#Transgender author

[the-night-that-feeds-if]

NOT ABANDONED, NEVER ABANDONED

[eve-rose-author]

My debut novel, Rage of The Barbarian, is now available for pre-order! Get it on your preferred digital platform here

[eternitysirys]

It's done.

My book is done.

Six years.

It's done.

No more edits.

No more changes.

It's done.

My story.

My characters.

My heart and soul.

It's done.

My pride and joy.

The fulfillment of a dream.

IT IS DONE.

Now on to the next...

Jk there's still technical work to be done like copyrighting and obtaining ISBNs but yeah. It's done. "Eternity's Irys" is 100% complete. The rest is up to finances. My work, however? Is done.

"Eternity's Irys" is coming to readers October 31.

Stick around to find out how you can get a copy of this crazy gay little book of eldritch warfare and two dudes being bro's! Roommates even!

[kavalyera]

𝒔𝒆𝒊 𝒎𝒊𝒐 𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐 ( 𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒊 𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 )

paura di uscire, anche se non accade | trans mtf!gianna d’antonio

⟢ a/n: la mia prima volta a scrivere in italiano scusate se ci sono errore :[

version on ao3 for quick translation | wc: 1090 | divider by @/benkeibear

Il buio gelido della mezzanotte che albeggia sulla casa della Famiglia D'Antonio, l'odore della polvere depositata su ciottoli e marmi, la puzza di un qualcosa di dolce, l'odore del mare che circonda l'Italia. Un mare freddo di notte. C'è un sentimento, quello disgustosamente opprimente dell'empatia. Non essere spietati per qualcuno, nientemeno che per Gianni stesso. Gianni D’Antonio. Il figlio d’oro. Il favorito della famiglia.

Santino è avido, è sempre stato un uomo avido, avido. Tutto quello che voleva, e anche di più, lo pretende da tutti gli altri. Lui è così.

Vuole tutto e ancora di più. Lui, è avido. Ma mantiene una facciata di elequonza.

"Gia", chiama Santino bussando alla stanza del fratello. La risposta? Silenzio. Santino bussa ancora, prima di decidere di aprire la porta a se stesso. “Gianni?” La stanza è buia, fredda. Molto freddo. L'odore del profumo—

Aspetta.

Profumo? Santino si guarda intorno nella stanza del fratello. Profuma di ciliegie e di odori dolci e femminili. Qualcosa che Santino si aspetterebbe dalle sue ragazze— e non dalla stanza di Gianni. Oro e ornamenti finemente lavorati sono sparsi ordinatamente per la stanza. Alle pareti sono appesi quadri, la collezione d'arte privata di Gia.

Santino invidia Gianni, da cose semplici a una comprensione molto più complessa. Il suo aspetto, la sua sicurezza, il suo carisma, il modo in cui si comporta; Santino vuole sentire che, la falcata sicura di Gia.

Un’altra cosa: è differente. Più morbida. Le coperte che drappeggiano il letto sono morbide, foderate di pizzo insieme ai cuscini. Fiori in vaso: sul comodino, nell'angolo, accanto all'armadio.

Ora che è qui, forse può rubare l'auto di Gianni per un'ora o due. Santino apre uno dei cassetti di Gia sulla scrivania per le chiavi dell'auto. Lo trova quasi subito, ma sotto c'è un piccolo quaderno. Suscita il suo interesse, così lo raccoglie rapidamente e si siede sul bordo del letto di Gia."Non gli dispiacerà se ho dato un'occhiata ai suoi pensieri,” Santino pensa che mentre sfoglia le pagine. Le parole non lo interessano, poiché si tratta soprattutto di come Gia racconta la sua giornata e le cose che ha fatto. A Santino non importa nulla della sua vita.

Ma c'è qualcosa che cattura lo sguardo di Santino.

‘Non mi piace essere un uomo. Vorrei essere una donna. Prima a Roma ho comprato degli oggetti che mi aiutano a sentirmi meglio.’

“Santino!” Santino ha appena il tempo di accorgersi che Gianni è tornato nella sua stanza. Rapidamente, Gia strappa il taccuino a Santino. “Cosa hai letto?”

“Niente!” Santino promette, mentre prende le chiavi della macchina e le infila in tasca. “Posso avere la tua auto?”

“Non dirlo è papà, per favore, Santino.” Gia sa che Santino sa. “Qualunque cosa leggiate qui, non diteglielo.”

Santino è silenzio, la sua lingua diventa secca. Gia espira pesantemente.

“Perché?” Santino chiede. Santino ridacchia a mezza voce. “E’ uno scherzo, vero?” Gia è silenzio stavolta. “No..?” La voce di Santino si disperde mentre guarda Gianni, osservando l'espressione del volto del fratello.

“No, Santino.” Gianni dice. “No. Vorrei che fosse uno scherzo. Vorrei. Così posso ridere con mia madre quando chiedo di andare in altri posti. Ma non. Fa male desidare qualcosa che non si avvererà.”

Santino guarda Gianni con attenzione, in attesa di qualcosa. Non si sa bene cosa stia aspettando, ma tra i due fratelli c'è silenzio. Sorella? Forse.

Schiocca la lingua prima di passare silenziosamente davanti a Gianni per andarsene. Santino non aveva intenzione di fare nulla. Ma ora lo fa. Gli costerà molto, ma non gliene importerà nulla.

Sono passate quattro o cinque ore da quando Santino è tornato alla villa e ora è di nuovo qui!

“Quello stronzo ha preso la mia macchina.” Gia sussurrò sottovoce mentre vede Santino scendere dalla sua auto. “Cazzo,”

Quel coglione sta tornando a casa dal garage con le borse in mano. Probabilmente un regalo per la sua nuova ragazza. Esibizioniste.

Gia ha un sapore amaro in bocca mentre guarda Santino che torna verso la porta d'ingresso della villa. Il palmo della mano sotto il mento, guardando con i suoi occhi verdi. Gia sospira, la mano gli accarezza la testa mentre lui sbuffa per lo stress. È in difficoltà. Il suo cuore batte forte e i suoi pensieri corrono più veloci dei cavalli in fuga. E se Santino lo avesse detto al padre? E se lo avesse detto a tutti? No, no, no. Cazzo. Non avrebbe dovuto scriverlo, non avrebbe dovuto—

“Gianni!” La voce di Santino è forte dall'altra parte della porta bianca. Bussa, con forza.

“Vattene.” Gia grida dall’altra parte. “Vattene, Santi, Vattene.”

“Le chiavi…?” Santino dice di entrare. Si lascia convincere e Gia ci casca. “Le chiavi dell'auto, le ho prese io. Se non apri questa porta, la tua macchina è mia!”

“Questo fastidioso parassita…” Gia borbotta sottovoce. “Mio dio,” Gia apre la porta, ma Santino entra a forza con un sorriso fastidioso. “sei irritante, Santino.”

“Sì, lo so, cara sorella.” Gia deve ammettere che quelle parole di essere chiamata sorella le hanno dato un po' di felicità.

Santino ha in mano delle borse. Gia è un po' preoccupata per l'interno delle borse. "Santino, che cazzo hai in quelle borse?" Gia chiede, indicandole.

"Sei molto eccitata, Gia." Un'osservazione sarcastica e sciocca di Santino, che si siede sul letto di Gia come se fosse suo. Santino apre la borsa che ha, prima di richiuderla e lanciarla a Gia perché la prenda. “Ho graffiato la tua auto. Non voglio pagare i danni.”

“Certo che hai danneggiato la mia macchina, insolente, disordinato, irritante stronzetto....” Quando gli occhi di Gia guardano la borsa, le sue parole svaniscono mentre elabora ciò che sta vedendo e che suo fratello le ha appena comprato (sacrificando la nuova verniciatura della sua auto). “Cosa?”

L'incredulità colpisce Gia.

“Cos’è questo, Santi?” Gia chiede a Santino che sta scegliendo delle scarpe di Gia che molto probabilmente vuole portare con sé.

“Ha?”

“La borsa, Santino.”

“Sì, è?”

“Gli abiti di seta sono per le donne.”

Gia dice, mentre Santino raccoglie le scarpe— "Non toccarle.” Lei dice severamente.

“Non ti ho ancora comprato un vestito o dei tacchi. Dato che potresti dover iniziare dal primo livello. Bisogna entrarci lentamente.” Santino fa spallucce.

"Non so cosa dire" Dice Gia mentre si siede e guarda l'accappatoio.

“Grazie mille?”

“Benvenuti,” Gia dice che è un modo per colpire Santino.

“Dovrebbe essere il contrario, Gia.” Santino dice.

“Hmmm….. no.” Dice Gianna prima di lanciare un paio di scarpe a Santino. "Ora vattene"

“Hey!” Santino osserva le scarpe. “Puttana.” Sussurra prima di andarsene, posando le chiavi sul letto di Gia.

( wickblr pride anon if you see this i love you )

[shockpulse]

Demon HRT

A story by Shockpulse, inspired by countless amazing artists and authors.

"I've thought about it for a long time." she had told the doctor, "Years, decades, in fact. Since I was 5 or 6. Maybe it's just unhealthy coping mechanisms that caused me to have violent thoughts about those around me, but whatever the case, I was stuck with these 'sinful' urges."

"And how did that make you feel?" he had inquired.

"Alienated. Unlike those around me. My upbringing told me that my thoughts were evil, and I was supposed to feel ashamed of them. But.... I didn't. I embraced them. I labeled myself a 'demon' because of them, and I finally felt happy with who I was supposed to be. Well, I still felt like I didn't belong in this body for gender reasons, but now I had two transition goals to reach for."

"You say 'I', but your system had a different host back then, right?"

"Well, yes, but I'm sort of a.... mixture. Of the two previous hosts, I mean. I share a lot of their feelings and memories, while being a unique person. All three of us have shared these thoughts. Jonathan's agender and Melissa sees herself as a cis girl, so it's no wonder I'd be trans, too." she stated, knowing it was obvious to her, but not to someone outside her own head, "Oh. You meant the demon part, didn't you? Melissa even used to call herself 'Princess of Demons' online, and Jonathan still feels distanced from humanity. It's a strong feeling that we've shared throughout the years, and our newest alter, Zephaniah, doesn't even have a 'humanoid' shape. Even if most of us don't feel like demons, it's a strong enough feeling for me to seek out your help. I really, really want my outside to match my insides. I mean, even better if you could give us the ability to shapeshift at will, but I'll take what I can get, heh."

---

She looked at the pills in her hand, three oblong tablets of deep purple, not unlike the blue-green ones she already took for her gender HRT. She was nervous. Changing biochemistry was one thing, but these pills were going to change her in ways it would almost seem like magic.

"What are a few more pills? I take so many already...." she murmered, before quickly popping them into her mouth and swallowing them with a gulp of soda, the soft drink's fizz doing wonders to override the disgusting taste in her mouth.

At first, there were no outward changes, though within a few days she started feeling overheated and nauseous, as her insides began the slow process of changing her body in ways more dramatic than regular HRT had ever done. Within a month, the nubs of horns had sprouted from her forehead, her nails had started to become long claws, and she had to stop wearing shoes as her feet had elongated and become digitgrade. Over the following years, the pain was unimaginable, far worse than any she had or would experience in her soon-to-be-immortal lifespan. Once, she couldn't sleep for a week straight due to her tail forming, growing new bones one by one. However, she told herself that it would all be worth it in the end, and her spouse did all they could to support her through this difficult time.

Eventually, she finally felt like herself in her body. Ram-like horns curled around the sides of her face, framing her short, bright pink hair and pitch-black eyes. Her teeth had changed, pushed out by a sharper set of replacements, and she had grown accustomed to her sharp claws and other new anatomy. Although people would stop and stare at her, she new that she was comfortable in her own skin at last, and that was what really mattered.

[whitehathexerswriting]

White Hat Hexers Part 1: Battle at the Ball

Written by: @nighttimedaydreams and edited by: Anastasia M. ( @fighterpilotdragon02 / https://www.instagram.com/fighterpilotdragon/ ) tw: transphobia, homophobia, deadnaming

    Elizabeth woke to knocking on her door. She sighed and pushed some raven strands, which had fallen out of her braid and into her eyes, behind her ears. It was midnight, but she was the village’s cursebreaker. Technically, she was a hexer, but she had only ever cursed one person: herself. As mismatched as her skillset and job title were, however, she had the knowledge she needed to keep the village safe. She slipped on a flowy black dress streaked with white – the uniform of a cursebreaker woman. She twirled in it; even after all this time, she loved how it flared. It was no longer at all new to her, but she kept her dress so that it looked fresh to anyone else.  She slipped into and laced up her boots very tight.  They were slightly too big for her; they were a gift from long ago, but shoes weren’t easy to replace in the village, and she didn’t want to go far for something she only wore when going out.  She much preferred walking barefoot, but now wasn’t the time for frivolity.  Someone was knocking at midnight.  She stood up and stuck her hands in her dress’s pockets; other cursebreakers kept their supplies there, but she didn’t have to use them for that, although she did keep the willow bark there. She opened up the door, and standing there was Edward, the younger of Jacob’s two sons.  Jacob was the village leader and a retired knight. Edward was dressed hastily, with loose sleeping clothes, his hair clearly windswept by his speed, but he still wore a ring with the emblem of his house: a spider riding a boar. His heavy breathing filled the night, overcoming the sound of owls and other nocturnal creatures that lived near the forest behind Elizabeth’s house.

    “Elizabeth, come quick,” he panted, turning as if to head back into the village.

    “What’s going on?” Elizabeth asked.

    “It’s my brother. He was out hunting in the woods, and now he’s slowly turning into a toad.”

    “A toad? You are certain it is a toad and not a frog.”

    “NO! Of course I’m not certain about that, you’re the cursebreaker.”

    “I need to know which curse I’m breaking. I suppose I’ll learn soon enough when I see him. I presume he is at your home?”

    “Yes. He just got back from his trip.” “This late?”

    “He was held up by being cursed.”

    “Right, right.”

    Elizabeth knew Edward’s brother, of course. Henry came to her once of his own accord when he was thirteen. She was barely his senior at sixteen back then, but she knew he was under no curse – he simply liked other men. They had maintained touch ever since. She knew the other women in the village swooned over his grey eyes and wavy hair, but she didn’t see it as anything stand-out.

    They reached the house. Jacob was waiting outside.

    “Edward, I thought I said everything was fine, why did you go get that,” Jacob said.

    Elizabeth gripped the inside of her dress pockets tightly. Now wasn’t the time to cause a scene. “Father, with all due respect, my brother clearly has a curse on him. You must know time is of the essence.” “It’s simply a fever. It will pass. Edward, send it away.”

    “Father, you know that is a lie.”

    Elizabeth knew better than either of them how important time was.  She barged into the house.  Let the family squabble outside.  Jacob raised a hand to stop her, but Edward swatted it down.  She saw out of the corner of her eye that Jacob followed her.

    Today was not like the day her and Henry first met. The moment she laid eyes on him, she could tell he had a curse placed on him; she felt its magic pulsing. Soft, weak, barely there – a simple curse. Good and non-infectious, although she herself didn’t worry too much about that. 

    There were a handful of servants milling out about the room nervously moving around Henry.

    “Everyone out,” Elizabeth said. 

    The servants left; Jacob stayed.

    “You too, sir.” 

    He glared at her, but chose to do nothing more, slamming the door to Henry’s room as he left.  She let go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

    “Henry, can you hear me?”

    He nodded.

    Good, good, he’s not gone mentally yet, Elizabeth thought to herself, gathering the willow bark into her hands. “Chew this,” she said, putting it in his mouth.

    Henry did as ordered.

    This next part is always the worst for the patient, Elizabeth thought to herself. She began chanting. Simple sounds – it didn’t actually matter the sounds she made, per se. All that mattered is she drew magic tight around her. All the strings of magic became visible to her.  The level of reality beneath the surface looked like linen threads on a loom, though to the untrained eye it only looked like lines.  To Elizabeth, each string connected to each other, like the way sinew connects to bone: every part interconnected, yet distinct.  Elizabeth remember reading in her studies that there were those who claimed to be able to see the future from the strings.  Hexers always were boastful and cursebreakers tried to avoid dealing with the threads unnecessarily, so Elizabeth never believed in such things, and dismissed the distracting thought.  She could clearly see the strings that made up Henry. Every piece of his thoughts and memories, every piece of his body all connected: all things became only magic to her. 

    There! she thought to herself as she spotted the string of the curse. The aberrant thread formed a breach in the pattern, its jagged lines a clean break from the smooth consistent threads that made up Henry.  Where the other lines looked like linen and connected like sinew, this one seemed woolen and looked like it was connected by a shoddy sewing job.  Even the curse she had placed upon herself was better weaved into her. She grabbed it and wound it around her hand, absorbing it into her and using it to add to the reserves of magic that made up her own curse, reinforce it, make it unbreakable. Elizabeth knew she no longer needed to worry about her magic ever running out on her, but it never hurt to be sure. 

    “Heat from fire, fire from heat,” she said, ending her chant. She watched Henry rapidly and painfully return to his original form. He screamed.

    Jacob barged in.

    “Peter! What did you do?”

    “My name is Elizabeth. And I saved your son’s life,” Elizabeth said, turning on her heels. She stormed out from Jacob’s house.

    Bastard. I save his son’s life, and that’s what he says to me? Elizabeth seethed. A fleeting memory appeared in her head in her hexer teacher’s voice, the first rule she heard when she learned magic: Those with power do whatever they please. 

    It would be simple for her to turn him into a toad.  That would neatly take care of the problem.

    No, no, I’m not like that; the first duty of a cursebreaker is to do no harm, Elizabeth reminded herself.

    She began to chant to herself. “Heat from fire, fire from heat, heat from fire, fire from heat…” Soothing words; there’s a reason she ends cursebreaking with them. Her feet moved in time with her speech. She heard other footsteps. She kept walking. Henry appeared in front of her.

    “Hey, Re,” she said tersely to him.

    “Elizabeth, I’m sorry for my father’s behavior.”

    “I’m sure you are,” She took a breath and looked at Henry. He had come out here so quickly after she left; she clenched her fists in her pockets a couple of times. “You really shouldn’t be moving around so much right now.  I apologize for my tone earlier; I was being rude to you. You’re not your dad.”

    “He has given you offense, and the hour is late. You have offended me none.”

    “Drop the formalities, Re.”

    “Oh thank magic. You know I hate talking like that, Liz.”

    Elizabeth laughed, “You really do.”

    “Well, while I have you here, there’s a ball coming up soon in the Lord’s manor.”

    Elizabeth had gotten a letter about that; as a cursebreaker she was invited as a matter of etiquette, not of desire.

    “You know I don’t do parties, Re.”

    “Please make an exception, just this once.”

    “Why? Are you asking me to attend with you?”

    “Magic forefend! No! Not like that at least, but there is a man I want you to meet.”

    “Ah, so you’re setting me up. You know I have no interest in marriage either.” She doesn’t say the quiet part, that she could care about marriage if it was between her and someone like her. Those people don’t exist. Even other cursebreakers considered her an outsider.

    Henry laughed. “No, no,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “I know you’re a spinster through and through. No, I want you to meet the man I’ve been seeing.”

    Oh. Oh! Elizabeth thought to herself. “Oh that’s amazing, Re!  … Does Jacob know?”

    “No.”

    “My lips are sealed. Cursebreaker-patient confidentiality.”

    “You invoke that right a lot.”

    “This village has a lot of secrets. I keep them.”

    Henry nods solemnly. “So, will you come?”

    “I suppose I can fit time in my busy schedule.”

    “You work on a summons basis!”

    “Speaking of which, you will need to contact the Curse Corps; they deal with the hexers after all.”

    “Right, right. I was with him tonight, you know.”

    “The hexer?!” Elizabeth grinned.

    “Magic, no!” Henry laughed out loud, “Me and Thomas, the man I’m courting, but we were seen and… you don’t think he was cursed too, was he?!”

    “He may be. Where does he live?”

    “About a half day’s ride north.”

    “Mina watches over that region. She’s a good cursebreaker. He’s probably fine. It was a simple curse.”

    Henry calmed down at that. “Good, good.”

    Elizabeth yawned and stretched, the interrupted sleep finally getting to her. “Well, as you said, it’s late.” As much as she liked talking to Henry, she knew the two of them rarely let a conversation end, and she was still tired. “I already have an invite to the party, so I’ll be there and meet with Thomas. But right now, I’m going to meet my bed.”

    Henry laughed, “It is late, I’ll give you that. I’ll see you there.”

    He turned and left. Elizabeth walked into her house, changed out of her uniform and into a simple nightgown, and fell onto her bed and to sleep.

***

    The party was upon them. Elizabeth was wearing her uniform; it was the fanciest outfit she had. She really should start charging more for her service, but she knew not everyone could pay. Maybe she should seek a proper patronage, perhaps once Henry took over his house. She shrugged at her thoughts. She watched couples dancing while she sat alone eating cake at her candlelit table.  Her eyes wandered to the flame of the candle; she did always like the sound the flickering flames made.  It was different from the crackling of wood, a sound unto itself.  The only other thing that compared was the sound grass made blowing in the wind.  Although, no one ever seemed to talk about the beauty of either. Her leg was bouncing from her boredom, but the cake was strikingly good. She needed to find out the recipe. Henry approached her with a man who stood a head taller than her in tow. The newcomer’s arms had the look of an archer’s.

    “Elizabeth, this is Sir Thomas. Thomas, this is Cursebreaker Elizabeth,” Henry said.

    “Well met, Cursebreaker Elizabeth,” Thomas said.

    “Please, Elizabeth is fine. No need for formalities, Thomas. We’re among friends,” Henry said.

    “Are you quite certain?” Thomas asked, his face scrunched.

    Elizabeth takes another bite of cake. “Yea.”

    “Then, I must say, Henry has told me much about you.”

    “Oh?”

    “He speaks to your kindness, your charity, and your calm demeanor.”

    She laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “He speaks half truths. But he has told me little of you, so who are you?”

    “I am the firstborn son of Sir Matthew of Huntersford and Lady Mary of Riverside. Heir to both fortunes, excelled in my studies, bested three tourneys held by our host.”

    “Boastful.”

    “I-” He stopped at that, jaw going slightly slack. “I suppose I am.”

    “He’s really not that bad, he’s swee-” Henry started before he abruptly cut off with a choking sound, and suddenly Thomas started choking too. It rippled out from there. Elizabeth stood up. She felt the magic smothering the room. A curse. She looked around the room.

    No, several curses woven together, she thought to herself, feeling the magic that smothered her. An asphyxiation curse, a transformation curse, and a memory rewrite curse, all woven together? How? That shouldn’t work, and for what reason?  Who would attack here? 

    Elizabeth shook herself. She had to solve this. She started drumming her fingers on the table, trying to think this through. She started moving; it helped her think. Walking by the people that had fallen into an unconscious daze, she saw in the crowd of downed dancers many faces of cursebreakers she knew. Her mind began listing them as she noticed each face. 

    Mina, Alexander, Paul, Mary – did all of this region’s cursebreakers come?  Was that normal?  Elizabeth shook her head to dismiss the thoughts.

    She looked up, and she saw a man about her age standing up. He wore a black and white suit – the outfit of a cursebreaker man. He was looking around in just as much shock as her.

    Is he the hexer? She thought to herself. She started to approach him. Softly, she began the vocables of magic. The sounds kept getting caught in her throat, the wall of magic in the room overriding her attempts to bring magic to her. She was near enough now to hear him chanting the same. His voice was a pleasant baritone; in another life, she imagined he could be a singer.

    He saw her out of the corner of his eye and turned to her. “Is this magic smothering you too?” he asked; she could now see the strain in his face. How hard had he been trying to push his magic?

    “Yes. I can feel the curse, but I can’t reach the weave.”

    “Then we’re in the same boat. I’m Michael. I must admit to being anewcursebreaker, justpassedtheexamlastwe-”

    “Elizabeth. Now breathe. I’ve been at this for about a decade now. Although I’ll say I’ve never seen anything like this before. Multi-curses are incredibly rare,” she said. And why weren’t you affected? Just who are you?

    Michael took a breath. “What do we do?” His hands were shaking.

    “Our job. We don’t have long, either; this curse is powerful, so it won’t take long before it will become truly irreversible. Panic will just make us sloppy. Focus, what are the facts we know?”

    “Right, right, focus, I can focus,” Michael said, his hands still shaking. “A powerful curse has been placed upon the castle; we don’t know why.” His hands kept shaking. “It smothers our magic, and, for some reason, us two have not been affected by it.”

    “Not entirely accurate, but good enough. Keep your mind on what you know,” Elizabeth said. Drumming her fingers on the side of her dress, she hurried to reach the next room.  Her dress billowed backwards and fluttered behind her with the speed of her movement. I need to know if it’s the whole castle, but the amount of magic here, it almost rivals what I’ve taken in over the years.

    Michael hurried behind her. “Wha-what are you doing?”

    “Checking the manor; we just know the ballroom is cursed, not the rest,” Elizabeth said, crossing the threshold of the next room, where she got hit by the wall of magic even more intensely than where she came from, and was forced back into the ballroom. “Huh. Cursed room, too.”

    “What’s theplan?”

    Elizabeth looked around the room; her eyes settled on the other unconscious cursebreakers. “Got any rosemary?”

    “What? Ah, y-yes.”

    “Excellent, get all their rosemary too.” Elizabeth looked at the candles lighting the tables. They are not ritually made, but it should work. Rituality is just a guide after all. She began to gather up the candles, carefully trying to not extinguish their flames.

    One to the north for the winds which guide ships, one to the east for the sunrise which brings the dawn, one to the south for the stars which guide sailors, one to the west for the sunset which brings the dusk, and one for the center which returnbrings one back to the self,  Elizabeth thinks to herself, remembering where to put the candles for the ritual. It had been a long time since she did any true cursebreaking with proper technique instead of just ripping the magic out to feed her own. Michael approached her; his hands were shaking still.

    “I’ve got the rosemary you wanted.”

    “Thank you.”

    She began the vocables of magic once more. The smoke from the rosemary began to take the shape of the weave, but it began to dissipate.

    No! No!

    Then Michael’s baritone voice joined in. The two of them together forced the weave to take shape.

    Elizabeth saw where the aberrations in the weave were around the room.  They were sloppy connections like the curse on Henry earlier.  This wasn’t the work of a practiced hand, but someone working unsure of the weave’s pattern.

    How did they get so much power if they are this sloppy?  It almost feels… borrowed.  In the same way using a quill that isn’t yours does.   Elizabeth thought to herself.  She noticed Michael in the weave. 

     Michael himself was covered in sewn lines. It wasn’t a shoddy job; it was a lot like hers, as if they had been taught to sew the weave by the same person. If she wasn’t intimately familiar with what she was looking at, she may not have noticed, but his were fainter than hers. They had not had as much time to set or absorb power.

    Is he like me? Similar at least? If he is, are there yet more; am I not alone? No, no time to think about that. Just don’t touch him. Focus. The room is ours, Elizabeth thought to herself. She grabbed hold of line after line; she pulled on it, acting like a seam ripper, and spooled the loose magic around her. It was hers to have, hers to keep; she grabbed what should’ve been the last thread, but it grabbed her.

    A voice pounded in her head. CURSEBREAKER, YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE INTERFERED. NOW YOUR MAGIC IS MINE.

    Elizabeth felt herself unraveling. Memories flashed by. She felt like she was burning. She had felt this once before, when she had reshaped herself.

    She knew this could only end one way. No. No! I won’t let it end like this.

    YOU HAVE NO CHOICE. NO CHANCE. ALONE IS HOW YOU DIE.

    She pulled back on the magic trying to hold herself together.

    “She’s not alone!” Michael said, his voice cutting through the pain. She felt his hands helping hers guide the magic back to her. They were still shaking. But they were enough. She began braiding the weave of magic together.

    WHAT!  BUT HOW?!

    “Because we’re cursebreakers, hexer bastard!” Elizabeth screamed out, grabbing tight onto all the threads of braided magic, and her and Michael tore them from the hexer. The pair pulled the magic into them and collapsed.

    “We won!” Michael cheered out in an airless laugh, a bright smile on his face as he lay on the ground, collapsed. The other party goers, breathing hard as if they had just ran a marathon, began to get up.  Elizabeth stayed supine upon the ground and was trying to get control of her limbs again; they felt wooden.  There was a static buzzing about her ears.  It sounded like the flickering of the candles, but just ever so off, and it was so much more annoying.  Measured footsteps came from the hallway outside the ballroom echoing in.

    “I wouldn’t rest on your laurels just yet. What a pain in the neck,” a man’s voice said. Elizabeth recognized it: it was the same as in the weave, and now, without the pounding of magic, she recognized it even more.  It was Jacob’s.

    Elizabeth got up onto one knee. She lifted her chin and looked up at the hexer.

    “Jacob?” Elizabeth asked, shocked.

    “Yes, I had hoped to deal with my worthless son here. Although I will also be glad to be rid of you.” He spat out the last word. He lifted his hand and began chanting.

    “Father?! What are you doing?” Henry cried out, his voice cutting through the noise. He looked shocked and appalled.

    Jacob started laughing. “My fool of a son. I know whom you love; who do you think cursed you and Thomas that night? Your brother just had to get that involved. But, at least he’ll take a wife.”

    Elizabeth seized this moment of distraction; grabbing the raw weave, she chanted fast, “Heat from fire, fire from heat,” and she bound him with the threads of the weave. His arms were constricted to his sides, and his gagged voice fell silently. He started choking.

    “Liz!” Henry shouted.

    “What? He was a threat. Give me a knife. I can end this quickly.”

    “You are not an executioner, Elizabeth; he shall stand trial. He is, unfortunately, a noble. To kill him without due process is a serious offense,” Henry said, spitting in the direction of his father.

    Elizabeth looked at Jacob, his face turning pale. Rage was building inside her. Her feet tapped the floor hard until she started making her way towards him. Henry and Thomas both grabbed her shoulders.

    “Cursebreaker Elizabeth, please,” Thomas pleaded. She shook them off. Michael had gotten in front of her.

    “Elizabeth, what is the first rule?” Michael asked, his arms trembling.

    She remembered the first rule she was taught when she learned magic. “Those with power do what they please.”

    There was a flash of recognition on Michael’s face. It was clear to Elizabeth that he was taught in the same manner as her. “Not the first r-rule of m-magic, the first rule of c-cursebreaking.”

    Her shoulders slumped. “To do… no harm.” She loosed the grip of the weave around the man’s throat, but tightened the magic gagging him. She really didn’t want to hear him talk right now.

    She turned her back to Michael, her dress flaring out as she did, and sat back down at her table. Henry, Thomas, and Michael joined her at her table. Her feet were still tapping the floor. The other people in the room looked at Elizabeth in fear of her, and they gave the table a wide berth. The mood had been quite soured. Elizabeth didn’t care. She felt incredibly exhausted. She ate some more of her cake.

[staxdeadempress]

Today I launch my first webcomic

"Who ever claims the Shard of Tephim can have their wish granted. Deep in the forest, the Ishtani think they've found it. Many hands wish to claim the shard, but only one can.

Rohta, a young Ishtani Guardian, has their life upended upon its discovery, forcing them to understand their own wish."

[bravegrumpy]

I am anxious as I start my drive through the mountains, 2 lane road, twisting as if cut through the rocky terrain. My ears pop as the elevation increases, and I continually ride the brakes as I take hairpin turns, practically praying that I won't fall off the cliffs or run into an oncoming traffic. As the paved section narrows into a single lane gravel path, just wide for my coop to pass, while just scraping the driver's side mirror, I start to regret taking the mountain pass, rather than spending the extra month of travel time to go around the range.

I have some paints and brushes in the car, allowing me to perform minor fixes and injuries but rolling off this cliff, is far more than i am prepared for, especially if the paint tubes break. As I round the next bend, I realize I only have 2 extra containers of fuel which is not nearly enough for a fill up. Based on the map I reviewed back in the library-museum at home, i surmised that I could cross the range through this pass within a tank and about six hours.

But that map assumed the pass was paved.

It is not paved. Not even close. The maze of roads means that I so not even know if I'm still on the pass.

I also wish there was some way for me to have access to a map, if only to orient myself.

--Audio recording stored in the Academy Archives. Skylar needed special access to hear it, as the fidelity of audio seems to degrade with each play. We figured out how to play it, but it is not technology from the river valley.

[sojournerstales]

GIRLS AND GHOSTS - a sapphic short story collection

I have a really good reason for being so inactive, it's called writing and self-publishing an entire book.

It's a 24-story collection of sapphic horror, romance, and ghosts. It's really good, you should watch this space for more info to come like a pre-order link and some chapter previews maybe.

[zdux]

Left Wanting

I do not want to be the main character of my own story

I do not want to be the so called hero, I don't like it when I am looked to first, when I am the one people glance to for an answer the moment a question leaves someone's lips, all eyes on me as if I am an angel descended from the heavens to be stared at with awe

Awe in their eyes, awe, hope, this pleading look for guidance and yet I cannot guide myself to the things I want most, I cannot guide my pen to the page I cannot guide my hand onto his I cannot guide myself from this room to the next without feeling the pain in my legs grow with every step I take. I know that I must step, for I have no other choice, why else would they have wasted all that time teaching me how to walk if not for me to take steps of my own and yet I find myself glued to the floor, my shoes stuck down in tar like Cinderella and yet I am no princess, I am nobody's princess.

A small part of me desperately wants to be, to be someone's princess, to be saved from a tower by a knight in shining armor but I stuff it down, I bury her in my closet like the skeleton she is; thin, fragile, weak. So easily broken, so easily bent, so I hide her deep deep down in the castle dungeons that makes up my past and I tell myself to let her rot but she is already rotten there is no meat on her bones to be picked away by vultures. She is rotten because she no longer exists and she is rotten to me, I find her rotten I do not like the taste of her name on my tongue as it was once my own.

I do not want to be the main character of my own story because I once was and years upon years later I find myself realizing that Achilles was right, no hero has a happy ending. The story cuts of at the best moment of their lives, it pans to them staring into the sunset, surrounded by loved ones with a smile on their face but the sun is too bright on their skin for the scars to be seen. They link arms with their friends, hold their family close to them, kiss their lover with all the passion of an musician and the gentle touch of a sculptor before the screen fades to black and the viewers are left with a smile, thinking, knowing, that it was a happy ending but it wasn't. The show never goes on long enough to let the sun set and the scars be shown again, to see the blood flow start up once more. The arms unlink from one another as the friends realize the monster that stands before them, their family retracts as the warm skin they felt turns to fur before them and their lover watches in horror as the lips that they once kissed now bare fangs and snarl at them. The sun is down, the story is "over" and yet the hero now stands before everyone they hold dear as they realize they have lived long enough to become the villain, they are now the monster in another person's story, they are now the dragon to be slain.

And should those they love try to adjust, try to learn how to care for dragons no amount of healing potions will cure the burns they collect when I breath fire upon them. No amount of gold can replace the furniture I crush as I try to fit myself inside a house not built for me, no amount of flights on my back into the sky will make up for the time someone slips and I am too slow to save them, like Icarus they fall and like Daedalus I can only watch on in horror as I realize it was my own creations, my own ideas that lead to their death. They may blame it on their want to fly but deep down I will always know it was my giving them wings that is to blame.

I do not want to be the main character in my own story because I am already wearing so much armor, armor that will not come off after years of use it is rusted onto my body and I cannot find the strength to take it off. The sword I once used to vanquish foes and the shield I once used to protect the kingdom now beaten and battered, the pommel cracked, the leather ripped, and the steel bent out of shape: irreparable.

My helmet no longer covers a mind that dreams of a better life, my chest plate no longer protects a strong and noble heart, my greaves no longer cover legs that carry me across the kingdom. I am rusted, I lay in a field where I once fought battles and let the earth overtake me, the plants using my hollowed out armor as a new home and yet I still sit inside it. In the field where children play, where families have picnics and lovers kiss for the first time I sit, rusted and overgrown, unable to shake the image of the bodies that once lay in that field soaking in their own blood.

I do not want to be the main character in my own story because no matter if I am the princess, the dragon, or the knight I do not get a happy ending. No matter if I am rescued, if I am slain, or if I am hailed as a hero, I am left wanting. The crown atop my head means nothing as I crave for the peace and solitude of my tower, the sword in my belly does not give me the release of death that I crave as my scales stop it from piercing my heart, leaving me to hide in my cave in agony, and the shield on my back does not protect me nor others from the pain and grief of what I have seen, it does not protect from the thoughts that race in my mind.

I do not want to be the main character of my story. I have been the princess, the dragon, and the knight, and yet I am still left longing. My story is not yet done but I do not wish to be in it. Maybe the next chapter will not be about me, maybe the next chapter will change my story, maybe the next page, the next line, the next word, will make me want to be the main character. Maybe one more day in the tower, one more piece of treasure, one more foe slain or peasant saved, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe! I cry out, praying my author chooses to be kind to me and yet I realize with a shock that I am still standing with my shoes in the tar and a pen in my hand. My eyes unglaze and I look into the other room which I have so desperately been trying to get to and see my desk and my paper waiting for me and yet I still cannot unstick myself from the floor as I realize I am my own author. The pen in my hand feels like a shackle just as much as the tar on my shoes and yet I know it is the one thing that can change my story, the one thing that can give the hero not just a happy ending but a conclusion, a reason to be proud of being the main character of my story. And yet, I stand still. The tar has dried, I could slip out of my shoes and cross it now and yet I don't. Why don't I, why don't I leave this retched room and finish my story, why do I stand here like the princess waiting for be saved, like a dragon caught in a cage, like a knight caught in a trap?

I do not want to be the main character of my story. I do not want to be the princess, the dragon, the knight, or the author and yet I am all of those things. The pen in my hand my sword, the shoes on my feet my glass slippers and the tar that surrounds me my treasure hoard. The other room is my happy ending, it is how I escape the tower, it is how I secure my gold, it is how I save the princess. I curse all three of them for being in my way and yet I know it is not their fault it is mine alone, I am the author who has been avoiding writing, I am the author who keeps saying I have writers block when the publication house tells me they need another chapter, I am the author who does not want to write my own story.

I am the author, not the main character. The main character, my façade, is nothing more than what I wish to be. I sit here and curse myself "I do not want to be the main character, I do not want to be the main character, I do not want to be the main character," over and over again but I know that those words are a lie every time they leave my lips. The main character is exactly who I want to be but I am the author, the author who is so jealous of my own protagonist that I cannot bring myself to finish their story.

I want to be the main character in my own story.

I am instead the author, left wanting.

[sjw-cafe-mew-mew]

Hey! Do you like isekai? Do you like otome isekai specifically? Do you like men in a gay way? Then you might like the webnovel I've been working on: Reborn as the Second Male Lead.

As a nonbinary author trying to survive, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could take a look at my patreon and maybe show it to people you think might enjoy it. Even if you can't support me monetarily, I'd appreciate if you could support me with your eyes.

[eve-rose-author]

My book, Rage of The Barbarian, is officially published! Get your digital copy below, or dm me to buy a print version

[shinyasahalo]

[alectepohe]

Avast! Pirate Stories from Transgender Authors edited by Michael Earp and Alison Evans @alisonwritesthings is out now!

More info here.

[thelostwordsofangelprimrose]

The Computer In The Sun - A Novel

Five years ago, I began to write a story. One of pain and suffering and death and-

No. That isn’t right at all. Five years ago I began to write a story based off an idea I heard on a podcast. One that no longer exists, but still became a part of me all the same. I took this idea, this… fraction of a concept and dwelled on it until it felt real, alive even. I could feel it’s beating heart beneath my fingertips with each strike of the keys. In it’s life I found peace. I found an escape from the things that afflicted me, from the people who inflicted suffering upon me.

And so I made this story bleed for me. I took it apart over and over again, covering myself in it’s viscera so that I could survive the hell I had to endure.

I’m safe now, a world away from the abuse I experienced, and yet it feels just as real in every memory I have. Every sharp word and raised hand, every bit of disgust and hatred levied by the family who was meant to protect me. Perhaps that’s why I am releasing this story now, as a way of letting go of the pain I suffered, of the death I feared at their hands.

I began writing this story before I knew I was trans. I was a different person when the first words touched those pages, but then time changes us all. It is, after all, the only constant.

The Computer In The Sun is a work of science fiction, a fantastical tale of broken hearts and simulations and creatures the darkness hides from us. It’s about love and despair and a thousand other things that perhaps only I will ever know the extent of, but I hope you can gain something real from reading it, just as I have from writing it.

[whitehathexerswriting]

White Hat Hexers 2: Fallhaven

Written by: @nighttimedaydreams and edited by: Anastasia M. ( @fighterpilotdragon02 / https://www.instagram.com/fighterpilotdragon/ )

        Elizabeth found herself lying in the grass looking up at the noontide sun through the sprawling crisscrossing limbs of the trees that grew along the coast near the lake outside her house.  The light flickered and swayed with the breeze, and it sounded like the gentle rubbing of fabric on skin.  The only thing missing was the babble of a river; her old home had one of those, back when she was a child.  She shook her head, dismissing the memories.  She wiggled her toes.  It was nice to finally be done with the whole mess that was Jacob.   Appearing before a court was never fun.  The only good parts were Jacob was no longer around to hate her, and she got to see Michael some more.  Henry ruled his house now and gave her his patronage.  It felt strange to her to no longer struggle for money.  The wind played with her red blouse and blue skirt.  She wasn’t in uniform; no curses had befallen anyone recently.  She heard footsteps approaching.  She sat up, twigs falling out of her loose hair.  She could tell by their weight the footsteps belonged to Henry.

        “Hello, Liz, I thought I would find you here,” he said.  He was dressed in common summer clothes – the only mark of his status was his family’s signet ring on his hand.  He often dressed like that in the village, especially since he had taken charge.  Elizabeth had asked him why once; he had said that if people only respected him because of his clothes, they didn’t respect him at all, just his station.

       “Hey, Re, you thought you would find me at my house? What a strange place for me to be.” 

       He laughed. “Liz, as I think you will notice, we are outside.  Your house,” he said, pointing behind them, “is about 40 feet that way.”

       Elizabeth laughed.  “Alright, alright.  What brings you here?”

       “A letter,” Henry said, pulling it out of his pocket. “Now, to be clear, it isn’t about a curse, but I do think you’ll still want to know its contents.” Henry handed her the letter.  She took it and read it over silently. From King William to the honorable House of the Spider-Boars,                                       On order of the king and his court you are being summoned to Fallhaven to discuss recent events.                                           May magic’s weave be long for you,               King William

       “I always forget you can do that, reading silently.” Henry said

       “Years of practice,” Elizabeth said – mostly to avoid skipping lines, she thought to herself – and waved her hand dismissively at both her thought and at Henry,  “but they’re summoning nobles even this distant to Fallhaven?  I know what happened with Jacob was a stir, but this seems extreme.”

       “Yea, that it does, but also what happened with Jacob, I want a cursebreaker with me.”

       “So you’re asking me to come with you.  All the way to the capital?  But what about the people here, what if something happens, and they need a curse broken, and I’m gone?  You know there have been reports of increasing hexer activity throughout the land.  Your father had to have been taught by someone, and they couldn’t be too far away from here.”

       “Liz, answer me honestly, what do you think is the likelihood of a hexer strike here while we’re away?”

       Elizabeth thought for a moment.  “Pretty low.  After the whole stunt with Jacob, most hexers won’t come this way for at least a half year.  Because either they expect we’ll be on high alert or because they heard about what me and Michael did…”

       “Which I maintain was quite amazing.  It must have been the will of magic that there were two cursebreakers there who could withstand the spell.”

       “Perhaps,” Elizabeth said; she never put much stock into that sort of superstition, but Henry was the religious type. “Or maybe it was just luck.”

       Henry smiled: this was often a point of debate between the two of them. “You know there is no such thing as luck.  All things are the will of magic, excepting, of course, human free will.”

       “If that’s so, then how does magic plan for our fickle natures?  We shift by whim like the wind.”

       Henry chuckled, “Ah, that is the question, but you, Liz, are avoiding the more pressing question.  Will you go with me to the capital?”

       She thought of the village.  The people here had been liking her better since Jacob was removed.  She once again thought of the chance a hexer would strike anyone here.  She had learned during her training most hexers, while power hungry, usually didn’t attack a place without a reason, and most often that reason was money.  Hexers were commonly hired mercenaries of a sort, despite the illegality of their practices.  People found it far too tempting to turn their rivals into pigs rather than just kill them.  She had kept the village safe for ten years.  Somewhere this remote didn’t usually see the power plays of the larger cities, but every now and then an aspiring hexer would try their hand here.  That wouldn’t be the case anymore.  No aspiring hexer would try the home of Elizabeth the Cursebreaker.  The story of that day had grown much from the reality of the events.  No, she had painted a target on their backs, but it would take time and planning before any competent hexer attacked.

       She sighed.  “You know you could force me to go, as my patron.”

       “And you know as your friend I never would.”

       “How much time do I have to pack?”

       “We leave the day after tomorrow at sunrise.  Edward is also coming with us, and my house steward Jonathan will watch over things here for us.  It’s too bad you don’t have an apprentice to safeguard the village while you’re away.”

       “Perhaps one day; more likely than me getting married at least.”

       Henry chuckled at that.  “Not even Michael is enough for you?” Henry teased with a light smile.

       “If I had to marry for tax reasons, he's on the short list, but no.  He's a fine gentleman, and I like getting his letters, but as it stands, no.” 

       “Well then, taking on an apprentice is the much more likely thing.  Find yourself a nice young student to train.  Maybe someone like yourself, if they ever came along.”

       “Maybe, if one ever comes along. For now, Re, we have a capital to get to.”

***

       A few days later, they were on the last leg of their journey to the capital. The journey had been much shortened by the means of a transformation that had once been put upon the land: a string of magical threads, with a large carriage that moved quickly on them, connected a handful of major cities.  They called it the Spider because the strings formed a sort of web when mapped out, but Elizabeth always thought it looked more like a spoke and wheel. It was from a hexer’s attempt to raid them all quickly with an army he had gathered, but the nobility found it useful, so it was never removed.  Henry's ancestors were the ones responsible for holding off the actual invasion. 

       The section they were in was fairly spacious and had lavish seats and a handful of tables either for dining or consulting documents. The ride was comfortable enough, but Elizabeth could feel the power of the curse – it was so strong she didn’t even call upon magic to feel it, and her own curse was tempted to consume it for power, but she resisted the urge. She had plenty of energy to maintain her curse.  If she had been less sloppy when she cursed herself, she might’ve been able to have her transformation last permanently without the need for fuel, but she never properly finished her hexer training from long ago.  Still, she was now a renowned cursebreaker; as long as she found curses to break before she ran out of power she’d be fine, and she had years of power stored up.  

       Henry had run into Thomas while heading to Fallhaven; the two were now engaged in quiet conversation, holding hands under the table that stood between where they were seated and where Elizabeth was.  Elizabeth was looking out the window, watching the scenery pass by, listening to the sound the blur made, bouncing her leg restlessly. She had been on the Spider once before, eleven years ago – just after she had left her hexer mentor.  She had forgotten how fast it moved.  Horses just could not compete.  

       She got up; she had been sitting in the same spot too long, and the boredom was starting to become agitation.  She paced back and forth, with the occasional twirl thrown in because movement always helped ease that feeling.  Henry and Edward knew how she could get, so they just ignored her pacing, Thomas glanced at her, but Henry held his attention.  The particular section of the Spider they were in was empty, save for the four of them.  Eventually, Edward got up to talk to her,

       “Elizabeth, remind me, for I seem to have forgotten, have you been to Fallhaven before?”

       Elizabeth stopped midtwirl. “Once.  Years ago.  Didn’t think I’d be back.”

       “Oh?  Did something happen?”

       “Nothing in particular, but it was a different period of my life.  I like our village; despite everything, it’s home now.”

       “I remember that when you came to the village for the first time, I was scarcely ten.  You seemed… much less sure of yourself.  From what I remember at least – that was a decade and some years ago.”

       “Yes, it was. I was still under my mentor’s tutelage at the time,” Elizabeth said 

       “What were they like?”

       “She was very exacting.  Nice, until you didn’t do what she wanted, but she’s no longer involved with me now.”

       “I see, that would explain why you didn’t stay long back then, but you came back not too long after.”

       “The village seemed nice.  It was far away from most of my problems, save your father.”

       Edward looked down at the mention of his father.  “I do apologize for his… well, behavior doesn’t quite begin to cover it.” Elizabeth looked at Edward and breathed in deeply. “It’s not your place to apologize for his acts.  You are not him, nor do you speak for him.”

       “I suppose not, but still I don't like seeing you hurt or suffering.”

       “That's kind of you, Edward.  I'm hoping this trip goes quickly.”

         “We’ll see,” Edward said before moving away from her.  The two never talked as long as she did with his brother.

           Elizabeth once again began pacing; her hands itched to move as well.

           I really should take up my various crafts again.  Spinning was fun, but so was looming. Knitting didn’t make much sense though, but I have more time and resources now that I have access to Henry's resources, at least until I decide that they don’t actually hold my focus that long again, Elizabeth thought to herself. 

***

       The train reached its second to last stop.  Elizabeth felt a familiar presence board the train.  “Michael?” she said aloud.

       Henry looked at her. “I haven’t seen him.”

       “No, no, I think he just got on board.  I’m gonna go look for him.”

       “How could you know?”

       “Cursebreaker senses!” Elizabeth said, leaving the car, not wanting to explain the whole truth to Henry.  She could feel the curse; it was hard to sense beneath the weight of the Spider, but she knew what she was looking for.  She saw him.  He was in the company of an obviously noble woman.

       “Oh, Elizabeth!” Michael said, smiling at her.

       “A friend of yours?” the lady asked

       “Lady Mary, this is Elizabeth, the other cursebreaker who helped me at the lord’s party.”

       “Oh!  What a pleasure to make your acquaintance, then.”

       “And mine yours, Lady Mary,” Elizabeth said, performing a proper courtesy. “I was wondering why Michael was going on this trip.  I suppose it is because you wanted his presence as a cursebreaker while heading to the capital?”

       “That is quite right.  If you were the one who helped him at the party, then I’m sure with the both of you there is nothing to worry about.  I shall go speak with the other nobles aboard. With both of your presence, I am certain you two can freely do… whatever it is you people actually do,” she said, leaving.

       “She’s snobbish,” Elizabeth said as soon as Mary was out of earshot. “Not like Henry.”

       “Yeah… but she was the only one willing to give me patronage.  My family is a bunch of farmers.  We needed money, especially since my sister, Abigail, is in poor health.  Lady Mary offered to cover the expense and more.  As long as I was willing to come at her beck and call.”

       “I’m gonna guess that it isn’t a curse on your sister.  You’re skilled enough to undo any of those you came across, if you wanted to.”

       Michael sighed. “No, it’s Beatrice’s Sleying. A rare disease, which not only affects them physically but their connection to the weave – weakens it. There are herbs that can alleviate the physical symptoms, maybe even cure that part of it, the doctors say, but they’re expensive and from faraway lands.  So I put up with Lady Mary because she offered to pay, and I don’t want to see my family suffer. You understand, right?”

       Elizabeth looked out the window.  “Wish I could say I do.”

       Michael turned to look at her at that.  Then he turned to look out the window as well.  “I hope someday you do,” he said.

       “I doubt I ever will.  My own family isn’t in the weave of my life.”

       “I think you’ll weave one yet.”

       “I doubt it.  You know most people don’t like us if they know what we’ve done, and the others find us offputting for not doing things in the traditional way.”

       “What about Henry?”

       “What about him?”

       “He seems unbothered by you.”

       “He’s different.”

       “How?”

       “He’s Henry.  I’ve only seen that man hate two people.  His father and himself.  The latter he eventually got over.”

       “And his brother that you’ve written me about?”

       “Henry’s the older; Edward will follow his lead.”

       Michael turned to Elizabeth; he had stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “It seems to me, that you’re looking for reasons to think you’re unwanted.”

       “Oh I’m wanted; my skill as a cursebreaker has made me valuable.”

       “I didn’t say needed.  I said wanted.  There’s a difference there, Elizabeth.”

       Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively.  “What is the difference?”

       “One makes you a friend, the other a laborer.  And from what I’ve managed to glimpse, I think you and Henry are friends.”

       Elizabeth didn’t have a response to that.  She let the conversation lapse, enjoying the sound of the passing landscape.  It wasn’t quite like the wind, although she could hear that too.  No, it was the motion of the landscape itself that she heard, almost underneath the other sounds of the Spider.  It sounded smooth, like the pages of a book being flipped.

       They stayed like that for a while in the silence.  Eventually, from his pocket, Michael pulled out a book.  Elizabeth glanced at the spine for the title. Detective David and the Case of the Cursed Loom, it read.  Elizabeth laughed; she knew that book well.

       “Oh?” Michael said, looking up at her sudden bout of laughter

       “Sorry, it’s just that I loved those stories – well, what few I could get my hands on.  Absolute nonsensical dribble; who would curse an object when you could curse someone directly?  It’s so many extra steps.  But by shed and bobbin, I read them again and again.”

       “They are not the most intellectual stories, are they?”

       “Not at all.  But they are so very fun, weft and wrap. I remember when I was first learning letters, I read them and would try to make my own adventures for Detective David.  I think some of them might still linger around my house.”

       Michael chuckled at that; he seemed calm in this moment, like this was much more his natural state than when Elizabeth had met him at the ball. “I should very much like to read those.”

       “No, you wouldn’t!  It was terrible schlock.  I am no storyteller; that is one kind of yarn I do not spin well.”

       Michael laughed at that.  The silence strayed towards comfortable.  They stayed like that for a while.

***

       They had reached the capital, although Elizabeth wasn’t granted the luxury of exploring it.  She only got to see the shining city on the approach; it sprawled far larger than her village made of many stone and wooden buildings, but she barely had time to change into her proper cursebreaker attire and rebraid her hair, and so she had no time to wander through it.  The king had wanted to meet the nobles of their group as soon as they arrived; apparently the others were already waiting.  Both Elizabeth’s group and Michael’s entered into the palace which stood majestically looking over the rest of the city upon a large hill. It smelled of rosemary.  

       Strange, usually that’s reserved for cursebreakers.  Is it growing around here? Elizabeth thought to herself.  The group soon reached the banquet hall, which hosted the king and all the nobles he had summoned.

       Henry and Lady Mary were ushered inside  by the doorman, but Elizabeth and Michael were expected to stay where they were.  As cursebreakers, they bore many of the privileges of nobility but held no actual rank.

       “Do you smell the rosemary?” she asked him

       “Yes, it’s strange.”

       Then something shifted.  It was subtle, but Elizabeth was well attuned to subtle changes in magic.

       She began to chant, to feel the magic around her.  Everything became as string.  She saw how each part connected to each other like sinew and bone.  She could see Michael and the curse she suspected he had placed upon himself; it was better set now – he had consumed more power since Elizabeth had met him.  It was no longer freshly set: his curse had taken root on him fully now.   The palace itself became a massive weave to her.  She couldn’t pick out people far away from her in these conditions.  The banquet hall seemed perfectly fine and safe.

       “Heat from fire, fire from heat,” she said, ending her peering into the realm of magic. “The banquet hall seems safe.  You felt it too, right?”

       “I did.” His hands were shaking. “Someone is bold enough to strike the palace itself.”

       Elizabeth breathed in. “Then we have a job to do.  All the nobles are gathered here.  It would be easy enough to get them all gone in one fell swoop.  So, we aren’t going to let that happen.”

       “But where do we even start?”

       Barking shattered the nervous silence that had started up as the pair considered what to do.  The sound was deep and very loud. It somehow seemed worried.

       “I think that’s our answer,” Elizabeth said, following the sound of the dog.  Some cawing joined the chorus of barks soon after, and the caws were frantic.  It was all coming from the same place.  Elizabeth and Michael ran up several flights of stairs.  She could see Michael’s hands shaking.  Elizabeth was growing short of breath.

         They reached a spinning room.  Next to the spinning wheel was a large black dog and a couple crows; there were scraps of clothes surrounding them.  They seemed incredibly distressed.   The way they moved wasn’t natural.  They were obviously cursed, to Elizabeth’s eyes.

       Elizabeth started chanting, as did Michael.  The magic beneath everything revealed itself to Elizabeth.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael heading towards the birds, so she focused on the dog.  She saw the aberration and absorbed it into herself; they had arrived soon enough where the curse hadn’t fully set yet, but it was close.  Pulling it in burned, but she wasn’t just going to not do her job.  She heard bones shift from the dog as she drew in the curse.  Slowly humanity was restored to them, and she heard screams of pain.  It had been too late to apply willow bark.  Elizabeth felt a twang of guilt at that, but there was only so much she could do.  Eventually the person entirely returned to their human form; Elizabeth could clearly see the person was a woman now that she was no longer a dog.  Elizabeth quickly handed the woman a length of fabric from the floor, to preserve her modesty.  The woman was still very much in pain, but that would pass.  She would need a lot of rest, but that was true of the other two as well.  Elizabeth glanced over to see Michael had restored two children to humanity; their clothes had stayed intact because they had become much smaller.  Michael’s hands were shaking, but his face showed great relief.

       “Heat from fire, fire from heat,” Elizabeth said, ending the chant she had kept the whole time; her throat was parched.  “What happened?”

       “I, I don’t know.  I was just spinning and then-” The woman’s voice was ragged, hoarse, and weak.

       “It’s okay, rest now, you’re safe,” Elizabeth said, and then she looked at Michael.  He walked over to the spinning wheel.  

       “Elizabethyousaidcursingobjectswasridiculous,” Michael said, slamming his words together. He was nervous; they were almost too late. Whoever set this curse was very good. “But-” He pointed at the spinning wheel.

       Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. “It can’t be that.  A hexer must’ve snuck in and been unnoticed.”

       “Andtargeteda-” Michael took a deep breath, “Children and a servant?  Not all the nobles drawn together?  I thought I saw something when I was breaking the children’s curses.”

       The children had huddled around their presumed mother.  “I’ll take a look,” Elizabeth said and began to chant.  She was so parched.  Michael had joined her. His baritone voice was nice to have added onto her own; comforting even, Elizabeth admitted to herself.  She focused on the spinning wheel.  Quite clearly she could see it had been cursed: one that would linger until activated.   

       But why? Elizabeth thought to herself. It would have made more sense just to curse these folks directly. 

       Elizabeth focused on the way the spinning wheel was cursed, Michael slowly unwound the aberrant threads of it.  While Elizabeth often acted like a seam ripper to cursed threads, Michael, she could see, treaded with a more careful hand, slowly absorbing the magic into himself.  She was certain now about the nature of his curse, as she watched him drink in the magic from the curse.  As he unwound it, she saw hidden in the threads of the curse a message.

       “I’m waiting.” 

       Elizabeth felt a chill run down her soul.  There was only one person she knew good enough at hexing, at playing with the threads, to weave a message into a curse.  Michael finished absorbing the last of the curse.

       “You saw it too right?” she asked him.

       He nodded.  He knew.  His hands, which had been steady when dealing with the spinning wheel, were shaking more intensely than normal, like how a flame flickers.  To Elizabeth’s eyes, the sound of the shakes was like the sounds of rocks tumbling down a small hill.  

       “Sheshouldn’t-sheshouldn’tbehere,” Michael hissed out, his mouth barely opening wide enough for the words spilling out of his mouth.

       “I know,” Elizabeth said, a hint of terror slipping into her own voice, “but we have to find out what she wants.  She's probably nearby.  If she wanted the nobles, she would have cursed them already.  This was a message for us.”  She looked over at the three she and Michael had saved.  They would need rest but should otherwise be fine.  “You three, get some rest.  Unfortunately, Michael and I have quite the unraveled fray to deal with.”

       The presumed mother nodded, and, tying the sheet Elizabeth had given her around her bust, left the room with her kids.  Elizabeth and Michael moved out as a unit.  They left the palace proper; their old teacher wouldn't be there.  There was another hill nearby.  Elizabeth thought she saw someone standing on top of it.  Even from this distance, she could sense the woman bore a curse, and Elizabeth knew what it was, too.  She pointed it out to Michael, he nodded, and they both headed that way.  Soon they were climbing it, and there they saw her.

       “You kept me waiting; you know I hate that,” the woman’s sultry voice cooed. She had a figure that most would die for, either to have or to hold; a thousand ships could be launched for her beauty.  The work of a finely crafted curse.

       “Circe,” Elizabeth said

       “No title?  You forget yourself, Hecate – oh wait, no, it’s Elizabeth now isn’t it?  Rejected the name of old power I gave you for one of theirs, one of Hers.” Circe looked derisively at Michael. “As did you, Odin; what was it now, Michael?  What a pathetic name.”

       “What do you want?” Elizabeth asked forcefully, as her voice took on a slow simmer of anger, and she took a step towards Circe.

       Circe looked down at Elizabeth. “I’m giving you two one last chance. I heard what you did at that party; did you know I was the one helping out Jacob?  You must’ve realized he was not nearly skilled enough for what he was doing.  Admirable work, what you two did, undoing it in the moment.  So join me now; together we can alter the fate of this country, of this world! Make it how we desire – no one could stop us.” She looked at Michael. “And if that somehow doesn’t interest you, I know about your sister.  I could give you the tools to help her.” Circe smiled at him like how a mother might smile upon their child.

       Michael closed his eyes a moment.  His breath sharp and rapid.  He seemed to be considering her offer.  He snapped open his eyes.  He breathed in deep as he could.  His whole arms were shaking.

       “N-no,” Michael said. “I.  I,  le-left you because you want t-to hurt people.  Y-you m-might help me, but y-you’d hurt so many.  You w-would use me to hurt so many.”

       “Hmph,” Circe growled. “Then you are lost to me.  Surely you’re not so ungrateful for the training I gave you; after all, you know that those with power get what they want, Elizabeth.” Circe spat out the name. “It’s only because of my teachings that either one of you have a body you don’t despise, and I could take that away. Don’t think you know more than me about the weave of magic, although, I’ll admit, I can’t understand why you two, you, Elizabeth, girl, especially, made yourself so average, when you could have had beauty beyond compare.”

       Elizabeth looked Circe dead in the eyes. “I thank you for the lessons you taught me.  But I have a duty to do no harm. And I know what you do to those in your way.”

       Circe shook her head.  “You’re both fools.  Unfortunately, you’re very skilled fools.  Consider today a warning, then.  I’ll be back, and when we next meet face to face,I won’t be so kind.  You will lose.” She snapped her fingers. “Now, you might want to check on your charges,” she taunted.

  Elizabeth felt something shift.  The weave of magic had grown taut; she didn’t even have to vibrate the air to feel it. Elizabeth turned her back to Circe and started running hard.  Michael followed.

       Faster, Elizabeth thought to herself, pushing herself harder.  She knew better than most that Circe could do harm beyond anyone else’s means.

       Faster.        Faster.

       Fast- 

       She reached the palace; she could only assume Michael had followed.  She pushed her way into the banquet hall.  The door fought against her as if it was being held tight.  She could feel the magic here being pulled taut still.  It wasn’t the same as when it tried to crush her at the last banquet, but still the pressure was so intense no one could move.  Instead, it was threatening to snap as it strained under the weight, and Elizabeth knew, from having seen Circe do this trick once a long time ago, that when it snapped it would rapidly transform everyone in here, probably into pigs. Circe was fond of that one.  

       She felt Michael’s shaking hand brush hers.  “Th-the m-magic is too tight in here, wecan’triskvibratingittoseeit.”

       “I know,” Elizabeth said.  Weft and wrap… wait, the rosemary! Elizabeth thought to herself.  “Michael, the rosemary!” she shouted, taking off to follow the smell of it.  Michael looked at her, shocked, as she ran off.  She found the gardens easily.  There was a gardener there.

       “I need all the rosemary you can give me,” Elizabeth said with all the authority she could muster.  The gardener nodded and ran off, and then they came back with a few baskets full of rosemary.  Elizabeth took them and sprinted to the banquet hall.

       Michael had at some point acquired flint and steel, and, as Elizabeth spread out the rosemary, he lit a spark.  They both began chanting outside the room.  The weave of magic took shape.  She could see it being drawn into the banquet hall, pulled almost to the breaking point.

       They had to slacken it all at once somehow; Circe had pulled it so tight that to slacken one would snap the others.  It was almost like the weave had been drained of its power and was hanging on only through memory.   

       Power.

       Elizabeth looked at her hands, and realized she herself was a wellspring of power.

       She understood now, that only she could restore the weave.  Michael wouldn’t have enough power absorbed yet.  This was Circe’s attempt to get her to abandon what it means to be a cursebreaker.

       No, I can’t.  I can’t risk going back to that, she thought to herself.  She thought about Henry being transformed into a pig.  She couldn’t let that happen, not because he was her patron, but because he was her friend.   Elizabeth knew that she couldn’t break a curse Circe didn’t want broken.  

       She’s a bastard, Elizabeth thought, making her choice, and then she closed her eyes and started feeding magic power like a tributary feeds a river.  So much power: all she had to give.  She became like a host of those tributaries filling the points all at once.  She was a flood.  She felt the magic slowly, like rope being pulled through her fingers, return to its default shape.  

       She was terrified to open her eyes, even though she didn’t feel any different.

       She opened her eyes and looked down at herself; she was unchanged.  She looked at Michael, the weave still visible around them, and could see the curse he had placed on himself looking much like it had when they first met, drained of so much of its power.

       He had to have fed her curse, so hers didn’t run out.

       “Oh, you are so on the short list,” Elizabeth said, getting up and hugging Michael.

       Henry walked out of the banquet hall, seeing Elizabeth tightly embracing Michael.

       “I assume, somehow, our rescue was done by you two’s hands.”

       Elizabeth, who slowly and somewhat embarrassedly let go of Michael, turned to Henry. “Yes, I really wish you’d stop getting into these situations.”

       “I’ll try.  The king has decided both to increase the harshness of the laws for cursing people and increase funding to train more cursebreakers.  So hopefully that will do just that.  And give you two more free time… to spend however and with whoever you like.” Henry said, looking between the two of them.

       Lady Mary appeared from the banquet hall. “Well, this whole thing was simply dreadful.  Yes, quite dreadful.  Michael, we're going back to my estate,” Lady Mary said, walking briskly past.

       Michael looked at Elizabeth and shrugged.  “I'll write to you, Elizabeth.”

       “You can call me Liz, if you want,” Elizabeth said with a bright smile.

       “Alright, then I'll write to you, Liz,” Michael said, an equally bright smile on his face, “Hopefully next time we see each other is under better circumstances.” Michael then turned and quickly followed Lady Mary.

       “So, tax purposes, huh?” Henry teased.

       “Yes, tax purposes,” Elizabeth said, laughing.  

       Henry shook his head.

       Edward met up with them. “Let's go home.”

       The three of them set off for the Spider.