all muses
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werewolves
witches
sidrón has known you, amadeo "deo" abon, since march 23rd, 1943 — now 29 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. in daylight, you pass through town as a repairman, ordinary enough for the public record — and quite splendidly ordinary, if that’s truly all there is to you. in sidrón’s memory, you are grease and debris on a plethora of tools, preparing recently fixed watches for presentation, and repeating names inside your head so you never forget one, ever.
sidrón has known you, choi seojun, since may 5th, 1244 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1278, when you were 34 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 728 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a literary translator and librarian, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are ink-stained fingertips that smudge parchment, toothy and dazzling smiles which conceal something sinister, and dusk skies awash in deep shades of ruby and ochre.
sidrón has known you, elenora "nora" dannel, since august 8th, 1937 — now 35 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. bitten in 1962, at 25 years old, you turned soon after — and the moon’s had a claim on you since. in daylight, you pass through town as a fortune teller and "mystic healer", wearing ordinary life as well as anyone can be expected to wear it. in sidrón’s memory, you are a VW van made into a home, playing go fish with custom tarot cards, and natural remedies for anything and everything.
sidrón has known you, florence masterson, since december 31st, 1924 — now 48 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. the army of darkness found you in 1924, or you found it; either way, your fealty has belonged to it since. in daylight, you pass through town as an anthropologist and tour guide — and the island, being as old as it is, distrusts clean answers. in sidrón’s memory, you are bared-teeth smiles and perfumed barbs, an intimacy with the most disturbing of things, and pressing a thumb into a fresh bruise just to wince at the ache it brings.
sidrón has known you, fumiko shibata, since september 13th, 1943 — now 29 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. in daylight, you pass through town as a late-night public radio host, ordinary enough for the public record — and quite splendidly ordinary, if that’s truly all there is to you. in sidrón’s memory, you are a sub-temperature bedroom, a mirror-like reflection against stainless steel, and a throat dried from years of obedience.
sidrón has known you, harlen greyson, since august 28th, 1944 — now 28 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. bitten in 1970, at 26 years old, you turned soon after — and the moon’s had a claim on you since. in daylight, you pass through town as an events laborer and construction worker, wearing ordinary life as well as anyone can be expected to wear it. in sidrón’s memory, you are tired muscles finally relaxing at the end of the day, waking up out in the woods when you started in a bed, and the thick taste of bitterness.
sidrón has known you, ji cangming (姬苍冥), since winter of 2292 BC — though your face stopped answering to time in 2262 BC, when you were 31 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 4,064 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a very rich philanthropist and "stay at home dad", which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are a feather bed fit for a very long nap, the taste of old and dry blood in your mouth, and perfectly lain tile in a long and dark corridor.
sidrón has known you, josephine marie “joey” iverson, since june 29th, 1940 — now 31 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. in daylight, you pass through town as a restaurant and souvenir shop owner, ordinary enough for the public record — and quite splendidly ordinary, if that’s truly all there is to you. in sidrón’s memory, you are well-trodden footsteps on dirt, cobblestone, and gravel pavements, the smell of fresh citrus and chocolate in the morning, and a wonderful life, unrealised.
sidrón has known you, kenjie salazar, since may 16th, 1943 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1971, when you were 29 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 30 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a cross country cdl trucker, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are the epitome of fuck it, what’s the worse that can happen?, fanning the flames of violence, and the feeling of rot: slowly destroying you from the inside.
sidrón has known you, layla dagher, since september 19th, 472 — though your face stopped answering to time in 494, when you were 22 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 1,500 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a night librarian and writer, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are a worn notebook full of stories of histories forgotten, a foggy night in a quiet clearing, and the chase for the next interesting thing.
sidrón has known you, lin yue, since may 15th, 1192 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1225, when you were 33 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 780 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a genealogist, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are soundless footsteps on dark wood floors, soft words from bloodless lips, and a predatory stillness.
sidrón has known you, miguel valentine, since april 27th, 1932 — now 40 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. born to the change, you first turned in 1947, at 15 years old — and the moon’s had a claim on you since. in daylight, you pass through town as a fire chief, wearing ordinary life as well as anyone can be expected to wear it. in sidrón’s memory, you are the scent of coffee brewed at midnight, the tense of muscles behind a polite smile, and the clinking of plates at a full dinner table.
sidrón has known you, montgomery "monty" de la cruz, since 1916 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1953, when you were 37 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 56 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a butcher, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are always in the wrong place at the wrong time, the burn of a fresh shot of whiskey, and fleeing like a bat out of hell.
sidrón has known you, otto sanchez, since may 31st, 1945 — now 27 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. born to the change, you first turned in 1962, at 17 years old — and the moon’s had a claim on you since. in daylight, you pass through town as mechanic, wearing ordinary life as well as anyone can be expected to wear it. in sidrón’s memory, you are the feeling of it being so windy suddenly dust is in your mouth, sidewalk chalk & hand impressons in concrete, and dreaming so big that everyone can always tell what you're thinking.
sidrón has known you, priya kumar, since september 20th, 1943 — now 28 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. you awakened in 1966, which forever changed how you perceived reality. in daylight, you pass through town as a nurse turned grief counselor — one more familiar face in a place that keeps its strangeness indoors. in sidrón’s memory, you are a wound that never heals, the dog-eared pages of a beloved book, and the ringing silence of a graveyard.
sidrón has known you, quincy "basil" carter, since august 25th, 1943 — now 29 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. you awakened in 1969, which forever changed how you perceived reality. in daylight, you pass through town as a musican — one more familiar face in a place that keeps its strangeness indoors. in sidrón’s memory, you are afternoons enjoying the sunset and the grass, the curl of smoke from a cigarette, and hours sitting in front of an old piano.
sidrón has known you, ravi khatum, since june 6th, 1936 — now 36 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. the army of darkness found you in 1936, or you found it; either way, your fealty has belonged to it since. in daylight, you pass through town as an unemployed amnesiac — and the island, being as old as it is, distrusts clean answers. in sidrón’s memory, you are dark webs as thick as tensile wire, the roar of the ocean against the rocks, and the void of darkness between stars.
sidrón has known you, ryota takahashi, since august 24th, 1910 — now 62 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. in daylight, you pass through town as a retired professor, ordinary enough for the public record — and quite splendidly ordinary, if that’s truly all there is to you. in sidrón’s memory, you are the scent of ash stakes, the onset of arthritis, and the glint of metal before you meet your end.
sidrón has known you, shuji shibata, since june 3rd, 1942 — now 30 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. in daylight, you pass through town as a paramedic, ordinary enough for the public record — and quite splendidly ordinary, if that’s truly all there is to you. in sidrón’s memory, you are atlas’ shoulders trembling as he holds up the sky a weight no other knows, work roughened hands that stay gentle as they reach for the world, and the cold of a porcelain sink under your white knuckled grip as you try to convince your reflection you have done the right thing.
sidrón has known you, soren um, since october 31st, 1001 BC — though your face stopped answering to time in 1029 BC, when you were 28 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re over 3,000 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a doctor getting ready to run for a government official title, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are being the best secret keeper all while hearing all sides of the story, how windy and cold it gets right before a storm, and being the smartest in the room but playing like you're not.
sidrón has known you, toby wilson, since june 1st, 1931 — now 41 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. the army of darkness found you in 1932, or you found it; either way, your fealty has belonged to it since. in daylight, you pass through town as a bartender — and the island, being as old as it is, distrusts clean answers. in sidrón’s memory, you are the clinking of glass bottles, a melting ice cube on the floor, and a warm smile inviting you to spill your secrets.
sidrón has known you, vasili sokolov, since december 29th, 1649 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1675, when you were 26 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 297 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a club manager, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are the ticking of a watch cutting through the silence of a room, a hand reaching out for faint sun rays - a test, a desire, a need to know pain, and the flickering of a candle - half alive or half dead?
sidrón has known you, victor "vikkie" mcknight, since may 15th, 1428 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1455, when you were 27 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 544 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a bartender & club owner, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are the heat of the arizona deserts, calloused fingers playing the guitar, and long dark hair.
sidrón has known you, xuanwu wang, since november 13th, 1944 — now 28 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. you awakened in 1957, which forever changed how you perceived reality. in daylight, you pass through town as a journalist/socialite — one more familiar face in a place that keeps its strangeness indoors. in sidrón’s memory, you are the smell of peppermint and dark chocolate, ink-stained silk sleeves of a qipao, and the red thread of family duty that keeps pulling you back to your roots.
sidrón has known you, florence masterson, since december 31st, 1924 — now 48 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. the army of darkness found you in 1924, or you found it; either way, your fealty has belonged to it since. in daylight, you pass through town as an anthropologist and tour guide — and the island, being as old as it is, distrusts clean answers. in sidrón’s memory, you are bared-teeth smiles and perfumed barbs, an intimacy with the most disturbing of things, and pressing a thumb into a fresh bruise just to wince at the ache it brings.
sidrón has known you, ravi khatum, since june 6th, 1936 — now 36 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. the army of darkness found you in 1936, or you found it; either way, your fealty has belonged to it since. in daylight, you pass through town as an unemployed amnesiac — and the island, being as old as it is, distrusts clean answers. in sidrón’s memory, you are dark webs as thick as tensile wire, the roar of the ocean against the rocks, and the void of darkness between stars.
sidrón has known you, toby wilson, since june 1st, 1931 — now 41 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. the army of darkness found you in 1932, or you found it; either way, your fealty has belonged to it since. in daylight, you pass through town as a bartender — and the island, being as old as it is, distrusts clean answers. in sidrón’s memory, you are the clinking of glass bottles, a melting ice cube on the floor, and a warm smile inviting you to spill your secrets.
sidrón has known you, amadeo "deo" abon, since march 23rd, 1943 — now 29 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. in daylight, you pass through town as a repairman, ordinary enough for the public record — and quite splendidly ordinary, if that’s truly all there is to you. in sidrón’s memory, you are grease and debris on a plethora of tools, preparing recently fixed watches for presentation, and repeating names inside your head so you never forget one, ever.
sidrón has known you, fumiko shibata, since september 13th, 1943 — now 29 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. in daylight, you pass through town as a late-night public radio host, ordinary enough for the public record — and quite splendidly ordinary, if that’s truly all there is to you. in sidrón’s memory, you are a sub-temperature bedroom, a mirror-like reflection against stainless steel, and a throat dried from years of obedience.
sidrón has known you, josephine marie “joey” iverson, since june 29th, 1940 — now 31 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. in daylight, you pass through town as a restaurant and souvenir shop owner, ordinary enough for the public record — and quite splendidly ordinary, if that’s truly all there is to you. in sidrón’s memory, you are well-trodden footsteps on dirt, cobblestone, and gravel pavements, the smell of fresh citrus and chocolate in the morning, and a wonderful life, unrealised.
sidrón has known you, ryota takahashi, since august 24th, 1910 — now 62 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. in daylight, you pass through town as a retired professor, ordinary enough for the public record — and quite splendidly ordinary, if that’s truly all there is to you. in sidrón’s memory, you are the scent of ash stakes, the onset of arthritis, and the glint of metal before you meet your end.
sidrón has known you, shuji shibata, since june 3rd, 1942 — now 30 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. in daylight, you pass through town as a paramedic, ordinary enough for the public record — and quite splendidly ordinary, if that’s truly all there is to you. in sidrón’s memory, you are atlas’ shoulders trembling as he holds up the sky a weight no other knows, work roughened hands that stay gentle as they reach for the world, and the cold of a porcelain sink under your white knuckled grip as you try to convince your reflection you have done the right thing.
sidrón has known you, toby wilson, since june 1st, 1931 — now 41 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. the army of darkness found you in 1932, or you found it; either way, your fealty has belonged to it since. in daylight, you pass through town as a bartender — and the island, being as old as it is, distrusts clean answers. in sidrón’s memory, you are the clinking of glass bottles, a melting ice cube on the floor, and a warm smile inviting you to spill your secrets.
sidrón has known you, choi seojun, since may 5th, 1244 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1278, when you were 34 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 728 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a literary translator and librarian, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are ink-stained fingertips that smudge parchment, toothy and dazzling smiles which conceal something sinister, and dusk skies awash in deep shades of ruby and ochre.
sidrón has known you, ji cangming (姬苍冥), since winter of 2292 BC — though your face stopped answering to time in 2262 BC, when you were 31 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 4,064 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a very rich philanthropist and "stay at home dad", which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are a feather bed fit for a very long nap, the taste of old and dry blood in your mouth, and perfectly lain tile in a long and dark corridor.
sidrón has known you, kenjie salazar, since may 16th, 1943 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1971, when you were 29 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 30 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a cross country cdl trucker, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are the epitome of fuck it, what’s the worse that can happen?, fanning the flames of violence, and the feeling of rot: slowly destroying you from the inside.
sidrón has known you, layla dagher, since september 19th, 472 — though your face stopped answering to time in 494, when you were 22 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 1,500 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a night librarian and writer, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are a worn notebook full of stories of histories forgotten, a foggy night in a quiet clearing, and the chase for the next interesting thing.
sidrón has known you, lin yue, since may 15th, 1192 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1225, when you were 33 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 780 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a genealogist, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are soundless footsteps on dark wood floors, soft words from bloodless lips, and a predatory stillness.
sidrón has known you, montgomery "monty" de la cruz, since 1916 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1953, when you were 37 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 56 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a butcher, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are always in the wrong place at the wrong time, the burn of a fresh shot of whiskey, and fleeing like a bat out of hell.
sidrón has known you, soren um, since october 31st, 1001 BC — though your face stopped answering to time in 1029 BC, when you were 28 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re over 3,000 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a doctor getting ready to run for a government official title, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are being the best secret keeper all while hearing all sides of the story, how windy and cold it gets right before a storm, and being the smartest in the room but playing like you're not.
sidrón has known you, vasili sokolov, since december 29th, 1649 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1675, when you were 26 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 297 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a club manager, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are the ticking of a watch cutting through the silence of a room, a hand reaching out for faint sun rays - a test, a desire, a need to know pain, and the flickering of a candle - half alive or half dead?
sidrón has known you, victor "vikkie" mcknight, since may 15th, 1428 — though your face stopped answering to time in 1455, when you were 27 years old. with the calendar pinned to 1972, you’re 544 years old in truth. on paper, you pass through town as a bartender & club owner, which may be honest, useful, insulting, or all three. in sidrón’s memory, you are the heat of the arizona deserts, calloused fingers playing the guitar, and long dark hair.
sidrón has known you, elenora "nora" dannel, since august 8th, 1937 — now 35 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. bitten in 1962, at 25 years old, you turned soon after — and the moon’s had a claim on you since. in daylight, you pass through town as a fortune teller and "mystic healer", wearing ordinary life as well as anyone can be expected to wear it. in sidrón’s memory, you are a VW van made into a home, playing go fish with custom tarot cards, and natural remedies for anything and everything.
sidrón has known you, harlen greyson, since august 28th, 1944 — now 28 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. bitten in 1970, at 26 years old, you turned soon after — and the moon’s had a claim on you since. in daylight, you pass through town as an events laborer and construction worker, wearing ordinary life as well as anyone can be expected to wear it. in sidrón’s memory, you are tired muscles finally relaxing at the end of the day, waking up out in the woods when you started in a bed, and the thick taste of bitterness.
sidrón has known you, miguel valentine, since april 27th, 1932 — now 40 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. born to the change, you first turned in 1947, at 15 years old — and the moon’s had a claim on you since. in daylight, you pass through town as a fire chief, wearing ordinary life as well as anyone can be expected to wear it. in sidrón’s memory, you are the scent of coffee brewed at midnight, the tense of muscles behind a polite smile, and the clinking of plates at a full dinner table.
sidrón has known you, otto sanchez, since may 31st, 1945 — now 27 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. born to the change, you first turned in 1962, at 17 years old — and the moon’s had a claim on you since. in daylight, you pass through town as mechanic, wearing ordinary life as well as anyone can be expected to wear it. in sidrón’s memory, you are the feeling of it being so windy suddenly dust is in your mouth, sidewalk chalk & hand impressons in concrete, and dreaming so big that everyone can always tell what you're thinking.
sidrón has known you, florence masterson, since december 31st, 1924 — now 48 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. the army of darkness found you in 1924, or you found it; either way, your fealty has belonged to it since. in daylight, you pass through town as an anthropologist and tour guide — and the island, being as old as it is, distrusts clean answers. in sidrón’s memory, you are bared-teeth smiles and perfumed barbs, an intimacy with the most disturbing of things, and pressing a thumb into a fresh bruise just to wince at the ache it brings.
sidrón has known you, priya kumar, since september 20th, 1943 — now 28 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. you awakened in 1966, which forever changed how you perceived reality. in daylight, you pass through town as a nurse turned grief counselor — one more familiar face in a place that keeps its strangeness indoors. in sidrón’s memory, you are a wound that never heals, the dog-eared pages of a beloved book, and the ringing silence of a graveyard.
sidrón has known you, quincy "basil" carter, since august 25th, 1943 — now 29 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. you awakened in 1969, which forever changed how you perceived reality. in daylight, you pass through town as a musican — one more familiar face in a place that keeps its strangeness indoors. in sidrón’s memory, you are afternoons enjoying the sunset and the grass, the curl of smoke from a cigarette, and hours sitting in front of an old piano.
sidrón has known you, ravi khatum, since june 6th, 1936 — now 36 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. the army of darkness found you in 1936, or you found it; either way, your fealty has belonged to it since. in daylight, you pass through town as an unemployed amnesiac — and the island, being as old as it is, distrusts clean answers. in sidrón’s memory, you are dark webs as thick as tensile wire, the roar of the ocean against the rocks, and the void of darkness between stars.
sidrón has known you, xuanwu wang, since november 13th, 1944 — now 28 years old, with the calendar pinned to 1972. you awakened in 1957, which forever changed how you perceived reality. in daylight, you pass through town as a journalist/socialite — one more familiar face in a place that keeps its strangeness indoors. in sidrón’s memory, you are the smell of peppermint and dark chocolate, ink-stained silk sleeves of a qipao, and the red thread of family duty that keeps pulling you back to your roots.
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