text: The small figure cast a quick glance over their shoulder as they scuttled through the darkened streets. In this sleepy town, at this hour, it was unusual for anyone to be out of their homes, but one could never be too cautious. The silence was pressing in on sanity; moments feeling as heavy weights on the ticking hands of time. Silence and time, when even the smallest scuff could be a booming signal, but risk for speed was a necessity. Pulling the hood of their cloak closer to their face for coverage, the figure refocused on the arrival. In a short dark alley, the figure knocked on a plain wooden door. In a hushed voice, barely perceptible, she whispered, “Maggie?” In response, on well oiled hinges, the door opened quickly and silently. The figure was reminded of her previously looming thoughts on silence and time. She stepped inside and the door closed firmly without a sound. Once inside, the figure dropped her hood and a mass of wiry, straw-like, fiery hair humbled out in disarray. This was one of the many things Fluxx had inherited from her Da, a dwarf. Others being her pale skin, stubborn and often abrupt nature, and distaste for conventional niceties. From her mother, a fire genie, she’d acquired her fierce confidence, obsession with magic, and her tendency to spark - both literal and figurative. Just one of the many reasons she’d been banned from her precious books in the city library and archive. Exactly where she now stood, in the dead quiet of night. Nothing boils the scholars more than scorched books and scrolls. Magdalena, her first and only real friend, was the only scholar that understood her passion for knowledge and the side-effects that could come from heightened emotions. Maggie, as Fluxx affectionately called her, didn’t agree with the edict that banned Fluxx from the archives, and often took the closing shift to assist in after-hours infiltration. The closing shift wasn’t something often wanted, so the upper scholars were happy to oblige. Fluxx removed her cloak as she made her way to one of the small sitting areas. She grabbed the nearest book, *The Ember in the Eye*, the nearest chair, and began absorbing what she could with her limited time. Page after page, she devoured the information. Page after page, she lost time and place. She clutched the book to her and leaned in, as if in doing so, she could take it all in quicker. Then, rather abruptly, she was ripped out of her reverie by a strand of hair. White hair, just a strand, was draped across the words on the page. That singular strand was just distracting enough to have pulled her out of her state. How odd to so easily be pulled away from such an episode, but also fortuitous to have happened before any damage. Magdalena usually kept an eye on her, but she was nowhere to be found. Probably finishing up any number of her remaining required duties. Fluxx relaxed slightly her grip on the book, plucked at the strand, and dropped it to the side of her. Rubbing her fingertips together to ease the tingling accumulating in them from her magic, she began to dive back into the words scrawled across the page. A small breeze picked up and blew the strand of hair back into place. To Fluxx, that thin strand of hair was as wide as an inlet, distracting - nay, preventing her - from viewing her precious words. She flung the strand aside, only to have it reappear with another small breeze. Small breeze? Fluxx looked up and around her. She was still sitting in the library - an indoor, closed-windowed archive. Where could that wind shift have come from? Fluxx pulled on the hair, as if to sever it from whence it came. The strand would not break. he followed it with her gaze, intent on finding the source. It trailed from her book to another on the shelf, *Abyss of Destiny*. Fluxx stood and retrieved that tome from the shelf. When she opened it and pulled on the hair, once more it would not detach, but led her to another text, *City of Smoke*, higher up. Her obsession with the strand grew. Fetching a ladder quickly, she traced the hair through book after book, carelessly ripping the tomes off the shelf and tossing them aside. *The Immortal Binds.* *The Call of Silence.* *The Tangled Throne.* *The Splintered Strand.* Tome after tome fell to the floor as more and more strands appeared. She pulled at them, twisted them, tried with everything she had to break them, but to no avail. The white hair was cascading through the books, tumbling tumultuous through her psyche. Fluxx was raw and exposed, her frustration and magic growing. Near the top, leaning precariously to one side, she reached for another tome, *The Voice of the Original*. Behind the book was a burning, glowing red eye, seeing Fluxx through strands of draping white hair. In a tone that was booming but ever quiet, she heard a voice say, “You’ve followed the tangled strands to the root. You are worthy to separate, cut, make right the wrongs of Men and Gods. Fate will be unknotted and restored. Come.