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I do not know what animal died for this meal to be made, but it did so in vain. Even as hungry as I am, I struggle to take a single bite. If you told me this was filet of old shoe, I would believe it. The viscous sauce is a muddy brown with a weird sheen to it. It smells mostly of salt and raw flour. Some sort of mush is on the side covered in the same viscous goo rendering it completely inedible. I poke at it as the sauce continues to congeal. “Everything all right?” The waitress asks. The expression on her face tells me she hopes I do not respond. I force a smile on my face. I hope it looks more like a polite smile than a grimace. “What is this?” I ask out of morbid curiosity. I could see a crack in her smiling expression. She was bracing herself for a torrent of complaints. “Venison back strap.” I frown. What a waste. “Roll?” She offers, pushing a basket towards me. Her smile overbearing and forced. “Sure.” I say and she promptly places the basket in front of me. “T
We all know we are going to die. Nothing is forever. You just do not expect death when it comes knocking on your door. The most important thing to do in any situation is to stay calm. Panic overrides all your senses. It paralyzes you. It turns you into easy prey. I scan the area around me. An open field is between me and the inn and the tree line is only a strip of grass and a small grove of pomegranate trees, their thorns threatening if you dare to venture too deeply, away from the woods. I sense danger but cannot see it. I make myself small, like a fox laying in grass, about to make a mad dash across the field to the inn. It was like a dream, the way the wolf walked from the trees, padded feet silently stalking me. My attention the other way, scanning the field before darting across it, him lurking like a spider who has already trapped their prey. I am slithering on my belly in the grass when I hear his growl. Flipping myself quickly, I realize it’s too late to dart to safety. I
Breathless, I enter the inn. My appetite now gone, my hunger pains muted by fear and anxiety. I quickly make my way to my room, hoping to get there without any other interaction. I dart quickly up the stairs and stealthily enter my room. “What the fuck.” I say emphatically as I shut the door to my room and lock it. I look to my dress hanging against the wardrobe. I don’t feel as though I deserve to wear something so pure, my soul is stained by what has happened. “This isn’t your fault.” Theia whispers. “Isn’t it?” I challenge. “I put those thoughts into his mind. I toyed with him!” “When you plant thoughts, that’s all they are. Thoughts. Seeds.” My guardian offers. “How their mind puts those thoughts into action is a reflection of their character, and not your fault. The environment in which the seed is planted is just as important, if not more so, than the seed itself.” “Thank you, great philosopher.” I bite back. “That’s great, in theory, but let’s discuss reality. H
I’ve never seen this place before. The mist is so heavy, I can barely make out the outline of the trees ahead. My feet crunch fallen leaves and twigs as I run through the forest. My dress is long. The material is diaphanous, a gauzy gold that shimmers as it moves and catches the light. I can hear the pounding of hooves on the ground, a roar in the distance. I’m not clear on if I’m running towards them or away, as the sound seems to echo around me. My wrists are cluttered with stacks of golden bangles, clanking in the rhythm of my stride, a beautiful song with a frantic beat. “Asteria! Asteria!” I hear a name called in the distance. “Hurry!” The thuds of approaching horsemen is deafening, they will surely discover me even under the cover of thick mist and forest. A small hollowed log rests against a tall tree. I decide to crawl into the hiding space to see if the horsemen approach. “I can smell her.” A man says somewhere near. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” He calls om
“Magic flows down your bloodline. There is only a finite amount, a well that should never be overdrawn, that you only access by the grace of your ancestors.” My guardian begins, her face solemn, a hint of grief shimmers in her eyes. An apple appears on the table of my room. Shiny and glossy, golden yellow like a waterfall into a pool of bright red. “The well is only accessible with a true name. It’s like a song echoing across the planes of existence. A song in a language shared between yourself and your ancestors. It’s the connection between us.” She explains. My guardian walks to the table and grabs the apple. She slices it horizontally with a quick movement. “Apples are magic.” She says displaying the halves proudly. “Okay?” I say slowly. My guardian sighs deeply. “I do not understand why your mother failed to teach you the ways.” “I’m sorry if your statement was intended to be profound.” I say, annoyed. “What do you see?” My guardian asks. “A snack.” Snarks Theia, w
The sun rose too soon for my weary body. What little sleep I got was restless. My mind racing my body fighting against the sleep. My mind a mush of magical academia. It’s taken my whole life for me to understand what it means to be werewolf. What my role and expectations are. I’m not sure how I can just accept and begin to be a witch. I do not even understand the expectations within that society. I cannot navigate it. I am both a witch and a werewolf. I am also neither, entirely. I dress slowly. I have no desire to eat whatever slop is being served for breakfast, but I know I must in order to get through the day. It’s my moon ceremony. My whole life, I’ve waited for this moment. I have dreamt about it. I have yearned to find my mate. To fully become a wolf. To accept a pack and a mate. To run through the fields, my paws pounding on the dirt or in the cool grass. My mate running alongside me. I’ve waited seven years for this day to come so that I can escape the Alpha Osiris estate.
“It’s normal to be scared.” Margaret says softly. “I’ve really been able to discover who I am, be comfortable with my own wolf— by not being immediately mated. This self discovery time is my fate. I know the Goddess will bless me once I am ready.” I smile politely. Any comment on this conversation other than agreement is unnecessary. Her experience is hers. “May the Goddess bless you.” I say in return unsure of how to respond. “How are things at Beta Vtoroy’s estate?” I say in a bid to change the topic. “Security has been increased. There is unrest near the woods and along our borders.” She says quietly. “Unrest?” I ask, genuinely shocked. “Yes. Chairman Zhadnost came to the estate a few days ago and had a meeting with the Alpha and Beta. The bank has lost assets to attacks they allege are being done by rogues and anti-monarchists.” “Anti-monarchists?” I whisper. “Yes. People are openly rallying against the crown. Refusing to work or fund the crown. Hangings are bein
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My crown of braided hair is intricately weaved and neatly pinned into an elegant updo. My hair is my glory. Many slaves have been forced to shear their hair closely; some for practicality others on the whims of their masters. I have always kept mine neatly coiled, hidden away from others and their envy. I pine to pin the cathedral length veil in my hair— Oh the drama of it! The last seven years spent hiding away ended with a dramatic entrance with an artisan’s stitch work so delicately laid trailing behind me for the length of a man. I must instead settle for the decidedly more modest floor length veil I had originally stitched for myself. Small daffodils, marigolds, and peach blossoms carefully embroidered around the edges. I smooth my gown and take it in. The dress itself is simple in design. Perfectly tailored to my body, the scoop neck basque waist dress accentuates my slender curves. My décolletage on display, my unmarked neck a siren so
“We hear your call, now hear our words.” A voice whispers from beyond the circle. I stand rigidly. The voice creeps up my spine, my hair standing on end. My eyes scan the circle’s edges, seeking the body associated with the voice. Their faces are all blurred, their features too hard to make out. Clearly different from one another but also oddly the same. I feel myself drawn, like a moth to the flame, closer to the edge thinking that I may see them more clearly. I edge closer to the boundary, hoping to steal a look. “Do not break this circle!” Asteria seems to scream, the words halting my body midstride, frozen in her warning. I look toward her over my shoulder, and see the panic in her eyes, her stoic expression a mask for my comfort. Theia sits stoically in the dead center of the circle, alert but still as a grotesque perched high on a stone building, a quiet observer. “Take my hand!” Asteria orders, her hand outstretched toward me. I look to my feet and gasp at their prox
I don’t think I will ever get over how magic works in this world. It’s a strange feeling to go most of your life believing that magic, real magic, was nothing more than a story to tell around the fire. That actual magic was found only in the first breaths of babies being born, not actual conjuring and manipulation of the universe. That walking through doorways into different dimensions were the fantasies of mad men and stories meant to scare children into minding their mothers. In these moments, when I witness the actual power of magic, I am both awestruck and terrified. How many moments of my life have been manipulated by magic? How do I know what is real and what is a magical mirage?“There are many things happening before you but hidden from view.” Asteria says quietly. “Magic is a blessing from our Goddess. It should be revered not feared.”“This is the biggest day of our lives. The day we seal our marriage to our mate. Let us rejoice. There are many other days ahead to worry.” T
This is the picturesque final scene of the fairytale. The beautiful maiden, who has managed to overcome hardship, is now a perfectly coiffed stylish bride. At least, that’s the image I am attempting to curate. I am who I create. I think back to all the elegant ladies I observed while serving in the Alpha house. Their rigid posture. Their chins perpendicular to the floor, elongating their necks, like delicate swans. Their meticulously styled appearance. Every decision carefully made. My style has more in common with a tornado than a curated art museum. Getting ready is a mad whirl around the room, every second spent is a robbery of my sleep, my appearance only needing to be neat and clean. Not anymore. Sleep is heaped in ample servings here. My only chore is getting ready. “I pray the Goddess guides me on my intended path.” I whisper quietly, my eyes shut tightly. I glance toward the clock. I am sure that someone will arrive to escort me to the temple in the next half hour. My wedd
I understand the appeal of a fairytale. The maiden in the story always has some terribly tragic circumstance befall her; but, when it is most important her stunning beauty allows her to rise the ranks to become a princess. Her face card is her entrance to the club most have to be born into. Her beauty is too great to be mired in obscurity. Her time in the bowels of the beast only add to her appeal; later, her “humble” beginnings are trotted out to prove she is one of the people, too beautiful not to be elevated to her supreme status, but also still ordinary and “just like us”. In truth, most of the women married within this world come from it. Those tales too predictable and bland to be worthy of a fairytale, or perhaps, the truth doesn’t hit the same for the masses. They must believe that if they are also beautiful enough, they too can escape. Those escapes are few and far between, but here I am, one of them. I suppose my beauty and power are enough to elevate me from my place in the
“This.” I say as my fingers trace along the filigree. “This is magnificent.” I am in awe of the beauty of it. Diamonds all perfectly matched set in gold. Small crescent moons hide in the filigree, only clear with the moonstones set inside them. The crests of each pack of the realm are hidden and set with diamonds. I would have missed the detail had I not immediately recognized the crest on my own homeland. Perhaps that is the test of the Queen. Do I pick one of the pieces that more heavily represent Harvest Moon? Or perhaps my statement is gaudy wealth, I am sure many will expect that. When you claw yourselves out of the bowels, you tend to display your material achievements like a soldier’s medals. This one though, it tastefully pays homage to each pack of the realm. I am to be Princess of Fives, it is only right to represent all of them. “Take off the gown so that I can attach the sleeve, m’lady.” Monica orders, her attention focused on the work. I dutifully comply, standing
I look at the sparkling treasure before me. The amount of wealth is astonishing. Just one emerald and some diamond pins cost my mother bushels of food. I trace my finger along the delicate chain at my wrist. This bracelet as well. These jewels laid out before me like a pirate’s treasure, they make my mother’s jewels seem modest and trivial. The weight of the gold and platinum alone is an astonishing show of wealth. The lands of the realm are rich in resources, all part of the royal horde. “We can get you a different bracelet.” Monica offers, noticing my finger running along the golden thread. “No.” I say instantly, refraining from blurting out any explanation. “Very well, m’lady. Are you drawn to anything in particular?” I look into the mirror at my reflection. I am not sure I recognize myself. A witch. A wolf. An Alpha’s daughter. The girl from the kitchens. The slave of Harvest Moon. A bride. This is my metamorphosis. I am being reborn into the Kingdom of the Moon. Princess of
The dress. “It is an homage to your homeland!” Monica says dramatically, her hands stretched outward to sell me on the gown. “Homage?” I say studying my reflection in the mirror. “Yes, it’s when you show honor or reverence—”“I’m aware of the definition.” I interrupt. We stand in silence. I stare at the reflection before me. I feel like a ball of silk and ribbon. My small frame is completely swallowed in expensive fabric. I’m not sure if I am wearing the gown or if it’s wearing me. “Are there any other options, perhaps something less…” I struggle to find a kind word. “Less?”“Of course.” She frowns at my rejection. “This is beautiful.” I say. “It is just too overwhelming for me.”Monica cracks a soft smile. “Of course. We have a whole tour to build your unique style. I will push, you will reign me in.”“Deal.”“I do have a lovely column gown.” She mutters as she shuffles through her rack of gowns, some finished, some still a work in progress. The silk looks as if it was poured
“I hope you are right, Theia. I can’t help but feel uneasy when the majority of dreams I have are directly related to the violence of the monarchy.” Asteria sighs softly. “Violence I endured. Even worse, the violence I witnessed.”“That does not have to be our life. Not every Prince is evil.” Theia offers. “He did not choose his birth.” I offer, considering myself as well. “Witch and werewolf, that match is not accepted. I didn’t choose my birth either, so I struggle to damn someone on that fact alone.”“Ceres, do not lie to yourself. Even you know that the very foundation of the monarchy is dependent upon the suffering of people. Slavery. War. Famine. All necessary for the monarchy to survive.” Asteria declares like a professor from the lectern. “And somehow I am the savior of the world? I’m going to eliminate slavery and suffering? Get a grip, Asteria!”“No, no I am not delusional.”“You sound a bit delusional.” Theia quips. “We will not lead the masses away from systematic abuse
Some oaths cannot be broken. The thought tumbles in my mind. “It is true. The consequences can be dire when breaking a promise. An oath is sworn with your life.” Theia warns. “A witch is nothing without her word. Our whole existence is built upon the truth that words are powerful and have meaning. A covenant is an agreement, but an oath is a solemn promise. Breaking an oath is not a simple undertaking. The consequences of such actions can be catastrophic and change who you are entirely. To break an oath is a choice of darkness. Embracing the worst that this world has to give.” Asteria chimes in. “Last night, for me, was filled with dreams and nightmares. They don’t even all make sense to me at this point. A mix of my memories, and what I assume the two of you were seeing.” I say. I made an oath to the King, but I would break it in a heartbeat if I thought I could do it and continue to keep my head. Are oaths really oaths if you are under duress? Or is that simply fealty, a forced