A Shapeshifter's Requiem

Orange sparks danced across the surface of the jail tower’s glossy black stones, which reflected back warped light as her talons scraped and clicked against the floor, testing her prison. Head turning, she followed the round spiral of the dark tower until her eyes landed on a lone windowsill, barred and out of reach. The sparks she produced fizzled out in stagnant pops, telling a chilling conclusion which rested in her uneasy chest: They know what I am… she thought, as her whole body shivered in the soft moonlight. 

She fell to her knees, clinging to the thin nightgown she wore which failed to defend her from the cold. With trembling fingers, she traced her skin as it became textured with goosebumps across bruises and bleeding wounds—signs of the previous struggle which took place not hours ago. Peering over her shoulder at the thick door, she heard the words of the villagers in stinging flashes of whips and pitchforks. She wanted to explain herself; she wanted to defend herself. On top of the aches and pains of her flesh, she felt heartbreak, for she cared for them. Yet, these people she loved called her a demon and spit in her face. “Maybe they’re right to hate me,” she said to the darkness.

“Lies!” said a voice defiantly, from within. “All lies! Mora, my dear friend, remember who you are!” 

Despite herself, a smile spread across her face as she replied, “I don’t deserve you, my friend.”

“You deserve the world! Come on, open up. Let me look at you.”

 Mora hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” asked the voice.

“My source is weak…” 

There was a pause as she felt the voice’s influence reach out, then withdraw and whisper, “Obsidian…The walls are made of pure obsidian.”

She nodded, ”Yes.”

“How did they know?” 

Mora’s silence said it all; she had no idea.

“I see,” said the voice. “I’m going to ask you to try. We’ve been trapped many times together and we’ve survived. So, try.” 

“What if the obsidian fights back?” Mora said, concerned.

“It seems these people’s betrayal has taken a toll on your spirit, my dear. So, let me remind you who you are and who I am! You are the most gifted shapeshifter I have ever mentored, and as for me, I am your predecessor who was so taken by your potential that in my dying wish, I gave you my name!” This truth warmed her heart as the voice continued, “With it, you now possess not only my face, but also my knowledge. Do you think I would do that for just anyone?”    

Mora smiled and shook her head, “No. You’re right. I shall try.” Resolute, she folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes as she focused on her breath and her throat. Humming, she felt her vocals vibrate and raise a name traced in rhythm. To her surprise, the name took shape and she spoke, defying her prison walls, “Celsus Sacerdos.”  

Suddenly, she felt a gentle hand touch her face, which she immediately pressed into. Before her stood a large, middle-aged woman adorned in light. 

“There you go, my old friend,” the woman chuckled, as she stood to her full height, pulling away her hand. “Even after all these eons, you still have an incurable talent for self doubt. Still, your power flows stronger than ever.”

“Celsus, my friend and mentor, please—I need your wisdom. What are we to do?” 

But Celsus did not reply. Instead, she began to walk the curvature of the room. Her spectral form flickering as she trailed her long fingers across the black stones. Then, as she bent down to inspect the floors, she brushed aside her long, gray, speckled braids from over her shoulder, revealing a frizzy haired child tucked in the crook of her left arm, face hidden from view.

Mora stood, her gaze following the child’s long swinging limbs. Sensing Mora’s unease, Celsus assured her, “Do not concern yourself—the child is fast asleep.” Immediately changing the subject, she continued, “Now, as for the problem at hand. Have you tried summoning your artifacts? Since we know spells are useless here, maybe one of your bewitched trolls could break us out?” 

Shaking her head, Mora covered her face and said despairingly, “The villagers destroyed everything in fire—the house and all of our possessions.” 

Celsus looked at her, eyes wide. “The scrolls?”

“All of it.”

With care, Celsus rested the sleeping child on the floor, then approached Mora, taking her hands in her own and saying, “No ordinary fire could burn the pages of the divine shifters. Those scrolls have been passed down since the genesis of our cause.” Then, taking a closer look at Mora’s wounds, she asked, “How did a bunch of simple villagers do this much damage?”

“I don’t know,” Mora said with glassy eyes.

Celsus drew her in close and said apologetically, “Your tears are most appropriate. Forgive me for my earlier dismissal. This is serious. Dark magic is at work.” 

The tower seemed to expand with endless night. Mora felt observed by an unknown intelligence from its perfectly debilitating design. The only living sounds were the soft moans of collapsing breeze from the outside world and piercing squeaks from the rats which were indistinguishable from the blackness. As she tried to sleep on the cold, hard ground, Celsus’ departing words replayed in her throbbing head: When your strength returns, you must summon the council of your entire body of faces. For now, rest, and know that you are not alone… 

A sharp screech of metal jolted Mora awake to her aching bones and a gruff voice shouting, “Get up!”

Despite the pain, she carefully pushed herself up to a sitting position, eyes blinking as they adjusted to the afternoon light. Ignoring the continuing demands of the shouting guard, Mora inspected her wounds, which to her dismay, still had not fully healed.

“Are you listening to me, demon!?” 

“I am not a demon, John Mark,” replied Mora, dryly. 

The man paused, then asked suspiciously, “How do you know my name?”

Mora, still facing away from him, sighed, then stood facing the window and stepped into the sunlight. To her surprise, John Mark waited for her reply. She stretched and felt an immediate dizziness rush through her—she was hungry. How long had it been since her last meal?  

“Do I get anything to eat, John?”

There was another pause followed by a soft thud next to her where a torn lump of bread rolled into sight. Mora lifted it and took several large, crunching bites.

“I would pace myself, if I were you,” said John Mark. “That’s your last meal.”

With great difficulty, she slowed down savoring each bite. 

“Why are you doing this?” Mora asked, after swallowing.

“How do you know my name?” He repeated.

“I’ve known you your whole life, John Mark. I was there when your father named you and I was there when you named your daughters.”

Silence entered the air of the prison as Mora stole a glance over her shoulder at the face behind the small opening in the iron door. Only his lips and chin were visible amongst the stark shadows and sunlight. Before she turned away, his lips thinned in deep thought.

“What did you do with our elder? What happened to Rosemary?” 

Mora dropped her shoulders and said softly, “I am—I am Rosemary.”

“Don’t lie! How can you be? Your face is young!”

“Please, John. Stop with this game. You clearly know what I am. Otherwise, how did you build a perfect prison for me?”

“So—it’s true.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes sparkling with teary desperation. “But I am still me! I have poured my very soul into this community. I built this place from the ground up—healing and caring for each generation. So what if I’m… not who you thought I was. It’s me! I’m still your elder!”

John Mark chewed his bottom lip till it bled. “How do I know we can ever trust you again?”

“Why do you fear me so? Have I not proven myself? After all this time? Please, give me a chance to explain to everyone.”

John Mark hesitated, beginning to tremble. Suddenly, he stilled, then turned his head slightly as if listening to someone behind him. Mora couldn’t make out what the voice was saying.

“Who is that, John? Who is speaking? Please—”

 “Quiet, skin-walker!” John shouted, interrupting her with a newfound rage. “You have two nights to tell us where you are keeping the real Rosemary, or you will be burned at the stake.”

Then, with a loud clang, the small opening slid shut, and he was gone. Mora ran to the door crying out, “Wait! John! You misunderstand! I’m not a skin-walker! I’m—I’m not! Please!”

Falling to her knees, Mora wept, holding her face in her hands. Without warning, a small, warm hand touched her shoulder. Mora turned, startled. There before her stood the small child with brown, frizzy hair.

“J—Jade? What are you doing here? I didn't summon you.”

Jade cocked her head slightly, “I don't know?” She said, bemused, then pointed to the spot where Celsus left her the night before. “I woke up over there.”

Mora touched her forehead. “Explains why my wounds aren't healing properly,” she said, mostly to herself. 

“You look sad,” Jade said, her hand still on Mora’s shoulder. “John Mark wasn’t very nice to you.”

Mora shifted slightly. “It’s not his fault. He’s just confused.”

Then, to her surprise, Jade embraced her in a hug. Mora softened as she patted Jade’s hair, which stubbornly returned to its unkempt shape with each stroke.

“Do you remember our home?” Jade asked, in a quiet voice.

“Yes.”

“What do you remember most?”

Mora held her breath, “I don’t know if I want to talk about home right now.”

“Please, for me?” Jade pleaded.

Finally, breathing in, Mora closed her eyes and said with a sigh, “I remember the smell of grass and wildflowers.”

“What else?”

Mora cleared her throat and continued, “...the way our valley rolled into the northern mountains,  where our parents would gather spices as we watched the sheep.”

“We weren't very good at that,” Jade giggled. 

“I do recall losing a few sheep—yes,” Mora said with a smile.

“Do you remember the stories my father would tell us?”

Mora gently pulled Jade off of her and said, “Thank you for the hug, Jade, but I need to rest and find a way out of here.”

Jade frowned, “You never want to talk about home. You never want to talk about me.”

“There is nothing more to be said,” sighed Mora. “You know why. I can’t change what happened—“

Suddenly, a loud screech echoed throughout the tower, bouncing off the stones and ringing in Mora’s ears. She quickly turned to the door, but it was still and silent. Then, a shadow moved across its surface, and Mora turned back around to the high windowsill where a creature perched, silhouetted in the evening light.  

“Do you remember the story about the ghost owl?” whispered Jade, walking toward the creature.

“Is that what that is?” asked Mora, transfixed by the owl’s shockingly white face, until she noticed Jade struggling with something in her small hands.

“What—what are you doing with that rat—”

With a loud squeak, Mora winced as the rat took its last breath. Lifting it up to the fading light, Jade offered it to the owl, who paced on the windowsill, flapping its wings, cocking its head, and clicking its beak expectantly. 

“Father told me ghost owls carry the recently passed across the threshold to the land of the dead“, began Jade, before tossing the rat’s body into the air, “and if you see one in a church steeple, it’s an omen of death.”

In a flash of silvery feathers and sharp talons, the rat vanished from the air and into the owl’s clutches as it landed silently, returning to its place on the windowsill.   

“Is that what you think is going to happen?” Mora asked, watching Jade’s tiny flickering form. “Is that what you want to happen?” 

Jade didn't respond—only the sounds of the feasting ghost owl echoed within the prison walls. 

Mora’s eyes burned with tears as she spoke to the back of Jade’s head, “I’ve said it before, but I will say it ‘til my dying breath: I am sorry Jade—your true name was the name I never meant to learn—your face was the face I never meant to—”

Suddenly, from within, a storm of several voices began shouting.

“Enough of this!”

“She doesn't want you to die, my love!”

“Let go.”

“It’s time my friend!”

With great difficulty, Mora pulled her eyes away from Jade and closed them, focusing on the names of those speaking. Each name that passed her tongue released the form of a shimmering being.

“Mysta Fateor.” A blue cloaked elder with a long staff swept into the room “We have outstayed our welcome here!”

“Amasio Flagro.” Tenderly, strong arms wrapped around Mora pulling her into a warm embrace as soft lips kissed her on her cheek. “You deserve to be loved.”

“Antitheus De Vicis.” A pair of broad shoulders outlined in moonlight silently crossed the room and kneeled to eye level with Jade, offering her a dewy white rose, which she ignored. 

And finally, “Celsus Sacerdos. We have ‘til morning to find a way out of here,” said Celsus, striding into the space with an air of authority. “Mysta, Amasio, and Antitheus—if we are to continue the path, Mora needs our guidance.”

Amasio, who now held Mora in their arms, rested their head in the crook of her neck and sighed, “How can I support you?”

Feeling Amasio holding her, Mora was reminded of her broken heart and began to cry into their chest.

“Mora, my child, listen well,” said Mysta from beneath his cloak. “You are locked in more than one tower. My question is, are you ready to hear me? For, you have resisted my words for quite some time now. When I told you my true name in my old age, I saw a shapeshifter with the potential to manifest the expansive change this world needs. I wanted to aid you in this vision, but you have pushed me out.”

There was a beat of silence, then Mysta continued, “You have become far too attached to this village. The people here have become paranoid and superstitious because of your presence here.”

Mora pulled away from Amasio, her heart beating fast, her face flushed with frustration.

“I need your guidance on how to escape this tower!” Mora shouted. “Just because you have become tiresome of the mission here, doesn't mean there isn’t more to do. If you haven’t noticed, this generation needs me!”

The blue hooded figure nodded, then turned to Celsus who wore a stoic expression.

“Mysta is just concerned about you, my love,” Amasio chimed in, reaching out for Mora who pulled away. “We all are.”

“I don’t need this from you right now. I just need to get out!”

Celsus stepped forward, “We hear you,” she said looking at everyone. “Mora has requested that we don't speak on this right now. How can we solve the problem at hand?”

With a tension still lingering, they all paused to think. 

“We need to ask ourselves, how did this all start?” said Mysta. “The villagers are far too innocent to have built this tower in secret and know about things like skin-walkers—on their own.’”

A sudden screech made the collective look up at the barred window, where the owl continued to devour its meal.

“What is a barn owl doing here?” Asked Amasio, incredulously.

Mora’s temper rolled inside her. “Are these really the questions we need to be asking right now!? My power is limited and you are draining me the longer you're here. Please, do any of you know how to destroy obsidian without magic—or maybe how to fly—”

Like sliding silk, Antitheus’s voice cut through the air, “You are afraid.”

The room of faces looked to the almost-invisible figure standing in the shadows. Antitheus moved and shifted around the moonlight pouring in through the window. “But what is it our beloved shapeshifter is afraid of?” 

Antitheus's words traveled down Mora's spine like a spell, causing her eyes to shut. Faces of the villagers appeared in her mind's eye— rotating in flashes through time, picturing each family and generation. Then Mora saw her parent's faces and the faces of her childhood home—long since lost in time. What came next revealed itself in separated moments of sight and sound. The laughter of children— running in fields of flowers—frizzy brown hair splashing—Mora's small hand holding another.

"Each of us gave you our innermost names with the understanding of what that would mean. We believed in the cause of the shapeshifter—to prevent stagnation in the great momentum of Source—to create change—the very thing you are now afraid of. Mora, you have forgotten this because of your guilt—because of a childish mistake—because of the face you never meant to take—you are repeating history. "

Mora collapsed, cold sweat trailing her trembling skin. She breathed deeply, trying to hold herself up as her eyes fluttered open. The prison was empty—Mora could no longer hold Mysta, Amasio, Antitheus, and Celsus's forms. Yet Jade remained—her form sustained—flickering in the darkness. 

"I have an idea Mora," Jade whispered as she threw something on the floor in front of Mora. 

Looking up, Mora noticed the limp body of another dead rat. She shook her head, "what do you want me to do with that?" Said Mora blankly.


"Have you ever tried turning into something other than a human?"

Covering her face, Mora began to cry, "you should know better than anyone—I won't turn into a nameless something—otherwise I'm no better than a skin-walker. Stealing faces from beings unable to provide consent."

Jade walked forward and played a hand on Mora's arm," you've done it once before—“

This stung Mora so deep it caused a numbing wave to spread inside her.


"—why not one more time to save yourself."

A loud clanging sound came from behind Mora though she didn't move to see what it was. Then, without warning, a cool breeze brushed the back of her neck and with it the sound of the door opening—followed swiftly by the clacking sound of fine leather shoes.

"Well, hello, elder Rosemary!" Exclaimed a man with a horribly cheerful voice.

Mora stayed still—her attention focused on the open door behind her. Seeming to sense this, the man shouted,

"Go ahead and close that door, John Mark! I'll be quite alright! I am well protected."

"Yes, minister!" Replied John Mark closing the door with another loud clang. 

Mora winced— feeling the sound ringing in her eardrums.

"Well, well, well— elder Rosemary, my dear, I have waited for this day for quite some time!"

Finally, Mora managed to look up at him through weary eyes taking in his raven-black suit—which was tailored to a tee.  

"My, my, my—you look positively disgruntled like a crinkled piece of paper. Only been in here two days! Obsidian, baby! Haha! You demons don't like it—do yah?"

At this, too Mora's great dislike, the minister clapped his hands together and spun on the spot—landing directly in her face—in a strange hunched position. 

"Today is your requiem, I'm afraid—" he said cocking his head with a grin. "It didn't take very much time at all to turn this village against you—Rosemary, my dear!" 

He stood up straight and began walking the perimeter of the prison. Then he looked up at the windowsill and, with mild amusement, said, "fitting for a church owl to be in the church's steeple." 

Mora's mind buzzed with shock. The one place in the village she would never go. 

"Are you wondering why I came to this pitiful place? Of course, you are! I am here to cleanse these minds of your wicked, wicked lies! The Lord himself appeared to me in a dream and guided me here to find you! And he has provided!"

Suddenly, Mora felt the minister grab the back of their head, pulling her hair, and whispered softly, "tonight you will burn, and your influence over this village will end!" He let go of her with a sudden jolt. "Praise be!"

As soon as he let go— Mora turned to face him, but he was knocking on the door shouting, "alright, John Mark, go ahead and open the door!"

And just as quickly as he arrived, the man was gone. 

Mora picked up the rat and held it up to the owl whose beetle black eyes stared back at her hungrily. She dropped the rat to the floor and backed away. Immediately the owl swooped down its' mighty wings, kicking up large gusts of wind. As it tore apart the rat, its' talons scraped and clicked against the floor. Mora slowly approached the owl. Before she knew it, her hand pet the creature's sleek feathers. Head-turning, its' eyes glinted as it looked back at her—seemly unafraid.

"I still need a name— a true name," she whispered.


Protests from those within her burst in the forefront of her mind. 

"This is forbidden magic!…."

Mora's finger tips traced the owl's white face.

"Mora! Stop this!…"

"Please! My love, we must find another way!….”

The voices from within were mere tremors compared to her heartbreak.

"My father's story had a name for the ghost owl," said Jade appearing at Mora's side.

"Tell me…"

Mora felt Jade whisper the name in her ear and slowly back away into the shadows. A voice, laced in silk rumbled like a distant storm, 

"Driven by fear, our shapeshifter has ensured the curse of the human collective—to repeat history."

Rolling the name on her tongue, the shapeshifter spoke it as a spell, casting it with her influence,

"Demiurge…"

Screeches and screams bent around each other, echoing up the tower as Mora's bones rattled. Then, there was a sudden sickly flip, and the owl’s blank face was replace by Mora's eyes blinking back at her. Something was wrong. This wasn't a shift. It was a switch. 

Memories that were not her own blotted into her mind showing her images of ancient beings in the midst of battle. She tried to pull away but she was only met with pain and the face of a fierce deity, whose snowy white beard was stained in blood. Returning to the memory she saw that this being fought with extraordinary cruelty. Until those marked with a third eye on their foreheads overcame him and imprisoned him in the body of a small creature.

“What are you!?” Mora screeched as her once again human arms flapped in protest.

In flashes of time passing, the being waited centuries until he witnessed a baby born with the mark of his enemies—the third eye. He watched from afar as the child grew to discover strange abilities by stealing the face of their childhood best friend—resulting in their banishment from their home.

Now, homeless and alone, the deity followed the child who was discovered by an elder with the same abilities as them. With her guidance the child grew to find purpose in their gifts. They moved through time, only taking the faces of willing participants, becoming more and more powerful, helping great civilizations advance. Until, to the deity’s surprise, they settled down in a village of their own. An exact manifestation of the home they once lost. This weakness was the opportunity the deity was waiting for. Slowly, appearing to humans in dreams and visions, he created distrust for the shapeshifter's influence. The longer they stayed in the village, the easier it became to create fear, which caught the attention of the shapeshifter's childhood friend—the face they never meant to take.

"Stop!" In a series of flashes, Mora screamed, seeing Jade conspire with the owl— revealing her weaknesses to him—betraying her.

A stillness sat in the air as her sobs echoed in the quiet prison. Then from the owl's face burst a hand dragging Mora into blackness. When Mora blinked awake, she looked at her own face smiling back at her wickedly. She was trapped in the body of the owl— her new prison.

The ancient being that now wore her body laughed as it rose into the air. Mora shrank back against the wall—the deity's power reverberated up the tower as bursts of white-hot flames. A frightening voice slides into the space like claps of thunder. The language felt unworldly as it shook the foundation.

Mora tried to call for help, but only screeches came out. The deity raised an arm, and a long double-edged sword appeared in hand. With a mighty thrust, it swung the sword pointing it directly at Mora, but in an instant, the deity stopped, and the room went quiet. No flames—no haunting voice. Mora's body rotating slowly in mid-air began to open its' mouth. 

Then a collective chorus of voices sang out to the deity, "in the name of our shapeshifter, we stand against you ancient curse!"

Mora's animated body twitched then stiffened, held in place by invisible means.

"We need you, Mora!" The voices called out. "We need you to let go of your guilt and fight with your full strength! Set yourself free!"

“But how…" Mora thought, for she could not speak. Then without thinking, her gaze landed on the ghost of Jade curled up on the floor, holding herself. A mere memory of her childhood friend. Following her own inner voice, Mora's form stepped from the owl's body and approached the tortured spirit. 

"Don't hurt me," said Jade between tears. "I just want to be free from you."

Mora's own tears began to softly fall, “I won't hurt you anymore. What do you need me to do because if I release you will cease to exist."

Then Jade pointed, "give me wings."

So Mora picked Jade up, cradling the child in her arms as she walked to the owl's empty body. 

"I'm going to miss you so much," Mora whispered through sobs as she laid Jade into her new body. 

"Even if you never forgive me, I forgive myself…."

With a new found strength, in the absence of Jade, Mora launched her phantom self up returning to her levitating physical body. Suddenly, the tower cracked across its middle with the force Mora created as she cast the deity out, declaring, "This face is mine!" 

The bellowing cries of the ancient deity reverberated as his flickering form spun out of control into the rafters. Now floating by her own influence, Mora held her power in her bones feeling Source returning—a once broken connecting now mended. Noticing the deity crawling down towards her in a desperate fury—gripping onto the stones of the walls—she forced the tower to burst, shouting," Break!"

In an instant the tower’s roof was gone, its’ obsidian walls no match for Mora. And the deity was launched upward into dark nothingness. A sudden blur of wings and screeches passed Mora’s face as Jade took flight into rising sun, which illuminated her outstretched wings as she traveled fast and free. 

"Goodbye, my friend," said Mora as four forms appeared around her.

“Well done,” said a silky voice at her side. “When I look at you I do not see fear…”  

Mora, the shapeshifter, expanded herself as she reached out her arms and legs in the orange and blue sky. Change once again flowed through her as dear friend. Mora’s face flipped into many different faces as she disappeared into the horizon line. Leaving the familiar village with familiar faces and into the great unknown. 

The end.