Realm of Stories

The vibrant patchwork of a Halloweenfaire had been a rousing success, all things considered, and a thorough celebration of the Aspect's triumph over the Story Eater. How things have changed—in the year since its defeat and the first revived story, since the last people saw it directly—that the peoples' fears have diminished enough to relegate the world-destroying monster to a mere toy filled with candy to break open. Rekindled courage…or complacency.

Perhaps they should have been more afraid, more vigilant. No one seemed to bat an eye at the black, sickly vines that tried to snare the sleighs, or the unnatural thorns among the mistletoe that seemed to make people feel just a little tired… And once the Aspects and other citizens filed on home and went through their peaceful November, no one seemed to notice the other pieces. All throughout the festival, you see, Erasers had been lurking in the shadows, slipping seeds into one denizen's candy bag or another's coat. (Aspects would be immune to the influence, protected by their essences and the Storyteller's power.) Seeds of power and influence, echoes of the Story Eater's magic, its voice… Traditionalists were more susceptible, given their disapproval for the Aspects, but the Erasers weren't so picky about factions, and all their targets proved as good pawns. Those "chosen" planted the seeds in key places around the Index, nurtured them, even despite the chilling air and hardening ground. Herb gardens at home, windowsill pots, even tucked away corners in the city parks or the surrounding forests, eventually all of them bore dark burgundy vines, just thin woody sprouts at first, barely growing at all even after a month's time and attention from the hypnotized caretakers.

But then near the start of the new month, when the new moon rises into the sky…the vines burst forth and spread. Briars as thick as tree trunks—with wicked sharp thorns and roses so dark a red as to look black—spread and climb and entangle themselves throughout the whole of the Index. Streets become a latticework of brambles, vines weave in and out of houses and buildings, the doors to the Grand Library and the bridges to the other stories are blocked by solid walls of thorns, tendrils wrap around people as they sleep or try to run, and twisted, plant-like Erasers swarm the streets to pillage and lash out at anything they see. And spreading along the briars is a curse, and though a very few Aspects manage to resist, everyone else is pulled into an even deeper sleep that night...