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“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
The Book of the Spirit Wolf “Moon Ceremony” 1. Attire Our Mother. Our Goddess, our most Holy Selene welcomes us in the light of her full moon to meet our destined mates. To be fruitful and multiply. To continue our gifts as She intends for generations to come. When we greet our Goddess for the first time, we greet her as clean and pure. Dressed in whites to symbolize our purity. Our heads covered. Our other halves taking form to greet their Mother, our Goddess! We reveal ourselves completely in tribute to our enduring love and devotion to our Goddess, most high. Our benevolent beloved Goddess sees her children. If we are not yet prepared in Spirit, prepared in Body, prepared in Mind for our mate; we are made to wait. Our Goddess blesses us with time to repair ourselves. To devote ourselves to the Goddess. In devotion to the Goddess and to symbolize the dedication to self improvement we wear vibrant colors. The ride to the Moon Ceremony is short. The carriage provided by the
“Mate.” The low voice growls, the bass tone vibrates my body, compelling me to surrender. “Mate.” The word leaves my lips as a whisper on the wind. So quiet but full of intention. Breathy and wanton. Theia joyfully surges forward. It’s as if time stops. The crowd around me fades as I focus only on the specimen before me. Fresh rain on Evergreens and lemon thyme. The scent is familiar and intoxicating. “Everything belongs to me, little she-wolf, even you.” He whispers in my ear, his body painfully close to me. My knees feel weak. Just being in his presence is overwhelming. I can feel eyes burning into me. Hushed whispers buzzing around me. His fingers trace my collarbone and shamelessly dip between my breasts. Our heartbeats are synchronized, beating as one, as if our rhythm has always been in tune. “Prince Edward of Fives.” I say breathlessly. “I’m not sure I know your name.” He says in return. “Ceres, your highness.” I respond. “Sons and Daughters of Selene!” The Rev
I kneel and look up to him. His hand firmly grasping his scepter. His body looming over me, so large and powerful. “Open your pretty little mouth.” He commands. I comply. My mouth opened ready to take communion. He rubs the slick tip on my tongue. The taste divine, salty and savory. I open wider to accommodate his thick member. “Good girl.” He confirms, as he plunges himself into my mouth. My lips are straining to stretch to accommodate him. His assault on my mouth gagging me with the size both terrifying and exhilarating. I place my hands on his muscular hips as he thrusts into my mouth. His hips and backside powerfully thrusting roughly beating the back of my throat. I desperately try to breathe through my nose as he continues. My hands shift from bracing myself to trying to lessen the power of his thrusts. I pull back only for him to push the back of my head towards him, forcing me to take his entire length. Tears begin to stream down my cheeks as I am gagged by his massive m
“The priestesses will decide if you are worthy.” He says after a long moment of silence. “What?” I say, unclear what he means. His juices leaking like a river from my backside, my body too sore and battered to move. “The Immaculate Mother must accept you as my mate.” He says dryly. “You must pass the exams.” “Didn’t you just—- accept me?” I question feeling completely vulnerable and exposed. “No.” He laughs. “I just took you. I made sure not to seed your womb, so if you are forced to become a priestess or choose to die; at least I was able to taste you once and there are no complications.” His words disgust me. Instead of content and satisfied, I feel used and soiled. I feel Theia’s heartbreak as she whimpers and crawls into the darker corners of my mind. “I don’t understand.” I whisper. “Look, it isn’t personal. I’m destined to be King. I can’t just mate anyone.” He explains. His tone sterile, like he was reading from an encyclopedia. “I had a feeling this match was going
TheiaMagic has no effect on me. Well maybe no effect is a bit of an overstatement; negligible, it has a negligible effect, like when you have a glass of wine. Maybe I get a little drunk, my focus a little blurry around the edges, but I am still in control. I can feel the wind shifting toward the King, like he is calling it to him. Even my fur seems to tug at me to follow the direction of the wind. My instinct to run with the wind is overbearing, like a nagging demand to turn around and run with it or face certain peril. The magic has not numbed my senses or surrendered my control. Perhaps these tricks would have worked when I was a pup or even a young wolf, when I had only just begun to test the limits of my drive to survive. I have spent lifetimes honing my skills to serve my Goddess. Hunting in the forests of my plane. Chasing and being chased by friends and foes. Preparing myself for what was to come. The training lasted far longer than any scholar had anticipated. To be the las
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