To my secret santa giftee, Eitherangel,

I have so enjoyed talking to you at The Midnight Hour. You always have such good things to say about the Abarat and Clive Barker, and I love the positive outlook. Your love of Christopher and the Carrion family has rubbed off on me, and I can only hope I live up to your expectations in the following three chapters of No Tears for the Damned. You, and only you, have inspired me to write this.

I think you are incredibly brave to create your own original character and write a romance between her and Christopher. You took a concept that I would have shied away from and fleshed it out into a multi-chaptered story full of nightmares. It takes spunk—a trait I bet Carrie gets from you. If I had the ability to create a drawing of her I would have, unfortunately my artistic skillz failed me. :/

There is one last thought I want to emphasize. I hope more Abaratian fans take a page out of your book. I hope they share in your excitement. I hope they can take a little of your zeal and let their own creativity flow. I want to know more fans like you. Here's to talking together on the forum until the end of the fifth book! Merry Christmas :]

Coopanni panni,

Coopanni panni,

Luzaar Muru.

The blackened and burned King Zephario Carrion Lord of Midnight crooned the simple lullaby to the tiny babe in his arms. The small head fit in his palms, and the bright blue eyes were closed in sleep. One small angel escaped the flames, and Zephario felt that he himself must be the luckiest demon to ever walk the Abarat.

When the lullaby ended, the infant stirred but did not wake. "What do you dream of, Christopher?" Zephario asked his son, "No nightmares I hope. No fire and flames."

"That is surely what will terrorize him if he must look upon your scarred face."

The gnarled voice of the Old Hag grated from the shadows, and the grey woman stepped into the moonlight, her long needle in hand.

"Come to finally kill me, Mother?"

Mater Motley studied him intently before tucking her needle into her sleeve. "I've come to protect my only surviving grandchild."

"I would never harm him!"

"Then why do I see devil's dancing behind your eyes? Why did flame take such a liking to your skin?"

Zephario stumbled as if struck, and the Old Mother snatched the sleeping baby from his arms.

"Would you truly take the one good thing left to me in this godless world?"

"Think, child, do you even deserve him?"

"I love him. He is my son. I am your son. Have pity."

"No, Zephario, he is my grandson. And you are a husk filled with hate and rot."

The weakened father shook as he felt the love and affection he had for his heir rebounding off of the wall she imposed. It struck him repeatedly. The monsters of Love and Hope and Innocence snarled and filled his vision, laughing. The faces melted together in a cacophony of horror and jeered and beat him.

"I am not."

She sneered, though he could not see her. "Even now your sulfurous breath taints the nursery. Leave, now!"

He wrenched himself forward, but fell against the crib. His raving eyes sought out Christopher through the screams of the damned, but his mother curled around him. "Through your eyes, the gates of hell! Do not look upon the child!"

Zephario fell from the room, hobbling forward and hardly feeling the splash of his tears laying tracks on his face. He had killed his family. His beautiful wife. Those sweet, sweet children. How dare the fire allow him life? How dare I live? Tiny, young Christopher. Cursed by his own father into a life beginning with such death. How long till my selfishness killed him too?

Then he found the medicine cabinet, and he swept his arms along, looking for the small yellow bottle that held the crushed poisonous berries from Speckle Frew. He uncorked the bottle when he reached a dark cliff overlooking the Isabella. The beasts still haunted the edges of his vision, and as he smeared the paste over his teary eyes he wondered if they were his dead children, taunting him.

The pain seared through him, as if the berries could reach the nerves behind his eyes, and he stepped off of the ledge. He smelled the sea and spoke to her. "Let the Isabella judge me, then."

The pain and blissful release of the visions melded together and he found himself enjoying the whip of salty Zephyr. He prayed that Christopher would find happiness. He wondered how the Abarat would judge his mother if she had fallen from this cliff.

Then Zephario Carrion, Gorgossium's King, Feared by Many, Loved by Few, and Inferno Starter, hit the water and became a forgotten card-reader.