there was no way anyone knew she was a mutant. And to think she had felt so secure to hear of the formation of the MRC. And now... they were chasing her. Celeste tried to control herself, but her fear was taking over. She trembled slightly the whole time, but especially while leaving the vehicle with her hands up. Looking toward the officer, but really not seeing him. Any wrong movement and she could end like a strainer.
She continued her dark arts in the presence of her beloved Peter, not her royal guard, but her old and beloved teddy bear. Owner of the first object "enchanted" by her magic. After the horrible nightmare of gray circles, she decided to use him as watchdog. Of course someone as educated as her, knew it was just a teddy bear, yet she had great affection for that animal, and his presence gave her peace of mind.
The first six pages of the small notebook were filled with ease. The color flowed gracefully from her nail to the first page, her thoughts were tamed quickly under her strong mental orders. The first two were painted with the color taken straight out of the old doors. Once the second page was completely golden, she cuts one end of the sheet. A very small piece. A triangle as golden as the rest. And then she extracted its color to use it in the next sheet. Repeating the process she got six sheets from the two original samples. Celeste tried a seventh sheet, but she just achieved a golden circle in the center of the sheet. Her concentration failed, many thoughts penetrated the barrier of unanimity needed for the process. Her roaring stomach and throbbing headache contributed to destroy the little concentration that remained on her. It was time for a long rest and a generous meal in the safety of her castle.
A beautiful sound rang out above all others as a melodious song. The amplified voice delivered a heavenly name. Her name. It was a glorious moment. Unfortunately the feeling of solemnity and grandeur was interrupted when the voice insisted on pronouncing other minor data about her. Without paying attention to these malicious words, Celeste, obediently took a step forward for all to admire her beauty. Instead of the usual hand waving greeting, which she considered extremely vulgar, she executed a curtsy worthy of a aristocrat of the early eighteenth century. When she slightly inclined her head, her curly golden hair lively danced on her bare shoulders. Every step and every smile were highly calculated to show all her charm. Clothing, hair and manners worthy of a king's court. Would she find a prince worth of her? Her Italian dress marked her stylish but childish figure. It began where her delicate shoulders ended, and from there fell forming a sharp v-neck that not only showed her perfect skin, but also an expensive almond shaped diamond. Actually, none of this was enough for her. Of course not. The beautiful original blue of the dress was replaced with a fancy polished silver. Work of her own skilled hands. The fabric of exquisite quality seemed to be made of liquid silver, shiny and flexible. Beautiful but at the same time impossible.
When the turn of the girls ended, she moved along the public looking for a good place. And although it was difficult, she finally found an empty place away from the members of The infamous circus of freaks, the scariest show in the world. She glanced a half snake man half naked, and a girl who looked like some kind of demon. Just thinking about that cold, scaly skin gave her chills... as well as the many tusks, horns, wings and other protrusions exhibited by many of the mutants, so she tried to be as far as possible of everything which did not look like a human. Celeste did not even bother to look for someone familiar, she knew very well that she would not find any familiar face there. It surprised her that Sam was not there. Her Asian model would be a good "buy." Sure, if he could keep his mouth shut.
To watch the bachelors did not offer the fun she expected. Her moment of glory was on the stage... In her eyes all of them had a problem. One even had an eye patch. He will probably be missing an arm or leg. That guy looked like someone out of a world war II film. Leaving aside those who were old enough to be her father, there was only a child too small to be of any use, and a pair of twins dressed in identical clothes. They were not bad, some would even say they were pretty good looking but unfortunately both had cat ears. What a waste... There was no one there worth of a date with her. Unless they were saving the best for last, she was not going to put a penny on anybody.
She cursed again. This time aloud. Max looked at her, playing to be an adult and gave her a reproachful gaze. Her bodyguard was about to scold her as her father never did. Clearly this was not the vocabulary expected from a girl of her class. She knew it but... She sharpened her ear. Trying to remain silent under these accusing eyes. There it was again. The siren howled. The only audible noise tore the quietness of the night. At that time Max also heard it. He jumped in his place, visibly scared. Now his accusing eyes, became a silent plea. Her bodyguard was torn between escaping or staying with her to face the consequences. He did not want to abandon her to fate, but... He wanted much less to end up in jail... Malcolm certainly thought the same.
It was all in her hands. She knew it. Until that moment she had never shown much interest in her employees, but deep down she knew they were not just employees. They were part of her family. And a this time they were also her responsibility. Celeste tried to find a peaceful answer, but her thoughts were blocked again and again by the piercing shriek of the siren. The sound was closer, dancing in the streets at a rapid pace. The van was not fast enough. Nothing was fast enough to escape that hungry ghost. To her horror, now the lights were visible. Blue as their uniforms. Red as blood. The lights bounced off on every surface. Analyzing them. Judging them.
In a burst of courage, her words escaped from her lips in panic. These words were a little more than babbling but she tried her best to give orders to them. Although her authority was gone the instant she saw these spooky lights. Her words were completely covered in fear and doubt. What she feared the most was the small change they would not listen her because of the sound of the siren, so she repeated her plea again and again. Almost in frenzy. Until, with relief, she saw how Max threw the barrels and Malcolm stopped the van just a moment after. Both ran from the scene as soon as possible. To the park. Just as she ordered.
Clumsily, she moved into the drivers seat. While waiting she said to herself that nothing will happen. She was under age. He could not do anything to her, right? She doubt it.
After lunch, she walked slowly to her room. She really did not want to be alone, so she delayed the time to leave as much as she could. Eventually everyone left the kitchen with bows and apologies, ready to return to their daily tasks. Unfortunately, everyone had something to do except for her. Even her best friend had left New York without her. Probably for shopping ... Lunch and nap took care of her growing headache, so she was ready to return to her witchcraft. What else could she do?
She sat down again in her usual place, from there she had an excellent view of the door. That was good. And a nice view of her bed too. That was bad. The vision of the bed reminded her of the horrible nightmare. Everything. The sun was stripped of her beauty, gray men chased her... that horrible lifeless gray everywhere. These circles were certainly nothing but a silent accusation. She almost could heard their voice. Witch, they said at times. Others circles simply said: mutant. So she looked away from the bed as fast as she could, trying to self imposed courage, she concentrated on the sheet of paper with the golden circle in the middle. It looked like an eye. It looked like the sun. She contemplate it for a while, unsure, she knew that circle was going to become the portal to their nightmares. A gray circle. She convinced herself that nothing was going to lost its color unless she wanted. And she repeated quietly, that she was in control.
This time, she took another clean sheet, completely white. Sharpie in hand. She looked at the sheet a few seconds, undecided. Until finally in a moment of decision she made several quick strokes that ended in a circle in the middle of the sheet. The circle was not perfect, as the ones produced by her witchcraft, it was a product of human imperfections. Lack of skill that would be corrected. She thought. It looked like an oval. Celeste knew what was going to be the result, but she did anyway. Once she finished extracting all the gold of the circle, it was completely gray. Another gray circle trying to betray her. The girl was tired of circles so instead of starting from the center of the sheet, her fingernail rested on the bottom edge. The color began to spread from there evenly and orderly. One half of the golden circle projected from her nail, soon found the end of the sheet. Pausing. In contrast, the other half continued expanding. As she expected, the wave of "ink" evaded the black outline of the circle, surrounding and rejoining once it circumvented the obstacle. The paper was painted gold, the center of the circle was white, and the outside of the circle was black with the blood of the Sharpie. The outline of the circle seemed to be a barrier, a wall that could not be pass. Each color could only cover one color at a time.
In front of the huge door, Celeste felt small, weak, unimportant. Even in the moonlight, its polished surface shone with golden inviting thieves to try to steal them, and poisoning the rich in their own envy at such a display of opulence. A door fit for a king, carved by hand in the most noble of minerals. From the first moment she saw it, she fell to its charms with sighs and curses. And since that day, a question never uttered assaulted her every second, demanding an answer that will never come. "Why can't these doors be mine?" She asked herself over and over again. Looking for a justification. One reason she could not found. After a week of plans and speculations, she decided to act. Envy was poisoning every corner of her little soul. Nothing was safe from its corrosive progress. She felt like dying. At least she determined to punish the owner of the doors for having something she did not.
Her whispers echoed through the silent night. And the echo was also repeated in her head. The echo of an echo. "Golden." Her words barely audible, her voice was a hissing plead. The song of a forgotten ritual. Her concentration was absolute. Under the spell of her commands the color slowly escaped from its former prison to form a nest in her nail. At the end, she chose another random nail and press it firmly against the remaining door. Her nail was dressed in gold after completely draining the glory of the door. Out of breath, she looked at the result of her witchcraft, and for the first time, she enjoyed seeing that awful gray. She felt extreme pleasure while looking at the doors stripped of all life. Now both looked like giant stones painted with a horrifying gray, naturally impossible. A dead gray. Artificial. Sad and empty.
Before leaving, she slipped a letter under the giant doors. Addressed to "The proud owner of the golden doors." With a stylized calligraphy, Celeste explained that she heroically claimed the essence of the doors for herself. She did not say how. But she left very clear that all the golden was in her possession, if they have any hope of seeing its doors with its former glory, they will have to follow her instructions. Two days after receiving the letter, they must give free cakes to all who pass by. The improvised shop must be on the sidewalk. Almost at the end of the letter, she gave precise instructions requiring ten different kinds of cakes, and a steady stream of them. Whoever was in charge of the give away must dress as a maid or a butler. Depending on the case. If a passerby could not get a slice of cake, its gates will never return to normal. Under several polite regards, there was her signature. The Queen. Written in cryptic letters of gold.
Annoyed, she left for another break. The silent semi-circle was still there, as when it was when she left for a second breakfast. From the comfort of her bed, her things looked like a smile. Smile that mocked her attempts to understand her magic. Smile that mocked her rejection to the gray circles. She was tempted to disarm the provocative smile, but did not. The girl just lay in bed, trying not to think about anything. Such concentration was causing her a growing headache. It was just the beginning, but she felt pangs of increasing intensity on the sides of her head. As if someone was squeezing her skull with inhuman force. As an orange, she thought. When she just finished her lemon pie, she fell asleep. Her arms still at the side of her small body. On one side, very close to her, the dish with small crumbs.
She slept a few hours. A short nap filled with concerns. She dreamed with gray circles. In her dream the circles were everywhere. She was walking through Central Park, strangely there was no one there. No vagabonds, or police, or couples enjoying the beautiful day. Yes, the day was beautiful. The sun was shining in the sky. A clear sky without a cloud. Completely blue. Suddenly, her feet were frozen. She tried to go a step further. She could not move. She also wanted to scream, not a single sound came from her mouth. Celeste was trapped. When she finally looked down to see what was imprisoning her feet... with horror she saw a perfect circle sucking her. The circle was completely gray, a gelatinous substance. Viscose. Her feet were stuck in that thing and she was sinking. The girl could not leave. She struggle for hours to get rid of that deadly trap. Although she knew that was impossible, that thing seemed to be bottomless. She would slowly sink forever. When, despite all odds she reached one of the banks, another new horror surprised her. The bright golden disc that was the sun, transformed into a gray circle of the same substance. Large gelatinous drops began to fall from the sun. Desperate, she began to run. The drops fell closer to her. And every drop shifted into a man made of the same substance. Each had different characteristics, different clothes. These features were slightly marked, as if they were men of clay. Also, as if everyone had a collective mind, they began to haunt her. They moved quickly. Relentless. Not a hint of stress on them. She was getting tired. When she could not run more, a big gray blob fell from the sun. Just above her. A moment later a man was trying to bite her neck. Celeste dodged his bites several times, until finally, cold and gray teeth fell on her soft neck.
Celeste woke up at that very moment, still struggling with the gray man. Sweat ran down her face, falling in great drops from her forehead to her chin. She was still pushing the imaginary man. Finding no resistance she opened her eyes, to her surprise he saw that she was alone in the room. Relieved but still in panic from the frightening dream, she analyzed the room with quick glances. When she finally decided everything was safe, she left her bed ready to take off all that sweat. Her hot bath ended just in time for lunch. It was the second time that Peter knocked at her door. Instead of getting her lunch there as she did often, she decided she wanted to eat in the kitchen with her bodyguards and her driver. In a gesture of thanks, she said. Hiding her true intentions. Actually, she wanted to be with someone else. Celeste did not say a word throughout the lunch. Max was commissioned to fill the void left by her. As there was not a single moment of uncomfortable silence. And though his jokes and comments were not very funny, Peter continued the conversation. Malcolm did not say a word. He was new, and still did not feel comfortable with his coworkers.
