The stars were beautiful tonight. They spanned the night sky; glimmering like jewels on black velvet. In this moment I stood in awe of the majesty before me. A sense of pure childlike joy washed through me. I am alive. I’m all of the universe, among the hundreds of thousands of galaxies, I am here. My existence can’t be a waste because it is a miracle that I am even here. It would have been easy to not exist but I did it. No thoughts of depression, or dread, can poison this moment. I made it, I am made of stardust and filled with life. I do not need a purpose or a god, I just am. That is enough.
I was struggling to breathe, the air seemed to solidify in my lungs. My friend desperately tried to watch the doctor demonstrate how to administer my cure, but I could tell her panic was overwhelming her. How did it come to this? Who would have thought that such a simple thing could incapacitate me completely. The feeling had completely left my limbs. All I could move was my eyes, but I could hear a desperate whining noise. I think it was coming from me but I felt so far away. I could see the sun slowly setting on the golden brown canyon. The boiling heat was slowly starting to ebb into a desert chill. As far as death goes, at least I wasn’t in pain; and the view was beautiful
As we feel the wind rushing past us, I think about how freeing it feels. The complete weightlessness, all the stress and pressure melting away. I feel no fear. There is only relief as the water rapidly approaches. Finally we will be set free. I send a prayer to the goddess to guide us home. When we hit the water I have a flash of pain and then nothing. From that height thankfully it was quick, hopefully for my sister it was as well. The pain would have been worth it though, I would have suffered the flames had I not feared someone interfering. Anything to be released from this torment. It took me awhile to realize that I wasn’t quite as dead as I had originally believed. I had been floating in the void, devoid of all feeling. Then suddenly sensation crept in. I was alive. This was not good news.
I always knew I was different. Things just happened around me; birds would land on my shoulders and head, cats would follow me around, bees would swarm around me. It was not uncommon for me to be uncommonly lucky, I won games of chance easily. People I didn’t like would often have bad things happen to them. I was special and I loved it. I never officially labeled myself as a witch, not until the trees anyway. I was only sixteen, hiding in the woods from my shitty parents when I heard it the first time. It was the softest hello I had ever heard, It wasn’t aloud but in my head. Looking around apprehensively, I heard it again. This time though it was accompanied by a branch slowly reaching towards me, the leaves gently brushing my cheek. I should have felt scared, if I wasn’t an odd one I would have been. I knew I was safe though, the old oak felt safe. It was bent and ancient, moss crawled up its sides. It’s large twisted roots curved around me, like a shield from the dangers in the deep forest. We talked for hours, about things that interest trees, and telling it the tale of my life. As the light grew dim, I stood up to finally return home. My parents should finally be passed out and it would be safe. As I turned to walk away a root curled around my ankle and the oak gave me a warning. It told me that it hadn’t felt a witch as powerful as me in years, that I wasn’t meant for this world anymore. Then it asked me if I was happy. I had to think about it, I thought about my abusive, angry parents. I thought about how the other people at my school thought I was a freak and avoided me. My only friends were the animals and now the trees around me. No. I wasn’t happy. The oak gave me a choice, it said I could stay here and live a normal life. I might be happy, or miserable it didn’t know but I wouldn’t ever face monsters (unless they were human) and I would spend my life blending in and hiding my gifts. Alternatively it could send me somewhere else. Somewhere with magic and adventure. Somewhere my powers could do great or terrible things. I would have a chance to change everything. It would be dangerous, but it would also be marvelous. Well, I was always a difficult child. Easy never appealed to me. As the tree rose on its roots, a shimmering light appeared between the e gnarled tendrils. I couldn’t see through it, it was almost like a glowing fog. I stepped through and began my greatest adventure ever.
She stared at the white styrofoam cup. I knew that expression; stubborn, pouting, and selfish as usual. “Drink it” I snapped. “You have to drink it or they will pump your stomach” I pushed the cup towards her. She looked at me blankly, then stared down at the inky black liquid in the cup. “I’m sorry” She whispered, eyes filling with tears. “I don’t care, you should have thought about that before embarrassing me like this” I was angry, how could she be so stupid! Why would she do this? Stupid, lazy, brat. “Drink it. Drink it all.” Finally she picked up the cup and started drinking, grimacing at the awful taste. I was glad, she deserved it for what she put me through. “You better drink it all, every drop. Do you even know what they do to people like you? Do you want to get locked up? Do you want people to think your crazy?” “Maybe they can help me. Maybe they can make me feel better, I think I need help mom.” “You are fine. There is nothing wrong with you, you are just lazy and selfish. Now finish that damn cup, I don’t want to hear another word, unless it is to tell me why you would do something so stupid.” “I’m sorry” “I don’t care”
The door creaked open revealing a long forgotten room, I gasped in delight as I saw the bounty before me. Dusty light filtered down from a cloudy, web covered, skylight. Tall, intricately carved shelves spanned from ceiling to floor. The shelves, though caked in grime, had vines climbing up the sides; the leaves turned upward desperately seeking the light. In between the ferns and leaves, peered mischievous eyes, claws and fluttering wings. Filling the ancient, beautiful shelves was an astounding collection of books, esoteric knick-knacks, and oddities that I had never seen before. On one shelf, a taxidermied raven perched. He was a dapper fellow, his ragged top hat and cracked monocle cut a rather fine figure. I imagined he would have a name with many syllables like Nicodemus Bartholomew the VI. On the next one down, propped up by a jeweled box, was a series of leather bound books. The jeweled box gleamed in the dull light, the crimson gems were set in a dull grey metal. It set on clawed feet, and promised secrets within. The leather books had no titles, just a stamped image of different phases of the moon. There had to be thirty at least. I was drawn to them. Leaving the rest of the shelves for another time I reached for the first book.
If silence had a scent I imagine it would be crisp and cold. Have you ever stood outside during the polar vortex? The kind of cold that hurts to breathe in. Sometimes this cold is refreshing and recharges you. It makes you feel alive and move around. It is brisk and invigorating, exactly what you needed to wake up and get started with your day. Sometimes it hurts. It stabs like knives and burns. Every breath in takes effort because you know the pain is coming. That is what silence would smell like to me.
The street light was out. Only one of them, but it was next to a shady alley. The gaping maw of the passage looked before me as I creeped closer. I was alone, heading home from a party. It’s seemed the smart decision; walking home instead of driving. I had been drinking and couldn’t afford points on my license. Now though, looking at the shadowy entrance before me, I wonder if I should have risked it. What lay beyond the darkness? A man, waiting for me to pass to pull me in and take all I have? A monster, stalking me like prey, wanting to rend the flesh from my bones? It could be something lurking, waiting for a lone passerby. Perhaps it will follow me home to feast. Regardless, I had to pass the alley to return home. Gathering my nerve, and telling myself I’m being silly, I squared my shoulders and stomped past the broken light. I was so giddy about surviving the experience, I missed the flicker of the lamp. The brief flash of light revealed something crouched over a prone form. Blood dripping down its pale face it raised its head and smelled the sweet scent of flesh passing its den. Too bad it already had a meal, this one smelled delicious.
The water was dark. The kind of dark that seemed bottomless, sure to have monsters lurking in the deep. Every time my paddle dipped into its murky depths and stirred through the ripples I imagined a hand angrily ripping it from my hands. As I fought desperately to paddle faster, I whispered a plea for understanding. I did not wish to disturb any resting spirits but I needed to escape, I could hear in the distance, they were getting closer. Traveling the river was a risk, the creatures that claimed this particular water were known to be territorial and vicious, but I was counting on that to perhaps deter my chasers. It would hopefully seem not worth the risk to come after me, I would probably die anyway. Still I would rather be pulled under to meet my end with the fish and frogs than go back. I will never go back.
Corritha Bowley was an average princess. She knew how to sew, how to play the harp, and all the steps to the various dances for the abundant balls her parents would throw. What she didn’t know was how in the love of Valbok she would get through her impending engagement. Her intended was Fargon the Mighty of the southern Provence. The impressive strength of his sword arm was only slightly less impressive than the many, many, spears sworn to his service. Those spears being the selling point to her parents since they were desperately needed to aid in the War against the fair folk of the north. This didn’t help Corritha in the slightest as not only was Fargon a toothless brute in his 50th year, he was also known to greatly prefer the presence of a woman with more.. plentiful assets than Corritha could provide. On top of that Corritha longed for the love she saw between her parents. She had only one hope of escaping the fate of a loveless marriage. She needed to find a better option, someone who was stronger, had more soldiers, and was hopefully closer to her own age. In a turn of luck (whether good or bad, who knows) she stumbled upon a stranger in the marketplace. Was he handsome? As the sun, and twice as resplendent in his dapper cloak. Was he strong? Clearly from the ease at which he held the broadsword he examined at old Henri’s stand. Was he rich(and thus able to afford soldiers willing to fight the fae menace)? Obviously based on the fine silks he wore and the men-at-arms decked in the finest steel this side of the gortal mountains. Who was he though? Not from their lands obviously, the style of tunic was outlandish but not tawdry. Perhaps a foreign prince here to bid for her hand? Much to Corritha’s future dismay, her imagined love was a foreign prince indeed. The fae prince of the northern kingdom, here to steal her away and force peace between their kingdoms. Will he also steal her heart? Or will the animosity between these two people lead to broken kingdoms and hearts?
