#original flash fiction

[transcendragon]

Prompt Flash Fiction - Old Forest

Prompt: “Hello? Magic forest thing, please don’t kill me as I walk through you.” I took a cautious step toward the cursed forest. Its thick trees, sprouting abruptly from the tall grass, towered over me. I’d never been there before. I’d heard all the local tales.  It was haunted by fey, they said, and whoever went in only came out if they knew the specific rituals. Most didn’t. I’d never felt…

[transcendragon]

The Emperor, King of a Hundred Lands, smiles down at me at the altar. I look down demurely, accepting the more feminine role he has clearly expected me to take even though we are both men. The Emperor is handsome in a rugged way, with calloused hands and a mane of blond hair.  Yet his smile doesn’t carry the warmth that I prefer from my lovers, regardless of gender. 

I know that I am simply one in a long line of brides and grooms for this man, though I will be expected to take no other spouse. He has been known to offer the option of marriage for the leaders of countries that give him too much trouble. It’s part of why I couldn’t refuse his offer. I know that my country will be subjected to the harsh, martial laws of his empire, but I could not stop that. That felt perfectly clear with his blade on my throat after the battle at our border. But this way he will not slaughter our nobles and enslave our common people. I have seen this play out in other countries before his empire got to me, and I knew my options. 

So I acquiesced. I accepted his offer and the long contract that came with it. We scheduled a day to perform the marriage rites common to his home country and mine. I was quiet and flattering, and I felt his eyes on me. I know I am short and slim for a man, handsome in a delicate way and a better scholar than a fighter despite my training. I know that a warrior Emperor is likely to have little respect for me, but it is clear that he does have desire. 

I’m counting on that desire. 

After the rites I let him lead me to the bedchamber. It’s the large, royal one that hasn’t been in use since my parents died. I could not feel comfortable in its echoing space, and have stuck to the Prince’s quarters even as I ruled like a King. But I am unsurprised that this man would prefer its grandness. 

“Let me wash up,” I murmur to him, and I feel his hot gaze on me as I walk to the power room of the suite. There I find a bottle of wine and an herb, just as I had ordered my trusted advisor to bring. 

I eat the herb whole, chewing and swallowing all of it down despite the sharp taste. Once I have the last of it down, I strip and change into a far more revealing outfit. Only then do I open the bottle, the strong scent of red wine chasing out the lingering taste of the herb on my mouth. 

The Emperor grins his approval as I come out in my sheer robe, carrying the bottle of wine for us to share. He makes me drink first, of course, ever careful. I gulp down generously before handing the bottle off to him, watching as his mouth stains red. The taste is rich and strong, and it covers any smell or taste of him that night. I make sure the bottle is drained by the end of the night. 

The Emperor falls ill the next day. He calls for his healers and they do their best, but his health worsens rapidly with fever, shakes, and vomiting. By the fourth day he is on his deathbed. 

I play the dutiful husband and stay beside him. At the end, his breath rattling in his chest, I sit alone with him. 

“You need to call a coalition to announce my eldest son as heir,” he tells me in a raspy voice. “I have not named him yet.” 

“No, you have not,” I agree in a neutral tone. “I have already sent word to your other spouses of your death.” The other leaders of fallen kingdoms. “We shall meet in the Imperial capital after your death, and divide up power as your heirs.” 

The confusion in his eyes lasts only a moment. He is not a stupid man. 

“You did this,” he gasps. “You-” his next words are taken by a fit of desperate, racking coughs, but I can see the anger in his eyes. I can imagine what his words could be. 

How could you, the small King of a small Kingdom, do this to me? How could you be the one to topple my empire? How did you do this to me, mighty warrior and tactician that I am? 

“I am kind and gentle with my people, but that does not mean I can’t be ruthless,” is all I say. I smile and watch as he dies, letting him wonder how I did this. He is careful about poison, but he did not know that I took the antidote just before sharing the bottle of poisoned wine with him that night. The only night we spent together, as I had intended. 

After he dies I let my face become solemn as I go out to announce his death. Natural causes, a sudden illness, nothing to frame me. Yet I am left with plenty of work by my husband of less than a week. 

I have a Kingdom to run and an Empire to break apart.

You were a beloved ruler of your country. When the evil king/ queen tried to conquer your country, you fought to the death to protect your country. Seeing how much your people loved you, the evil king/ queen proposes that you two marry to merge your countries. You accept for your country's sake.

[leaves-and-letters]

Frame in the Chute

So you know how condominiums have a common garbage chute in every floor?

I went to throw the trash yesterday, and I saw a huge picture frame, but its back was facing me. I couldn't see what was on there.

Then last night, I threw the trash again, and the frame was still there. At that time, it was facing the left-side wall. Stepping close, the person in the photo was wearing white shiny fabric; the rest of the image was covered by the pile of bubble wrap that the frame was leaning on. I didn't want to touch the frame because my hands were already dirty.

Then this morning, it's now facing the door, meaning anyone who enters the garbage chute can see the photograph. And I don't know how to feel about it—a wedding photo taken on the beach? What's that doing there?

As to why the frame kept changing positions, my neighbors probably did it. Gossipers.

Note: This story is fiction.

[whereserpentswalk]

People don't realize how liminal it is to be a time traveler. How you don't ever really feel like you're in the time you are. Even when you're in your own time, everything is off, your coat was something you bought in interwar France, the book you're reading on the train is from a bookstore you had to visit in Victorian London, even your necklace was given to you by a Neolithic shaman, from a culture the rest of the world can never know. You find yourself acting strange even when in the present, much less in the past you have to work in.

You remember meeting a eunuch in 10th century China, and having him be one of the only people smart and observant enough to realize you were from a diffrent time. You could talk honestly with him, though still you couldn't reveal too much about your time. And it was still so strange hearing him talk casually about work and mention plotting assassinations. You're not allowed to but you still visit him sometimes.

You remember that the few times you were allowed to tell someone everything it was tragic. You knew a young woman who lived in Pompeii, who you had gotten close to, a few days before she would inevitably die. On your last day there you looked into her eyes, knowing soon they'd be stone and ash, that the beauty of her hair would be washed away by burning magma. And you hugged her, and told her that you wanted her to be safe, and told her she was wonderful and that you wanted her to be comfortable and happy. And you let her tongue know the joy of 21st century chocolate, and her eyes see the beauty of animation, knowing she deserved to have those joys, knowing it wouldn't matter soon. And you hugged her the last time, and told her she deserved happiness. And when you left without taking her it was like you were killing her yourself.

You want to take home everyone you're attached to. There's a college student you befriended in eighteen fifties Boston. And you can't help but see him try to solve problems you know humanity is centuries away from solving. And you just want to tell him. And it's not just that, the way he talked about the books and plays he likes, his sense of humor. There's so many people you want him to meet.

You feel the same way about a young woman you met on a viking age longship. She tells stories to her fellow warriors and traders, stories that will never fully get written down, stories that she tells so uniquely and so well. She has so many great ideas. You want so dearly to take her to somewhere she can share her stories, or where she can take classes with other writers, where she can be somewhere safe instead of being out at sea. She'll talk about wanting to be able to do something, or meet people, and you know you're so close to being able to take her, but you never can, unless she accidently finds out way too much then you can't.

You remember the longship that you met that young storyteller on. You were there before, two years ago for you, ten years later for the people on it. The young woman who told you stories wasn't there ten years later, you had been told why then but you only realize now, her uncle, who ran the ship, had been one of the first people to convert to Christianity in his nation. He killed her, either for not converting or for sleeping with women, you're not sure, but he killed her, and bragged about it when you met him ten years later.

You talk to the storyteller on the longship, ask her about the myths you're there to ask her about, the myths that she loves to tell. You look into her eyes knowing it's probably less then a year until her uncle takes her life. You ask her if you think that those who die of murder go to Valhalla. She tells you she hopes not, she doesn't see Valhalla as a gift but as a duty, she hopes for herself to go to Hel, where she wouldn't have to fight anymore. You slip and admit you're talking about her, telling her that you hope that's where she goes when she's killed. You hope to yourself you'll be forced to take her to the twenty first century, you're tempted even to make it worse, you want to have ruined her enough to be able to save her.

[the-modern-typewriter]

"We're the same, you and I," the villain murmured. "It's not enough to be good at life. It's not enough to pass." They pressed their forehead to the hero's. "You want to be great. To be special. To be everything."

"No."

"Yes," the villain said, not unkind. "No one normal needs to be a hero, love."

The hero swallowed, eyes wide.

"And sometimes," the villain crooned, caressing their cheek. "Doesn't it just kill you that we might just be good, just be mediocre, after all?"

[johannestevans]

Son of a miner who has an uncanny ability to lead to a new vein - a quiet boy, introspective, but he claims he can hear it sing to him.

One of his brothers thinks that this might be better exploited, brings his brother along on an outing.

If he can hear the song of ore through stone, surely he'll hear the song of gold coins and treasure in a dungeon - and he does, leading his brother and his friends deeper in, until their satchels are heavy and bulging with it.

They keep track of their way out, and when they can carry no more, they ready themselves to retrace their steps - but the younger brother stops in the middle of a dark corridor, head tilted.

"Come," his elder brother says. "Let's go home."

"Can't you hear her?"

"Her?" the elder brother repeats, but his blood runs cold - they're so deep in the labyrinthine tunnels that some of the brick-built halls are giving way to tunneled rock. There's no one alive down here, not who might mean them well. "No, but-- we have to go."

"Such a beautiful song," his brother says softly, dreamy, near hypnotised in a way they've never seen him, and the elder brother grabs for his arm just a second too late - he's disappeared into the darkness, and is out of sight, and out of reach.

They search for a time - not just that night, but for a week after, returning to the dungeon and calling for him, tracking him. The elder brother is beside himself - no amount of treasure in the world is worth his brother's life.

When he finally returns to work in the mine, his blood runs cool a second time - at the end of his shift, when he's the last of the men to trail back up toward the shaft entrance, he swears he hears his brother's voice.

Singing, softly, alongside a woman's song.

The sound comes from deep, deep within the mine, down old, long unused shafts that the elder brother doesn't know or trust - he leaves in a hurry, but he knows, he knows.

He won't be able to resist that song forever. He misses his brother, after all.

[more fiction here]

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The City of the Dead

The city of the dead have no mouths to speak with. No minds to form reason. Memories and memories and memories that do not order themselves. In the ruins in the barrens on the edge of the world, skeletons began to walk. No one could answer why the dead rose in one small pocket of the world and forgot to sleep again. 

Holy men, alchemists, kings, and living martyrs all traveled to the great ruins of Makan and watched the walking. Bones that carried broken stones from one edge to the other. Kneeling figures that clapped their hands to an unknown rhythm. Spirits burst from wells and poltergeists flung rotted wood at strangers. Yet, the dead did not speak. They were asked of their names, their families, what led them back from the beyond. What necromancer would do this.

They did not wage war. Nor do they pick up swords. The dead were not peaceful perhaps but neither were they purposeful. Makan was an old city, ancient beyond memory, and deserted once the nearest river was dammed and diverted. They were ruins that hung off a cliffside and turned brilliant red against the rising sun. A place of scholarship and history–until it became something more. 

Bodies rattling, teeth clattering, voices of faded spirits like the wind through craigs and singing through tree branches. Some pilgrims swear the dead call their name when they aren’t looking. Others claim they are watching, judging, deciding who will be pure enough to deserve salvation. Still others say they are empty vessels simply caught on repeat–the same routine daily, weekly, yearly for eternity. A meaningless display turned sensational. 

They were famous after all. A skeleton which pushed a baby carrier down the center road from dawn to dusk named the Mother. The well witch who cackled and splashes anyone that passed. The tower Stranger with one arm and one leg who watched anyone who entered, skull swiveling in place. A ghost that rang the church bells–one that people rumor calls your name if you pass too close. Others say it is not your name, but the name of the person you should marry.

The theories were limitless. A place of unimaginable power and limitless looping. And no one to take credit, rally the armies, or put them to rest. Pilgrims came and went. Queens and princes and priests blessed and cursed the place, tried to burn or drown the inhabitants, claimed ordinance or forbade their citizens to make the trek to the ruins in the barrens on the edge of the world. 

In the second dawn of the God-Priest Amix III, a final pilgrimage was made. A Holy Child had been once more chosen from the masses of orphans found in the priestly empire. Dark-eyed and solemn, they were hand-picked for their docile nature. A toddler given a steady diet of jelly the color of stars and flavor of chilled mint. In other countries, they call it Prophecy Meats and treat it as a rare delicacy and dangerous altering substance. The Holy Child, chosen for endurance or perhaps very little at all, is given this steady diet of Stars until they can see the past and present all at once.

The Holy Child of this generation, a girl no more than eight, had survived her first years of seeing the wars and joys and horrors to come. She was dying, of course, and the attendant-nun had become attached. Sister Grehn was warned against such things. Told to keep her distance and remember their purpose, great and beautiful. Sister Grehn begged and pleaded and said, why not take her to the sea? The mountains? Any place that might help her lungs. Take her to healers of other lands.

She got the city of the dead. Sister Grehn carried the Holy Child, too small for her age and eyes as big as black holes, close. “Would you like to see the well, little one?” The nun whispered. “The funny skeleton pushing the baby carriage?”

The Holy Child, who privately kept her birth name, looked up. Nima, a peasant name, a rabbit name, felt the press against her eye sockets. She gave a long exhale. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. They are like me.”

Sister Grehn held her tightly to her chest, mouth turning into a battle line. No, not here, she thought. Please. 

The Holy Child closed her eyes and whispered, “They are tired.” 

Even eternity has an end and the Holy Child spoke the last words of the city of the dead to her first friend and one she privately called something else. “Mom, the river is not gone. The river is all.”

There are many types of spirits, life beyond life, and memories that do not forget how to rush down the land and twist across stone. The wizards that diverted the mighty river centuries before had used magic, darker stuff to do a simple job, cut corners to avoid the wrath of a king or priest or any other towering sovereign who are all the same. The water moved. The soul went elsewhere. The spirit of the river burst through the ruins of Manak. And tried with all its might to live again.

FIN

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[the-ellia-west]

Silver Blood and a Glass Crown

Alkain Short Story 2/3

(It’s got a lot of small time skips and setting changes)

This was Written very Quickly in 3 days because of procrastination, I'm sorry (ToT)

I hope you Enjoy it!

(This one is very long, Also sorry, Lovelies!)

Alkain smoothed the map across the table with all four arms, arranging the pieces over the miniature landscape. “So this is the situation, correct?”

The messenger nodded sagely. “Yessir.”

“Then I suggest you move battalions here, here, and here. They can stay hidden amongst the trees here.” He moved a few of the pieces. “You don’t want to strike first in case the negotiations go well, and we don’t have to fight.” 

“If I may, this seems a bit excessive sir.” The General stepped up beside him.

“Hm, you’re right.” Alkain pulled back, studying the map as his voice dropped to a contemplative mutter, “Better safe than sorry...”

“Mister Ciranes!” Another messenger slammed the doors open, panting. “The King Requests your presence in the throne room immediately!”

“Understood.” The elf fixed the cuffs of his uniform and bolted down the hallway. He didn’t want to make a mistake. Not here, not now, not after he’d gained so much in his mother’s memory and finally earned the king’s favor.

The Advisor brushed off his uniform, tried to smooth out his hair, and trotted into the room. “Your majesty,” He dropped to one knee, silently cursing his frazzled appearance.

“Ah! Alkain, rise. It has come to my attention that the Valerίan princess will arrive this evening instead of three days later because of tensions on the road and the rushed negotiations.”

The elf glanced up. “Yessir?”

“I called you here to tell you this because it now means you must be extra vigilant in your duties tonight. You are one of the most prevalent advisors she’ll be dealing with throughout the negotiations, so if possible I’d like you to greet her in my place.”

Alkain tensed, shocked at the question as he nervously ran his upper hands through his sandy golden waves, holding the other two to his chest for comfort. “It would be an honor, Your Majesty! Is there anything else?”

The king examined him with scrutiny and frowned. “Did you run here?”

“Um… Yessir.” Alkain shrank in on himself. “May I go, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, but may I ask where you’re so eager to leave me for?”

“My room sir. If I present the palace to the princess, I ought to look presentable myself. If I could… Your majesty.”

The King nodded thoughtfully, taking the crown from his head. “I understand, and I agree.” 

Alkain folded his lower arms behind his back and nodded once. “Thank you, sir.”

But he jumped as the king called toward one of the doors, “Kinnea!”

A young servant girl stepped into the room, bowing her head. “Yes, your majesty?”

“I intended to gift a stylist to each of my advisors, and since you need one, this is Kinnea. Kinnea, could you attend to Mister Ciranes here? If you would.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She nodded sagely and looked up, deep scarlet eyes sparking with worry.

Alkain rubbed his wrists nervously. “Thank you, your majesty.” 

“You’re very welcome. Now, I’m going to check on my son. You two have fun!” The King motioned for Alkain to go as he left the room.

The elf waved for Kinnea to follow him and stopped when he reached the door. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I respond to orders, sir. It’s my job. You haven’t given one.”

“Oh, uh… right. Follow me, please.” 

“Was that a request or an order?”

Alkain sighed. “I’ve never had a servant before. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Kinnea set her shoulders and put her hands behind her back, “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. I’m here to serve you, sir.” She wove around him and held the door, bowing her head. “My orders?”

***

Alkain adjusted his suit's neckline, tie, and tailcoat as he glanced back at Kinnea. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

The servant nodded and stepped back as the carriage pulled around the bend. Glittering glass strings hanging from the ornately carved frames jingled against one another as the horses slowed and one whinnied.

The King’s advisor held up a hand as a servant rushed forward, pulling the carriage door open himself. He bowed and gestured one arm toward the doors. “Your Royal Highness, Welcome to Seikaria, it is our honor to have you! Allow me.” He offered her a hand.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Miss.”

“The pleasure is all mine…” She trailed off, raising an eyebrow at him as she took his hand.

“Alkain. Alkain Ciranes, Your Highness.”

“It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Alkain. Might I ask, what your position is that you would be sent to greet me in place of the king?”

“I am an advisor, your Highness, and a negotiator. The King wishes you well, but he cannot greet you himself as he is busy finishing the preparation for your arrival. You did arrive quite a bit earlier than expected, would you like to see the palace?”

“It would be my pleasure.” The Princess smiled at him and allowed him to take her arm and lead her toward the palace doors.

Kinnea followed close behind as Alkain and the princess made polite conversation. “We’re so glad to have you, your highness.”

“Valeran and Seikaria have been at odds for far too long. We must agree upon a treaty as soon as possible.”

“Do you think there will be peace?”

“There has to be, and I have no doubts with you in the negotiations.”

“You flatter me, your Highness.” Alkain bowed his head. “This is the war room where we will discuss the treaty.”

He led her through the halls, showing her to the ballroom as the King sent for him.

“Your Royal Highness!” The king smiled at the princess. She clung to Alkain’s arm, and smiled, though her voice came pleasantly through gritted teeth.

“Your Majesty, it is good to see you!”

“I’m glad to see you too Nirscia.” The King bowed to her. “And you, Alkain! You look good, I’m glad Kinnea did her job well!”

“My presence has probably become bothersome to two minds so great as yours. I will be on my way. It was truly an honor to make your acquaintance, your Royal Highness.”

“It is truly a pity to see you go. Must you?” Her smile lifted a little as he let go of her arm.

“It seems I must, I hope I will meet you again.” He bowed.

“I’ll still be within the walls for a few more weeks, don’t say farewell too soon. I may miss you myself!” She raised a hand, and Alkain retreated, smiling.

“He's one of your advisors?”

“Correct.”

“He's very sweet. I think I'll enjoy his company.”

“I'll be sure to tell him that for you.” The King smiled. “I hope you have a good time here. But before we join in on any of the festivities, I would like to discuss things.”

Throughout the rest of the night, the princess was warmly welcomed by the palace officials and servants and retired to her room late after the sun had already gone to rest beyond the horizon. 

Alkain drew the blinds and laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. Everything seemed different now. What with the princess in the castle, there would have to be double the preparations and double the meetings to compensate for the negotiations. 

He sighed. Closing his eyes, when all of a sudden, a hand reached over him and he jumped, pulling the knife from his sleeve and holding it to her neck. Kinnea glanced down at the knife, unflinching. “Sir. I don't think the king would appreciate a death in the palace while the princess is here.”

“Oh… it's you.” Alkain lowered the knife. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off your suit, sir. It would be uncomfortable to sleep in, and it may rip.”

“Um… thank you, Kinnea.”

“Hm.” She nodded as he sat up and allowed her to take it from his shoulders, handing her the tie.

“You're dismissed Kinnea.”

She nodded to him and left.

***

Alkain startled awake at a sharp jab to his shoulder. “Ow!” Kinnea set the poker down and straightened. The Elf rubbed his shoulder and sat up. “What the hell was that?”

The servant didn’t reply.

“You can speak.”

“The king wished for me to wake you. So I did, Sir. My apologies.”

“Did you have to stab me with a poker?”

“No.” 

Kinnea fixed his hair and his coat before he left for the meeting. 

The Elf took a seat in the middle of the table. The Princess waved to him. He smiled back in her direction and bowed his head. “It is good to see you again, Your Highness.”

“It's good to see you again as well, Mister Ciranes.”

“Could I get you a drink?”

“Oh. But that’s a servant’s job, isn’t it?”

“But it is an honor to serve you, Your Highness. I am not a royal such as yourself, so I am content resting in my station below yours if it means I get to elevate yours.” He stood and went to a cart, pouring a cup of water for the princess as he knelt and reached for her hand. “May I?”

“I’m a little afraid, what are you asking?” She smiled, offering it to him.

Alkain took her delicate fingers, rubbing his calloused thumb over her soft, smooth skin. “I’m offended you would consider me a threat, Your Highness.” He smiled and raised her hand, brushing his lips gently over her knuckles.

She laughed, “Your hair looks nice.”

“Thank you. You’re more beautiful than I could even describe, your highness!” He retreated to his seat, eyes straying back to her as his words echoed back in his mind. Her thick brunette hair spilled over her shoulders in waves, an intricate web of braids tying together into a strange pattern behind her head, showing off the glittering beads and pearls weaved into the glossy strands.

“Good morning everyone.” The King strode into the room and sat on his throne, surveying the table before he leaned forward. “We have a lot to discuss before the whole palace wakes, and starts missing us.”

A few of the advisors chuckled at the statement as the king began. “Princess Nirscia has come to our kingdom to finalize the terms of the peace treaty, and we will make her journey worthwhile. Valeran and Seikaria will have peace once more, but for now, we will go over the terms of the previous treaties and discuss why they failed and what we can do to make this one last.”

The meeting proceeded quickly and efficiently, suggestions, ideas, and details whirling in Alkain's head as he was assigned his job and sent to do it. 

He glanced between the servants in front of him. “Alright. You, go fetch some parchment. The rest of you,  find the rest of our team. We need a plan before noon.”

“Yessir!” The servants saluted him and promptly scampered off to their separate jobs. Alkain took the pieces of parchment as they were offered to him and scratched off a list of tasks on each one. He handed all four of them off to separate servants as he raced to find the team's planner. 

He found her in the gardens, conversing with the princess over a bush of roses. He called over to her. She looked up. “Ah, Mister Ciranes! What brings you here?”

“You, Miss. We need you for preparations inside. If you could.”

“Your Highness?”

“Got are welcome to go if you wish, but I would like to borrow the king's advisor for a moment.”

“Oh of course your highness, if he agrees. But we may need him back. Make sure you handle our fragile package carefully in conversation, he's a little brittle.”

Alkain stared after the planner in shock. The Princess giggled, trailing a hand down the leaves of the rose bush.

“Um, what would you like, Your Highness?”

“Only a moment, I know you're busy. Please,” She waved him over. “You have been nothing but kind and welcoming to me, and I appreciate that. Mister, Ciranes, you are fascinating and amazingly respectful. I may enjoy your company.”

“I… thank you, Your Highness!” Alkain broke into a grin. “That means a lot coming from someone so great as yourself.” His face tinged pink and he avoided her eyes.

“Hm.” The Princess smiled as she plucked a rose from the bush and flinched as a thorn pricked her, drawing a bead of blood from the pad of her finger. But she ignored it, threading the rose into the breast of his overcoat. “You're a lot like this Rose, Ciranes. Complex and beautiful. But those virtues make many… forget your flaws, and shield their eyes from seeing your danger. It takes someone skilled and thorough to appreciate you fully.” She pulled away, the drop of blood staining into the dark fabric. “Open up a little! It might do you some good!” 

Alkain looked down at the Rose, “Alright, I will make it my mission, Your Highness.”

“Would you like to join me for tea this afternoon?”

“I… yes. I think I would like that very much, Your Highness

“I'll see you soon.”

“Um… yes! I'll see you soon… Your Highness.”

Alkain turned quickly, face flushing as he cursed himself in his mind. Stupid, no, that was awkward and weird. She is a princess, you are a low-ranking advisor who comes from a slave house. That is your worth. You are dirt compared to her.

He brushed off his uniform, face and ears still pink as he returned to the house and stepped up beside the planner. The elf cleared his throat, “How is it going so far?”

“Well. The lists you made were remarkably accurate- Are you okay? You're looking a little sick.”

“Uh, no, I… uh… I'm fine!”

“You sure? Your face is a bit red.”

“Yeah! It's just… a very hot coat. I'll go inside and… survey the progress!”

“Don't be gone too long, we just might miss you!”

After a few hours of planning and preparation, Alkain went to greet the princess. They discussed cultures and kingdoms before night fell and he returned to his room. The next day continued about the same, and the next. But after the days of preparation came to a close, a dinner invitation came to his hands from the king. 

“Welcome! All of you, I thought it would be best if we were all acquainted before the ball tomorrow so we mustn't make the hassle of introductions.”

“Nirscia, this is my wife, Jevari, and my son, our future king, Makan.”

“Lovely to meet you!” The princess curtsied and Makan stood.

“Your Highness.” The Little prince kissed her hand and bowed, smiling hopefully up at her.

“You'll make a good king one day, I know it.”

“Thank you!” The little boy nodded to her and scampered back to his parents. 

Alkain smiled as the princess greeted the king and queen. She chose the seat next to him. “Good evening.”

“Good Evening, Your Highness. Are you well?” 

“Indeed, I am.” The Princess smiled back and turned to her meal, making light conversation with the royal family as the dishes were brought out. 

Nirscia looked at the roasted meat, surprise flickering over her face. “You have birds large enough to eat here in Seikaria?”

“You don't?”

“No! I haven't seen meat like this in ages, this is amazing!” She grinned.

“It may look nice, Your Highness. But trust me, It tastes even better.” 

“We'll just have to see, won't we?” 

“We will indeed. But I bet you'll like it!” Alkain smirked.

“Perhaps I will, Perhaps I won't.” She winked at him. “What are these spices?”

“I think it's a type of pepper flakes? I don't know. You'd have to ask the chef.”

“Hm, do you like it?”

“I do, are you having a difficult time admitting I was right, your Highness?”

“I like it as well. I'm perfectly capable of admitting anything I need to, Mister Ciranes.”

The two laughed and talked for the rest of the meal until the king finished and dismissed them. The Advisor stood, offering the princess his hand. “Would you like me to escort you back to your room, Your Highness?”

Nirscia hesitated, shock sparking in her eyes before a smile softened her lips and she took it, allowing him to lead her into the hallway. “You look nice… Mister Ciranes.”

“As do you, Your Highness. But I have no doubt you’re more beautiful than I could ever hope to be.” Alkain smiled as he held her arm a bit tighter, turning a corner. “I’m glad I’ve been able to see you so much, Your Highness. I really appreciate your kindness.”

“And I, yours. But Mister Ciranes, My name is Nirscia, you may use it.”

“And Mine is Alkain.” He smiled as her hands slipped into his.

“Alright Alkain, I’ve loved your company, but there is something else you need to know.” She glanced around.

“What?” The Elf tilted his head, his other arms raising to hold her hands as well.

Nirscia spun him toward the wall and pinned his arms above his head. She took a breath and kissed him.

Alkain’s eyes widened, but instead of pulling back as he knew he should, he leaned into it and kissed her back, his body melting into the wall, electric sparks racing between her fingertips and his wrists. They stayed there for a while until they had to pull back, both gasping. 

“I… Your High- Princess Nirscia… What-”

“Don’t speak… please.”

“I… I’m flattered!” Alkain sputtered, his entire face turning beat red.

“And I- Oh shit.” The Princess’s face flushed a bright pink, but this time Alkain threw his arms around her and pulled her back into another kiss, finding one another over and over again, until both fell back, Alkain too flustered to speak as Nirscia gathered her composure, accepting what had just happened.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Alkain hugged all of his arms to his chest and looked down.

“I… I love you?” The Princess looked at him, her statement just as much of a question as an answer.

The two locked eyes and Alkain tripped over his words several times before he fumbled a response. “I don’t… this is… I love you too. I’m sorry… just- I- I’ll see you tomorrow!” He bolted down the hallway, the heat in his face burning hotter with every second as he slammed himself into his room and collapsed onto his bed, panting.

Kinnea didn’t comment as she pulled off his overcoat and tossed him a nightshirt, drawing the blinds and snuffing out the candles for him. But she did, as he wrestled on the nightshirt. “Is there anything you need, sir?”

“Uh, no. I… It’s a lot cleaner in here. Thank you Kinnea.”

She nodded to him and left.

***

“What happened to make you so panicked last night, sir?” Kinnea fixed the sleeves of his undershirt and fluffed the ruffles around his neck.

“Can I trust you with a secret?”

“Yes. I am your servant, it is my job to keep your secrets.”

“Even from the king?”

Kinnea looked up for a second, then said, “Yes. Even from the King.”

“Well, The Princess kissed me.”

“Huh.” Kinnea picked up an overcoat.

“I don’t know why she did it, but it was nice. I know I can’t be with her, but it’s a strange feeling. I’m not sure what I should do, it’s a little terrifying, to be completely honest.”

“Can you keep that a secret?”

“Yes?”

“Can she keep it a secret?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Then you have nothing to worry for, sir. Anything else?” Kinnea finished with his suit, moving onto his hair.

Alkain stopped, a little stunned. “I- Thank you.”

Kinnea ruffled up his hair, weaving some simple braids into a higher ponytail. She stepped back and nodded. “You should be ready there, sir.”

“Thank you Kinnea. I mean it.”

Kinnea stopped and glanced back at the other room.

“Go on, put on your dress. I’m not leaving without you.” Alkain took a flower from a vase, fixing it to the lapel of his suit, and waited by the door until Kinnea stepped out of the room, tense and straight-faced.

The long black dress covered her feet, intricate golden swirls matching the ones on Alkain’s suit. “It looks nice.” He took her by the arm and led her down the hallways into the main ballroom, breaking away from her to greet the princess, Kinnea trailing close behind him.

He knelt, kissing her hand. “Your Highness, It’s good to see you, Princess Nirscia.”

“As I am glad to see you, Alkain.”

“Glad to hear it!”

A long silence stretched between them. The Princess lowered her voice. “About last night, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you any harm or disrespect, I hope we can remain on good terms.”

“As do I.” Alkain offered her his arm. “May I have a dance?”

“Of course.” Nirscia followed him to the dance floor, both ready to escape the topic of the previous night for the time being.

The Dances took them to afternoon, some light conversation and greetings with other friends bringing the ball to a height as it grew dark. The King rose from his throne to speak, but just as he began, a shriek pierced the dim atmosphere and something hit him, sending him reeling back against the throne. He wavered for a second on his feet and fell back into his seat, crown clattering to the floor beside him as he cried out. He reached for something, voice too faint to hear even in the perfectly still silence, and then he fell limp, deep scarlet red pooling at the base of the throne. Panic erupted. Voices shouted, and Alkain screamed, the shock finally dropping as he pulled for the king. Makan started for his father, but the queen whisked him away. Crowds jostled and guards crowded around the room. Alkain couldn’t tell what was happening anymore as two people pulled on his wrists. Kinnea fought back grief and fear, fighting to protect her master, as Nirscia tugged Alkain away from her into the crowd.

Chaos turned His vision blurry and confused him to the point of madness until the Guards managed to calm the crowds and file them out of the room. The next few hours were spent in shock and fast-paced decisions until the Queen announced that the Assassin had been found to be a Valerίan. This meant war, and the Princess had to leave.

Alkain stopped, horrified and confused. Everything had changed so fast. What had happened? He slammed the doors open and ran to find Nirscia. They met in the entrance, and she wrapped him into a kiss the instant he drew close enough, not caring of the witnesses, as she grabbed his shoulders, voice stern and fiery. “Alkain, This means war. But no matter how long it takes or what I have to do, I will be back for you.”

-

If you see this, please comment your thoughts, or just put something in the comments so I know you read it

|Part 1 | Part 2 (Here) | Part 3|

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[inkjackets-original]

I’ve always known I’d go far in my life.

For I was perfection incarnate. My parent’s pride and joy.

‘Oh, your Timmy won a prize? Well my child won five.’

‘Little Sarah plays piano? Mine plays violin besides.’

And I’d stand there and smile; jaws aching, eyes glazing. Grimacing through the praise they showered all over me.

And not once would I waver. Nor dare sow disorder.

Tears. Pain. Blood purple under skin.

‘After all I’ve done for you! You ungrateful thing.’

And so I rose to great heights. Did everything right. Perfected society’s scripts and said all the right lines. Just about keeping my head above water.

But the older I got, the faster I drowned.

Pressure. They say it turns coal into diamonds.

On minds, I discovered, it just makes them splinter.

Deeper and deeper, splitting apart. Unravelling and ripping from seams pulled apart.

I was to be a physicist, a doctor, a best-selling author. The best of the best — absolutely nothing less.

But these great expectations were weeds and vines, growing between the cracks in my mind, causing stones to tumble from the ruins of my life. Until I was nothing but dust. Ash. Burnt out and broken down. Trying to regrow dead seedlings in dry ground. Succumbing to nothing — the destination I was bound.

For I’ve always known I’d go far in my life.

But never once did I think the direction would be down.

~~~

written for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt Great Expectations

[dylan-of-the-raven]

I gaze upon an ocean of gathered ink, from every quill that ever dared to bleed poetry.

Dylan of the Raven

[transcendragon]

Prompt Flash Fiction - King

Prompt: You were a beloved ruler of your country. When the evil king/ queen tried to conquer your country, you fought to the death to protect your country. Seeing how much your people loved you, the evil king/ queen proposes that you two marry to merge your countries. You accept for your country’s sake. – The Emperor, King of a Hundred Lands, smiles down at me at the altar. I look down…

[transcendragon]

“But I don’t know anything about running an academy, much less a magical academy!” I protested, again, to the Board of Regents.

“Nonsense,” said the Chair with a wave of his hand. “You defeated the Archmage! And so young! You’re clearly a magical genius.”

“I told you, that was a risky application of a specific theory around reversing magical effects that doesn’t always work-“

“You found a whole new way to turn the Archmage’s, well ex-Archmage’s, power back on him! Brilliant!”

I sighed. I could try (again) to explain that I was only applying theories in a new way, that it was  a fluke that it happened to work, that I was usually terrible at any applied magic, but what was the point? 

I already told them that I couldn’t cast without complex rituals, and the only reason this casting worked was because the Archmage hadn’t taken my binding seriously enough to avoid it. He basically just stood in my chalk circle and laughed at me until it actually happened to work; all I had to do was keep going with the ritual and dodge the occasional spell thrown lazily at me. 

The Board of Regents was appointed by the governor and only had a few mages on it. They were administrators there to make sure the university continued to serve the economic and governmental needs by rolling out mages and magical research. The Chair himself was an important merchant who knew little about magic outside its trade applications.

“How will I even know what to do?” I asked, my voice coming out whinier than I had wanted.

The Chair grinned. “We’ve taken the liberty of appointing an assistant for you.”

He clapped, and a white-haired young man entered the room. Well, I say young, but the man had a strong magical aura and yellow eyes indicating demonic heritage. Who knew what his real age could be?

The Chairman and the man exchanged polite smiles, and I had a rare flash of political insight. The Chair didn’t really care about me or my stupid, prideful duel with the Archmage. They wanted a pawn controlled by their own agent, and they thought this was their agent. Yet, by the twisting magical aura and slight movement at the corners of his eyes, I somehow knew they were wrong. This man was his own agent.

“So it’s all settled!” The Chair announced, taking my silence for compliance. I suppose resignation was enough for him.

I stared into hungry yellow eyes and suppressed the urge to groan. I had gotten myself far in over my head, both politically and magically, and it was time to sink or swim. I had never been a strong swimmer.

And all because of a snide comment the Archmage had made on my thesis. I might be incredibly intelligent when it came to magical theory, but I made only the stupidest decisions.

Well. It was time to see how far those stupid decisions would get me.

You are a terrible mage, yet through pure, dumb luck you managed to defeat an archmage in a duel, thus taking their place according to ancient tradition. Many mages protest against giving such a prestigious position to a clearly unqualified candidate, including yourself.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #100

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Now there are a hundred of them! Kind of a lot of pressure to make #100 special, huh? Here's to a hundred more... and then some.

Nearly fifty things you can do in one-hundred days:

Write every morning

Laugh

Drive to your appointments

Get that ‘check engine’ light looked at

Help your friends

Fall in love again

Cook dinner

Make a nice birthday gift for your fiance

Kiss for the final time, not knowing

Live

Mop the floors

Go to therapy on occasion

Sign up for life insurance, get denied

Survive

Cook dinner

Volunteer for a good cause

Spend too much money

Battle dysphoria

Get jealous

Fool your friends

Watch an eclipse

Fool yourself

Forget to claim your free scoop of ice cream

Become single

Cry at your twenty-fifth birthday party

Go to therapy, but not enough

Write every morning

See a concert

Try not to think about it

Have a stomach ache

Cook dinner again

Throw up

Finish making a film, sort of

Show it to ten people

Go see Rocky Horror again

Help your friends, but too much

Catch COVID

Cry alone in the darkness

Stagnate

Decay

Try to breathe

Try to sleep

Try to hold down a bite

Think about it, dammit

Get high

Cry some more

Try going outside again

Make some phone calls

Say goodbye from afar

Move on?

Stay tuned today as I reblog my ten favorite one-offs from the first hundred Brain Curds.

[whereserpentswalk]

Most interdimensional entities that humans consider horrifying demons and eldrich horrors actually consider humans pretty dangerous unless they're actively trained fighters. Your average extraplaner being isn't used to dealing with a species that evolved to hunt in groups, and developed to survive in violent scenarios.

Most final girl situations happen because young entities deeply underestimate that humans have such a strong will to live, and are willing to fight back agasint a stronger foe. Most older entities keep at bay for this very reason, which is why you just see them stranding around being creepy.

That pale long limbed cryptid you spotted in a subway station moved so quickly because it doesn't want to end up near you. That shadow person whose hovering over you in the woods is trying to observe you, but it will teleport away if anyone comes near it for a good reason.

And that doppelganger that's standing by your door at night just wants to observe you too. He was smart to try to copy your roommate's face, but he doesn't realize how good humans are at recognizing eachother's faces, and that his copy will be disturbing to any human who sees it. And he got way to reckless with his movements and bad attempts to imitate human speech. Trying to trick the human who he wants to study into coming to his dimensions is an even bigger mistake, especially since he didn't realize how quickly the human would catch on. He's soon going to learn things he should have read up on before hand: humans will try to attack things they're afraid of if they can't run away, humans can use almost any hard object as a weapon by holding it and swinging, and that those decorations on your wall are called 'swords' and were not originally designed as decorations...

[strangelittlestories]

"I don't want to fight you." The first knight said - both their lip and their muscles quivering.

"I don't want to fight you either." Said the second knight - various parts of them were also quivering but not unattractively so.

"But it looks like we have to fight." Said the first knight. "Because of our irreconcilable but equally valid moral outlooks."

"Yes," said the second knight, "it looks that way."

They looked at each other and in that look was sadness, but also defiance and a little bit of excitement.

"You're a really good knight."

"So are you."

"Maybe after all this is over - if we both survive - we could take the armour off and cuddle?"

"I'd like that."

When the two of them fought, the earth shook. And, despite the falling rubble and gasps of the local populace, they each thought that the ground trembled just for them.