“It’s a spell?”

His suit is impeccable, the physique under it attractive. His head is a skull.

“Isn’t this a paradox?”

“I don’t do changing back,” Circe says.

Power is restored with a smoky haze of ozone.

It turns. It sees him.

The marine points at the mysterious rift. “2D-Bs!”

Can the Yanoth hear our thoughts in our hijacked bodies?

“You believe monsters or gods will save you?”

“We look like Ghostbusters,” he says.

We grew up together, and I could never love another.

“They can’t see me,” the girl wept. “How can I be home, and they can’t even see me?”

I found a skeleton key. It fits no door in the abandoned house.

“I feel alive again,” she says leaving the masquerade, “but you love a lie.”

“Shut up,” she stomps. “*Shut up!*”

“I see an angel. What do you see?”

His heart pounds. “I’m a software designer.” “A god of technology,” she says. “I’m not, Hephaestus.”

Once flesh and blood Then bone and rag Perhaps now I’m just a memory

One good shot does nothing.

She sat motionless, except for her hands on the viol.

I explain that I wasn’t always a tiny moth man. That I’m cursed.

“You’re not what I expected.”

In death, they ban me from their heaven.

I am obsolete: The new battle drones outclass me.