[center]Part 1[/center]


Low, soft, moans echoed in the room, sounds of torment and anguish. "No. No! I didn't mean to! No, don't!"
Suddenly Moonglo shot bolt upright in bed, her usually fair complexion ice-white, her eyes wide and enormous.

"It's OK Moonglo it's OK," Nite Sprite said, standing right alongside the bed, reaching out and gently taking Moonglo's cold, clammy hand between his. "I'm here. It's OK. It was just a dream."

Moonglo closed her eyes and deeply shuddered. Gradually gulped, heaving pants eased to a more regular, relaxed rate. "Yes. Just a dream," she finally, in a more normal tone, whispered, finally lying back down. "Just a dream," she repeated, so very much softer. Nite Sprite kept holding her hand as she slowly slipped back into slumber.

Because of the hours they kept no one really knew Moonglo suffered terrible nightmares at times. Nite Sprite did, though. Then again . . . he had terrifying nightmares, too.

Once he was sure Moonglo was peacefully sleeping again he went back to bed himself. Hopefully neither she nor he would have a recurrence today as they slept. It had been a very very long time since either of them could go to bed without fear of a nightmare.

If truth be told, not since he'd been other than Nite Sprite . . . and she had been another other than Moonglo.

When, in fact, she'd been known as the Princess of Shadows, the Sovereign of Night.



Pipkin raced through the devastation that had once been Rainbow Land, pursued by horrors best left unimagined. It was all he, or any sprite, could do. It was run and hide, or be found, caught and, well . . .

He panted, catching his breath while wildly looking around. The lucky ones were frozen as statues. The less fortunate ones were taken back to the Castle of the King of Shadows.

It . . . it had all happened so quickly! One moment everything had been just as it always had been. Then the next . . . and Prisma had been tricked of her Color Belt, betrayed by whom everyone had thought was a friend. Before anyone had known what was happening Prisma was gone. Just gone! And the Color Castle had been hideously transformed into a grotesque, forbidding, gloomy castle, while all of Rainbow Land—indeed, the entire world!—had been distorted and twisted in the Colorless World.

Pipkin had no idea where Indigo, his Color Kid, had gone. She, like the others, had been captured moments after Prisma had vanished and Rainbow Land destroyed. He should have, he supposed, tried rescuing and saving her. A lot of the other indigo sprites had, after all. But he'd been too timid, too frightened, and now that moment was gone.

The one hope he clung to like a limpet was that Indigo was likely safe. Captured and imprisoned, yes, but still safe. It was incredibly difficult to destroy one of the Color Kids, as they truly were the epitome and personification of their respective colors. Trying to do so would be like obliterating all length, or width, or height. But while that was extremely, exceptionally challenging to do, it also wasn't utterly impossible, either.

Unlike that was for sprites. Or for poor Prisma.

The only thing keeping Pipkin from disintegrating into pure, absolute despair and simply giving up was that colors still existed. Once glance down at his fur showed that! It was virtually impossible to completely destroy all color from the entire universe. Color had existed since the beginning of time. In fact, since the conception of time, distance, gravity, oh a whole host of other things. Violet could have explained it better, he knew, but Pipkin knew enough on his own to understand.

Destruction of color would require the destruction of a good many other things, life included. But the control of color, well . . . that was another barrel of color crystals entirely!

Rainbow Land wasn't needed for the universe to have color. But it was needed to give color life. Rainbow Land gave color animation, and vivacity, and sparkle. It was the difference between reading one of Indigo's plays versus watching her perform one.

That was truly why Rainbow Land existed. Or had existed, Pipkin shuddered anew. Eerie howls and screeches echoed in the clingy, dreamy mists. At the moment only Rainbow Land was suffering devastation from the conquest of the Dark One. But as soon as he'd consolidated his power he'd extend his awful reach outwards to the rest of the universe, rendering all worlds, all life, as dreary, gloomy and hopeless as the Colorless World now was.

Pipkin hadn't any idea what to do. All seven Color Kids were gone, captured by the Dark One and taken who-knew-where. And as for the Color Belt . . .!

The Color Belt simply could not be destroyed. Altered and changed, perhaps, yes. But it couldn't be destroyed. But not everyone could use it. For instance, none of the sprites nor any of the Color Kids could utilize it. They were too primary for that. But most anyone else could use it, for good or for ill. For in an absolute sense it was, purely and simply, a tool.

But that, too, was missing. But even if it hadn't been missing it would have been useless to Pipkin or any of the other sprites. The best they could have hoped to do was hide it away someplace secret and safe, and hope that, one day, there would come a time when a champion would reclaim it.

Pipkin shrank back into the hollow of a group of boulders. There was something prowling around just outside. There were awful, terrible creatures roaming the Colorless World now. True monsters. Some were birds, some lizards, and some were fiendish hybrids that existed nowhere else. And all of them actively sought and preyed on the sprites now. They seemed to have one purpose, and one purpose alone: to seek out and herd the sprites to a terrible fate.

Something horrible snuffled and sniffed just outside his hidey-hole and Pipkin shuddered in terror, almost squeaking in fright. But if he made a single sound, no matter how tiny . . .

Finally, after what seemed like forever, he heard the sound of taloned paws heavily padding off. He literally oozed downwards until huddled in a ball, his starless antennae wilted and slumped. That was another sign of the terrible tragedy: none of the sprites any longer had star-tipped antennae. None of them knew what that portended, but all of them were certain it was a very bad sign.

Creeping out of the tight confines of his boulder hideout Pipkin eased himself free. Glancing all around he breathed a low, almost silent sigh of relief before continuing along the path. He really didn't have a destination in mind but he hoped at, some point, to meet up with some other sprites. Although what he really hoped to find was a way out of this nightmarish, terrible place!

Suddenly he froze in place. That large boulder up ahead . . . wasn't a boulder. Boulders didn't have eyes! Especially eyes as cold and flat as those were!

Knees knocking together Pipkin started tiptoeing backwards, only to freeze again at the low growl behind him. Yet another monster was there! And he was trapped between them!

Slowly, very slowly, they started creeping towards him, jaws opened and slavering, dark eyes glittering with amused malevolency. Their prey was trapped, with no hope of escape.

No hope of escape . . .

No hope . . .

No hope . . .



"Shhhhh . . . it's OK Nite Sprite. It's just a bad dream. I'm here and it's OK."

Nite Sprite shivered, shaking so hard his crescent-tipped antennae blurred. Softly whimpering he burrowed again Moonglo who was holding him close. Moonglo gently stroked his back, wordlessly crooning and rocking him until the worst of his shudders had eased. Then she lifted him up, cuddled against her chest and nestled in her arms and padded over to her rocker.

Draping a quilt over them both she cuddled Nite Sprite close to her as she gently rocked back and forth. Gradually the rocking eased and slowed, then finally ceased altogether as, at last, slumber reclaimed them both.

very interesting...I can't wait to see where you decide to take this one!

With a gentle shimmer Moonglo faded back into view, seated atop her usual, plain wooden chair. Little fisted hands over her head she stretched as she deeply yawned. Moments later Nite Sprite popped into view as well, setting down the gold-star-decorated deep blue fabric satchel he carried.

Rubbing her eyes Moonglo gazed upwards, a thoughtful frowny look on her face as she scrutinized the heavens above. No matter how hard she tried, sometimes it just seemed as if there was always just a bit more she could do. It was all too easy to get carried away if she wasn't careful. Actually, if Nite Sprite wasn't careful. Quite often he had to, well, rein her enthusiasm in.

He was absolutely right, too, in most cases. Too much of a good thing could be as bad as not enough. It was very hard to remain completely objective about matters once she'd immersed herself in her powers, and if Nite Sprite didn't check her now and again Moonglo would very easily go overboard. Oh, once in a while was fine. That made those times extra-special. But if she did that all the time then it wouldn't take very long at all before 'extra-special' turned into 'plain and ordinary', no matter how dazzling and spectacular.

Still, she wondered if, perhaps, the moon could use a touch more silver. Or perhaps gold. It did look as if she'd missed a spot.

"It's almost morning," Nite Sprite chided, recognizing Moonglo's expression. "Everything looks wonderful. You worked very hard tonight, but it's time now to rest and let morning come."

"You worked very hard too Nite Sprite," Moonglo said in her soft dreamy voice. "I couldn't get half as much done each night without your help."

Hefting the satchel back up Nite Sprite smiled up at Moonglo. "We worked hard," he said. "We're partners. But thank you!"

Together they strolled back to the Color Castle, Moonglo gently resting small hand atop Nite Sprite's head as they walked. No matter that they were so tightly bonded—in fact, far beyond anything the Color Kids had with their sprites or, for that matter, even Rainbow had with Twink or Starlite—she needed the intimacy of that contact, as did Nite Sprite himself.

But they hadn't always been so close, no. Far from it, in fact.



The fire in the massive hearth behind her softly crackled, now and then a loud pop as a knot sizzled. Standing on the balcony of her turret Nightshade gazed up at the night sky. A night sky that was utterly, completely black, a black so total it was absolute.

Save, of course, where the stars and moon were.

There was no color, not a trace of it, anywhere. Not on the ground below or the sky above. Except, of course, for those stars and moon. No red, no orange, no yellow . . . nothing but the purest of white, silver or gold.

Father had been right, she thought. Once all color had been vanquished, it only made her powers so much more magnificent!

Bending her will Nightshade increased the brightness of the moon until it gleamed with a dazzling pure silvery-white, with just a touch of golden highlights enhancing things. Delightedly laughing she spun about, her long flowing sable gown flaring wide. It was glorious! Simply glorious!

"Control yourself child."

Nightshade spun about, facing the source of that deep, gravely voice, all happiness and satisfaction vanished in an eye blink. From deep inside the middle of her dark suite glowed a pair of slanted, narrow-oval orbs.

"Yes Father," Nightshade meekly said, while outside in the sky the stars and moon faded to a barely visible glow.

"Better," the King of Shadows rumbled, gliding towards Nightshade, his long dark cloak billowing out behind him.

"Father," Nightshade diffidently began although, truth be told, she was feeling anything but reticent deep inside her. "I thought you said that, once you'd conquered here, that because of my help and because I'm your daughter and heir—Princess of Shadows and the Sovereign of Night—the night would belong to me?"

"Patience child," the Dark One rumbled, his voice sounding like boulders churning against each other. "Although the battle has been won the war is not yet concluded. Although I have vanquished those here, my victory is not yet complete. Soon though. Soon."

"But you've been saying that for years now!" Nightshade suddenly blurted. "Years and years and years! What does the nighttime have to do with your powers?" Thrusting out her hand she gestured to the land just beyond her balcony. "There's no color anywhere out there. Your power and rule reign supreme. I'm not asking for much Father. Just what is my due."

'And what you promised me for my help!' she thought.

"Foolish child!" he growled, looming over Nightshade. "You have no idea what is involved! All you care about is making pretty lights in the sky," he sneered. "You would be nothing without me, and you'd best remember that!"

Nightshade cringed, feeling Father's power abruptly surround him, an invisible aura that, nevertheless, she could easily sense . . . and had all too many times felt.

Meekly holding her hands clasped together in front of her Nightshade submissively bowed her head. "Yes Father."

For a long terrifying moment she felt Father's wrath loom over her, like a huge wave poised to break and drown her. And then that feeling vanished as, with a muted snarl, Father turned and stalked off, leaving her alone . . . and blessedly unscathed.

Nightshade padded out onto her balcony again, resting hands atop the rail as she looked out and up. For the longest time all she felt was immense relief at her reprieve; Father's reprimands and, much worse, his disciplines, were terrible things to endure.

But as time passed she started feeling emotions that had, just recently, started appearing inside her. Resentment. Anger. Antipathy. She'd done all that Father had ever asked of her. All of it. But never was he satisfied. Never could she please him.

And now this.

He'd promised—promised!—she could finally start exercising her powers. He'd pledged his permission for her to assume her rightful mantle as Sovereign of Night. He'd assured her that completion of the simple little task he'd set her would signify her ascension to, and recognition as, Princess of Shadows.

But nothing had changed. Not a bit.

In fact, Father's lackeys and henchmen were regarded more valuable to him it seemed. They, at least, had servants. Granted they were those insufferable sprites, but still! Nightshade had asked, over and over again, for servants. Surely the Princess of Shadows deserved servants!

Scowling Nightshade glared out over the dreary, dismal grounds. She wasn't asking for much, simply that which was due her, that which was her right. But Father continued denying her, time and time again.

And when she looked up into the heavens . . .

A deep pain coursed through her. Father just didn't understand that part of her it seemed. Maybe it was because she simply couldn't explain it to him. But there was something so deep inside her that it was impossible to ignore. Something so much a part of her that to deny it was agony.

She needed to make the night sky gloriously beautiful.

That was, after all, the main reason she'd agreed to accept the task he'd laid upon her. For once all color was vanquished her handiwork would have no compare.

Even now she felt that need deep inside her straining for release. Closing her eyes she sensed without even trying all the infinitely myriad potentials high above. What could be as stunningly majestic as thousands of pure, scintillating jeweled pinpoints of absolute white set against a backdrop of intense sable? Or the gleaming argent and aurum of a full moon?

A screeched caw snapped Nightshade out of her reverie. Glancing down she spotted one of the hunting birds backwinging to a landing, one of those dratted sprites firmly held in its claws. Suddenly Nightshade's chin firmed and jutted as she spun about and stalked off.

If Father wouldn't deign bestowing upon her a servant then she'd just commandeer one herself!



Pipkin quaked with terror so intense that when they'd finally landed and was released he simply collapsed in a trembling heap. He'd never even seen the bird. One moment he'd been creeping from cover to cover, and the next he'd suddenly been grasped in the iron grip of claws. Before he could even shriek the ground was already dropping from beneath his feet.

But he was also feeling the strangest, most peculiar sense of relief, too. One way or another it was finally all over. No more running. No more hiding. No more misery and despair. No more hopelessness and dreariness. He'd never met a sprite, nor had met a sprite that had known of a sprite, that had ever returned from the castle of the Dark One. So no matter what his fate, at least it was finally all over.

"Back off," a female voice in no uncertain terms commanded. "This one is mine."

Quivering Pipkin glanced up, then everything felt as if tumbling and whirling. He was wrong, it seemed. He started violently shaking as he glanced up and recognized the speaker.

Nightshade. The daughter of the King of Shadows. The Princess of Shadows and the Sovereign of Night.

Except they'd once known her as Atropa Belladonna, too . . .

. . . before she'd betrayed Prisma and Rainbow Land to her father, the Dark One.

Keep it up It's getting really interesting and I'm definitely curious to see where it's going. You should post the first part on ff.net to share there... definitely could use more Moonglo stories there too

The door slammed so hard that paintings tipped and tilted and artwork rattled on their stands and pedestals. Pipkin squeaked and jumped, startled. Whirling around, broom in hand, he shrank back as his Mistress stormed into the room. Utterly ignoring him she snarled as she yanked back the heavy drapes pulled across the balcony entrance then stalked outside.

Swallowing hard Pipkin began sweeping again, hoping that Nightshade would continue ignoring him. Granted she never went out of her way to mistreat him, true. But when her temper was this bad, well . . .

All things considered Pipkin was rather grateful for his circumstances. Nightshade neither maltreated nor misused him. Worked him, oh yes. He was her slave, after all, something that she had made—and continued to do so—very clear. But as long as he did his tasks to her exacting standards he was pretty much left alone.

Although as the weeks and months had passed Pipkin had come to realize certain things, one of which that, for all of her pretentiousness, he really shouldn't be here. He didn't understand why, but he'd gradually come to the conclusion that his Mistress wasn't supposed to have a slave, and that no one was aware she did.

Under those circumstances Pipkin went far and beyond the pale to remain as invisible as possible. He wasn't quite sure what would happen if someone discovered his presence here with her and, frankly, he wasn't at all curious to find that out, either.

Thankfully the few permanent castle residents seemed to find it difficult telling one sprite from another; at least when they were the same color, that is. So those occasions when Pipkin had to depart his Mistress' suite—for instance, when fetching her meals—he didn't particularly stand out.

He kept sweeping while his Mistress venomously ranted in a low yet dangerous tone just outside on her balcony. He wasn't sure what had upset her this time but he had a pretty shrewd hunch. Besides, just listening to what he could hear informed him of that.

"Your powers are still developing." "You're too young, too immature." "Patience child, patience." There was more, much more, each one sharply clipped and artic cold with vitriol.

Oddly enough he felt a glimmer of sympathy for her, something that had utterly surprised him the first time he'd felt that. For the longest time all he'd felt had been loathing and contempt; well, healthy fear, too. But while he certainly wasn't fond of her, over these last few years he'd begun to feel a particular sympathy for her.

"Slave! Come here!"

Pipkin winced, but immediately scurried over and out onto the balcony. He knew what to expect and braced himself for it.

"Yes Mistress?" Pipkin softly murmured.

"Look!" she commanded, imperiously gesturing to the sky.

Taking a deep breath Pipkin looked up and, as he'd expected, the night sky was literally blazing with intense tiny points of light.

"Now tell me slave . . . is that not simply the most glorious, most magnificent sight you've ever seen?"

As regal and imperious as her tone was, Pipkin could sense the deep aching need of confirmation there. The desperate need of validation that secretly lurked in her heart and soul. And always before—albeit out of prudence and the sense of discretion being the better part of valor—he'd sycophantically replied with affirmations.

Just as he'd started to do this time.

"Well?" she snapped, looming over him, fiercely glaring down, arms folded across her chest.

"No one could do a better technical work Mistress," he hesitantly said.

"What!?" she hissed, eyes wide in shock. How dare this miserable creature call her glorious creation a 'technical work'!

But something inside Pipkin finally broke. His timidity and diffidence vanished. Looking up he gazed right in her eyes, and if he was trembling and quivering he could be forgiven that.

"Mistress, it really is amazing. Honest. But it's . . . well, it's mechanical."

For an instant Nightshade almost reached out with her powers and obliterated the disrespectful upstart. But only for an instant. For a moment later she perceived both his absolute terror yet also grim determination. "What do you mean?" she snarled, stung and wounded.

Pipkin kept his eyes on hers by sheer force of will. "Mistress, it's several things, each equally important. For one, as impressive as it is, there's no soul, no spirit, no life to it. It . . . it just is."

He struggled to put into words what he felt. And for whatever reason it was terribly important that he did so. "Why Mistress?" he asked, gesturing upwards. "Why do this? Is it just because you can? Is it solely for your amusement or behalf? Is it so everyone seeing it will be humbled by your power? Or is it so that others can enjoy that beauty?"

Nightshade blinked, staggering back a step at the questions. In just those few words somehow this slave had crystallized the vague, nebulous thoughts and feelings she'd been having. But he wasn't finished yet and she staggered back another step as he continued.

"If it truly is for others to enjoy I can tell you this," Pipkin continued, bitterness in his tone. "No one's enjoying it. You might not believe this, or me, but it's true: without color nothing you can create will ever be enjoyed. How could it be?"

Again he gestured upwards. "Maybe you think or believe that in comparison to a warm, vibrant red, or uplifting, dazzling yellow, or in contrast with any of the other colors, your pure white, silver and gold might seem bland and plain. I assure you they're not. But without the other colors to compare those with, they are bland and plain. There's nothing special about them."

"And without colors, there's no hope, no happiness, no joy. How can you expect anyone to enjoy your achievements when they're without hope? When all they feel is despair and misery?"

Nightshade had paled, her complexion almost translucent. Her fingers flew up to her lips, her eyes wide and shocked. "Father said once all color had been vanquished, it would only made my powers more magnificent!" she whispered.

In a weary, bitter tone Pipkin replied, "Then he lied to you."

For a moment Pipkin thought he'd said too much, pushed her too far, for a furious blaze of righteous indignation raged in her eyes. What she'd intended to say—or, far worse, intended to do—Pipkin never learned. For at that moment a deep shadow fell across them both as an icy chill froze his bones.

"What is that . . . thing . . . doing here?" rumbled the gravely voice of the King of Shadows.

Nightshade looked up, starting in surprise at seeing Father standing there. Confusion still boiled inside her, but so did the raging inferno of betrayal. "Have you lied to me Father?" she demanded.

"Answer my question!" snapped the Dark One.

"No Father!" Nightshade insistently shot back. "You answer mine! Have you lied to me?"

There was a long moment of deadly silence, and Pipkin desperately wished to be anywhere but here.

"Foolish, impudent child," the King of Shadows sibilantly hissed. "How dare you demand anything from me! Ungrateful whelp! Miserable wretch! You are nothing without me. A pitiful, useless, churlish excuse!" Nightshade paled, face turning white as ice. Each word seemed to strike her as a physical blow.

Then Pipkin felt icy dread as a cold, heavy hand closed around his arm. "You have no need of this," the Dark One hissed. "I will take it with me and see that it is properly . . . disposed of."

"No Father!" Nightshade exploded. "No, you will not!" she defiantly raged.

Malevolent laughter rocked the rafters. "And what will you do to stop me?" the King of Shadows contemptuously roared.

"This!" she snarled, reaching out and grasping her slave's other arm. And then they both . . . left.

The King of Shadows roared again, this time in fury and rage, as Nightshade and Pipkin quickly faded . . . then vanished . . . and disappeared.

Keep up the good work I'm glad to see you posted it on fanfiction.net as well. I look forward to your next update on this story!

Pipkin wasn't sure where he was because, to be honest, it didn't seem as if he was anywhere. It was a decidedly odd feeling and, really, the only reason he wasn't panicking was because he was feeling far too grateful to have escaped the wrath of the Dark One. However that had been accomplished.

He couldn't see, or hear, or feel. Yet, somehow, he could. He wasn't anyplace in particular, yet it felt as if he were everywhere at once. It was definitely the oddest, strangest, most peculiar sensation he'd ever experienced, yet for all that strangeness the one thing he wasn't feeling was fear.

Before he could really begin pondering the whichness and oneness of it all he became aware of a presence. Then, right on the heels of that, with the sensation of a puzzle piece being snapped into place, he sensed profound grief, loss and distress as well as 'heard' soft, anguished sorrow.

<Mistress?>

The sobs choked off into gulped sniffles.

<Ummm . . . Mistress?>

<What?>

Well, that was rather short and abrupt. Yet, regardless, quite welcome, as Pipkin was starting to feel, well, rather alone and abandoned.

Really, the first, most important question uppermost in his mind was 'Where are we?' but, to his vast surprise, what he actually 'said' was, <Are you all right?>

<No, I don't know where we are> came her response, which had his eyes fly wide open . . . or, at least, he had that sensation. <And no, I'm not 'all right'. I don't think I'll ever be all right again.>

Pipkin felt a touch of sympathy for her. Betrayal hurt. If anyone would know that he certainly did. So it was difficult to find words of comfort for her when he still felt horribly, grievously wounded by her betrayal. But while it was difficult to find words of comfort it was impossible for him to intentionally wound her with his own sorrow and heartache. Especially when she'd sounded like a very young, terribly brokenhearted child.

He 'heard' her gasp, then felt a sudden, tremendous sense of shame and self-loathing. The presence he'd been sensing abruptly dimmed, much like a candle that had run out of wax.

And not just dimming, he realized. But fitfully sputtering, on the verge of extinguishing.

<No!>

Terror flooded him. Not the fear of being left behind and alone. Not the fear of being lost wherever he was. But Pipkin instinctively sensed the spark of that presence was so full of guilt and remorse, disgrace and shame, repugnance and revulsion, detestation and abhorrence—and with all of that focused inwards, on itself—that it was seeking the ultimate tranquility of oblivion.

<No, don't!> he called out again. That spark of presence flickered, barely there, but remained. <Don't go!>

<Why? What's left?> Pipkin had to strain to 'hear', that was so very very faint.

<If you run away he wins. Running away is easy. Resisting is hard. Fighting back is even harder.>

If anyone knew that Pipkin did. Suddenly he felt a flood of remorse and shame every bit as intense as hers, as memories of him fleeing in terror, with not a single thought or concern about Indigo at all. And when he had finally thought about her, his fear had still been too sharp, too intense, to even consider saving or rescuing her. All of a sudden all he wanted to do was curl up inside himself and seek the same oblivion she had.

<Don't!>

Pipkin felt the sensation of arms suddenly holding him and, without a thought, flung his around her. He burst into tears, deep racking sobs, and sensed her doing the same. How long they held each other that way and cried together he had no idea, but the tears were a catharsis that at last cleansed them both, although he sensed deep wounds inside her that might never truly heal.

Sobs changed to weeping, weeping to sniffles and finally even the sniffling ceased. But they continued 'holding' onto each other for what felt like ages. Eventually Pipkin became aware of other things around them, hovering on the edge of his perception. Glancing about he felt his breath catch in his throat.

< --------- >

Pipkin was filled with awe and wonder. He was dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. Amazed. He simply didn't have words to describe how he felt, let alone words to describe what he was seeing!

Everywhere he looked—up, down, all around, everywhere!—he was surrounded by fields of dazzling, pinpoint-bright stars, gleaming moons, swirling galaxies, luminous nebulas, incandescent tailed comets . . .

He'd never seen anything like this! Never imagined anything like this! Pipkin was literally overwhelmed by visions that no matter how hard he tried he simply couldn't put into words.

<You . . . you really like?>

The 'words' were so soft, so faint. But the emotions behind them certainly weren't. A surprised, bashful shyness threaded with an aching vulnerability.

<Oh yes!> he exclaimed. Still, though . . .

As he looked around once more the mechanical feel to everything struck him once again. There was so much potential, so much promise, though! Like that moon over there. If only there was more . . .

Pipkin softly gasped. Even as he'd started picturing what would make that moon come more alive, more vibrant and animated . . . it had subtly altered and changed.

<Oh! I see what you mean!>

He was too stunned to reply, and was even more stunned when, moments later, he 'heard' her soft, plaintive plea.

<Help me? Please? Teach me what to do?>

Now if there was one thing a Color Sprite knew, and knew well . . . it was how colors worked: how they harmoniously blended with the natural world and how they enhanced things as well.

Pipkin felt a rush of affection towards Nightshade. There was no disguising her genuine desire to make the heavens truly spectacular. There was a drive, an essential necessity inside her every bit as strong and implacable as the similar one inside him, and he could no more ignore that, turn his back on that, than he could have ceased being a Color Sprite.

Without a second thought—truly, without even a first thought—he began. And each time he focused on something, sensing the nebulous, indefinable change or enhancement it needed, it instantly shifted no sooner had he perceived that need.

Slowly yet surely the heavens changed, subtly shifting from merely mechanically glorious to truly, stunningly spectacular.

<Is that the way? Like that?>

<Ooooo! Yes!>

Again Pipkin felt a wash of amazed, shy bashfulness from her.

Together they worked long into the night, although neither was aware of the passage of time or, for that matter, truly what time it was. And as they worked the sky above the Colorless World gradually changed into a magnificent, eye-dazzling marvel to behold.

And observed and witnessed it was indeed, most certainly so. For the first time since the fall of Rainbow Land and the ascension of the Dark One sprites everywhere throughout the land looked up and felt hope.

While at the castle the King of Shadows seethed and fumed, frothing in impotent rage at the spangled heavens above. He knew who was responsible, and swore undying vengeance against the upstart, impertinent traitor he had once called his daughter.

Great chapter I am eager to see more, especially how they each take on their names.

Suddenly Pipkin felt very weary, utter exhaustion settling over him like a thick, heavy blanket and weighing him down. He'd been growing steadily tired, he'd known, but he'd been so mesmerized by the ethereal beauty surrounding him, so engrossed in guiding and teaching Nightshade, that he'd pretty much been ignoring that.

Well, he couldn't ignore that now.

Had he actually had a physical body he would have been staggering and, quite possibly, collapsing. As it was suddenly he felt all muddleheaded and woozy, and it was a struggle to simply stay conscious.

<We need to go back now> 'said' an equally worn out voice.

Pipkin wasn't about to argue; he simply 'nodded'.

Then abruptly tensed. <Go back? Go back . . . where?>

But it was too late. Suddenly he felt himself turn inside out, a decidedly odd yet (even more surprisingly) natural feeling sensation. His vision shimmered a moment, then he found himself floating a few inches off the floor before gradually settling down over a second or two.

He was standing on Nightshade's balcony again, back at the Dark One's hideous castle. The heavy tapestry that shielded the balcony from the rest of her suite had been ripped to shreds and, from what little he could see inside, the rest of her suite had suffered a similar fate. Couches and chairs were torn and shredded, and everything he could see broken and destroyed.

Glancing over his shoulder and looking up he noticed the sky was just starting to show the first signs of impending sunrise and his eyes opened very wide at that. Wherever they had gone, they'd been gone for hours!

Speaking of 'they' . . . just where was Nightshade?

There was a sparkled flash next to him, followed by a pale, insubstantial shimmer. Pipkin's eyes rounded as that shimmer took the outline of his Mistress. Then, moments later, was his Mistress.

Nightshade staggered as she appeared, wobbling and looking on the verge of collapse. She'd barely managed appearing before a shrill, wicked voice yelled, "There she is! Get her Lurky!"

"D'oh . . . I got her Murky!"

Before either of them had a chance to do more than blink, from out of the shadows lumbered Lurky, the bumbling lackey of Murky Dismal, one of the King of Shadow's evil henchmen. In a flash Lurky had yanked a heavy sack over Nightshade.

"I got her I got her!" Lurky gleefully sing-songed, hopping in place. "I got her Murky!"

"I see that bozo-brain!" Murky sneered. "Now don't let her go!" He jubilantly rubbed his gloved hands together. "The Dark One will be sure to reward us for this!" he crowed.

Somehow both of them had missed seeing Pipkin. Maybe it was because he was so small. Or perhaps his fur blended in with the shadows still thick in the room. Or, much more likely, they considered him beneath their notice, just an insignificant nonentity. But whatever the reason no one was paying him any attention. He could just make a dash for it and race for freedom.

Nightshade was fiercely struggling in the enveloping sack, fear and terror fueling her and overriding her utter exhaustion . . . just as it was doing for Pipkin. But Lurky had far too good a grip on her and she wasn't going anywhere. They weren't interested in him, he knew. They wanted Nightshade. They had been waiting in ambush here for her. Just her. And Pipkin knew why.

*whang*

The heavy onyx serving platter caromed of Murky's helmet, sending him flying, landing on the floor on his belly and skidding. It had been a perfect Frisbee shot. Pipkin picked up a carved jet goblet, pulled it back and took careful aim, then flung it across the room and smacked Lurky in the head.

"Murky!" Lurky cried, seeing his boss go flying. "Whatcha doin'?" The goblet went bouncing, and for all that Pipkin could see Lurky hadn't even noticed. Fear and terror throbbed and surged inside him. This was insane! What was he doing? Why didn't he just run?

That was Atropa Belladonna he was trying to rescue! The Great Betrayer. The Terrible Traitor. The notorious, infamous Nightshade herself! The one single-handedly responsible for the ruination and destruction of Rainbow Land herself!

He wildly looked about, trying to find another impromptu missile to hurl even as his heart painfully throbbed in his chest. But before he could find one Lurky had cried out, "Daaah . . . Murky, you OK?" and had just left Nightshade standing there!

"Idiot!" Murky screamed. "Banana brain! Forget about me! Get her!" he screeched.

Lurky skidded to a stop. "Uh-oh!"

But it was far too late. Those few seconds were all Nightshade had needed. In the twinkling of an eye she'd pulled the heavy sack up and off, and was now standing there, eyes snapping and blazing in fury, a wrath fortified by sheer terror. Raising her hands up she stared at the two, and suddenly twinkling tiny stars and moons that glittered and sparkled surrounded her head.

And not just her head Pipkin saw. In eye-dazzling pinwheeling bursts tiny stars circled both Murky and Lurky's head!

Lurky slowly sank to the floor, groaning as he did. Murky moaned as well but, as he was already on the floor . . .

Before either of them could so more than pant in relief suddenly they felt a brooding ominous presence, like a fierce, massive thunderstorm looming over them about to break. Nightshade gasped; Pipkin spun about then quaked in terror, for standing in the blasted-open entrance of Nightshade's suite was the Dark One himself!

"You!" he snarled, his roar shaking the very fabric of the castle. Taloned, skeletal fingers extended outwards, flexing and groping. "Now you will pay for your betrayal!"

Poor Pipkin was frozen in place, knees knocking together as he quaked in sheer petrification. Nightshade blanched, paling to alabaster. The King of Shadows malevolently glided into the room, and as he did something snapped Nightshade out of her terror. She took three steps towards her father . . .



Nite Sprite softly moaned, twisting and turning, sheets tangled around him as anxious whimpers filled the air.



Nightshade's suite suddenly shimmered, becoming translucent. The Dark One's thwarted howl faded into the distance as, once again, Pipkin found himself in that elsewhere. The bubble of energy that shock and terror had given him abruptly drained away, like water from a shattered clay pot, and he felt himself drooping from exhaustion and fatigue.

Nor was he the only one that drained, it seemed.

Pipkin sensed the spark of presence that could only be Nightshade wavering and sputtering, and while he didn't understand how he knew this as fact, Pipkin was positive that if they didn't leave 'here' very soon . . . they wouldn't be leaving at all.

Suddenly it seemed as if the 'floor' he was standing on (which, considering it appeared he was nowhere and everywhere all at once was definitely a decidedly odd sensation) slowly revolved. Before him was a tiny pinprick of light. It slowly grew to the size of a marble, then a ball, then, at an astonishing rate, expanded bigger and bigger. Before Pipkin truly understood what he was seeing . . .

Pipkin was stunned, absolutely astounded and astonished. Somehow he was gazing down at Nightshade's balcony! He could clearly—too clearly, actually, for his peace of mind—see the Dark One standing there, illuminated by a pure silvery shaft of light, one hand fisted and shaking in rage upwards.

<That won't do at all> he 'heard' a drastically weary voice 'say'.

Suddenly that shaft of light moved. However, as it did, it truly seemed more as if the scenery was moving while that lightly gleaming shaft stood still. And that was moving fast, too! In the space of a few heartbeats the perspective had moved several miles from the castle.

<I have to find someplace safe> Nightshade sounded so terribly worn out. In fact, she sounded a lot worse than Pipkin was feeling, and it was all he could do to keep from huddling up in a ball and weeping from exhaustion.

<There> Nightshade finally whispered as the shaft of light, now terribly dim and fading, settled onto a wide open, flat and featureless area. <That will do>

Pipkin felt a sudden jolt of alarm surge through him but before he could say or do anything . . .

The world about him turned inside out again as his vision shimmered an instant. This time, however, instead of appearing just about the ground and gently floating downwards he appeared several feet up and dropped like a sack of star sprinkles.

"Oof!" "Uhff!"

He and Nightshade both collapsed in heaps, the wind knocked out of both of them. They lay there, gasping and panting, and poor Pipkin felt as if he'd been run through the color crystal rollers.

"At least . . . now . . . we're . . . safe," Nightshade wheezed, looking quite like a rag doll that had been untidily tossed aside.

'Safe? Safe?!' Pipkin thought in growing, dawning horror. 'She thinks we're safe!?'

Pipkin looked about in fear and dismay, feeling a rapidly growing sense of dreadful alarm. They were right out in the open, no cover or concealment anywhere nearby. And she thought this was safe?? Granted, compared to being back at the castle and standing before the King of Shadows this was safer, true. But it certainly wasn't safe! This was very much like leaping out of the fire and hopping back into the frying pan!

He desperately tried warning Nightshade but he was too winded and exhausted to do more than grunt out a warning.



"No. Noooo!" Nite Sprite softly moaned, twisting more violently. "Not safe. Not safe!!"

His moans faded to low whimpers as Moonglo gently caressed his forehead. She'd roused upon hearing his low, frightened sounds and was now standing at his bedside, gazing down with a tender and understanding compassion. "Shhhh," she softly crooned. "It's OK Nite Sprite. I'm here. Everything's all right. I won't ever let anything happen to you!" she said in a fierce yet still soft and low tone.

Nite Sprite's whimpers slowly eased then faded. His thrashing about settled down and, once he was still again Moonglo gently tucked the sheet around him once more. Then she knelt there, resting her forehead on the edge of the bed as she kept tenderly stroking Nite Sprite's forehead.