Name of (Secondary) World: Virtue, Massachusetts
I feel as though it’s important to discuss the geography and climate of this Secondary world as well, as I think it has an intriguing place. It is largely a world built by magic out of necessity of survival. The “Fall” caused the beginning of the end for not just society, but for the Earth itself. The land became a shell of its former self – barren, arid, dry, cracked, and brittle. No trees grew, nothing was left of animals except for bleached bones, the soil became poisonous and gave off vapors, the rivers and lakes dried up and became tunnels of land, like sawed-off barrel slides in the former waterparks. The climate disappeared as it was known. What once was spring, summer, fall, and winter became a perpetual orange wind – immutable, inescapable, and impenetrable. It wound itself round and around the Earth until the whole planet was covered in it, whole families disappearing under the cheeto-colored sprays.
It was the magic of those in Salem who kept the end times at bay. The invisible border that encroached the land between the Salem woods and Wyman woods was all that remained of a world long dead. All was perfectly preserved as it was; all behaved as nature intended it to. The rivers ran wild with salmon and bears, the forests and woods were ripe with deer and doe, the animals scurried over the floor in hurried attempts to recreate and reproduce, to replace those that once were alive. The sheep and goats remained luscious and thick-bearded, amply providing the townspeople with wool and warmth. Horses were magnificent and at the ready for the perpetual hunt. It became an oasis. The teeming desert at least gave birth to this one shining beacon of hope, though it too began to eventually crumble at the seams.
For every magic-holder knows that it is impossible to keep such a spell spinning for so long a period. Eventually the cracks begin to show; the dust winds roll in, the rain refuses to fall, the rivers and lakes and animals dry up and die, and the bleached bones of the long deceased return to their rightful places.
The hunt then becomes the search for power, for sustainability, for an end to the end. The question remained thus: is there an end to the proverbial end? What happens when even that power runs out? Does the dust bowl of the universe win? Is Mars a foreboding reality within Earth’s boundaries? Will other planets see Earth and think, “I wonder if there ever truly was life here? Where did the waters flow? Where did the swarming bowels of life brim?”
Yet all who asked it had it in their power to do something about such a disaster; magic was not the only way out of this great climactic and geographical outrage. For change to happen, more changes had to be made.
Word Count: 502