As the eldest child, I was like a third parent, so the duty fell to me to dispose of him. I wrapped his stinking corpse in soiled towels and carried him out behind the shed, digging as quickly as I could. He watched me the entire time I piled dirt on him, staring with his porcelain face and pink lips parted. For a while, I was able to convince myself it was only a doll I had buried out in the yard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For a time after that, the Death seemed to have parted from us, and we were stunned by our sudden luck. How was it that we had been spared, but three of my siblings had not? None of us wanted to voice it aloud, for fear the Death would hear and come to finish us off. It seemed we were in the clear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And then I got sick. I coughed up blood one morning, and, horrified, my parents shunned me to the shed, where, within a fortnight, my condition had deteriorated so much I was pleading for death. Our previous doctor had succumbed to the disease himself, so my parents sent for another, a newcomer who said he\u2019d come all the way from London. I never learnt his name, nor did I see his face because of the beaked mask all the doctors hid behind to drown out the pungent stench of our rotting flesh, but I would never forget what he did for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He visited me for three days, comforting me and giving me strange\u2013tasting herbs, even though we both knew it was futile, and it was that third day when my time had finally run out. I was shivering uncontrollably, covered in a musty blanket stained with my own bloodied phlegm, that did nothing to warm my aching limbs, yet the doctor only stared at me with his head tilted and his hands on his hips as if he couldn\u2019t quite believe what he was seeing. That\u2019s when he said to me:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou cannot perish; you must not. I will never allow someone so beautiful to be erased from this world.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I had been stunned; here I was, all but two steps away from Death\u2019s Door, and he was in awe of my\u2026beauty? Was I beautiful? Back then, the only time I had ever laid eyes on myself was from glimpses in the wash bucket or a puddle of rainwater. Maybe the herbs he was plugging his nose with had addled his thinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Alas, no; he knelt next to me, and ever so gently traced the line of my jaw with his gloved hand. \u201cI will make you an offer, but you must decide quickly, for Death is upon you. I can spare this body of yours if you desire, but you must have absolute trust in me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I thought about what he was proposing, certain this had to be some sort of jape. But what if he was telling the truth? What if I could live to see another day, make a life for myself? If I truly was blessed in good looks, why, I could do anything, be<\/em> anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t want to die, and I told him so. The doctor nodded, and then instructed me to close my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis will take but a moment, and in that time you might find yourself drifting off\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Well, he was right about that, because when I came to, I awoke in a ditch, earth walling me in, roots reaching out twisting fingers to restrain me. My parents stood over me with a shovel. Before I could register what was happening, my mother\u2019s already gaunt face flushed white, and she shrieked, collapsing into my father\u2019s arms. As I rose from what was undoubtedly my grave\u2014though I didn\u2019t clue into this fact right away\u2014my mother was wailing and had her hands thrust before her, her fingers forming the sign of the cross.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou are not our son! You are not our son! Satan\u2019s spawn!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n And that\u2019s how I was kicked out of my own home, my father chasing me with a shovel and my mother lobbing curses in my direction for my \u2018unholy wretchedness to go back whence it came.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n This is it, how it all began\u2014my story. Credence Crow before Moonlite, Credence Crow before Honeycomb. But I\u2019ll get there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Moonlite Montreal didn\u2019t come into my life until much later; I first had to figure out what the hell had happened and what I was supposed to do now that my family had ostracized me. In those days, there was no transportation in our village, so I had to walk and hope I came across someone who might be able to take me to London.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I decided rather quickly that London was to be my destination: the doctor had come from there and was the likeliest candidate to be able to explain whatever he had done to make my parents think I had died. <\/em>I was angry and confused, and knew I had to give him a piece of my mind. How I would find him in such a great city when I didn\u2019t know his name, or even what he looked like, I hadn\u2019t a clue, but I needed some purpose to ground myself, lest I fall into despair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I don\u2019t recall how I made it to London, other than the journey having been too traumatizing for my subconscious to retain. It was within that first day wandering around looking for work\u2014I needed an income if I was to rent a place to live\u2014that I first began to experience strange symptoms of the doctor\u2019s work:<\/p>\n\n\n\n There were more changes to my body than this, of course, like how my skin naturally cleared itself of all blemishes, which was unhelpful when I tried to search for any physical evidence of the doctor\u2019s work. I was also always getting stopped in the street and complimented on how my hair looked that day, how bright and shiny my smile was. It got to the point that when I asked my employer if I could work overnight he didn\u2019t bat an eye at the odd request, instead giving me a razor to trim the patchwork that had formed on my face so as to \u201caccentuate my great bone structure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n By God, the doctor may have forced me out of my home, but I was starting to realize he may have in fact saved <\/strong>me from a life of perpetual mediocrity. I was <\/strong>gorgeous, and people were noticing. Suddenly, everything came more easily to me; I got my own place, a stable job, and could now take the time to investigate the doctor and my new condition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I remained in London for some 700 years, give or take. Okay, you see, here is where I should probably come out and say it\u2014I\u2019m a vampire. Yes, the \u2018eternally youthful\u2019 Credence Crow is a bloodsucker, a nightcrawler, a fanged menace. Except, none of those are me, but some disgusting stereotypes imposed upon us because just one <\/strong>of my kind couldn\u2019t satisfy his bloodlust and went on a killing spree. Of course, vampire portrayal in the media will have you believe this is the case for all <\/strong>of us. Sigh<\/em>. The injustice of the world today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But I digress; I never found the doctor, but I did encounter some others of my kind one night while I was sipping my wine at the bar. Apparently, vampires possess an internal radar that makes other vampires completely irresistible, so they sidled right up to me and offered me \u201ca special something\u201d to augment my drink. The \u201csomething\u201d was a vial of viscous red liquid that deepened the colour of my wine once it was added.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019re one of us, aren\u2019t you? Try this, and we\u2019ll tell you where you can get more.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Lo and behold, nothing had ever tasted so good. The minute the liquid trickled onto my tongue, my senses were alive, and I was immediately energized, shuddering with pleasure. Naturally, it was blood, and I wanted more\u2014needed<\/strong> more. They were able to hook me up with a vendor who extracted blood from rats so we didn\u2019t have to it ourselves, because that, of course, would be uncouth. Plus, London was teeming with rats at this time and no one minded seeing them gone, so our vice was, in fact, dual\u2013purposed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Why did I leave, then? To be frank, I just became so bored<\/strong> of London. The city changed too much for me to be able to keep up. It was bad enough I had to relearn English as my birth dialect had fallen to the wayside, but trying to follow every war, political upheaval, and economic drought was a headache. The city was no longer overrun with rats but with reeking automobiles, enormous ugly grey buildings, noise, and so many people. Too<\/strong> many people. Even the vampire community was becoming too large, so that ethical means of acquiring blood was becoming a daily competition. I needed a change. That\u2019s when I thought I would head to America, and the budding Hollywood scene.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For 700 years I had grown accustomed to being beautiful, so why shouldn\u2019t I flaunt my looks? And, if I could make a living out of it, why would I ever do anything else? I would gaze wistfully at the cinema billboards, at all the pretty faced movie stars that were so above <\/em>everyone else, and think that that was where I was meant to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I did make it in Hollywood for a while. I strolled into one of the studios one sunny afternoon in my black trench coat, sunglasses, and fedora, and was immediately directed to the soundstage to get headshots taken (apparently they thought I had already been hired they were so floored by my style; who knew it would be so easy?). I was given complete access to all the behind\u2013the\u2013scenes of the film world\u2014the free coffee and doughnuts, and all the cast parties. I was only a background actor, but the perks still applied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now, I was living it up being the only vampire in California, but eventually the glitz and glamour of the red carpet began to lose its novelty, and I was exposed to the \u201cHollyweird\u201d, as it is so aptly named here in Canada. I\u2019m a very sexy man, of course, (the foreign accent helps: \u201cOh, you\u2019re British<\/em>?\u201d) so I was constantly invited to the exclusive VIP clubs, the types with valets and red velour and satin everywhere. Unfortunately, these venues also attracted the crowd who were into some\u2026shall I say, questionable ideas of \u201ca good time.\u201d This is where I discovered that there are freaks out there who enjoy <\/strong>having the blood sucked out of them, which, being a responsible vampire, I was not at all interested in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At this stage of my life, I wasn\u2019t sure what to do. I had settled into the \u201cAmerican Dream\u201d and didn\u2019t particularly want to leave it, but I was dangerously close to having my condition be discovered. I had been in California for over a decade, and the Hollywood honchos were beginning to inquire as to how it was I retained my youthful vigour\u2014\u201cWhy, if I didn\u2019t know better, I\u2019d swear you haven\u2019t aged a day!\u201d I was outliving the \u201cexpiration date\u201d of my acting career, and Hollywood took notice. <\/p>\n\n\n\n As it turns out, they weren\u2019t the only ones. While I was beginning to grow anxious of my situation, I received a letter from a modelling agency north of the border; that is to say, in Canada. The letter was sealed in a manilla envelope, bore a small, inked emblem in the corner for one \u201cMoonlite Montreal\u201d, and was addressed to \u201cThe Dashing Mr. Crow.\u201d You see, I didn\u2019t know it yet, but Moonlite Montreal had already captured my heart. I tore into that letter, and drank it in with frantic eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Someone across the border, it seemed, had seen my headshots from when I\u2019d first arrived in Hollywood and, entranced, had proceeded to document my career. Having suspected what I was from the very beginning, the agency confessed to having been founded by vampires itself, and had a policy of only hiring other vamps. It was a haven for our kind was how they framed it; we will protect you and provide you with all your \u2018special needs,\u2019 and the public will be none the wiser. No one questions pretty people, after all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was the out that I needed. I was on a flight to Montreal within 24 hours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n THE \u2018ADONIS\u2019 OF MOONLITE MONTREAL: CREDENCE CROW ISSUE MARCH 2000<\/p>\n\n\n\n THE CROW COLLECTION: A DARK AND SMOKY WARDROBE THAT WILL LEAVE YOU FEELING AS IF YOU\u2019RE WALKING THE FOGGY STREETS OF LONDON<\/p>\n\n\n\n THE FOREVER TIMELESS CREDENCE CROW<\/p>\n\n\n\n Finally, here we are, the true purpose of this memoir. I have included above only a handful of the headlines marking my illustrious modelling career\u2014well, back when I still was a model.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My transition to Moonlite from Hollywood was rather seamless; I was already used to spending hours in the makeup chair and having countless redoes of the same shot, except this time I, alone, was the subject of the camera. The first thing they had me do was pose in front of a green screen of a beach, though I wore a black satin suit instead of bathing shorts and my trademark sunglasses, only a tantalizing bit of my ivory midriff showing, the idea being: show us Credence the vampire without showing us Credence the vampire. My looks and poses were unconventional; I was blowing up in the media more than any of Moonlite\u2019s other vamp models and was invited to every gala in the city. My face was all over the covers of fashion magazines, portraying me as the \u201csuave slice of seduction on the dark side.\u201d Within five years, I had launched the aforementioned Crow Collection, which was not only a brand of black, navy, violet, and crimson garments for various occasions, but a makeup pallet (this was during the emergence of the \u201cemo\u201d phase where it was hot for men to have that \u201csmokey eye\u201d look and acrylic nails) and hairspray, in an attempt for common people to mimic my voluminous, silky black waves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There were many benefits to being part of an all-vampiric modelling agency. I was housed in a block of town among my own kind and registered as an anemic who needed weekly blood transfusions; in other words, a free buffet at my disposal. My flat was chic, located two blocks from downtown Montreal, and had special tinted windows to block out the sunlight during the day so that I could get my beauty rest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For the first time, I felt in control of my life. I still had to be careful about hiding my condition from the rest of society, but at least to my employers I could truly be me. The only downside to Montreal was the cold (the winter wreaks havoc on my skin care regime)\u2026and Saoirse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Where do I begin with Saoirse? Saoirse was, technically speaking, my paramour. We had met during Fashion Week in London (Moonlite had sent me to be a representative) and she had clung to me ever since. She had been the first of my \u201cgroupies\u201d to breach my security team and, because I was powerless to resist her charming demeanour and flattery (\u201cWhy, you\u2019re just the most gorgeous man I\u2019ve ever seen!\u201d), I was more than eager to invite her back to Canada with me. Maybe her V-neck top, short skirt, and fierce tangle of golden hair might have had something to do with that, but can you fault me? I am still a man, after all. So she left her native Ireland and moved into my flat with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Over the years I had dabbled with many lovers: humans, vamps, and one time a werewolf (he had a habit of \u201cmarking his territory,\u201d pardon my crudeness); but I had never settled in with anyone, mainly because I knew none of them were worthy of me. I was simply beyond them; I was a 10, and they were just toys that eventually lost their lustre and needed to be tossed to the curb. But Saoirse had captured my interest. Plus, we weren\u2019t exclusive; neither of us was ready for a serious commitment, and it worked out splendidly. I could gallivant as I needed to, with the knowledge I always had someone to warm my bed. She was constantly energized, shiny, and eager to please me\u2014yes, I do mean that figuratively and literally. Saoirse is a faerie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now, most of you are probably thinking: wow, I would love to be with a faerie! They\u2019re so pretty and magical. Perhaps they are, but what no one tells you about faeries is how invasive and messy<\/strong> they are.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It is a myth that faeries have wings; instead they have the ability to teleport themselves at will and apparate in your home when you least expect them. It is frankly quite startling: imagine an entire person pops into existence in front of you, depositing a shower of glitter each time they do so. She once apparated to me while I was shaving and I nearly cut my nose off with my razor\u2014which would have spelled the doom of my career! I told her she must<\/strong> text me from then on before \u201cdropping in\u201d unannounced, which she agreed to for about a day before apparently forgetting every time because \u201cSilly me, I\u2019m so absentminded.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n And that was the other thing\u2014the glitter<\/strong>. I will never despise something with my entire being more than goddamned faerie dust. For some reason (or maybe it\u2019s just Saoirse, she likes to make her presence known), faeries are perpetually covered in glitter; their clothes, their hair is woven through with glittery strands, their slippers leave golden footprints, even their very skin is embedded with the stuff. And it gets on everything<\/strong>. It\u2019s not the big flaky type that comes out of a confetti cannon; more like the clingy ones that come off Christmas tissue paper. I\u2019d find it in my bed sheets, my clothes that had gone twice through the wash, the bathroom sink, the kitchen sink, the fridge, my hair, my shoes, my personal areas\u2014I have had to throw out entire pitchers of bloody marys because Saoirse had decided to spike them with one of her shimmery spells that she claimed would give me a \u201cbalmy glow\u201d (as if I need a spell for that). And she never <\/strong>cleaned up after herself, claiming she left it as a \u201ctoken of my unbounded love for you.\u201d I\u2019d hate her now, if she hadn\u2019t been such a good lover. Unfortunately, we\u2019d coexisted under the same roof for so long that it would be an inconvenience to send her packing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Needless to say, I was in a rough patch with Saoirse when my managers at Moonlite decided to call me to the back office one night, sit me down, and look me dead in the eyes to tell me: \u201cYou have to retire, Credence.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n In that moment, my entire world was ripped off its axis. It was a joke, surely. They would never get rid of me, and I told them as much, laughing it off, but they only looked back at me grim\u2013faced.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019re sorry Credence, but the world is starting to catch on. You\u2019ve had a terrific run, more than most vamps. What\u2019s it been\u2026twenty-two years? Yet you\u2019re still twenty.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I could not believe what I was hearing; my entire body felt like it was going to collapse in on itself. They had already gone ahead and hired a fresh-faced vamp who looked all of sixteen, judging by the black-and-white headshots they slid across the table to me. Round face, megawatt smile, well\u2013contoured brows, cupid bow lips, and hair that fell in waves out of frame, presumably down her back. No doubt about it, I was in trouble. This girl was going to turn more than a few heads.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh but don\u2019t worry Credence, we\u2019ll keep you on as an advisor for the new models,\u201d they reassured me. \u201cTrain your replacement <\/strong>because you\u2019re not good enough for us anymore,\u201d was what they meant. If I hadn\u2019t known my managers were vampires too, I might have drained them dry. I was quaking, barely able to contain my rage as I spat out, \u201cWell can I meet her? My\u2026pupil<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They took me out into the hall and asked me to wait for a moment (the audacity! Making demands of me<\/strong>, Credence Crow!) and then returned with the woman who would be my archrival, the tormentor of my emotions and dreams, the executioner at the chopping block of my willpower.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This was when I met the woman who had been created to complete me. This was when I met Honeycomb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan you tell me, Credence, why you believe you must remain a model?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n This was the first thing I was asked upon visiting my therapist. The answer: modelling was the only outlet that had ever let me be myself. The lights, the sets, the cameras, my attire, were all there to accentuate me<\/strong>, <\/em>not the poor English stableboy or the vampire\u2013in\u2013hiding lost among the stars of Hollywood, me<\/strong>\u2014<\/em>Credence Crow, the \u201cWorld\u2019s Sexiest Man.\u201d I had crafted this image for myself, I had brought notoriety to a nameless modelling agency tucked away under the snowy fronds of Montreal\u2014being a model was who I was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Was. Because I no longer am one. Honeycomb made sure of that. Her name wasn\u2019t even Honeycomb; I just called her that because she reminded me of it with her caramel skin, long chestnut curls, and amber eyes\u2014her sweet disposition\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wanted to hate Honeycomb; I would toss and turn in bed over her, bunching the sheets up in my fists and screaming in frustration, trying to force myself to feel something that I physically could not. I would go out in the sunlight with my skin exposed just to feel pain, as if the burns would somehow cleanse my pores and soul of the emotion that threatened to devour me\u2026unconditional love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This love was different. It wasn\u2019t the lust I felt when I wanted a quick lay, like with Saoirse; there was substance to this desire, not one of sexual wanting but of being able to truly cherish someone for all their beauty, inside and out. The feeling was absurd, and I knew there had to be something wrong with me; I was in turmoil over losing my job, that must be it. So I turned to a therapy clinic, one that specialized in vampiric psychology and behaviours (who knew this was a thing?), in the hopes it would save me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan you tell me, Credence, why it feels wrong for you to be in love with Honeycomb?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n What wasn\u2019t wrong with me\u2026god, do I dare say it? Loving <\/strong>her? For one, it was because of her my life as I knew it was on the line, and she was just too nice, it was irritating. She was the type of person who would let spiders make a home in her room because \u201cthey\u2019re not bothering me, so why would I hurt them?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Honeycomb was different from any vampire I had ever met, any model I\u2019d ever met. There was no vanity about her, nor did she shower me with false affection like every other woman I had encountered\u2014in fact, she had never even heard <\/em><\/strong>of me (obviously just another reason I should loathe her) and didn\u2019t want to be a model in the first place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy are you here then?\u201d I\u2019d asked her during our first official session of modelling training.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI didn\u2019t have a choice,\u201d she\u2019d mumbled, frowning, and exposing her adorable dimple, \u201cI can\u2019t pursue my dreams, but I had to get away from home, you know, to deflect suspicion. But after the four years\u2026I don\u2019t know what I\u2019ll do.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Six months prior, Honeycomb had been Turned by her prom date. Having excelled in academics throughout secondary school, she had been set to attend McGill University for a biomedical engineering degree. However, when she discovered her new condition, Honeycomb\u2019s future was dashed; sure, she could go to university for the first four years with little notice about her agelessness, but what then? Become a biomedical engineer for two years\u2014if she was lucky\u2014before her coworkers started to wonder why she perpetually looked eighteen? Unwilling to give up on herself, Honeycomb discovered Moonlite via the powers of the internet, and, having already been destined to go to Montreal for school, regardless, she reached out. Being as stunning as she was, there was no denying her application.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And then she smiled at me, her pillowy voice hopeful. \u201cBut I\u2019m glad you\u2019re here, Mr. Crow. If I\u2019m going to do this, I may as well have the best in the business as my teacher.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was gone after that. I could sympathize with her plight, having experienced it myself 800 years before, and the thing was, she sympathized with me too. When I recounted my story to her, she was distressed. \u201cYou lived through the Black Death? Oh my gosh, I\u2019m so sorry, that must have been horrible to experience.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Honeycomb was an apt and attentive student, as well. Even though modelling hadn\u2019t been her first career choice, she poured herself into learning all my tips and tricks, all the while buzzing with curiosity. Even I had to admit she had an eye for design, curating herself simple yet elegant looks in bold reds, yellows, and greens.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo then, what ails you, Credence? From what I\u2019m hearing, you know what you want, and that\u2019s to settle down. You\u2019re at a stage in your life where this is perfectly understandable; no one can say you didn\u2019t have a great run. And it sounds as if Honeycomb could be that piece to link you to the modelling world and still have your own life. Naturally, I can only make suggestions; it\u2019s up to you to set the ball in motion.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Honeycomb did like me; I knew that much. She laughed at all my jokes and was appreciative of everything I did for her. Just yesterday, she stole me into an embrace, rattling me right to my core.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI must thank you, Mr. Crow. I don\u2019t know what I would have done without you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n When she withdrew to look up at me, there were tears in the corners of her eyes, and I ever so gently brushed them aside with my thumbs, electricity crackling through me at the touch of her skin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPlease, just call me Credence.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She kissed my cheek then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I\u2019m not being very convincing, am I? Here I am trying to tell you how Honeycomb ruined me, yet I have spent three pages rambling on about her. Am I hopeless, destined to forever be longing?<\/p>\n\n\n\n God, I think I\u2019m in love with her. I\u2019m in love with Honeycomb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n . . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n So that is it\u2014my confession. Credence Crow, Moonlite\u2019s most famous model, is a vampire. And yes, even gorgeous people do not always have it together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In truth, dear reader, I don\u2019t know what I shall do. I cannot go on living as I have been. Saoirse has begun to notice I have been more distant lately, been pulling away from her touch. I don\u2019t know entirely what I shall do with the rest of my eternity until the day someone comes to drive a stake through my heart, but I do know this: I will do anything it takes to make Honeycomb fall in love with me. I think we could be beautiful together, and I one day hope she thinks so too. Even vampires deserve happiness, after all. We are not monsters, just lonely people. Eventually everyone we grow close to dies whilst we live on. It is why no one else understands us, me and Honeycomb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As a final note to those of you who have made it to the end of my sordid romance, I\u2019m leaving an eviction notice for Saoirse once I sign this off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yours truly,<\/p>\n\n\n\n Credence Crow<\/p>\n\n\n\n Lindsay Wymark<\/strong> is a current undergraduate student majoring in English with a concentration in Creative Writing. Lindsay is from Ottawa, ON, has been a fiction writer since the age of seven, and will experiment in any genre except romance.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I want to deflect any assumptions that you might have already made to yourself, dear reader. This is not a publicity stunt\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":389,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[42,48,11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-287","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-issue-1a","category-issue-1-prose","category-prose","style--link-3"],"yoast_head":"\nPART II<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
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PART III<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\nPART IV<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
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