The Trolls of Twilight.
You’re just shit. You’re not even proper light.
& what sort of a name is twilight? @dusk is much better than you.
“What is it?”
“They’re at it again!”
Your books are shit. Vampires don’t sparkle. Pathetic.
Footsteps on the stairs, and then his mother was behind him, reading the screen over his shoulder. A blink, and then the screen refreshed.
Even @dawn’s got a proper name. Loser.
His mother sighed.
“I told you this might happen. There are people that just don’t understand, honey. Can’t you just ignore them?”
He shook off the reassuring hand on his shoulder, eyes wet with the beginning of tears. Sticks and stones would be easier than this. Why wouldn’t they understand that being a semi-mystical time of day brought responsibilities, and in a digital age his responsibility was to put himself out there, to update, tweet, Instagram the purples and blues of the diminishing day. He had to do it, he had no choice. Who else was going to?
His mother was trying to be sympathetic, he knew, but she was mortal, and thought like them. She understood where they were coming from.
Just then the door slammed, and there were more footsteps on the stairs, and another pair of eyes over his shoulder, reading the screen. His sister.
He turned and looked at her, saw the smoulder in her eyes. A dark look.
“It’s OK, Mum. I’ve got this.”
His sister patted his mother on the shoulder: reassured, she went back to whatever she was doing downstairs.
His sister’s voice was stern, was final. Her hands hovered over the keys, ready.
His sister would reply.
His sister was Darkness.