The Divergence

Lavinia leaned forward and bit a piece of cake from the fork held before her, savoring the sweetness as she settled back into her chair. 

The chocolate was rich, the cream pleasantly light, and although none of it could satisfy the hunger that actually mattered to a vampire, that didn’t make it any less delicious.

She looked at the remaining piece on her fork, then turned toward Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn noticed immediately. 

Her empty red eyes brightened as Lavinia positioned the fork in front of her mouth. 

She leaned forward, white hair spilling over one shoulder, and happily bit off the remaining cake.

“Mmm!”

Lavinia giggled and withdrew the fork. 

Across the table, Rosaline sipped her cocktail, her expression faintly amused. “You two are adorable.”

“Thank you,” Gwendolyn replied, entirely without shame.

“I wasn’t complimenting you.”

“You were looking at me.”

“I was looking at both of you.”

“Then it counts.”

Rosaline laughed softly and took another sip.

Valerie, meanwhile, had turned her attention toward the two Elves sitting across from her. 

Saelorian had finally managed to sit down without his younger sister attacking him, although Aeloriane was still occasionally shooting him looks that suggested she was considering resuming hostilities.

“So,” Valerie began, resting her cheek against one hand, “are you two planning to explore the Diverged Lands anytime soon?”

Saelorian raised an eyebrow. His green eyes immediately became interested. Aeloriane answered before he could open his mouth.

“No.”

Saelorian turned toward her.

“Absolutely not,” she continued. “Have you seen the animals coming out of those places? They’re enormous! I’m staying right here in the city, thank you very much.”

“Coward,” Saelorian said.

Aeloriane’s pointed ear twitched toward him. “Being smart isn’t being a coward.”

“That’s exactly what a coward would say.”

“That’s exactly what an idiot would say.”

“I’m an adventurous idiot.”

“Congratulations.”

Evangeline laughed, leaning back in her chair. “You’re Elves now. Surely you can protect yourselves? Every supernatural species seems capable of surviving in the Diverged Lands.”

Aeloriane looked unconvinced. “Surviving and having a good time are different things.”

”She’s got you there,” Adelaide remarked.

Saelorian exhaled and glanced toward the windows. 

Beyond the glass, Oakridge stretched beneath the night sky, its illuminated buildings standing in sharp contrast to the dark wilderness beyond the city’s boundaries.

“I wouldn’t mind exploring,” he admitted. “Seeing giant animals sounds pretty cool, and I want to see what the new landscapes look like. Everything out there is supposed to be enormous.”

“Because everything out there wants to eat you,” Aeloriane supplied.

“Not everything.”

“Enough things.”

Saelorian smiled, but it faded slightly as he considered something. “I just wouldn’t want to leave her alone for too long.”

Aeloriane blinked.

He glanced at the vampires. “Look, humans have their reasons for being nervous about all this. Vampires haven’t exactly been going around killing people, at least not here, and after the Tide I think a lot of the fear has faded. People saw what happened when everyone worked together.”

Lavinia listened quietly.

“But it only takes one thing to ruin that,” Saelorian continued. “One incident. One person doing something stupid. Then suddenly everyone’s angry again.” 

He shrugged. “I don’t want to take off into the wilderness for a week and leave my sister hanging around by herself. If something happened to her while I was gone, I’d feel like shit.”

Aeloriane stared at him. For a moment, her expression softened. Then she smiled.

“Aww. Sael.”

Saelorian narrowed his eyes.

“That’s so sweet.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m going to send a picture of your face to your girlfriend.”

His expression changed instantly.

“Aeloriane.”

“She’ll love knowing how protective you are.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’ll tell her you were worried about your precious little sister.”

“You’re twenty—”

“Shh!”

“—and you still can’t remember where you put your phone!”

Aeloriane slapped his arm. “I know where my phone is!”

“You called me yesterday to ask me to call it!”

“Because I couldn’t find it!”

“Exactly!”

Valerie dissolved into laughter.

“Oh, I wish I’d had siblings,” she said, watching them with open delight. “Growing up with someone like that would’ve been so much fun.”

Saelorian looked at her. Aeloriane looked at her. Both spoke simultaneously.

“No, it wouldn’t.”

Valerie laughed harder.

Evangeline tilted her head, bright red hair sliding over her shoulder. “Actually, how strong are you two?”

Saelorian blinked.

“Physically,” Evangeline clarified. “Not counting your magic.”

Aeloriane frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know.”

“You haven’t tested?”

“Not really. We only became Elves tonight.”

Saelorian flexed one arm experimentally, studying it as though expecting something dramatic to happen. 

His sweater concealed most of his figure, but Lavinia could see that his build remained slender rather than muscular.

“I’m definitely stronger than I was,” he said.

He reached toward an empty ornate wooden chair beside the table and lifted it with one hand. 

The chair weighed perhaps fifteen pounds, hardly an impressive burden for a vampire, but Saelorian handled it with such casual ease that the movement seemed almost weightless. 

He turned it slightly, then set it down again.

“Feels like nothing.”

“You’re holding a chair,” Aeloriane observed.

“Excellent observation.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like to identify the table next?”

“I’d like to hit you with it.”

Saelorian grinned.

“Anyway,” he continued, looking toward Evangeline, “I’m not competing with vampires.”

“Wise,” Evangeline replied.

“Or werewolves,” Saelorian added. “I don’t think anyone needs the government to publish exact numbers to understand that picking a fight with either species is a terrible idea.”

Lavinia smiled faintly. He wasn’t wrong. 

Although the full extent of vampire capabilities hadn’t been disclosed publicly, enough had been witnessed that ordinary humans generally understood the danger. 

Werewolves were similarly conspicuous, particularly when they transformed into enormous wolves.

Aeloriane rested her chin in her hand. “We haven’t done much with Spirit Magic either. Just little things.”

“Like threatening me with water,” Saelorian said.

“You deserved it.”

“You couldn’t even keep the water together.”

“Because you distracted me!”

“Skill issue.”

Aeloriane reached for a napkin. Saelorian leaned away preemptively.

Beside Lavinia, Adelaide noticed a small fragment of pastry clinging to Evangeline’s cheek. She picked up a clean napkin and leaned toward her.

“Hold still.”

“What?”

“You have something—”

“I can do it myself.”

Adelaide ignored her and gently wiped the pastry away.

Evangeline recoiled. “Adelaide!”

“There.”

“I’m not a child!”

“You had cake on your face.”

“I was saving it.”

“For later?”

“Obviously.”

Adelaide laughed and folded the napkin.

Gwendolyn leaned forward, propping both elbows on the table before resting her chin in her hands. Her white hair pooled around her arms.

“So, Elves exist now,” she said brightly. “What are you two going to do?”

Saelorian settled properly into his chair. Aeloriane considered the question.

“Honestly? Figure things out with our family.”

“Your family?” Gwendolyn repeated.

“We have parents,” Aeloriane said. “Grandparents too. We can’t just disappear because we’re suddenly Elves.”

Saelorian nodded. “Our parents were already freaking out about everything before this happened. Now both their children have turned into something else.”

“And look completely different,” Aeloriane added.

“Very different.”

“Though I’m prettier.”

Saelorian looked at her. “You really want to start that again?”

Aeloriane smiled sweetly. He sighed. “Anyway, thanks to vampires, werewolves and Witches, maybe Elves won’t seem quite as weird.”

Aeloriane smacked his arm.

“Ow! What?”

“Don’t call them weird!”

“I said less weird!”

“That’s not better!”

Saelorian looked toward Lavinia. “I apologize on behalf of my sister. She has difficulty understanding sentences.”

Aeloriane grabbed another napkin. Saelorian caught her wrist before she could throw it.

Lavinia laughed softly. Then her attention drifted.

Elves.

She looked between the siblings, studying their green eyes, pointed ears and the subtle movements of their bodies. 

They were alive. That much was obvious. Saelorian breathed naturally, his chest rising and falling beneath his sweater. Aeloriane had a heartbeat. 

Lavinia could hear it easily enough if she focused, a steady rhythm accompanying the warmth radiating from her living body.

Vampires were different. Corpses, practically. Except not. 

Their bodies moved, thought, felt, regenerated and continued existing despite lacking nearly everything that should have made those things possible.

But Elves...

How long did they live?

Lavinia tilted her head. Were they like humans, or merely long-lived? Or were they closer to vampires?

Her gaze slipped past Saelorian and Aeloriane toward the enormous windows. Oakridge glittered below. 

The city was beautiful at night, particularly from this height. Streets formed luminous threads between buildings, headlights moved through intersections, and illuminated windows dotted the skyline.

And the lights weren’t flickering anymore.

Lavinia’s lips curved faintly. The Thing in the Darkness had warned her against using a wish to preserve humanity’s disconnected infrastructure. 

Power lines, pipes, telecommunications—everything that had somehow continued functioning despite the Second Divergence physically separating vast portions of the world.

She hadn’t wished for it. The Thing hadn’t seemed especially enthusiastic about granting that decision either.

Power meant industry. Industry meant weapons. Weapons meant humans possessed the potential to meaningfully resist supernatural species, even ones far stronger than themselves. 

Perhaps that was precisely why the Thing had discouraged it.

Lavinia stared at the city. The lights shone steadily. She should have felt pleased. Instead, something unpleasant stirred at the back of her mind.

A memory. No. Not a memory.

Images.

Chaotic and disjointed, flashing across her thoughts faster than she could understand them.

Black trees. Ash. Sunlight. A torn dress. A hand reaching upward.

Then—

Lavinia exhaled sharply. Her palm struck something soft.

Ash.

She was kneeling.

For several seconds, she didn’t understand where she was. Then she looked up. The restaurant was gone. 

Oakridge was gone. The night was gone.

She stood upon a vast expanse of gray and black, beneath a pale sky dominated by the brilliant sun.

Around her, trees stood warped and blackened. Their branches twisted toward the heavens like skeletal fingers, stripped of leaves and life. 

The earth was covered in ash, disturbed only by the occasional gust of wind that lifted pale clouds into the air.

And scattered throughout it—

Fabric. Black fabric. Tattered dresses. Pieces of lace. Ribbons.

The remnants of gothic clothing stretched across the ruined landscape farther than Lavinia could see.

A scent reached her. Sweet. Sickeningly sweet. Familiar fragrances, countless overlapping traces that should have been delightful, now reduced to something acrid and horrible.

Lavinia slowly looked down at herself. Her skin was intact. She raised one hand into the sunlight. 

Nothing happened. No burning. No blackening. No pain. She stared at her fingers. Then she looked at the ash again.

Something inside her twisted.

“The species that have appeared upon the board aren’t particularly compatible with humanity.”

The voice came from everywhere. Soft, yet somehow grating.

“There are others that are even less compatible.”

Lavinia’s head snapped upward.

“Why?”

Her voice sounded strange. Tense. She looked around the battlefield, her hands slowly curling into fists.

“Why did you bring me here?”

The air before her changed. Not dramatically. There was no portal, no flash, no distortion. 

One moment she stood alone. The next, the Thing in the Darkness stood before her.

A small feminine silhouette formed from an absence of light, with pale gray eyes looking out from within that darkness. Her hands rested behind her back.

“Much like the first time,” she said, “this is a future.”

Lavinia’s jaw tightened.

“A future in which humanity pushed back.”

The Thing looked around.

“And exterminated vampires worldwide.”

Lavinia went still.

The pale gray eyes drifted toward the ash-covered earth, toward the countless scraps of ruined clothing shifting in the wind.

“This is where the final battle occurred.”

The Thing’s voice remained quiet.

“Humans won.”

Lavinia looked down.

“No.”

“The vampires had little chance left. They were surrounded, exhausted of options, and sunrise was approaching.”

The Thing tilted her head.

“When the sun rose, the last of them became ash.”

A gust of wind swept across the battlefield. The remains of a black dress lifted, fluttered, and collapsed again.

“In this future,” the Thing continued, “vampires are extinct.”

Lavinia drew a breath she didn’t need. Then another. Her hands trembled. 

She knelt slowly and reached toward the ground, scooping up a handful of ash. It sifted between her fingers.

She didn’t know whose it was.

Valerie? Gwendolyn? Adelaide? Rosaline? Violetta?

Any of them? All of them?

Her fingers closed. A low growl escaped her throat.

“Why,” Lavinia repeated, “did you bring me here?”

The Thing approached. She stopped directly before Lavinia, her pale gray eyes meeting the vampire’s empty red ones.

“Because this was a world where vampires appeared.”

Lavinia stared at her.

“Only vampires.”

The wind moved between them.

“No werewolves,” the Thing continued. “No Witches. No Elves.”

She glanced toward the ruined battlefield.

“And humanity did what humanity has always done when it possesses the means to conquer another.”

Lavinia’s expression hardened.

“It fought.”

The Thing turned away.

“For thousands of years, humans fought one another. They conquered, enslaved, destroyed, and rebuilt. Sometimes they cooperated. Sometimes they loved. Sometimes they created wonderful things.”

She looked across the ash.

“But when confronted with something they feared, something they could eventually overpower, they behaved much as they always had.”

Lavinia’s grip tightened.

“Against the full might of humanity,” the Thing said, “a species like vampires, however physically superior to individual humans, could not accomplish very much.”

“That isn’t—”

“Fair?”

The Thing looked over her shoulder. Lavinia said nothing.

“Every species serves a function,” she continued. “And most were designed to prey upon humanity.”

Lavinia smiled. There was no humor in it.

“I realized.”

Her gaze traveled across the battlefield.

“Vampires. Witches. Werewolves. Sirens. Even the names sound like things humans would tell stories about to frighten themselves.”

She looked back toward the Thing.

“In most depictions, they fight humans. Sometimes they coexist, sure. But more often than not, they’re monsters.”

The Thing nodded.

“I told you already. I am not God in the sense humanity believes.”

“You want entertainment.”

“Yes.”

Lavinia looked toward the horizon. Ash. Nothing but ash.

“Were you entertained?”

The Thing tilted her head.

“When you watched this future play out,” Lavinia continued, her voice cold, “were you successfully entertained?”

The Thing shook her head. Then she was standing directly in front of Lavinia again. 

Two small hands rose and gently caught Lavinia’s face.

Lavinia stiffened. The Thing tilted her head upward, forcing their eyes to meet.

“I disliked it.”

Lavinia stared into those pale gray eyes.

“A world in which the new species is simply stomped out is boring.”

The Thing’s voice remained soft.

“So I considered adding more species. More possibilities. More things that could change the outcome.”

Her fingers rested lightly against Lavinia’s cheeks.

“Humanity had possessed the advantage of dominating its world for thousands of years. It had governments, armies, industry, numbers, knowledge, and established civilizations. A newly emerged species, however powerful its individuals, could struggle to challenge all of that alone.”

Lavinia swallowed reflexively.

“So you added more.”

“Yes.”

“Because you didn’t want humans to win.”

“Because I didn’t want the result to be obvious.”

The Thing released her face. She tapped Lavinia’s chest, directly above the place where a heart should have been beating.

“To humans, in most futures, vampires are monsters.”

Lavinia’s eyes narrowed.

“Everything that isn’t human becomes other. Not to every individual, of course. But frequently enough.”

The Thing lowered her hand.

“I neither love nor hate humanity. I simply find it boring.”

She looked toward the sky.

“When each species was placed into a world alone, the results were remarkably similar.”

Lavinia listened.

“Witches. Elves. Werewolves. Dryads. Sirens. Giants. Fae. Fairies. Beastkin. Angels. Dragons. Titans. Dwarves.”

The list continued in Lavinia’s thoughts even after the Thing stopped speaking.

“Different abilities. Different natures. Different civilizations that might have emerged.”

The Thing looked at her.

“Suppression or extinction. Again and again.”

Lavinia’s mouth tightened. The Thing extended one hand toward the sky. Then closed her fist.

The sun vanished.

Darkness swept across the battlefield. Lavinia looked upward sharply. There was no gradual dimming, no sunset, no lingering twilight. 

The celestial body that had hung above them a moment earlier simply ceased illuminating the world.

Yet Lavinia could still see.

The Thing turned toward her.

“One wish remains.”

She opened her palm.

Lavinia stared.

Resting upon the small dark hand was the sun. A tiny brilliant sphere, no larger than a marble, its surface glowing with impossible light.

Lavinia looked from the miniature star to the empty sky. The Thing smiled faintly.

“I cannot see the future anymore,” she said. “Not unless I decide to.”

Lavinia remained silent.

“But collapse is close. Strife is imminent.”

The Thing lowered her hand slightly.

“And as one of the things I enjoy watching, I would rather not see you vanish.”

Lavinia looked at her.

“Humans are your enemies,” the Thing continued. “But so are Witches, Sirens, Elves, werewolves, and every other species that isn’t your own.”

“Why?”

The question escaped Lavinia more sharply than she intended. The Thing blinked.

“Why are you so adamant that we need to fight?”

A small smile appeared within the darkness. The pale gray eyes seemed almost luminous.

“Reality and existence are dictated by my thoughts.”

Lavinia stared at her. The Thing turned her palm downward. The sun fell. 

It struck the ash-covered ground with a tiny sound, then rolled several inches like an ordinary marble.

“Tell me, Lavinia.”

The Thing watched it roll.

“How could species get along when I myself don’t want to see it?”

Lavinia inhaled. Then exhaled. She looked at the small figure standing before her.

God.

The closest thing to God that could possibly exist. Not a ruler bound by laws. Not a creator accountable to her creations.

If the Thing declared that every living being should suffer forever, there was no higher authority to tell her she was wrong. 

Good and evil were concepts that existed within the world she had created.

They couldn’t meaningfully constrain the one who had created it.

Lavinia raised one finger.

“I have a wish.”

The Thing looked interested.

“One wish,” Lavinia continued. “If I wished that you stopped imposing your will on reality, wouldn’t that solve the problem?”

The Thing smiled.

“I would honor it.”

Lavinia’s eyes widened slightly.

“But even without my slight changes,” the Thing continued, “coexistence would remain impossible.”

Lavinia’s expression darkened.

“Humans have always conquered. They conquered one another. They conquered the world around them. And they would attempt to conquer every other species they encountered.”

“Not every human.”

“No.”

The Thing inclined her head.

“Not every human.”

She stepped closer.

“But consider your blood.”

Lavinia glanced down at herself.

“A vampire’s blood is a miracle. It can cure any disease. Heal any injury. Restore a living body from damage that human medicine would consider irreversible, provided the person receiving it has not already died.”

Lavinia’s fingers twitched. The Thing clapped her hands.

The battlefield vanished.

Lavinia stood in a warehouse. The air smelled of metal, disinfectant, machinery—

And vampires.

Her head snapped toward the nearest wall.

Rows of cylindrical containers stretched into the distance. Inside them were women. 

Beautiful women. Red eyes. Pointed ears. Gothic clothing, torn or displaced around restraints that held their bodies immobile.

Vampires.

Countless vampires.

Thin tubes pierced their bodies at dozens of points, drawing dark blood into transparent lines that disappeared into machinery behind the cylinders.

Lavinia heard the pumps. A constant mechanical rhythm. Blood flowed through the tubes. 

The vampires regenerated what was taken. And the machines took more.

Again. Again. And again.

Lavinia stood motionless.

One vampire’s eyes shifted toward her. The woman was unfamiliar. Dark hair. Pale skin. Empty red eyes. 

Her expression was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical fatigue.

Lavinia approached. The vampire watched her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even turn her head.

Lavinia raised a trembling hand and touched her cheek.

Cool. Familiar.

A vampire.

Someone she had never met. Someone she nevertheless felt an immediate, terrible need to protect.

Tears blurred Lavinia’s vision. She blinked them away.

Behind her, the Thing spoke.

“Humans are neither good nor bad.”

Lavinia didn’t turn.

“Morality is something humans developed. Something taught, learned, reinforced, challenged and sometimes discarded. It isn’t an absolute law written into existence.”

The machinery continued pumping.

“There is no inherent good or evil,” the Thing said. “There is desire. Necessity. Restraint.”

Lavinia’s hand remained against the vampire’s face. The woman closed her eyes. Lavinia swallowed.

“Why?”

The Thing waited.

“Why did you make us like this?”

Lavinia’s voice trembled.

“Why make vampires care so much about one another if you knew we’d end up fighting everyone else?”

She looked over her shoulder.

“What good is empathy?”

The Thing regarded the vampire inside the cylinder.

“A monster isn’t a person.”

Lavinia frowned.

“A person can overcome impossible odds,” the Thing continued. “Persevere to the end. Endure terrible things and do what must be done to protect those dear to them.”

She looked at Lavinia.

“Humans can do so. They can also become monsters.”

Lavinia glanced toward the tubes. Dark blood continued flowing.

“Every species is different,” the Thing said. “Vampires are more rational. Witches are more curious. Elves are more pure in their emotions. Sirens are more cruel. Werewolves are more animalistic.”

She paused.

“But they are all people.”

Lavinia’s fingers slowly curled against the cylinder.

“Then why make us enemies?”

The Thing didn’t immediately answer. Instead, she stepped beside Lavinia and looked into the trapped vampire’s eyes.

“Because the things that make people capable of loving one another also make them capable of doing terrible things for one another.”

Lavinia lowered her hand. She thought of the future she’d already seen. Human pens. Blood taxes. 

Thralls overseeing captive populations. Vampires laughing together in beautiful castles while millions of humans lived under their control.

She remembered how naturally her future companions had spoken about it. How easily she herself had understood the reasoning.

And now—

Now she stood in a warehouse where humans had done something horribly similar to vampires.

Lavinia closed her eyes. The Thing touched her shoulder.

“You will use that final wish soon.”

Lavinia opened her eyes.

“When?”

“You’ll know.”

The warehouse began to disappear. The cylinders faded. The machinery fell silent. The unfamiliar vampire vanished beneath Lavinia’s fingertips.

“Wait—”

The floor dissolved. The walls followed. Lavinia turned toward the Thing.

“Wait!”

The Thing’s pale gray eyes remained visible as everything else fell away.

“My wish was never strife,” she whispered.

Lavinia froze.

“Even when I didn’t wish for strife, it occurred anyway.”

The darkness deepened. A soft hand rested atop Lavinia’s golden hair. The gesture was almost affectionate.

“I can only hope to warn you.”

Lavinia stared upward.

“There is an incredibly thin line between coexistence and collapse.”

The Thing’s voice grew quieter.

“And your world, no matter how possible coexistence may seem, has always been walking toward collapse.”

The hand lifted. The pale gray eyes disappeared.

And Lavinia found herself staring out across Oakridge.

The restaurant windows reflected the warm lights behind her. 

Cars moved along the streets below, their headlights tracing familiar paths through the city. 

Beyond the buildings, the Diverged Lands remained dark and silent.

Gwendolyn and Evangeline were bickering about something.

“That’s not what I said!” Gwendolyn protested.

“It’s what you meant,” Evangeline replied.

“You don’t know what I meant!”

“I know you.”

Across from them, Saelorian was reaching toward his sister’s dessert while Aeloriane watched him with narrowed green eyes. 

Valerie sat beside Lavinia, absently tracing little lines through the cream on her pastry with the tip of her fork.

Lavinia remained perfectly still. Her hand rested on the table. There was no ash upon it. No blood. No trace of the warehouse.

Valerie glanced toward her.

“Lavinia?”

Lavinia slowly turned her head. Valerie smiled.

“Want some?” she asked, lifting her fork.

Lavinia looked at the pastry. Then at Valerie.

And after a moment, she leaned forward and took a bite.