Noctort

  Noun

  Translation: Shadow / Shadow World

  Definition: "Noctort" signifies not only the physical absence of light but also refers to the Shadow World. This realm is thought to be woven from the remnants of dreams, a place where the echoes of forgotten and unfinished dreams reside. It is believed that Noctort is where dreams journey to their final rest, dissolving into the void of the unconscious.

  Cultural/Contextual Background: In contrast to the vivid and often enlightening domain of dreams, Noctort represents the obscurity and dissolution of such visions. It is a realm of the Menschen lore where the subconscious goes to reconcile with dreams that can no longer sustain themselves. The landscape of the Shadow World is envisioned as a twilight realm of perpetual dusk, filled with shadows and the debris of expired dreams. This place holds a dual significance in the Menschen psyche: it is both feared as a graveyard of dreams and revered as a necessary cessation, offering closure and making room for new dreams to be born.

  The rest of the trip went silent, with Orlo succumbing to sleep, his earlier discomfort seemingly easing. Muna, in turn, drove the vehicle with heightened care, ensuring a smooth ride to avoid jostling him.

  Occasionally, she reached over to gently sweep his hair away from his face. As they approached the outskirts of the city, the landscape was transformed into a vibrant spectacle that awaited them: a massive, striped big tent with bold yellow and green stripes and a myriad of colourful flags fluttering at the top. The entrance was hard to miss with the bright lights frame the grand archway, with bulbs that flicker and flash in hypnotic patterns.

  "Orlo?" Muna gently nudged him from his nap after parking the car.

  He responded with a groan, furrowing his brows as he shifted in his seat.

  "We've arrived."

  Orlo blinked, yawning as he came to full awareness. "Already?"

  "You slept through," Muna said, leaning back against her seat, a trace of amusement in her eyes.

  Turning to her, Orlo's expression was one of mild embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me earlier.”

  "It's okay," she reassured him, her gaze drifting to his lips for a moment.

  Their was an unspoken invitation between them, their bodies instinctively leaning closer. Yet, Orlo paused, breaking the moment with a light-hearted chuckle, "I think I would need to brush my teeth first. I vomited earlier and…"

  "That would be a good idea," Muna responded, her laughter mingling with his.

  They stepped out of the car and walked toward the entrance. A fawn dressed in a formal tuxedo and a tall hat stood out among the crowd, guiding the line with a clipboard in hand.

  "Next!"

  "Muna and Sterling Dagurstea," She answered before even being asked.

  "You came to support Zora?" the fawn asked, eyes darting between the two.

  "Adopted," Muna clarified monosyllabically.

  "Oh, well, that explains it," the fawn conceded, tapping nervously one of his hooves, "Go ahead and take a seat. The auditions haven't started yet."

  Orlo trailed behind Muna to the last row, observing the scattered groups throughout the tent. Then, his eyes caught sight of a girl with frizzy hair sitting alone.

  "Monica!" he called out.

  At the sound of her name, the student turned, her face lighting up with a broad smile as she waved back.

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  "Come sit next to us," Orlo beckoned her.

  Eagerly, Monica made her way to them, her excitement barely contained.

  "Hi, I'm Monica," she introduced herself.

  "Muna."

  "Oh, you're Zora's big sister; she always talks about you," Monica said, her enthusiasm unaffected by Muna's terse reply.

  "Does she?"

  Undeterred, Monica's excitement continued to bubble over. "You guys will love her performance; it's so beautiful! I saw the full rehearsal yesterday, and it was..." She paused, searching for the right word, her eyes lighting up. "Magic!"

  Orlo watched the interaction with inquisitiveness. Monica's admiration for Zora was clear, and it was endearing, but he couldn't help but notice Muna's apparent disinterest, her eyes rolling at each mention of her sister's achievements.

  As the ambience shifted dramatically with the lights dimming, a poignant melody emerged, carried by the mournful cry of a violin and the rhythmic beat of a soft jamboree. The audience's chatter quieted down as attention focused on the stage.

  Candles flickered to life one by one around the stage, casting a warm glow that crept across the darkened space. Then, as if summoned by the growing light, a dark silhouette emerged from the shadows, materializing at the mise en scene.

  The audience collectively gasped as they realized the peculiar absence of shadows. The candles, which should have cast dancing umbra across the tent's interior, instead left the space around the silhouette eerily devoid of any darkness beyond its own form.

  Orlo, intrigued, found himself leaning closer to the stage, drawn in by the unfolding performance. He half-expected, half-hoped his magic would provide some insight or react to the anomaly before him, yet it remained silent, offering no clues or whispers—nothing.

  Yet, a sensation began to stir within him, distinct from the magic he was accustomed to. It felt as though a second heartbeat had intertwined with his own. Two hearts were nestled in his chest.

  The performer was cloaked in black, with a long robe that trailed and spread around them like a shadow. Then, they came to life and began to loop two chains, each adorned with a blade that added a perilous whistle.

  As the silhouette at the centre of the stage continued its rotations, shadows began to emerge, joining the spectacle and defying the earlier absence of darkness. These shadows danced around the stage, starting to weave a love story that captivated the audience.

  The public, including Orlo, was left spellbound, witnessing not just a dance or a show of skill but a piece of living art that blurred the lines between the physical and the Veilla, the tangible and the shadows that play just beyond the edge of sight.

  The performance on stage unravelled a captivating narrative—it was the tale of a queen and her Spider.

  From the shadows, the audience saw a queen dancing alongside a wolf, a partnership as mesmerizing as it was ephemeral. Their dance ended abruptly as the wolf disappeared, leaving the silhouette of the queen to stand alone on the stage. Hurt and humiliated, in response, she summoned her Spirit—a Spider—to seek out her vanished partner.

  The Spider obeyed and embarked on a perilous journey through the Red Sea. It returned empty-handed and diminished, having sacrificed a leg along the way. From this loss, forty-four shadows sprang forth, embodiments of sadness and grief. But as quickly as these shadows appeared, they dissolved into the ether, eluding the Spider's weary gaze.

  As the tale of shadows unfolded, the audience's attention was captured by the queen's transformation. Her figure, now marked by the curve of her belly, suggested she was pregnant. From her womb, a butterfly emerged. It fluttered around the tent, weaving through the air in a dance that enthralled every spectator.

  The performance reached its breathtaking climax when the butterfly, in its gentle grace, approached the central figure on the stage—the performer dancing with swords who had held the audience spellbound from the beginning. In a sudden and magical moment, a surge of shadows cascaded down, returning to their original state—quiet.

  However, the performance took an unexpected turn when the dancer, in the midst of the dramatic finale, was suddenly overtaken by a bout of retching at centre stage.

  The moment forced the removal of the mask that had concealed their identity, revealing an elf with dark skin. Her complexion subtly glittered in a way that was enchanting yet indiscernible to the naked eye. Her dishevelled dark blue hair framed a face that, despite the brilliance of her performance, seemed defeated under the gaze of the judges.

  The applause that filled the tent was tinged with awkwardness, a collective response to the unforeseen interruption.

  The elf faced the jury with a defeated posture, yet Orlo crossed his fingers.

  "Zora, we must, unfortunately, inform you that you haven't been selected to stay with Mir-Lune, and I think I don't need to explain why," said one of the judges.

  As the verdict was announced, Orlo felt tumultuous anger surging through him, his disbelief morphing into a raw injustice. His body reacted viscerally as he stood up, “What are you talking about? Are you blind? Do you have pixie dust in your brain? She was marvellous!”

  It was then that Zora turned to look at him. Her eyes, a mesmerizing blend of blue hues and gold, captured his in a moment that would forever imprint itself inside him. It had finally happened, just like Godmama and Claramae predicted. Orlo Yeso Sternach met his Hexe.

  Monica sprang to the stage. Without hesitation, she enveloped Zora with her arms. It could have been a simple act of compassion in the face of her friend's distress, and tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks.

  Then, in a gesture that spoke volumes, Monica lifted Zora's chin and kissed her. It wasn’t a platonic kiss but the sort that belonged to a love story.

  Witnessing this kiss, Orlo came to two profound realizations.

  Zora was his Hexe.

  His Hexe liked girls.