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“Love is dangerous, it’s a weakness. Betrayal is inevitable.” The Luna muses. I wish I could say her coldness was surprising. Her bitterness, a confession. Her true nature is revealed by her cynicism. “Malakai was driven by a desire for power. Circe aided him in that. Helping him to build an army. Creating the ability for him to build his throne. All this so she could be his Queen beside him.” My body begins to feel tired. The soft leather of the seats begging me to rest my weary body upon them. “The Coven did not want to bow to a werewolf King. They viewed Circe’s actions to be a great betrayal. They had tolerated her affairs for centuries. They believed that even if the blood was diluted, having witch blood on the thrones throughout the realm ensured their continued dominance. That never meant bowing to a mutt King.” She sneers. Mutt King? What a strange term to use as a werewolf. “Seraphina, a young witch of high blood, plotted against Circe. She went to Malakai and told
My belly feels full and warm. The lamb was rich and fatty. The meal is over and the Luna is ready to retire to her room for a nap. Captain Keegan and another guard accompany us to the room. “Turn down the bed and help me unbutton this gown.” The Luna commands as I close the door to the room behind us. The guards standing watch just outside. I diligently follow her instructions. I help her shimmy out of her dress until she is only in her chemise. She lies on the bed as I tuck her in. I walk over to the small sofa in the corner of the room and attempt to make myself comfortable. “It isn’t safe to fall asleep.” Theia warns. “I’m exhausted. What would you have me do?” I ask, annoyed. “If it was up to me we wouldn’t be on this trip!” Theia says exasperated. “Same!” I curl up to fit my body on the sofa and attempt to get comfortable. I feel myself being swallowed by darkness. By body feels weighed down, like I’m being drug into the depths of the ocean. Drowning. I’m being p
“What?” I say with disbelief. “I am your great-great-great-great Grandmother.” She says. She looks not a day older than 30. “Are you a time traveler?” I ask, as it seems the only possible explanation if what she says is true. The women all laugh heartily. My ignorance amuses them immensely. “No my dear!” Fat tears roll down her face as she heartily laughs. “I’m six hundred years old!” I feel the color draining from my face. I feel faint. Am I dreaming? I pinch myself. No. This is real. “Is this some kind of joke?” I ask. I look to the Luna trying to read her expression. “Rhea, did you not tell the girl on your way here?” The woman who is supposedly my four times great grandmother demands. I look to my mother for her response. Tell me what? “I began to tell her!” My mother protests. “I’m Cassiphone. I am the High Priestess. You may call me the Great Mother. ” The woman says. “I started to tell her about our line,” my mother began. “Silence!” Cassiph
I drape the robe on my body. It feels heavy and oppressive. The witching hour fast approaches, and I guess I am a witch, or at least half of one. I don’t know where Theia has gone, but she is not speaking to me. The latch turns and the women enter the room. My mother’s line. I wonder how each of them is related to me. I only know the Great Mother and my mother. Neither of them feel like mothers to me though. The Great Mother studies me. A slight smile graces her face. “You have the beauty of your line, my dear.” She says softly. “We will perform the ritual. Hecate will determine if you are granted power. If powers should come, you are welcome to come live amongst us. You do not have to go searching for a mate.” “And my brother?” I ask. The smile disappears. “A witch usually only births one daughter in her lifetime that has great powers. Sometimes she can birth several with moderate powers. Male children do not come into great powers. They may be bestowed with gifts, but n
I wake up. I look around and recognize the room of the inn. My mother is sat at the vanity, brushing her golden hair and coiling it neatly atop her head. She puts her earrings, rings and bracelets on slowly and methodically, an everyday routine. “Good Morning.” She says blandly, looking at me through the mirror. “What happened? How did we get back here?” I ask, disoriented. Was last night a dream? I examine my body for evidence of being struck by lightning. “You won’t find any marks on you.” She says in a bored tone. She turns from the mirror and faces me. “You’ve been given, or perhaps even taken, considerable power last night.” Her expression fills with concern. “I only took what was given. The chalice was handed to me and I gulped it down.” I explain unapologetically. “Be as it may, you are certainly a witch. The Great Mother will connect with us in two days. We cannot raise any suspicions so we must keep moving. I know Captain Keegan reports all my movements to Os
“The Priestess’ of Selene are skilled at detecting a witch. The most vulnerable moment is your 18th birthday ritual, because we have no wolf. Many of our sisters who live among us join after this ceremony for obvious reasons.” My mother begins to explain. I think back to the morning after my ceremony. The Reverend Mother was studying me intensely. She wanted to see me again before my moon ceremony. Had I been in danger and not even realized it? What was it that she sensed? “So thanks for the head’s up, I guess?” My words dripping with sarcasm. “I’m not sure you were aware, but my ceremony was over a week ago.” She sighs. “You made it through. I could sense your wolf awakening.” “No thanks to you.” I spit. “I’ve had a masking spell on you for 18 years. It’s plenty thanks to me.” She retorts. We sit in silence as I contemplate what she has said. “We should ready ourselves and leave.” She says after a long silence between us. “We need to be at the Kingdom of the Moon ca
We get into the carriage and set off for the Kingdom of the Moon capital where the slave market is located. Curiously, all the guards, footmen, and coachman seem to be in the same spirits as the day before. They seem completely oblivious to our activities last night. I wonder if it was a spell or if they are in cahoots with the Luna. Not that I would ask her to confirm, nor trust that she would be honest. “Theia?” I whisper in my mind, my exterior cool and placid. I have not heard from her since I fell asleep when she told me not to. “You were right, I was wrong.” I silently confess. “I’m sorry.” I want to cry with disappointment in myself. I should’ve never let my guard down near my mother. Her beauty and quiet moves hide the hideous realities of her truth. I have now seen even further behind the porcelain mask she wears, yet I know I have not yet seen her completely. I’m sure there are even more terrifying truths that lie behind her perfectly curated exterior. I feel a growl
The Kingdom of the Moon pack is well fortified. From the moment we enter the gates of the capital, the pack's dominance becomes clear. As we entered through the city checkpoint, city guard provided a locking bracelet to mark myself, the footmen, and coachman as property of the House of Osiris. These bracelets would prevent my exit from the city without an authorized person from the house giving permission. This was the only way to enter the city, as only my mother has the paperwork to enter as a noble. There are guardsmen everywhere, armed and ready to enforce the law with violence if needed. I imagine there are twice as many as I actually see, some blended into the crowd, listening and waiting for someone to be careless enough to utter a traitorous word. There is an equal abundance of priestesses. Floating around in their robes like water lilies on the pond. Their robes swishing and swirling around them as they make their way around the soldiers. The capital itself is surr
It was as if Asteria’s memory played out on a screen in front of me. I’m a captive audience, cordoned off in a far off corner of my mind. Separated from my body but still aware of what is happening. The scene from Theia’s point of view also playing out, oddly disconnected from me, padded feet to forest floor the smell of earth and water. The dirt flecked in her fur and her nose pressed to the earth inhaling its aroma. Asteria’s trauma unfolds before me, almost happening to me, although the screams are not my own. The hunger in his eyes. The manic rage. His whip. My feelings are not entirely my own, it is as if I am Asteria in this experience. “Prince Aares.” I say in a voice that is not my own. A memory of an event I never experienced, yet vividly recall. This isn’t real, yet, I can feel his whip biting and tearing my skin. I can feel the blood snaking down the back of my thighs. The warm ooze somehow soothing the stinging pain. My back flayed open. His scent coats my skin like an
“May the Goddess anoint you with her love and bless you with your dreams.” “We give our devotion to the Goddess!” My mate and I reply. The priestesses are all around us. Their voices echoing off the walls of the cave, it’s impossible to tell how many are speaking as the voices echo around us. Our naked bodies only inches away from one another as we stand in the pool, his intoxicating scent masked by the abundance of minerals in the spring. “We ask our Goddess to cleanse you of all your impurities. Remove any malice from your hearts.” The priestesses chant around us. My body feels drawn to him. The urge I have to touch him is overwhelming, to just feel his skin pressed against mine. Any doubts I have floating away the second I am near him. I look ahead to the priestesses. I do not dare look at him in all his glory. One glance at him may be what breaks the dam holding back my urges, my last vestige of control. “Tonight, you are to shift into your true nature. The greatest trea
“The Mountain stands, unmoving— never wavering, rooted deeply into the soil.” The Queen begins, seated behind me on a small chair, her gown spilling out of the narrow seat displaying the sheer volume of fabric she seems to carry so effortlessly. Monica is plaiting my hair for the first ceremony. An intricate pattern of different braids joined together and fastened with a plain rag tie matching my temple dress. “The Wind with her sons raging across the lands, charge right at the Great Mountain, but it still stands. The nymphs of the waters try to claw through it, but still it stands. Rigid. Strong. Proud.” Her hands move with the story, in a way it was more akin to a fireside chat rather than dressing room gossip. It reminds me of my father’s stories around the fire. I listen to her tale, knowing little of her people, attentively watching her through the mirrors reflection. “The Goddess herself blessed the Great Mountain, and appointed the Shadow Mountain pack to be the Guardians
“Waltz of the Mountains.” The King sneers. “Let’s see how well you keep up.” He casts a glare at Edward. “You know how your Grandmother adores the dance of her homeland, grandson. Do not disappoint her for the sake of your mate.” The warning is clear. “Yes, my King. I would not dream of disappointing.” He bows deeply, his hand on his heart pledging his allegiance. I remember our first meeting. “You play a dangerous game, girl.” He said with his hand around my throat. I suppose I am still that dangerous silly girl, too headstrong to fully submit. Incapable of bending to a tyrant. Incapable of silence. I am who I create. I feel Theia and Asteria in the front of my mind. Any overt display of power would be disastrous, so they lurk, careful not to allow their presence shimmer in my eyes. I deeply curtsy holding my hand to my heart as well, averting my eyes to the floor, not uttering a word. Silence and obedience. That is what the King demands. My stubbornness to blame for not b
Silence. I dare not speak or move. “I have heard you can dance.” The King says in my direction. A small smile creeped on his lips. A sneer. “Yes, your majesty.” I say meekly. “You shall dance for us.” Edward looks at me with sadness in his eyes. A shimmer of anger rippling in his fields of green, at my faux pas. The weight of the King’s displeasure not only hitting me, but crushing him as well. Collateral damage. “I would love to see the waltz.” The Queen hums. “Edward can lead her if she does not know it. Besides, she will be expected to dance at their wedding celebrations.” I hope he indulges his wife. It is a far better option than being forced to gyrate in front of the King. His expression leads me to believe he wishes to not only remind me of my place but humiliate me in the process. The Queen’s suggestion is only her tossing a rope to her grandson to save him from the front row seat to my humiliation. The King looks to his Queen. “Very well.” He replies. “L
Fairytales have a modicum of truth to them. Just enough truth that the reader can absorb the message, learn whatever moral imperative is being taught. The tricky part is discerning what little bit is rooted in truth, and what is an outright lie, a fantasy embellishment to keep you reading. I prefer the stories with happy endings, lessons are still learned, but the main character in the end is well and fine. Perhaps that’s my first mistake, assuming my placement in the tale is the main character, rather than the abused maid or gullible villager, or otherwise nameless background character. A person in the crowd as the King strolls down the street naked. A lady’s maid to the wicked queen or damsel in distress. A nameless cousin to the main character, who tried on the shoe but it did not fit. Perhaps I am the main character, in one of those tales where she tragically dies. Her choices and bad decisions leading her to death, rather than the happiness she was seeking. The Queen seem
“Beauty is pain.” Monica consoles. “You cannot achieve divinity without sacrifice. We want ethereal. We want glamor.” “We want to be able to have dinner.” I squeak, the corset of the gown so tight I can barely breathe. “Or maybe just be able to breathe.” I have been trying on gowns for hours. I tire of looking at my reflection. “Long deep breaths from the lungs, not the belly.” She demonstrates, her body rod straight, long measured breaths expanding her ribcage. My wedding gown, gowns for tea and dinner, dresses for travel and leisure, for breakfast or prayer— the stacks of fabric seem endless. I was nothing more than a doll. Monica has the same persistence as Agatha. I remember her wrapping me in endless fabrics for my Moon Ceremony gown. “You will be elegant! Ravishing! Demure!” She shouted as she wrapped me in satins and tulle. “Posture is key. Beyond that, relax. High anxiety breathing isn’t very effective or attractive.” Monica concludes. I smile, my mind wander
Something in my soul longs for the sunshine. The rays on my skin make me come alive. My internal battery dependent upon feeling the sun against my skin. I do not recall the last time I was outside in the sun. It seems a lifetime ago that I was able to truly enjoy it. My gown manifesting what I need the most, time to bask in the sun. I can feel the whispers of winter on the autumn wind. A small chill dancing in the breeze, winter days soon to come. I stare upwards to the sky. The sun’s rays like golden spires piercing through the clouds, a magnificent sight. The sun coyly peeks from behind the clouds to bathe me in its rays. Today, I am the sun, and I will absorb the warmth and joy it brings me. Monica stops in front of a small gate created between two apple trees. The trees already bare from harvest, the priestesses and acolytes have started the pruning process, preparing the orchard for winter. The branches and stems are neatly stacked in piles along the treeline. My ow
The material is a diaphanous gauzy gold, a Grecian peplos, the fabric expertly draped on the body. A hint of silhouette peeking through the multiple layers and folds of fabric, my feminine form exposed through gauzy golden haze. I am the sun incarnate. Even my tiny golden bracelet glints in the light, highlighted by the gown's golden glow. My ring proudly displayed on my finger. Monica has dusted my eyelids with a golden shimmer and painted my lips a soft pink. I look upon myself in the mirror. The long elegant gown perfectly compliments my shape. Long gone is the young girl dreaming of her escape, replaced in the mirror with an elegant woman, soon to be a married woman. A princess. A future Queen. The gown strikes me as familiar but I am unable to place it. I feel an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. “You look divine!” Monica squeals. “You are the artist, I’m just the canvas.” I respond softly. I stare into the mirror in awe of her art. I don’t even recognize myself in the reflectio