Apparently phones didn’t work in the Lycan World and trying to find an exit was impossible too. Paradox had to at least circle the entirety of Lumen Lunae twice before finally giving up in exhaustion, collapsing on a bench. He looked at his phone: the clock read 13:13. Apparently the clock worked, but that was the only thing that somehow managed to work.

Frustrated that he was stuck in Lumen Lunae with nothing to do, but also stuck with the fear of a Lycan or Hybrid pouncing on him, Paradox decided to move around once more. It probably wasn’t the smartest nor brightest idea he had, but it was better than sitting down on the bench, feeling uneasy every time a Hybrid walked by, eyeing him.

The gravel ground was coated in red paint (at least, what Paradox hoped to be red paint), and there were tufts of different color furs that littered the gravel ground. The creaks of the machinery and unsettling Lycan howls created a chilly mood despite the humidity from the unseen sun. There were Hybrids behind food trucks, the games, or rides, fangs were flashed and snarls were exchanged. Paradox witnessed a Hybrid shoving a human boy into a booth before closing it and locking it. It seemed harmless before the Hybrid pulled out a remote and pressed a button. The human boy’s body spasmed violently and he screamed—or at least, it seemed like it. Paradox heard nothing.

He hurried along his way.

Too many times than not, Paradox realized he kept on running into what appeared to be a deadend. It was either a stone wall or a blocked path or even a Hybrid standing near a potential exit only to hold a hand out in front, preventing Paradox from crossing over. It was like Lumen Lunae didn’t want him to exit out alive. And that set his nerves on fire. Paradox wasn’t one to suffer from anxiety or panic attacks, but with the sensation of feeling closed off from the human world, of not being able to find a way to exit, was building a slow panic in his throat. Paradox didn’t understand how his best friend could tolerate—or even like—all of this. And to make matters worse, there seemed to be a Hybrid following him now.

The Hybrid was tall—scarily tall. Paradox was a tall guy, at 6’1”, but this Hybrid had to be at least seven foot. Paradox felt small compared to the Hybrid—that is, if the Hybrid was a Hybrid and not a Lycan.

Perhaps he was paranoid, assuming that this Hybrid was following him—maybe the Hybrid was heading the same direction—but when Paradox made a random turn to the left, down a path called Aphotic, the Hybrid turned, too.

Paradox was beginning to wish he had stayed at Seicopathig.

Trying to ignore his racing heart and heavy breathing, Paradox made a sharp turn into a store called Hayde Les.

The door had a windchime so it rattled when Paradox threw the door open. He slammed the door shut, shuttering the windchime once more, and he leaned against the door, panting, head spinning.

Once his heart slowed down and he was no longer gasping for air, Paradox looked around the shop. There had to be thousands of different masks, cloaks, canes/staffs, orbs, trinkets, and other tchotchkes either set on tables, suspended in air, on chairs, or even laid out on the floor. But those weren’t the items that were creeping Paradox out. It was the voodoo dolls. Some were small, about two or three inches. Some were shockingly huge. About the size of a small child. Each doll had a unique stitch pattern, and each doll had a blank tag around their neck.

“Interested in purchasing a doll, poppet?” someone from the front of the store called out. When Paradox didn’t respond, the voice said, “Well, you’s shy? Tha’s fine. Give me a moment. I’ll be there.”

Be there? As in, right in front of Paradox? Paradox gripped the door handle, readying to flee, but someone had managed to make themselves appear right in front of him, managing to pass through the cluster.

A girl. Specifically, a teenage human girl.

“What—” Paradox began, but the girl was faster:

“Egads! A human! A han’some lad at tha’, too! Whatsit, you’s lost? How’d in fucker’s name did you’s stumble here?” the teen girl gasped, grabbing at the collar of Paradox’s shirt, yanking him forward.

“I—” Paradox said, startled by the teen girl’s reaction.

“Lookie, lookie, you’s sure are shy, ain’t cha? Tha’s fine. Though seriously. How da fuck did you come here? Pract’ly no one comes here, jus’ a Hybrid or two if wantin’ some vengeance. But a human? Golly, haven’t seen one in a solid ten years!” the teen girl said. Then she released Paradox from her iron grip and took a step back before thrusting her hand out in front of her. “I’m Billie Darlin’ atcha’s service. You’s?”

Paradox stared at Billie’s hand which had a tattoo of a seven-pointed star. He looked up at Billie, studying her amber colored eyes that were framed dark lashes and pink-purple eyeshadow.

“I dun’t bite, ya know.” Billie insisted, waving her outstretched hand. “At least, not anymore.”

Paradox timidly grabbed Billie’s hand for the handshake, but Billie vigorously shook his hand up and down, saying, “Billie Darlin’, eighteen and all human. At least, I’ve been told I’m all human. So you’s?”

“P-Paradox.” Paradox said cautiously.

“Paradox? Fascinating! ‘I must be cruel, only to be kind’.” Billie said eagerly.

“What?” Paradox asked, confused.

“Hamlet! Act three, scene four. What, not a book reader?” Billie said, leaning forward.

Paradox took a step back, but realized he couldn’t. His back was still pressed against the door. “Um. No—I mean, yes—I. I am a book reader. I read…Hamlet before. A while ago.”

Billie grinned, flashing him a wide smile. He noted she had gold canines.

“So, you’s plannin’ on buyin’ anythin’ or you’s got lost or you’s hidin’ from somethin’?” Billie asked, stepping aside to give Paradox room to seemingly roam her shop. That is, if this voodoo shop was hers in the first place.

“Um. I just…accident. Came here by accident.” Paradox said. It wasn’t a lie—he stumbled upon here by accident because he was running away from that Hybrid. In fact, where was the Hybrid?

Billie gave a shrug, causing her pigtails to bounce. Her hair was white, but her pigtails were dyed with purple, yellow, blue, green, and other colors. “Well, look around, poppet. Let me know if somethin’ catches those hazel eyes of yours!” she bowed in an exaggerated manner to Paradox before walking towards the front, humming a tune.

Paradox let out a sharp exhale, clutching his chest. Billie frightened him—it wasn’t because she necessarily looked menacing (despite the many tattoos, colorful hair, and crazed look in her amber eyes), but it was in the way she held herself so high and unafraid. She was loud and demanding; confident.

Now that Paradox was all alone, he couldn’t help but feel curious about the inside of this strange shop. He knew that he probably shouldn’t be wandering around, but if something happened and he really had to, he still had that switchblade he brought along.

Paradox then began exploring Hayde Les.

The voodoo dolls were creepy, but weirdly cute. Maybe it was the fact that they all looked like they were made from plain fabric or some sort of thick, rough yarn that was crudely sewn together with thick strings. But they all had smiles. Stitched smiles. Some of their eyes were either stitched x’s or were buttons. Different colored buttons.

One voodoo doll, Paradox noticed, was black. And this was the only one that was black. It had yellow button eyes and a red stitched smile. Its neck was stitched as if it had come apart once, and on its chest was a small broken purple heart with a pin between its crack.

“I wouldn’t touch him, if I were you,” Billie said, suddenly beside Paradox, causing him to jolt.

“W-why?” Paradox asked, looking at Billie before looking at the doll.

“He’s got history, tha’ one. Haunted few folks, here an’ there. Lil’ fucker can’t leave no one ‘lone. Used to give my mama a heart attack when she saw him hanging himself from the chandelier in the back.” Billie said, scowling at the doll.

“What?” Paradox barked out, gawking at Billie. “It’s-it’s a doll. Doll’s can’t hang—”

Billie shushed him, pushing her hand against Paradox’s mouth. “You don’t believe in magic, huh? Don’t you? Pretty funny since we got ‘em Lycans here, say, am I right, Mr. Paradox?”

“I—” Paradox started meekly.

Billie shrugged. “Well, leave him alone. Leave all the voodoos ‘lone, unless…you want to purchase one? Then you better grab the righ’ one, unless you wanna be haunted. Jus’ don’t mess with that fucker.” She pointed to the black voodoo doll.

“I don’t want—”

“Not interestin’ in purchasin’ a voodoo? Well, look at the books, then. Tons of cool shit. Be careful. Some are cursed. Some are ancient. Some are…well. Mindfuckin’. Look ‘round and holler if you find somethin’.” Billie mocked a formal bow and went her way.

Paradox’s uneasiness was growing, but he continued looking, this time, at the books.

There were books abandoned on decaying, cobwebbed shelves. The books were thick-spined, bound with leather, string, wire, or even locks. Each book was dusty, the covers dull and falling apart, titles hardly readable. But nevertheless, books. Paradox grabbed a book off the shelf. He made out the title that read Rúin agus Bréaga and opened the book up. The pages were brittle and yellowed; the words were clearly inked because they were smudged and hardly readable. Plus, the words weren’t even in English, they were in Irish. But Paradox tried to recall what his paternal grandfather had taught him.

The first section of the first page read:

Everything you know is a lie. There is no end nor beginning to this hellish world. In fact, she is an infinite loop where man is forced into a realm of infinite possibilities where those infinite possibilities have infinite possibilities. The world man knows is nothing but a figment of fractured possibilities.

The world supposedly started with God creating the heavens and earth, as said in Genesis. Yet the world ends with the selected few before the world man knows turns to flames in front of his very eyes, as proclaimed in Revelations. Some say the world supposedly started with the Big Bang—a phenomenon where a flaming ball of infinite mass began growing at a rapid speed. Yet the world will end by a supposed split, crash, or pull by some outside universe, blackhole, or she will simply end herself.

The world is known for her vast secrets and stringent lies. Man is yet to uncover the truth, but she plays tricks on mankind. Whether she is God herself or she is simply the universe man wants to believe, everything shall be considered a lie since a truth can be overturned if a man knows what to say.

Paradox closed the book. He placed it back in its rightful place on the shelf. He sighed. The author was having an internal crisis when writing this. He continued looking at the shelf, wondering if perhaps there was a better book. A more interesting book. Something that wasn’t so condescending.

Paradox skimmed the shelf, running his finger on the spine of the books. He paused when he noticed a thick book—thicker than the rest—and decided to pull it out. The cover read Lukanthrōpía.

This book’s cover was intact and readable. It had a drawn picture of a werewolf, hunched over a body of what appeared to be a young girl. The picture was in shades of black, white, and gray, with some red to highlight certain features, such as the werewolf’s eyes, the blood stain on the victim’s dress, and blood around the werewolf’s muzzle. The book was bound shut with thick leather, a broken lock in the shape of a full moon holding the binds together. Paradox hesitated, unsure if he should mess with the book or not, but he carefully unclasped the lock and set it on the shelf before propping the book open.

The first chapter read Under the First Full Moon.