The Eldritch Purge

She stormed huffily along the path, wanting to scream, shout and generally release her fuming
 volcanic, incandescent fury. She wasn't used to being told no, and it wasn't about to start now.
 Emma glanced up, twisting round in the process, seeing the electric blue light shining out from
 there. Magic, naturally. The central weapon of the secret organisation she was a member of. Of course,
 she was still very much a beginner member, despite having taken the pledge and been Initiated. It
 wouldn't be until she had left school that she would be used on the front lines, to fight the
 unfathomable horrors and incalculable terrors that the Thorns face daily. She knew the truth; that
 the monsters horror writers penned in their little novels were real, and indescribable daemonic
 creatures threatened the normal people since time immemorial.


What infuriated Emma was the fact that she might have proven herself loyal and stalwart to the
 cause, and become Initiated, but she is still being treated as mediocre. She carried on walking back to
 her dorm, after having just stormed out of the main meeting area for the Thorns of Lovecraft, the attic
 area of the languages building. Emma might be young – too young by most others standards – to be
 training up to be a protector, but it was to ensure each member was truly dedicated. Her school – the

Miskatonic Academic Institute Of Learning – had been the key recruiting ground for members for
 decades. It was rather ingenious, really, Emma mused. Using the privilege of moneyed and well
 connected families to create a network that could support itself in times of trouble. She had heard the
 tales, including the adventures of the Founder, the one who had established the daring and august
 institution.


She had been nine years old when they had first approached her. She had voraciously been reading
 a small library of adventure stories at the time, and her fevered and racing imagination had placed
 herself in Hogwarts, fighting alongside Harry Potter against those who would harm the world. What
 she hadn't counted on was the sheer hard work involved. What had demoralised her was the fact that
 her most stringent efforts were average at best. No matter how hard she had tried, she was considered
 a mediocre student. It had reached the point where the most senior members – the dim­witted
 dullards who continually restricted, restrained and retarded her inevitable and inimitable progression
 to greatness – had suggested she studied to become an archivist or librarian for the Vault, the hidden
 headquarters for the Thorns of Lovecraft. To her, such work was beneath her.


What had made the entire situation worse was the fact that whilst she had spent three years
 straining and struggling against the restrictive strictures of the Thorns Basic Training Program,
 continually having to repeat and re­take subjects and topics that she knew were out­datedly pointless
 or irrelevant for her to learn... she seethed with black, bilious, bile­belched wrath as she had heard
 that mere months after being approached, a girl who was from a family who were simply commoners

with ludicrous luck in acquiring a fortune through business and enterprise... Emma's mind raced
 incoherently at the iniquitous insult. Ginger Kurtwood was small, freckled and looked odd, with wide
 grey eyes that seemed almost Batrachian in appearance; wide, staring and rarely blinking. With surly
 snideness, Emma imagined the reason why she had recently begun to wear glasses was to train her
 irritating eyes not to bulge out so much, to punish the small­framed girl for always staring. Unlike
 Emma – who always maintained herself impeccably and immaculately – Ginger was always untidy
 and disorganised. She was always losing notes and pencils and other items, admittedly aided by a
 little surreptitiously spectral nudging from Emma.


But no matter her efforts to make Ginger into a pitiful and pathetically disordered and dismal
 person, everyone at the Thorns loved her. She somehow found the subjects easy, almost as if she had
 been born to accomplish and achieve them with effortless simplicity. Emma Gigner swore to ensure
 she was expelled from the institution before she was Initiated.


Emma kicked a small pebble, hurtling it passed a small snail, narrowly missing it. She glanced
 upwards, realising with a start that the way was brightly lit. In the sky hung a gibbous moon, gazing
 down in bleak, blanched disinterest. Suddenly, a silently swift blur of movement attracted her, making her instinctively duck. Looking to
 see what had just happened, she realised she had been dive­attacked by three owls, somehow
 managing to avoid doing any harm. She gazed at then, her eyes narrowing. She knew for a fact that
 owls were solitary hunters. She quickly closed her eyes, focussing, honing, adjusting. When she
 opened them up again, she saw the owl circling around, as if strategically regrouping to attempt
 another assault. However, her eyes were also seeing with Sublime Vision; the spidery strands and
 flows of irridescant hues coming to and from them meant her suspicions correct. As she stared, Emma
 saw the magic change and shift, becoming thick, powerful strands of magic flowing from them. It

clearly meant that they were supernatural in nature. And if they attacked her...


In her energised over­eagerness, she rushed after the owls, to strike them down, and prove she
 really has earned her place amongst the Thorns. She'd show them. She'd show them all. She ran down
 the path, fishing out her wand from her pocket. She wasn't suppose to have it; she wasn't deemed
 sufficiently advanced enough to fashion he own wand. But there it was in her hand; wood from a Yew
 tree, and the handle made from the antler of a black tail deer. She struggled to keep up, knowing she
 had to chase them, but had not the faintest idea as to how to tackle them. It wasn't as if her magical
 repertoire was replete in offensive spell­craft. Then again, some of the minor spells that she had
 created had certainly been deemed offensive – and insulting – by the Hierarchy.


She imagined the boon of taking down a supernatural threat so close to the school. Emma could
 savour the multitudinal boons and platitudinal rewards she knew lay ahead of her. With this, she
 could start to work her way to the very top of the order. To be in overall control of the Thorns of
 Lovecraft. That idea excitedly enticed her rapid beating heart, struggling with the surging strain of
 the running.


Before she had realised she had done so, she was racing into the woods that surround her school,
 nestled just outside to the east of Providence, Rhode Island. The birthplace of HP Lovecraft, the
 mythical Founder. Emma raced about in the woods, blindly running about in a frantically desperate
 effort to find them and destroy them, when she realised with a horrifyingly sinking feeling in her
 stomach she was lost. She looked around her, the trees looming and leaning towards her, as if cruelly
 constrictive, wanting to ensnare and entangle her with their roots and branches. She tried to quell the
 quivering fear that was quarrying itself in her heart. It shuddered and shook, her lungs raw and
 reeling from the pressure of finding more oxygen for her body. If there was one thing that could be
 said about Emma Gigner, it was her penchant for letting others do hard work in her stead. Shakily
 and unsteadily she moved forwards, her efforts at surreptitious stealth shattered when she trod on a

twig, snapping it, noisome cracking echoes surrounding and engulfing her.


She resolved to creep further into the woods, resolute and stalwart in her apprehension and
 elimination of the loathsome attackers. She looked about, trying not to become even more lost. She
 suddenly had the inimitable impression that Fate was weaving around her, that there was something
 eldritch and spectral mounting, building up to crescendo of blasphemous horror. Suddenly, the owls
 seemed deeply irrelevant; Emma could sense a threat of sinisterly daemonic effulgence unfurling and
 unifying around her location. She no longer wanted to escape the woods; lest she encountered the
 unnamed and unknown harbinger. Harbinger of... what? Emma knew not, and desired to remain that
 way.


She forged ahead, trying to cover as much ground as she could she knew that the way ahead held
 safety; if she were to turn back, she would retrace her steps towards... whatever courage she had
 flittered away, gibbering whimpers scurrying out of her throat. Her fingers grew bone white; her grip
 on her wand absolute. She tried to fight away the tears; hot stinging streaks of saline sliding away
 from her eyes, her breath desperate panting. She focussed her attention on her wand, to bring it to
 generate mystical illumination, to guide her way. A twig snapped; a cold breeze brushed past her. She
 gulped, the noise seemingly deafening. She suddenly realised with a stomach sickening second that
 she was surrounded by soundlessness. Stirred not did anything; still, sensing and assessing the
 creatures of the woods were.


Sure and steady she panted, moving forwards swiftly; she could sense the Stygian serpentine
 shapes that were sliding behind. They were catching up to her. Her terror dulled realised that they
 had caught her scent; not her mundane, human smell, but that of her magic. Suddenly, her mind's eye
 opened up, and she saw that they planned to feast on her magical abilities, hollowing her out. She
 couldn't let it happen. She sprinted straight ahead, the springy branches scratching and snapping
 against her shuddering shape. Her location betrayed, she could hear them stalk after her. She
 strangled a scratchy scream in her throat.


Emma ended up streaking into a clearing, hollow legs barely able to keep momentum mounted, her
 mobile. Five heartbeats it took for her to realise that as soon as she had entered, a fog had begun to
 materialise behind – then – around her. Blindly barrelling forwards, she witnesses the thick, smokeywhite fog envelope the entire area. She started to hear voices, strange and sinister people whose
 utterances showed they were hunting her. She knew the serpent stalkers were drawing near.


She continued to detect a faint sensation with Fate that they meant her harm, and that they were
more than simply hungering for her magics. She would serve a most tasty snack indeed... her body
 betrayed her, escaping out a squeak in fear. This alerted her pursuers, who started chasing blindly
 after her, firing ebon bolts of some arcane magic unknown to Emma blindly into the fog, none of it
 going near her.


Her foot snagged on a root, and fell down hard, hands splayed out to stop the ground smashing her
 nose and breaking it. Her palms became scratched and scraped substitutes. Emma gasped in agony as
 the sharp, slicing pain stabbed her brain fully alert. She shook her head, knowing she had no other
 recourse but to stand her ground and fight her pursuers. It felt as if her ankle had twisted or was
 broken, and her knee has bashed against a small stone, causing a trickling of blood and more pain to

claw at her mind.


She groaned, trying to fully work out why she wasn't registering her injuries all at once. She dimly
 realised she had somehow hit her head hard, a stone slick with blood to the touch, her mind feeling
 groggy and sluggish in thought. She fought the urge to vomit and pass out.
 

Emma stirred when she heard a twig snap close by. Her eyes opened quickly, then strained to
 remain open. She was too tired from her head injuries. She could barely think through the throbbing,
 pulsing pain, explosive fires with each heartbeat. Suddenly, she startles awake; the noise... it was one
 of her attackers. She tried to carefully get up, to try and... her head cleared up a little, and she
 realised she was better off staying still, particularly with the fog growing thicker and denser, a
 strange sickly white enveloping and condensing around her. She peered out into the gloom, the
 moonlight obscured by the fog. There­ something. Lurking and creeping about a little ways off. All she
 could make out was silhouette.


Realising with a start how close it was, Emma tried to work out where her wand was, realising with
 stomach deadening dread she dropped it when she fell. Sudden surges of sickness strangled her body.
 She wasn't truly terrified, her body stunned and shocked into a semi­numbed stupor. She sleepily
 struggled not to pass out, as she heard a growling, hissing noise, like a hybrid of boar and snake. The
 shape shrinks, going lower to the ground, then returns back to full size again. Emma swallowed,
 noisome gulp treacherously betraying her. It had found and picked up her wand, and with a moment
 of sudden lucid clarity, Emma felt the multitudinous surge of terror of her situation. Warm liquid
 spread about between her thighs and her groin. Humiliation set in as she smelled what it was. Fearsoaked and urine­soaked; that was her now.


It paused, sniffing the air by flicking out and back into its mouth, as is savouring the air around it.


Emma knew it was doing, however. Smelling the urine. It shifts, gets closer... and then suddenly an
 owl silhouette silently swoops in, sized strangely larger than usual; overgrown talons slashing and
 slicing the shadowy creature. It lashed out, reptilian shaped hands clawing at the owl with such
 deftness the owl was squarely struck. It carried on flying, unbothered and unconcerned. Hitting it
 proved ineffectual. Clearly, the owl­formed spectral... what was it? Emma thought, realising that if it
 be much tougher than the average owl, and could take on the reptoid revulsion... how staggering was
 her egotistical foolishness in taking out these creatures? She suddenly felt small, silly and slight
 compared to the supernatural stalkers surrounding her.


In synchronous concert, the other two streaked forwards, talons gouging and tearing into it. Caught
 in ambush, the creature fought a desperately defensive battle, its hissing snarls growing weaker as
 the trio of strix­shaped... saviours? Emma realised with a startled dawning that her quarry were her
 rescue. She felt her tweeny thoughts twist and reel at the revelation. She heard more noises, more of
 the fell, foul beings converging onto the battle, shouts and commands that sound like from a human

throat participating also. She felt herself succumb to shock suffused stupor, unable to stay conscious
 from her wounds.


She awoke, shivering from cold and shock. She realised that the fog still bleakly blanketed the
 clearing, masking all the conflict and death that she knew had happened. She elected to not seek out
 answers to what had happened. She decided to meditate, using techniques shown whilst she had been
 training for Initiation. She used it to focus her mind, to channel her energies, clearing her mind,
 working on healing her concussion. After a length of time that felt like forever, she felt her mind
 strengthen and restore. She elected to get her wand, and get away from the clearing. With painful
 lucidity, she knew she wasn't ready to challenge any of the creatures that were lurking in the woods.


Something landed by her hand. With a start, she realised it was her wand. Looking up, she saw the
 three owls – normal size once more – flying overhead. She picked up her wand, and forced herself to
 her feet. She stiffly craned her neck upwards.


“Er... thanks?” she said, her voice sounding raspy and hoarse.


We always protect our own, said a chorus of voices in her head. She swallowed hard. She didn't like
 the sound of that...


“I'm­ I don't have feathers,” she said, feeling foolish the moment her mouth released the words out.
 Why had she said that? It was pretty much obvious. A noise filled her head, that curiously sounded
 rather like laughter. She shrank into herself, feeling pitiful and childish. She held up her wand,
 pointing it at the circling forms above, praying that the shaking of her hand couldn't be noticed by
 them.


“I­I'll destroy you if you try to harm me,” she said, her voice cracking and wavering too much to
 sound like she was doing anything other than desperately bluffing. Again the sound of their strange
 laughter echoed inside her.


You barely managed to become Initiated, they thought to her in a chorus. Her arm slumped down
 limply to her side, defeated. How much did they know? Could they read her mind? How powerful were
 they? A thought crossed her mind. They didn't harm her, they protected her. But why? She pointed
 her wand up to the sky again, wanting to lash out at them in anger. It wasn't fair. They hadn't trained
 her properly! She was so unprepared! And because of the Thorns' poor education, she nearly died! Her

long, oval face contorted with rage. She vowed to haunt them forever if these owl... whatevers killed
 her.


It doesn't need to be like that. They take a hard, inefficient road to power. Which will lead to ruin,
 they thought to her. Her eyes narrowed. Her breathing grew hard and fast, the inbound air scouring
 her raw lungs. She felt the insatiable hunger of her darkening curiosity devour her greedily.


“What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. She felt wary, and given they were monsters,
 they had to by scheming something. But they hinted at something, and Emma found it too tempting to
 resist learning more. Tonight had already been educational, she mused to herself. She knew that she
 didn’t want to fight monsters or demons, she was too scared of dying. They were right, though. It was
 too hard studying what the Thorns of Lovecraft dictated was the only way to gain proficiency in magic.


There is an easier path, which leads to far greater power much faster. They deny this fact, because
 they prefer their members weak. Emma blinked repeatedly, knowing in her heart that they were telling
 her the truth. It was so utterly obvious. She felt utter wrath, bilious and unbridled, towards the
 institution. She wanted to go back to the Loft, the meeting place and training ground for the members
 at Miskatonic Academy, and... something. She hadn't thought that far ahead, but she was going to do
 it, when she knew what she wanted to do or say.


Think about it, they thought to her, the words echoing and swirling around in her head as she
 contemplated what they were saying. She abruptly realised something with a sudden, sharp shock of
 spearing truth. They knew the easy path. If they knew it... they could teach it. Another thought
 occurred to her.


“Why did you save me? I was going to kill you,” she said, then felt her eyes widen as she realised she
 had spoken aloud the last part. “I, er... well, the thing of it is...” she realised she had no was to try and
 make it look good. “They said all monsters are evil,” she said, trying to defend her actions. She
 realised just how deep the lies were. That was what they had done to her. Lied. Repeatedly.
 Constantly. And she hated them for it.


We protect one of our own, they repeated. She didn't know what it meant, but she knew she liked the
 idea of these mysterious owls, the lords of their kind protecting her, possibly even teaching her. The
 idea enticed and teased her. She imagined the shock on Ginger Kurtwood's face when she realised she
 was deeply outclassed and outdone. She even imagined Ginger's snotty mentor, Alice Greene, the one
 who continually derided and hindered her. Alice knew nothing but privilege. She was a third
 generation member of the Thorns, and had been taught from birth magic. The rumours were that she had it in her blood, that magic was a part of her family. All Emma knew was Alice was a stuck­up
 witch, who loved to lord it over those less fortunate than her.


“How do I learn this easier path?” she enquired, hopeful. She knew she wanted it badly. Really,
 really badly. If only to show the Hierarchy just how wrong they were about her... they just circled
 above her, silent. A shocking spasm of shivering shook her. She looked down at herself, realising how
 dirty and wet she was. Oh... Emma realised the reason for her being wet. She squirmed in
 embarrassment. All her anger, all her lusting dissipated. She suddenly felt tiredness crashing and
 crushing down on her. She ached, and her ankle was sending sharp searing stabs of agony to her brain
 now.


You require rest child. Follow us, they thought to her. She nodded, and followed then, limping as
 best she could. She glanced down in the mist, seeing a severed human hand, still gripping with rigour
 tightness a staff. She prised the fingers apart, strangely noting her lack of disgust. All she felt about
 the owner of the hand was that he deserved what fate had bountifully bestowed him. She felt no
 sympathy for any of those who had tried to kill her. Only hot, angry pleasure. She put her wand in her
 blazer pocket, hoping that it wouldn't get lost. She knew it wasn't finished, that it needed more work
 done to it. She realised she had gotten rather attached to her creation.

The mysterious owl creatures flew overhead, their dark shapes guiding Emma. They led her away
 from the clearing, the fog starting to dissipate as soon as she had left it. To her shock, she realised
 that the fog had been only in the clearing, stopping at the woods as if held back by an invisible wall.


The sight impressed Emma, and she silently vowed to learn how to do it for herself. She moved as best
 she could, her joints stiff and aching, her ankle threatening to totally give out on her. She wasn't going
 to give up, though. The owls flew ahead, patiently waiting for her.
 She knew that even if they turned out to be malevolent, she couldn't wish them harm. They
 protected her, guided her. She saw the familiar edge of the woods, and after a few more minutes had
 managed to reach the edge. She saw the school, all the buildings sprawling out over the grounds.


Nearby to her was the creepy Old Admin Building, which had been abandoned for so long, rumours
 existed that it had been built abandoned. She looked up, and she felt a pang of unexpected loneliness
 as she noticed the three owl creatures were gone.


The journey back to her dorm room was slow, painful but uneventful. Her body ached, and she was
 moving like she was elderly and frail. She gingerly closed the thick wooden door closed, relieved to be
 back in her dorm room again. She started to take off her clothes, then decided that she really needed
 to shower. She clutched her showering bag, towel and her nightwear. She double checked she had
 everything, then with a deep breath sneaked off to do it.


Even with a night of rest, her body still felt fragile and stiff, her knee and ankle still painful. She
 managed to hobble to the refectory, loading up her tray with as much food as she could dare carry. She
 was famished. She hadn't had time to cover up her injuries, so had to endure people staring at her
 with interest. She wasn't exactly known for her athletic prowess, or her enthusiasm for anything
 remotely resembling a sport. She ignored it all, rigidly and agonisingly getting to the table she and her
 friends all sat down at. She started to eat breakfast, alone. She looked at the empty table, utterly
 puzzled, trying to understand where her friends were. They always sat together, and hung out
 together. They literally did everything together. In fact, it was they who had persuaded the Hierarchy
 to admit her into the Thorns in the first place. She excitedly thought about what they would say when
 she told them about what had happened to her the previous night. She was definitely planning to omit
 the part where she had wet herself in fear. That would not be appropriate.

 
She noticed the Thorns' little pet go past, making her curl her lip. Emma realised Ginger was even
 more scruffy than usual. Her clothes were always clean, but she never ironed or bothered with looking
 after her clothes. Not to mention they always looked so gigantic on her. Which entertained Emma no
 end. Today, though, Ginger was looking tired, dazed and in shock. Her vivid red hair was uncombed,
 and sticking out wildly, her eyes red and puffy. She looked even more pale than usual, her freckles
 sharply contrasting with her face. The expression she had was that of shock, deep, deep unbidden
 shock, as if her entire world had been destroyed. Her eyes were producing a glassy and glazed gaze, as
 if unregistering what was going on around her. Her feet shuffled along, her unpolished black shoes
 scuffed. Her thick eyebrows creased into a frown, her face suddenly haunted by a troubling thought.


“Ginger Ginger! Shouldn’t you be butt licking a teacher for your nutrition?” Emma said, just
 wanting to inflict misery on someone. She stopped, and turned around, looking about to look at
 whoever had called out to her. She looked at Emma with increasing confusion.


“Do I know you?” she asked, her voice cracked. Emma just blinked at her in shock. How could she
 not know her? They'd been at the Loft together plenty of times. Granted, she hadn't spoken to her
 before now, but still... Ginger looked at the taller girl with annoyance.


“Anyway, its Ginny.” Emma blinked again. Since when had she been calling herself that? Emma felt
 as if the world had just gotten rather peculiar.


“Oh,” she said, watching Ginger – no, Ginny – turn around and shuffle off. A crumpled up paper
 napkin hid the side of her head. She turned to mouth off at whoever had dared to do it, only to be
 greeted by a table full of seniors.


“Leave her alone. Her nan died last night,” a well built brown haired boy told her, his scowl
 crumpling his face. Emma produced a majestic frown back.


“So?” she challenged. A girl – presumably his girlfriend – bolted up her feet, and walked menacingly
 to her. Emma involuntarily shrank back.


“She was by her bed. Her gran lives – lived – in Providence, and was rushed into hospital
 yesterday.” Emma turned to look to her friends for support, but remembered the table was empty. She
 withered under the hostile gaze, realising that other tables were now watching.


“Sorry,” she said trying her hardest to sound sincere. She sat down, and chose to stew in silent
 anger, wishing she could do something bad, really bad, to the precious darling of the Thorns. It was as
 if nothing had changed. Maybe it hadn't? Maybe her body ached for some reason other than being
 chased in the woods. She was, after all, the butt of a multitude of pranks and jokes within the Thorns.


It was probably all down to them targeting her again, nothing more...
 Except by evening, Emma wasn't feeling so sure at all about her conclusion. She was feeling utterly

confused and scared. She had gone through the whole day friendless, because they didn't remember
 ever being with her. In fact, none of her friends believed her when she told them they all hung out
 together. In the end, she had convinced them she was crazy, and told her – bluntly – to leave her
 alone.


And that was just the start of it.


She had then tried talking to other members of the Thorns of Lovecraft, each time the result being
 nearly identical. None of the Thorns were remembering her, and each time she had confronted
 another member, they had looked at her as if she was crazy, or on drugs, telling her either calmly,
 irritatedly or snidely, that they considered magic to be fanciful. It had hit the point where she had
 missed a lesson, just to go to the Loft and find out what was going on. Was she being pranked on
 again? Or worse yet, she was being expelled from the institution, for her continually poor
 performances? So, she had gone up the stairs that lead to a plastered wall. It had always amazed her
 how no­one ever questioned the fact there was a staircase leading to nowhere in the school. She placed
 her hand forwards, and walked, the wall mystically tuned to admit anyone who was a member.


What she had found was a place stripped bare of all equipment, texts... it was as if it had been
 pillaged of anything remotely or possibly magical. She walked away from it, wanting not to stay there
 for long.


In desperation, she had tried to strike up conversation with Ginny, but all she did was adopt a
 personal policy of blanking her, though she wasn't sure if it was the shock of losing her grandmother,
 the insults from breakfast, or the fact that she too had been... what had happened to everyone? Every
 person she had talked to seemed as if their minds and magics had been purged from them. It truly felt
 like a giant purge had happened.


It continued for days, turning into a couple of weeks. She truly felt lost and alone. The only reason
 why she hadn't been caught in the Great Purge – as she was calling it – was purely down to her
 chasing owls. The fact preyed on her mind constantly. Their words played over and over in her mind:
 They take a hard, inefficient road to power. Which will lead to ruin. What if it wasn't simply the
 school... but the whole of the Thorns of Lovecraft itself? Emma found it a cold, sobering thought. She
 also found it darkly amusing. They had been eager to view her as pathetic, fit only to dust their
 precious shelves. Except, she'd survived what they hadn't. She had gone over her notes over and over
 again. The owl creatures were correct, she could see it now. There really was an easier way. And she
 was going to find it.


It took her days to figure out where in the woods the clearing had been, her search fuelled by desire
 and hope. The night she did it, go out to see if they were in the clearing, a gibbous moon hung once
 more in the sky. Had it really been a whole month since the Great Purge? It felt like it had happened
 an eternity ago. She carried on, past the languages building, the attic area dark. It had stayed that
 way since the Purge. Emma hadn't gone back there, not out of fear of being found, but because she had

realised how many unhappy memories were contained there. The more time she had to reflect, the
 more she realised just how utterly glad she was it had all fallen. She resolutely hated the Thorns of
 Lovecraft, and it not being around any more flooded her heart with a sense of great liberation.


She walked forwards, entering the great courtyard, the place where she had been first recruited into
 the Thorns. A dirty little smirk washed over her mouth. There, in the old large tree in the middle,
 were the three owl creatures, looking at her as if patiently waiting for her. She strode purposefully to
 them, then knelt in front of them.


“I want you to teach me. I want the power, give me the power,” Emma Gigner said with a feral
 smirk and a dark fanaticism glinting in her eyes.


-----------

Thoughts, Sigarda, @frenchinuk?