Closed Remnant of Form

This request is currently closed and not accepting new users.


General Admin
Staff member
Prologue One - The Stars and Things Between

In the perfect middle of the sea of space, a large clock turns. This is not a normal place. Depending on what you call a place, this might not truly be a place at all. It serves no purpose - it holds no form. It is a crossroads, a thing-between, the dot that forms when infinite lines from infinite angles cross.

”It’s starting soon, you know.”

A tall, thin man stands on one edge of the clock face. He watches, peering out at space, staring at one place. The only place that truly matters in all this vast emptiness. He is pale - no. That word isn’t quite right. He is ablaze. A burning, brilliant white, like a star itself given form, so dazzling and so harsh that one can barely see his face.

On the opposite end of the clock face, his counterpart - his other - smiles. She is as dark as he is bright, as short as he is tall. A shadow given life, an empty hole in space, deeper and emptier than the space between the stars.

”You seem excited,” she replies, voice low, near silent. He laughs with the twinkle of galaxies.

”Are you not? It’s been far too long. Far, far too long.” Folding his hands, he regards the distant speck. So small he could engulf it in a single fist. So large, it took a whole universe to hold its potential. ”I’ve already chosen mine. I have high hopes this time.”

The woman tilts her head.

”You know what will happen if you lose,” she whispers.

”I know.”

The clock shifts, hour hand sliding to settle on its apex. Twelve hollow gongs ring out into space. As the last one settles, the clock is gone. The woman is gone. The man is gone. Nothing remains, there, in that space between -

And only silence echoes back.

Prologue Two - Dreams and What We Make of Them

This is not a story about the man and woman, however. This is not a story of that clock.

This is a story of you.

You are normal. Normal by all intents. You might be exceptional at one or two things - many people are, even if they don’t realize it - but if one wanted to find you in a pile of all other minds on Earth, they could spend a billion years trying and bear no fruit.

You have a normal life, with normal choices. Perhaps you go to a normal school. Perhaps you work at a normal job. After, you spend time with your normal friends, or normal lack-thereof, eat a normal dinner, and fall into a normal sleep. Perhaps you dream often. Perhaps you don’t. Whichever the case, when you fall asleep tonight, you can tell the dream you have is not normal.

Not normal in the slightest.

The place is dark and chilled. An empty expanse of nothing, the only something being the guarantee that the dark beneath your feet is solid enough to stand on. Then - the nothing gives way. Shapes. People. You stand in a circle, all twelve of you, eyes locked. Faces you’ve never seen before.

Faces that seem familiar.

A loud voice, sharp enough to cut through the cold, begins to speak. A string of random words, seemingly unrelated, yet -

One word of the tangle of nonsense speaks true to you. It settles in your mind. It takes hold of you. You look at the others. They look back at you.

The voice speaks again.

”Find each other. Midnight falls. Your time has come.”

And then you wake, body bathed in a cold sweat. It was a dream. Only a dream. But - was it? No, something about it seemed different. Something about it held true. And that single word, that burning title, still hums in your mind like an intrusive thought.

Find each other.

You’re not sure how you know, but you need to go. It’s urgent. It’s necessary. You book the plane ticket that night, and you don't look back.

Prologue Three - A Mirror in Word

Name: Who did your parents call you? Who do you call yourself?

Age: Any and all. Time plays no favorites here.

Gender: Heartfelt role in the play called Life.

Word: What settled in your mind.

Innocent. Orphan. Warrior. Nurturer. Explorer. Rebel. Lover. Artist. Jester. Sage. Magician. Royal.

Talent: No need to keep the crowd guessing, hm?

Virtue: If you were placed bare before your peers, would they love you for how you feel?

Sin: Would they forgive you for who you are?

Story: Yours starts here, this past is merely a footnote.
Last edited:
Reference Image

Name: Nicholas 'Nick' Reyes

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Word: Rebel

Talent: Musical creation, though he can barely pay his rent

Virtue: He will not allow himself to be silenced by authority

Sin: He is cynical and often selfish, looking for only himself. If he helps someone, he usually does it because he would benefit from doing so.

Story: Not knowing his father, Nick lived alone with his mother, who was an alcoholic and a drug addict. The only memory he has of her is finding her dead body on the morning of his first day of kindergarten. After that, he went from foster home to foster home, being labeled as a 'problem child'. When he turned seventeen, he ran away to Los Angeles to pursue music, his only form of escape. Now, he can barely pay his rent, but he gets by on what little he makes from his music.
Name: Sheila Hamden

Age: I've just celebrated my 8th 39th birthday.

Gender: Female

Word: Innocent. I am innocent. How could you think otherwise? These wild accusations.

Talent: I am very good at seeing what other people are capable of.

Virtue: I'll always be a good friend to you
Sin: as long as you're a better one to me.

Story: Oh, my home life was just terrible. My parents divorced when I was nine, and I had to spend weekends with my dad - his house only had 6 bedrooms, so I only had one room to sleep in and one room for my things, which is absolutely ridiculous. Thank goodness I got to spend the rest of the week with mom in her mansion, really. But all the island vacations really cut into my shopping time, so I knew when I grew up I wanted to be able to shop anywhere. That's why I got into helping people find the vacation homes they deserve in the places they really want to be. Did you know that for only $2375 a month, you could vacation anywhere in the world at one of your vacations, just for signing up for the dates you're interested in? That's basically just a grocery bill, right? Anyone can afford it! Anyone can deserve it, and if you don't think you do, you're just not trying hard enough! There has to be some dead weight you can cut out, right? I mean, do you really need to save for those kids' college funds? They're always saying they'll be fine on their own. Let me show you our top hotel in Florence, it's just the perfect romantic getaway...
Name: Elizabeth Coffey-O’Neal, Liz, Lizzy

Age: 22

Gender: Female

Word: Lover

Talent: As abstract and useless a skill it is, Elizabeth has always had an eye for matches. Coming through school, she found herself as both matchmaker and impromptu couples therapist on more than one occasion, sometimes for people she hardly knew. She's always been extremely personable.

Virtue: Elizabeth is a compassionate person, despite her vices. She strives to see the good in people, even those who have wronged her, and is very reluctant to consider someone too far gone to be redeemed.

Sin: Envy. Due to current employment circumstances, and all the other issues she's faced growing up, she finds herself very envious of people who have what she thinks she deserves, and tends to harbor a grudge over it.

Story: Ever since middle school, Elizabeth knew she was different from her peers. It wasn’t any special talent, no gift she had that set her apart. Hell, she wasn’t even that especially popular, instead sticking to her relatively small group of friends she had in elementary and keeping to herself otherwise. No, the thing that set her apart from her peers, and something that still vexes her to this day, is her utter lack of care, romantically, for even a single one of the men in her life. Try as she might, and boy did she try in school, she just… didn’t feel what everyone else said she should.

It was everywhere too, and for a long time, it made her feel just horrible. Books, movies, TV, her friends, her parents, even her grandma, they all asked her, all the time, when she was going to get a boyfriend or who she had a crush on. For a while, she thought something was wrong with her. Part of her still does, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. That sort of peer pressure, that early, and all of the sideways comments that came with it, affected her developing mind poorly. She went to therapy, but given her rural hometown and relatively conservative state, there weren’t really answers to be found. Eventually, though, around halfway through highschool, she had grown enough, as had her peers, to stop caring, for the most part. She still felt she was an odd person out, and it came up in conversation with her parents on occasion, but beyond that, it faded away, to be forgotten.

She graduated highschool with middling grades, and with low aspirations. There weren’t many prospects available to her, not where she lived, so in the time it would take her to finally decide on a career, she began working at the Cinemark, roughly a half hour drive from home. It didn’t pay well, and the hours were weird, but she got a discount on tickets and free leftover popcorn, and her coworkers were nice enough, so she didn’t complain. Much.

And then the dreams started.

Most of the dream was concerning. Who were those people? She’d never seen a single one of them in her life, so how was she dreaming of their faces? What was that voice, that rambling? How was she supposed to find them, if she could barely afford to pay off her car? What did it mean, their time had come? She was ordinary, not spectacular in any way.

Why the Lover?

What a sick cosmic joke.

Aurora Maree Hall




To become someone else in a moment, useful for an actress, no?

If there is something worth doing, then it should be done right, no? Aurora is not one to take a half measure, or to leave things unfinished if she has the ability to finish them.

She is good at moving on, you know. The sort of person who might only realize they have missed a connection with an old friend after a month has passed. She can be there today and gone tomorrow, drawing up her roots and drifting away.

What is there to say really, Aurora grew up in love with the arts. Her parents' fault, as these things often went, as they both went to off-Broadway productions as often as new shows came. Movie theaters were also a common haunt for her family, a Friday night or Saturday afternoon thing to do to see what’s new or old and replaying. She was doomed from the start really to gravitate towards the performing arts in the grade schools, and, well, university too was no different. A bird flies and Aurora takes classes in theater and acting, it’s simply what they do.

Her career didn't see her try to strike it out California way, though she did find a spot in a theater troupe, as these things go. She keeps her name out there, auditions for whatever bit parts cross her path or commercials or whatever. If she never makes the big screen, that’s fine, she always has the stage and the stage always has her, and that’s enough for her to be who she should be.

Though, she did recently have this one peculiar dream that she can’t get out of her head. A part in search for someone to fill it, perhaps?

Name: Robert J. Darby.
The Magician.png
Age: Twenty-eight.

Gender: Man.

Word: Magician.

Talent: Some people only glimpse it for a moment. The framework. The matrix. The veins and arteries that run between everyone and everything. Robert is tapped into it. Cause, effect. The closest word for it is intuition. It manifests as competence, but he's always known it to be something more. Something bordering on the magical. The building blocks of the universe, just out of reach - an inward belief he'd always held, now all but confirmed by the dreams. Gut feelings, made real. Crashing through the world-web like a rock thrown through a mirror. The art is magic.

Virtue: Innately strategic. Processes information quickly, applies it even more quickly.

Sin: Impatience. Nobody else can see what he sees. Nobody else can do what needs to be done. Bores rapidly. Moody. Has been fired from jobs in the past, stifling employment prospects. Undisciplined with respect to drugs. Great present relationships which often evolve into sour past ones.

Story: High highs, low lows, all averaging out to a very normal consultant of middling success. That is Robert Darby, the magician. His methods are unconventional - that is to say, drinking six of seven nights a week, then grinding out the missed work on the seventh; mouthing off at superiors and subordinates alike, but outdoing them in work output despite his destructive habits; loudly espousing the virtues of rational thought unimpeded by sentiment, then returning home to consult dreams, star charts, blood signs - anything that can be used to typify his surroundings, to sort everything into a category that can then be used. And he is sure that he is meant for something greater. Buying the plane ticket was as natural as anything else he'd done.

Every moment in his life had led him to here. Every great success suffocated by unexpected failure. The fluctuations in his work life, his love life, his home life - all would be wiped away as he reached for his destiny.

excellent!! i think we're about ready to start, i'll try to get something up this week!
Name: Alison "Al" Bird.

Age: 32, if you can believe it. 49, if you can't.

Gender: Female.

Word: Jester.

Talent: They call me quick, whatever that means. Quick-witted, sharp-minded, with it to a notable degree- but I'm a writer, y'know, and my hand is far slower than my tongue. That's what my ex-wife said, as well. Ha.

Virtue: Persistence. It has to be, in this fucking industry. I'll give up when I'm dead, and I'll try to die entertaining.

Sin: Because I will be entertaining. I will get my reputation back. I've won this game before, I have to win it again- I have to, because anything else is inconceivable. I'm not the kind of person who fails. I'm above that. I'm different.


Praise for Flashbulb (2001):

"Funny, poignant, and darkly original- Bird is one of the most exciting voices in comedy today. An absolute must-watch."
- Alexander Oxford, The Guardian.​

"The perfect debut."
- John Lancaster, BBC.​

"If you're not watching Flashbulb, you're not watching television, simple as that. Remarkable."
- Sandra Cox, Screen Today.​

"Magnificent, Bird is a name to watch."
- Bernadetta Favre, Visions Magazine.​


Unpublished interview for Entertainment, 2022:

And what has Al Bird done since her groundbreaking debut? How many more BAFTAs has she taken home? Did she get another award? Anything more prestigious? Has her new work been picked up by Netflix, like Flashbulb has? The BBC, perhaps- did they ask for another show? Channel 4? Dave?

She sits across the table, arms folded, stirring a sweetener into her latte. She is, by all accounts, a rather bland person. Dressed plainly in a striped shirt, blue jeans, worn-out dress shoes that squeak every time she takes a step. The thick-rimmed glasses on her face keep sliding down as she speaks, and she has to push them back up- more and more indignant every time. Her hair is greying, but still retains the unruly thickness of her youth; the last memory of that late-twenties 'Queer Icon' those blogs used to post about when she was in her prime. Now she just looks like the first google result for middle-aged butch lesbian.

So, what have you been up to in the past twenty years?

That's a hell of a timeframe.

Her voice is hoarse, like she's recently recovered from a cold, or failed to recover from her smoking habit. It got worse around the '10s, from what she earlier told me, after the American remake of Flashbulb was dropped, then picked up, then dropped again. She wouldn't let it go through unless she was given creative contrrol- which, fair enough. The last thing a career like hers needed was to be attached to a train wreck like that. The unfinished scripts were adapted into The Fourth House, which saw decent financial success, but reviewed, quote, piss-poor.

Let's work our way backwards. You like reverse chronological stuff, don't you? How about the past two years- since the pandemic. What have you been up to then?

Articles, mostly. Satire, commentary, that sort of thing. With everyone stuck inside, there was a big enough market for me to turn a decent profit, but it ate up so much of my time. I wrote under a pseudonym, 'Raven Madd'. I thought it was funny at the time, but- I don't know. It all felt a bit 'Viz' to me. Or 'Beano'. Y'know, juvenile. Still, I didn't recieve any complaints, and people seemed to enjoy the articles well enough, so I don't consider it a complete waste of time.

Was that all the work you did? Just articles?

There were some scripts as well. A lot of them. None of them saw the light of day, as usual--something about being too nonsensical, too arcane, or something--but one of them- uh, something called... 'The Counter', they seemed to like that one, but they wanted to interfere too much, make it more 'current', in their words. I read some of their script additions, and they made me sick. I pulled the plug after they tried to cast one of these Tik-Tok kids.

That was Je-

Jenny Hayes, yeah. Nothing against her, I just- without getting too into it, the point of the character was that she was- she was meant to be a bit older, a bit... past it, y'know? The script wouldn't have worked with a teenager.

Jenny is twenty-four.

It wouldn't have worked with a twenty-four year old.

Jenny has since gone on to star in the Oscar-nominated psychological thriller Idol Hands. I don't tell Bird this. She probably knows. Her face tells me this would be a good time to change the subject.

Thread's up!
Name: Adaline "Ada" Wilmette

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Word: Nurturer

Talent: Without ever meaning to, and typically against her wishes, Ada has the special talent of having a calming presence being told of the burdens and innermost thoughts of those around her be it family, friends, or even strangers.

Virtue: Kindness has always been a virtue that would describe Ada. As if by second nature, her kindness leads to joining others together, a kind of helpfulness that touches base on what matters to people.

Sin: Passiveness. As Ada would focus her attention on others, she neglects to act on her own behalf and thus becomes indecisive to a fault, never making her own choices and simply following others and do as others tell her.

As ordinary and as average as Ada was, her story is just as ordinary and average as she. A child of divorce, growing up in a split home, with siblings to care for, to look after as the adults around her share their burdens upon her. Parentified, an old soul, mature for her age, obedient, and always kind. Now that Ada was older, wiser, an adult, she lives alone, no longer in contact with her family, no life outside of her work. She lives vicariously through the stories of those outside herself from gossip to podcasts to books, anything to escape her mundane life of ordinary averageness.


  • 0438da2ed16140f5bae7cc1841c5e72c.jpg
    114.2 KB · Views: 1
Name: Official records list him as Aidan Byrne.

Age: How long has it been, really? The charge was December 20th, 1998. That much he knows. He'd just turned 29, then; the math is simple from there.

Gender: A man.

Word: Warrior. Of course. He's been fighting his whole life-- what else would he think of?

Talent: Always been good at hurting things.

Virtue: Nothing virtuous about a man like him. Done things nobody else would ever stomach the thought of doing.

Sin: Unbaptized. The rest follows from birth.

Story: On death row for 20 years. Appeals and delays had kept his head out of the wicker basket; in the decades he had been afforded on technicality, he'd done little to improve himself. It's all lies, what they write on their little letters and pleas to the courts. The guilt. The remorse. All of it.

But he played his part, and he played it well. Because oblivion is the second-greatest terror of all.

The first would be her, waiting for him, if he reached whatever counted as an afterlife.
Last edited: