Seraph brushes the cobwebs from her hair as she walks down a corridor she hasn't used in years. It is silent and the soft pitter-patter of rats can be heard scuttling through the walls.

"Are you here?" she calls out, wondering if the ones she calls is still around.

"Of course, we're always here," whispers a voice from the darkness.

"Yeah, I suppose you are."

"Come on, the rest are in the room down there."

Seraph nods and the shadow moves down the hallway, turning into a rather young-looking mutant woman, Seraph follows behind her, wondering if coming here was a smart idea after all.

The woman turns back to her one-time writer and winks. "Don't worry about it, they understand. Come on in, the others should be here soon."

Seraph enters the small room, lit by a fire, glowing warmly in the stone fireplace that takes up half the room. Figures sit within the glow and they turn as they sense her presence.

"Guys, it's Seraph. She's come back."

An old woman sits in one of the comfortable chairs, rocking back and forth. She is old with disuse and her hands shake slightly with a cold only she feels. "Seraph, here? No, she's moved on, young one. She doesn't come here anymore. She's forgotten us, you see. We embarrass her."

"Mary-Sue, she's really here, look."

Seraph moves forward, her eyes on the woman before her. She seems so much older then when Seraph first created her. Mary-Sue was only nineteen then; it would appear that the years between had not been kind.

The old woman cackles. "You age faster when you're forgotten, m'dear. Come closer so I can see you, I haven't been able to see quite as well since my eyes started to go."

Seraph moves closer, feeling the eyes of her own creations apon her. She feels a vague sense of guilt for abandoning them. Yet, these had been the creations of her youth. The ones she'd made when she didn't know what writing was, when she didn't know that over-powered fictives were unwanted and unwelcome. Yet, they reminded her of a time when she was younger, and the joy of the adventure was still within her.

"It is you, you've really come back. Oh, m'dear, how I've missed our adventures. Do you remember Narnia? How we had fun in those days, m'dear. Then there was Krynn, yes, and the heroes of the lance. We helped them, didn't we? We saved the day. Remember the conversations we used to have with Raistlin about magic? What was that old man's name? Fizban -- yes, you remember him, we always knew he was Paladine, yes, but he asked us not to interfere, yes."

Another fictive emerges from the shadows. "Remember the time when we stood against the vampires? Remember the battles we would wage against the darkness? Oh, how glorious the days were."

Seraph's eyes fill with tears at the memories of her childhood, so many books she'd read. Each, a character had formed in her mind. A character which she could move within the books, with which she could talk to the characters she loved so much, each a part of herself.

"Remember, how we were one of the chosen to journey with Belgarion, a sorceress on par with Polgara?" one says, moving forward into the light.

"Remember how we appeared on the Starship Enterprise, a most powerful member of the Q-continuum?" another says, also moving forward.

"Yes, I remember, I remember you all. You were I; you were the yearning for adventure and the joy of writing. You were my first. I will never forget any of you."

The old woman looks up from the knitting in her lap and looks at Seraph with piercing cataract-blinded eyes. "Then why have you hidden us, Seraph? Why do you never visit anymore? We still have so many adventures."

"Because I've grown up. I can't ever go on those adventures anymore, I can't ever go to Never-Never Land again."

"Seraph, don't you know, you can never be too old. All you have to do is wish."

"I don't know how to wish anymore. I'm an adult now...I can't, I can't create characters like you anymore."

The old woman chuckles. "Yes you can, you just don't wish to. We understand, m'dear; we're not very mass-audience-friendly after all. They wouldn't understand us like you do, they wouldn't know the joy of finding the jewel of Tirex or crawling through thick jungle in search of your comrades, knowing that you are their only hope for survival."

"Do you remember me?" a newcomer asks behind her.

Seraph twirls and stands face to face with her very first published fictive. "Yes, I remember, you were my Gen-X fictive."

"Yes, why did you stop coming here?"

"I've been busy, I didn't mean to stay away so long, I didn't think..."

"It's okay, we understand. Will you be staying?"

"Cara? Is that you, I...yes, for a little while, just till the next round-robin post goes up."

Cara smiles at her creator; her fangs flash in the firelight and Seraph sits down at one of the empty chairs.