Sitting down at her desk and picking up her quill, she knew that there was a story that needed to be written. But there was nothing calling to her right then. Sometimes writing was just that way. She drummed her fingers and swirled the feather, but nothing was stirred. Up again and pacing the room, even though this never worked. Gazing out the window, she let her mind drift and wander.

“Narrator.”

She turned and looked at the small child who had come into the room. A beautiful little thing. There was no way to tell how old he was. And she wasn’t even sure it was a he, but she hated thinking if them as “its.” Something about it seemed disrespectful. So did asking. That left picking one to refer to them by and calling it good enough. This one stood a little shorter than her knee. Making it appear to be a small child, but it may well not have been. It was covered in soft fuzzy fur that she really wanted to pet, but that seemed inappropriate as well. He was kind of like a pom-pom. Not that he would know what he was being compared to.

That just left talking to him. But she didn't know what to say.

“Will there be a telling tonight?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, but not tonight,” Narrator said.

The guilt was there, beneath that admission. They loved the stories and looked for one each night when the sun kissed the horizon. Each one would come to sit around the Telling Tree. Some snuggling up on top of each other. Others hanging at the fringes where the shadows hid their features. This had made her wonder as to what there was to see. But they never showed her and she had never felt it right to ask.

“Are all the stories stuck?” he asked, putting his fuzzy fingers against his chest.

“What is your name?” Narrator asked.

“You haven’t given me one yet,” he whispered.

She blinked. How was that possible? Hadn’t they all lined themselves up?

“Did you come after the Naming Day?” she asked.

He shrugged. It was odd that so many of them seemed to have little or no memory and most completely lacked a sense of time. Perhaps he’d been given a name and had simply forgotten it. Having two names would be awkward. Then others would think of him as special and some would come to her for a second name as well. What a hassle that would all be. There were those that had not joined the line on Naming Day. But none of those were the cute kind. Those had all been the shadow dwellers. Nightmares were all she could imagine in that place. She shivered with the thought of it.

Reaching and stretching himself up onto his toes, he touched his fingers to her hand. The touch was appreciated. Squatting down, she looked into his large purple eyes. She reached her hand out to him, then stopped herself. She had been about to pat him on the head. How insulting. He stepped closer to her and again rose on his toes so that he’d pressed his head against the palm of her hand. Seemed that he had read her intention and that he didn’t mind. His fur was softer then she had imagined. Impulsively, she scooped him up into her arms and held him like a child.

Tears came then. Memories always plagued her. Knowing there had once been another place did nothing to make that life more clear. But flashes came to her at times. Lifting this little guy made her certain that she had once been a mother. Where was her child now? Rocking the little creature, she paced the room again. She found herself humming a song that felt familiar, but once she realized that she was humming, the song slipped away from her.

“Narrator, can I have a name?” he asked in a whisper.

Without pause or consideration, she answered “Innocence.” That was how all names came to her. Naming was like pulling out something that had already been there. More like a finding.

“Innocence,” he whispered.

Hugging him tightly, she went to the window and looked out again. The Telling Tree was easy to see from there. Lights now bobbed and gathered. While there was never a demand for a story, they always came in hope that there would be. Most of the time, if there was no story, she just didn’t show up and they eventually dispersed.

“Tell the others,” she murmured as she set him down.

He gave her hand a squeeze and then hurried away. She never saw his figure join the crowd, but it wasn’t long before they broke up and wandered away. But the Nameless Ones remained. Those that stood in the darkness remained there in the shadows that surrounded the Telling Tree. What were they waiting for? As much shadow and darkness, they were mystery.

Walking towards the Telling Tree, she passed many of the Named Ones. Those were the creatures of the light. No two were the same. Some were woven from raw elements; bursting in flames or forever melting ice. Others plucked from dreams; large eyed and fluffy like Innocence or tall with the stretching limbs of a tree. She whispered the name of each when eye contact was made. Life, Love, Dreams, Tears, Hope and so many just like those.

As she approached the Telling Tree, there were no more Named Ones. None had followed her here. They had taken Innocence’s message as truth and her presence now did not bring that into question. Pressing her hands and forehead against the Telling Tree, she struggled to catch her breath. The air was thick here. It had always been. Telling seemed the only thing that thinned it and gave her the ability to relax beneath these branches.

But tonight, there was no story to tell. There had been no purpose in coming here. Yet she felt this was where she was meant to be. Lifting her head, she looked into the aphotic circle. Figures moved and shifted coming closer and drawing the murk with them. Apathy enclosed her. No point in evading them. There had always been a time that she would have to name them. Seemed that time had come.

Hands that she could not see touched her. Some chilled while others burned. Feather light and crushing. Serene and agitated. Languid and hurried. Clawed and caressed. Like the Named Ones, they were nothing alike. Contradictions swirled around her as they coalesced. Suddenly and urgently, they all pulled at her to follow them. Without the power to resist, she let them lead her into the place of shadows.

Mist roiled as she moved forward. Their hands had all slipped away and they now marched around her. No effort to make contact. Forms vague, seeming distant. In this crowd, she felt alone. The harder she tried to make them out, the more they faded, edges blurring and colors draining away. Vapor and ash, they held no real structure.

“Narrator,” voices whispered around her.

Taking shape was a small silver disk nestled in the ground. She had almost stepped into it before she recognized it as a small pool. Stopping, she knelt down and looked into the waters. Only her reflection greeted her. Wan with grey smudges beneath her eyes and short brown hair. Not a face that she recognized. The attire she had donned in the morning still looked as neat as it had then. The white shirt still crisp. The vest and tie gave a formal touch.

A black cloak was settled around her shoulders. She was grateful for its warmth and drew it about her. Looking up, she could not tell who had bestowed the gift. Muttering thank you to no one, she started to rise. Splashes from the pool drew her back. At first, she saw nothing. Then small silhouettes wriggled across the surface, breaking up the image of herself. Now the water looked like oil, the creatures slicked with it.

It was vile.

Scuttling back, she tried to escape them, but they rose out of the pool and grew with each step they took towards her. Twisted and dripping, they had no discernible anatomy. Their touches were dry and left no residue. Now they looked heartrending. What had they once been? For now she understood that all the Nameless Ones had once been something else. They had once been among the Named Ones. Had they been forgotten or forsaken?

Coming back to her feet, she reached out to them. They neither shied away nor yearned for her. Her fingertips trailed along the edges, but there was no definition to indicate where. It seemed the place that a face should be, but all features were nonsense. She wished they’d had eyes. Something that she could look into and perhaps gather a sense of their feeling. Perhaps that had been lost to them as well.

She was urged on. Without gazing back, she went where they led. Obvious that there was a destination and a time to arrive, she could not guess as to either. A single minded purpose pressed them, but she did not share this urgency. Tears trailed down her face. When wiped at them, she saw that they were blood. This gave her no distress. Devoid, there was nothing left within her.

Stopping and turning against them, she struggled to see those that herded her. The one thing they shared was the shifting of their nature. But there had to be something beneath that. Niggling under her skin, the idea bloomed and fought to become something more. But what? Knowing that they held all the secrets, she grasped at one of them. But it was suddenly too far away. Pursuing it seemed folly, but was unavoidable. Stretching out her arms and striding forward, she fell.

Soil writhed beneath her. Black worms strained upwards, touching her hands and face. They left a thick slime against her skin which trailed out grey lines. Getting up to her knees, she looked down at herself. No injury. But her shirt was now disheveled. Didn’t seem to matter. Scooping up the dark and rich loam. The perfect patch, she pressed onto her shirt and rubbed it in, trying to reach the hole that now oozed from her heart. It was nothing that she could see, but she knew it was real.

Gently, they lifted her and steadied her. Until the wobbling left her knees, they held her. No tenderness, but kind. One stood in front of her and she knew that it was the one that had always been first to come to her. A leader perhaps, but not driven to guide the others. What was it about this one that was different then the others? More real. More solid. More present.

“Narrator,” it hissed.

Reaching out, she clutched onto its arms. There was no effort to slip away. Without eyes, it stared into her soul. Giving her a knowing, finally a thing that she could lay claim to. Slicing into her mind, the truth cut her low. Screaming and clawing at her head, she lost the ability to stand. But it easily caught her weight and lowered her until she was laid softly onto the ground.

Without looking beneath, without names, she had condemned them here. Forever they had wandered, lost and broken. This was the hell that she had tossed them to.