#short story

[ljmoorewrites]

How can I become a writer?

Write.

But I don't know where to start.

Write.

But I'm worried.

WRITE.

What if nobody likes it?

W R I T E

What if it's not very good?

Write. Write. WRITE. WRITE.

W

R

I

T

E

Write

Write. Write. Write. Write. Write. Write.

Write.

Write

Write

Write

Write

Write

Write

Write

Write

W R I T E

Write write write

Write

Write

[bearsockz]

Destiny 🦝 (1/2)

[thestuffedalligator]

“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

“I can work with that,” said the witch.

[i-live-in-fiction]

Year 356 of the imperial calander.

Tonight, this number is going to become history and a new number will take it's place.

The imperial calander measures the years according to the imperial family's reign. Year 356 means the current imperial family has been in power for 356 years.

The fact that this number is going to disappear means the monarch has changed.

The reason for this is the grand war that started three years ago. The war has consumed everything in it's wake. The citizens were left scared and homeless, the farmers lost their livelihood, the children died of various reasons, the soldiers exhausted after witnessing too much blood.

This is the result of the war.

The reason for the start of the war was simple. The Veiber Empire dared to provoke the Serwen Empire.

Their trade negotiations failed and in a fit of rage, the crown prince of Veiber called the Serwen Empire's second princess "A woman not suited to the parliament."

Unchangeable words were said which led to complete collapse of negotiations between the two empires. And what started as short skirmishes at the border led to full on war.

Today, the Serwen Empire's defeat was finalized.

The main reason for their defeat started with their crown prince dying in battle two years ago. The emperor becoming bedridden only made it worse.

As the acting ruler of the Serwen Empire, the second princess's husband, Archduke Julius Serwen Fordin was defeated, bloody, and chained to kneel infront of his enemy, the crown prince of Veiber.

In huffed voice, Archduke Fordin asked, "Is my wife still alive?"

The crown prince of Veiber, Anton Chellin Du Veiber, nodded with a grin. "We wanted to capture her to make an example but as it may seem, that wench fled while leaving her dear husband behind."

as soon as he finished speaking, a loud explosion sounded from the inner palace of the imperial palace of Veiber.

"Go check what it is," Anton ordered.

"Heheheh." An ominous laughter was heard.

"Have you finally lost your mind? What are you laughing?" Crown prince Anton asked Archduke Fordin.

"YOUR GRACE!" The soldiers who went to check on the sound came running back with an injured butler.

"Your grace!" The butler spoke slowly. "T-the inner palace.

Someone used explosives to... to destroy your room in the inner palace."

Anton was taken aback. This was the most highly guarded building in the entire empire. How can someone infiltrate this place and go as far as to blast my room in particular?

"Hahahahahah!" Archduke Fordin laughed again. This time more ominous than before. "You fools!" He said, smirking.

Archduke Fordin laughed harder and louder. His voice resounded all around the room masked only by the sound of bigger explosions coming from the inner palace.

Crown prince Anton was alarmed.

This must be a plot by the Archduke.

Anton was by no means a fool. He understood that someone from Serwen was trying to set the entire palace by fire. But he couldn't leave the pow either. Especially not when the pow in question is the acting emperor of Serwen, the husband of the second princess and the Archduke ruling the most prosperous City in the Empire, Archduke Fordin. With things as they are, he decided to trust his guards and soldiers in the inner palace and focus on the pow before him.

Within a minute, the explosions halted.

Crown prince Anton heaved a sigh of relief. He looked at Archduke Fordin and smirked. Archduke Fordin's face still had a ridiculous smile plastered over it.

The sound of foot steps echoed in the silent room. Someone's approaching. Anton believed it were the imperial guards who vanquished the intruder.

The footsteps halted and a light knocking sound echoed.

Anton signaled for one of his footmen to open the door. When the footmen opened the door, the figure behind was not of a soldier or a guard. It was a lady.

A gorgious lady with delicate skin donning black armour stood behind the door. Her hair and chain mail were drenched in blood and the smell of gunpowder emulated in the air around her. She was holding a short dagger in her right hand and in her left was a severed head.

Anton gasped at the sight. He knew who the head belonged to. It was head of imperial guard. The very man who was supposed to protect the imperial palace from intruders.

Anton tried to identify the woman. But he could not see her through all the blood, viscera, and ash covering her face.

As the lady stepped forward, Anton and his guards moved back. They kept retreating behind as the lady advanced. It was a sight to behold.

Archduke Fordin ceased laughing. There was silence in the room, if not for the footsteps falling heavily on the ground.

Although the woman's features weren't distinguished, the fact that she was beyond furious and boiling with rage was evident. None in her presence wanted to anger her further.

As soon as the lady got beside Archduke Fordin, she demonstrated three quick and precise movements.

First, she held Archduke Fordin by the ropes tying his hands and threw him aside while tossing the severed head towards the crown prince. This made the crown prince and his followers confused. They thought she was trying to release him but she instead threw him beside.

Next, she took something out from behind and threw it at the guards and soldiers while accurately throwing the dagger in her hand towards the crown prince. The dagger hit him in the thigh and the Anton cried in woe. This was done as a distraction.

Finally, she jumped to the side, lifted Archduke Fordin in her arms, and jumped out the window. This was her grand escape along with the Archduke.

The guards cought the object she threw at them. This object was encased in a wooden box. The guard who caught the box opened its lid. Inside were tons of explosives and one tiny thread which had beautiful orange sparks dancing on it.

The guards tried to throw the explosive away and tried to run. But alas, it was too late. Crown prince Anton along with his followers all turned to dust within a mere moment.

Outside, as the lady jumped out of the fourth floor, a few soldiers in blue cape were waiting at the bottom. Blue was the color of the Veiber Empire. The soldiers of Serwen disguised as Veiber's people to infiltrate the palace at the start of the war. They went undercover for three years, finally realising their duty today.

These soldiers spread a piece of cloth to break the fall of the lady and the Archduke.

With this, the lady, the Archduke, and the soldiers allowed fled the palace through the waterways and exited the palace.

Tiny raindrops started falling from the sky. These raindrops cooked the soldier's bodies and gave them temporary relief. The rain also washed away the blood on the lady's face.

The lady's features became prominent. She was a delicate looking lady. One can even mistake her for a child. She was pretty and lovely if not for her attire.

She was the second princess of the Serwen Empire, Archduke Fordin's wife, and the acting empress of Serwen, princess Marianne Von Fordin Serwen.

Ironically, Crown prince Anton was right. Princess Marianne was "A woman not suited to the parliament."

As soon as the Group consisting Princess Marianne, Archduke Fordin, and the soldiers exited the palace, a huge batallion donning red and black armour appeared in sight. It was the Serwen Empire's army.

Commanding them, was the acting empress of Serwen. It was Princess Marianne.

"ATTACK!" She roared her command. For she was terror incarnate.

Within an hour, the imperial palace was destroyed, reduced to rubble by the continuous explosions. The Soldiers in red killed anyone and anything that came into their way. Even if it were a child. For being a child in the imperial palace was a sin.

The Veiber imperial family lost their support and crumbled under the siege of Serwen's acting empress. It was a one sided massacre.

At this point, even if any of the members of the Veiber imperial family were alive and had the courage to avenge the fallen souls, they would have nowhere to return to. The palace treasury was looted and their registers burnt. The accounts and records were lost in the explosions. And the imperial sigil destroyed.

Finally, at the crack of dawn, when the citizens surrounded the imperial palace with questions, they were greeted by the fluttering of a red flag with black and gold emblem of a dragon. It was the flag of the Serwen Empire. The flag was bigger and more grandiose than the blue flag of the lion that the Veiber Empire placed in that very spot at the start of the war.

This meant the utter and crushing defeat of the Veiber Empire.

Along with that, right below the flag, on the roof of the flag tower, the headless naked bodies of the members of the Veiber imperial family were dangling. The severed heads of the imperial family members were attached to the rods protruding from the main gates of the imperial palace.

The naked bodies of the soldiers loyal to the Veiber imperial family and the Veiber Empire were hanged from the outer walls.

This atrocity prevailed in the command of Princess Marianne.

The peasants who were drafted into the war against their will were sent home. Along with them, the peasants who died in the three year war were identified and compensation was sent to their families.

New villages were made atop the field where the battle took place and these villages housed refugees. The nobles who supported the war from the Veiber Empire's side were stripped of their titles and had their businesses and property confiscated.

These reforms and transformations prevailed in the command of Archduke Fordin.

At the start of the war, the crown prince of Serwen blinded by his love for his younger sister, forbid her from joining the battles.

Angered by her brother's meddling, the princess started to gather a highly skilled and ruthless brigade under her shadow. She did it in such a way that the crown prince had no idea.

When the crown prince passed away in the battlefield, she started moving her pawns. If things had gone according to her plan, victory would've been in the Serwen Empire's hands early on.

The emperor caught wind of the princess's deeds. So he took command of the war away from the generals and took it upon himself to dictate the plan.

As such, Princess Marianne lost another chance at participating in the war. Princess Marianne is a lady who abhors war. But if it was unavoidable and the lives of many are at stake, then she would go to any lengths to make sure she prevails. As such, she waited patiently. She believed the war could be won. So she stood by and watched.

When the news of the Serwen Empire losing the war was heard, the last string of patience was cut. She took matters into her own hands.

She used her husband to distract the generals and the crown prince who commanded the war. Using this opening, she infiltrated the imperial palace and blasted its walls starting from the crown prince's room because he was the very reason the war took place. It was a message of sorts.

Within a night, the tide of the battle turned on its head. The ground Veiber was standing on, crumbled to dust. And the linage and records of the land, forever lost.

The complete conquest of a major empire was seen for the very first time.

Year 356 of the imperial calander.

Tonight, this number is going to become history and a new number will take it's place.

The fact that this number is going to disappear means the monarch has changed.

From the Serwen Imperial family as the monarch to the new monarchy.

The new monarchy will go by the name of Fordin.

And the land that has been devoured was called the Veiber Empire.

From this moment on, the Grand empire of Fordin saw the rise of its two grand monarchs.

The emperor, Julius Serwen Fordin, sought reforms and handled internal affairs. He led the citizens with just and orderly laws.

The empress, Marianne Von Fordin Serwen, handled the external affairs. She held the helm in the Empire's power and moved with an iron grip. Everywhere she went, the men shook in their steps. She was the face of the power in the empire.

Emperor Julius was the only one who can control and soothe the empress. And with the rule of these two, the empire thrived way above it ever did.

The defeated and bloodied king was chained to kneel in front of his enemy and he says weakly: "Is my wife still alive?" His enemy nodded. "You fools," he said smirking, and the king starts laughing as the sounds of explosions getting closer shake the room.

[chunkysoup22]

[microsff]

The patron

The alien came to the library again, shortly before closing time, and quickly found a book.

"May this entity borrow The Complete History of Knitting?"

They always return the book they borrow after five minutes, but the ritual of checking it out seems important to them. 

"Of course. Did you bring your card?"

I looked them up, after the first time I saw them for real. They first registered with us over ninety years ago. The senior librarian who first told me about them said I shouldn't stare, or pry.

"Whatever else they are, they are a patron, and should be treated as such," she said. "If they seek knowledge, it is our duty to help them find it."

There isn't an ancient and secret code of librarians, but that is definitely a core part of it. If such a code existed.

I scan the card and the book. "There you go," I say and hand them over. "Please return it within two weeks."

They tilt their head. "This entity will honour your terms."

"Oh! That reminds me, we have updated the terms since your last visit." I hand them the pamphlet we got from the printers last week. "It's mostly about internet usage, but I'll need you to read them and agree."

They study the pamphlet.

"These are terms this entity can abide by." They pause. "Is there no requirement to keep your existence secret?"

"Of course not," I say, "we always welcome new patrons."

They stand silent, long enough for me to realise the implications of what I have just said. 

"This entity had made an assumption, based on prior experiences on countless worlds, where knowledge is always closely guarded and costly to obtain" they say at last. "You will provide knowledge for free to all who seek it?"

In my mind, I weigh humanity's ignorance of those countless worlds of alien civilisations against the code.

"Yes," I say, "this is a library."

[kael-writ]

I recommend to everyone Roald Dahl's The Great Automatic Grammatizer. He predicted AI in 1954. A mediocre would-be writer invents a machine that writes stories for him and starts to buy out other writers and take over the market.

Free here apparently:

John Oliver gets it, as usual. AI Slop is one of the best episodes of Last Week Tonight I've seen so far. Gen AI is theft. Those who use it are not authors or artists, they're grifters profiting from real creatives.

[whereserpentswalk]

In the late 1970s a glowing orb appeared in the sky. Every day at about 5:00 Greenwich standard time, the orb would go somewhere new, shoot out something similar to a laser, and kill one person. Every day, always at the same time, always exactly one person.

The person killed by the orb seemed completely random, with almost fifty years of studying it we've been able to find no rhythm or reason to who it kills. It kills the old, the young, the rich, the poor, the urban, the rural, anyone. Every human on earth seems to have an equal chance of being killed by the orb. It's a headline the few times someone of note is killed by the orb: Britain famously lost a Parliament member to the orb, Brazil to this day remains the only country where a head of state was killed by the orb while in office, there was a short lived sitcom in the 1990s called Friends that ended halfway through its first season due to the orb killing one of the main actors on set. However, these are outliers, on any given day the person who dies via orb is very likely to be someone you never heard of. There are billions of people on earth, and only one is killed by the orb every day. In almost fifty years only a little over 18000 have died because of the orb, which is nothing in the face of the sheer amount of humans that exist.

When the orb first appeared people were horrified. Both the US and USSR thought it was a weapon from the other side. Almost every religion made some claim of it being proof of their beliefs, oftentimes claiming it was divine punishment. Atheists claimed it was proof no loving God could exist. People were so very apocalyptic and horrified by it, they thought of it as part of the end times, because when it was new that's really how it looked.

However, it's been long enough so that's changed. Most people have lived their entire lives in a world where the orb exists. The orb isn't that scary a concept. People know their odds of being killed by it are low and that it's not going to end the world or anything. The orb has become normal, and we've accepted that the orb is just something that kills people the same way cancer, or heart attacks, or natrual disasters, or car crashes kill people. In the nineteen eighties there were efforts to find a way to stop the orb, but it's since proven to be extremely difficult, and it's as distant and nebulous as finding a cure for cancer. When a community is struck by the orb you'll see that community in mourning, but it's not a global thing anymore.

So people grow up learning about the orb, as part of science, like anything else. A lot of gen z remembers learning about the orb from Magic School Bus. It's just something normal. There are a few people with an orb hyperfixation, and a few cults that give the orb importance but it's not most people's concern. The orb is how we first confirmed that interdimensional objects existed and are possible. A lot of people theorize dimensional studies wouldn't exist without it, meaning without the orb we might not have thermitizers or grand drives, we might not even have a moon base without the orb. Some have even rather tastelessly claimed that the orb has saved more lives at this point than its taken with all the knowledge it's given us.

Which is why I regret to inform you, that just last week, without warning, the orb killed two people in one day. And for the past seven days it's been killing two people instead of just one. Nobody knows why.

[strangelittlestories]

“Would you like something to eat?” The fairy smiled and tendrils of sweet steam curled out of its mouth.

“Is it freely given?” I asked.

“No. I will take a food from you in return.”

“I, uh, only have trail rations left.”

It seemed a poor trade for the platters of pastries, fruit and fragrant stew on offer at the fairy's table.

“You have sufficient food for trade.”

I selected a pastry and held it up to my lips. The dough was flaky and soft, it smelled of fresh baking and rich saffron.

“And that's it? The price is just some of the food I have on me?”

“Yes. And only that which is a fair exchange for what you take.” The fairy's eyes were like an impressionist’s take on a doe's eyes. They looked at me like I was a bird with a broken wing.

I bit into the pastry. The taste of wholesome root vegetables and sweet spices burst on my tongue. I ate and ate and ate until my cheeks glowed with pleasure and my brain tingled with sensation.

When I was done, I thanked the fairy and bowed to it. Then I reached into my pack to find my rations.

The fairy put a hand on mine to stop my rummaging.

“That is not necessary. I have taken my payment.”

“Huh? But I still have all my food…”

“You once ate a curry made of banana skins, stewed slow in spices and lemon. You asked the recipe after. It is mine now.”

I paled. I tried to think of how to make that dish and came up blank. I thought I had learned how to bargain in the autumnlands, but evidently I needed to be more careful.

“Why… why take the recipe?”

“So I can make it for my next visitor. And they will give me another in return. Eventually I will have the best kitchen in all the courts.”

“And then?”

The fairy wrinkled its nose and its wings at the same time.

“And then I will have the most visitors, who will bring me even more recipes.” It made it sound like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But then what? Does the cycle, y'know, end?”

The fairy thought about this. Its wings shifted as it thought, cycling between moth and eagle and bat and pigeon, making it seem a roiling menagerie of prey and predator.

“End? Hmmm.” Finally its wings settled and became two sheafs of golden wheat that fluttered in the breeze. “I suppose it will end when everyone is fed.”

---

Enjoy my stories? Consider supporting my live show! https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/poor-life-choices-at-the-edinburgh-fringe

[thestuffedalligator]

The duchy was founded - unofficially - when some enterprising little thief had read through the royal lawbooks, looking for loopholes like a worm trying to wriggle its way through a brick, and had discovered that while the king's men could follow a man across mountains, forests, and plains, they were not granted the same jurisdiction over bodies of water.

This had started the popular idea amongst the kingdom's criminal underbelly that if a thief took a boat and paddled out into the middle of a pond, the king's men technically couldn't do anything about it.

Of course, the realist interjected, it'd never work; if you tried it, then you'd be one thief in the middle of a pond, with all those guards waiting on the shore for you to either wash up with the flotsam or die of starvation.

Still, the idea was alluring. It hung around the popular consciousness as a thought, an untested hypothesis, an interesting fact.

It would've remained so if it wasn't for Edmund Snood, an enterprising young thief who hadn't quite enterprised an escape plan, and with the guard closing behind him had grabbed a rowboat and cast himself out into the largest of the kingdom's lakes so fast that he had skipped like a thrown stone.

And as Edmund fended off the banks and the horrible, grinning, patient faces of the guards waiting for him there, word had spread across the kingdom. Soon enough, thieves and thugs were all paddling up to the little rowboat with a sandwich and a few words of encouragement, attaboy, Eddie, show them who's boss, eh? We're all rooting for you back home!

And after four days, the duchy was founded - unofficially - when Jack "Jackal" Jaseroque had lashed his rowboat to Edmund's and took over the duty of paddling while Edmund took the first sleep he had in half a week.

After that, another boat lashed together with the two. Then another. Then four more. A lean-to shelter was built, torn down, and rebuilt bigger. Walkways were tied together. And then in a wave of tidal force, the thieves and thugs, bandits and brigands, vandals and vagabonds of the kingdom all sailed out to the little assemblage. Leather bladders were inflated to help with bouyancy. Ramshackle halls were raised. A strict rotation of paddling duty was arranged to fend off the banks.

And the tune of the realist had changed - they can't be watching all the shores, right? So if we just spend a couple days here, keep an eye out, and head out again once we've spotted a gap, then who cares about a little bit of paddling in the meantime, right?

The duchy was founded - officially - when Edmund Snood took on the role of dukedom to universal acclaim. This was also when the name of the little commune had been agreed on, as the makeshift structure bobbed gently on the water's surface.

It was called the Robber Duchy.

[witchysparkles]

"A Guest for the Trees"

By: WitchySparkles ✨️

🍃🌳🍁🪾

There's magic in trees. Knowledge. Wisdom. They know our ancestors mire intimately than we ever are allowed to. They know the secrets nature keeps from us. In the wind, the trees speak. In the rain, the trees dance. In the snow, the trees quiet. In all seasons, the trees provide.

We watch as the trees nurse babies and new life in the spring.

We watch as the trees LIVE in the summer, exuding energy and adventure to us all.

We watch in winter as the trees go to sleep. And though they're quiet, they do not stop caring for us. They just do it with more of a whisper.

But my favorite time is fall/autumn. When the trees put on their party. Their curtain call for the year- right before the long rest they deserve. When they dress up and the multicolored confetti falls all around us. When they whisper and sway in the chill that blows through. When the fog rolls in reminding us that the forest still holds secrets, hidden magic, we will never get to know. When the beauty makes you feel safe, as it did in the warmer months... but you can't help but feel something else residing in that forest. With the trees. On your neck and up your spine. Like a reminder. Autumn's promise that these trees hold more, know more, and facilitate more than we can ever understand.

In both light, and dark, and every season... we are but a visitor in a tree's life.

-WitchySparkles ✨️

🍃🌳🍁🪾

I hope whoever reads this enjoys it or even understands. I truly think humans pale in comparison to a lot of other nature on this planet.

orange trees

[glissadia]

Upon Further Examination

A professor does her best to figure out why her student's ritual circle isn't working, and discovers that the issue may be a bit bigger than she thought. 6k words.

"Three. Two. One. Ignite. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Indicators. Four. Three. Two. One."

"Failed," Selin states in time with my counting, doing a halfway-decent job of masking her frustration and disappointment. I nod approvingly, as I’ve done each attempt, because it’s still important to acknowledge the adherence to procedure.

"Quench," I respond, picking my earlier cadence back up. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Release. One. Two. Disengage."

Selin steps back from the now-inert ritual circle and I step forward to check her work. Today I’m acting as her examiner, rather than my usual role as her mentor, so I’m supposed to keep my observations to myself. However, I think we’ve gotten past the point where I need to stick to the standard process.

"Perfect," I speak aloud, and Selin jumps slightly. "Your inscriptions are more than within tolerance for preciseness, you’re following your derived procedures to the letter, your timing would put the carillon tower to shame, and I can’t identify a single fault with your channeling."

"Wait, so I got the ritual right this time?" Selin asks, her voice equally confused and hopeful. "Then why didn’t it work?"

I shake my head.

"You got it right every time," I tell her. "Even the first two attempts, which I intentionally sabotaged without your notice, according to academy procedure. You corrected and compensated without prompting."

I don’t have to look at Selin to anticipate the indignant response that revelation will elicit, so I simply hold up my hand to silence her.

"It’s not the moon, it’s not ambient interference, and it’s sure as hell not my materials. It’s not your procedures, your written report has no problems on paper and I tested it last night in this very room, so it’s not the location either."

Sure enough, when I tested Selin’s ritual myself in preparation for today, the brilliant purple spark had appeared in midair and fragmented into responsive motes, just as she had designed it to do. By her own accounts it had worked just as well while she was developing it, so we should be seeing at least some sort of magical response from the ritual besides the barest, halfhearted ionizing glow coming from the air above the circle, and yet here we were, twenty-two attempts later. I would normally have to penalize her for taking this many attempts, but that part of the rubric was written under the assumption that failure would be due to something on the student’s part. This, however…

"So what is wrong with it, Professor?" Selin asks as she slumps down into one of the armchairs arranged against the wall of my workshop. "I know you’re not supposed to tell me until after the exam, but…"

"Nothing," I say as I sit down next to her, with a bit more grace. "Absolutely nothing at all, besides the fact that it is simply not working. Selin, I genuinely have no idea what to tell you. I’m half-tempted to just award you full marks and some extra credit on top of it and call it a day."

"Well don’t do that," she whines. "How am I supposed to call it a success if it doesn’t work when it’s supposed to?"

"You do realize most students wouldn’t hesitate to accept that offer, right?"

"Well there’s a reason you’re mentoring me and not them," Selin says, and I concede the point with a chuckle. The girl has a work ethic and level of tenacity I haven’t seen in years. What makes her stand out even more is the fact that when she was my student in introductory classes, I had initially assumed she would wash out of the program. It took her almost twice as long as most of the other students to get her fundamental spell weaving up to par, and her magic still has a tendency to try and run away from her in a way that’s amusingly familiar. But what she lacks in control, Selin more than makes up for with her sheer breadth of comprehension of theory. With time and effort, she’s grown to become the most promising student in her year, and I was quite excited to see what she came up with for her end-of-semester project. It was ambitious, sure, but pulling it off should be fully within her capabilities, and yet success has eluded her thus far today. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she refused to leave my quarters until the ritual succeeded, be it hours or until the end of the day or even longer. I myself would be remiss to end before she got it working, but at this point I genuinely have no idea what to do.

"Why don’t you take a break?" I suggest. "Just half an hour. You can ask Ember to make tea. I’ll stay here and work out the problem, then you can come back with a fresh mind and it’ll work this time."

I can tell Selin does not share my optimism, nor does she want to give up even temporarily, but exhaustion wins out and she nods, standing up and removing her apron and protective goggles before exiting the workshop. I remain, close my eyes, and focus my mind the problem at hand.

Fifteen minutes later and I’m only more frustrated. I tested this yesterday and it worked. There should be no effective difference between the two setups. What the hell is going on?

The softest, quietest tink of porcelain interrupts my thoughts, and I open my eyes to see Ember setting down a cup and saucer on the end table next to my chair. My maid’s lips quirk in dissatisfaction when she realizes that she wasn’t quite silent enough to go unnoticed, but quickly return to her usual warm smile.

"You’ll get me one of these days," I assure her, and she stifles an amused snort. "How’s Selin?"

"Antsy, but she’s staying in one place, at least," Ember responds. "I think the failure is getting to her."

"And to I as well," I sigh. "She’s executing the ritual even more precisely than I did, and nothing."

I pick up the cup from the saucer, then pause as I notice the contents and raise one eyebrow at Ember.

"What is hot cocoa if not tea made of chocolate steeped in milk?" she says, with an ever-so-slightly mischievous lilt to her voice. "I thought you both could use the comfort."

I roll my eyes, though there’s no real annoyance behind it. A small sip confirms that it’s been heated well beyond the boiling point, the enchantment on the cup preventing it from evaporating or scalding, and I breathe a sigh of contentment. She knows me too well.

"Would you like me to give it a look, my lady?" Ember asks. "Fresh eyes could spot something new, perhaps?"

"You’re welcome to, if you’d like," I tell her. I don’t honestly expect her to find anything, though not for any lack of faith on my part in my maid’s skill. I just can’t imagine there’s anything to find.

Ember walks around the outside of the ritual circle a few times, staring at it intently as I sip my cocoa. I try to keep thinking, picking apart the problem in different ways, but the answer continues to elude me. When Ember speaks up again, the distraction is very welcome.

"She’s using your mana siphon design. Integrated correctly, but still not standard. Is that a problem?"

"No, it should work just like the standard design for her. A bit more efficiently, even, which I assume is why she’s using it," I say. Ember knows this, of course, but it’s still good to talk things out. Maybe something will spark an epiphany.

"Hmm." She’s quiet for another moment. "And you recreated this last night exactly, including the siphon, correct?"

"It’s the design I have to grade, so naturally," I confirm. "It worked flawlessly, first try."

"Even with the compensation runes?"

I frown.

"I suppressed them temporarily, like I always do with that design. My magic only needs compensation when I’m reproducing the standard siphon design, you know this," I say, not entirely sure where she’s going with this. The runes hidden in the walls of my workshop and the classrooms I teach in are critical for ensuring rituals designed without my own little custom component actually function properly and don't just immediately fizzle out. My own magic doesn't play nicely with rituals, so any mana siphon attempting to use it to power one finds itself promptly overwhelmed unless it's built to handle that kind of mana (like my design is) or the volatility in my magic is compensated for, like the runes do.

"And they’re on now, because that’s their normal state," Ember hums. "Out of curiosity, what would happen if you tried this ritual with the compensation runes active?"

"Modifying the design to use a standard mana siphon? I can’t see any reason why I wouldn’t be able—"

"No," Ember cuts me off. "As implemented."

"It wouldn’t work, obviously. The siphon’s design is too specific for properly collecting my magic processed to behave like normal magic, it has to be either or. Standard siphons are more forgiving, but less efficient."

"So the siphon would get overloaded and fail relatively quickly?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"I can see where you’re going with this, but it’s wrong," I say, leaning forward in my chair and placing the now-empty cup back down on the saucer. "To the runes, normal mana might as well not exist. They wouldn’t do anything to Selin’s, she’s the one igniting the ritual, and the ritual isn’t tandem nor does it collect ambient mana. My magic isn’t affecting things at all, I’ve made sure of it."

"What if her magic needs to be compensated for?"

"I—"

The notion is ludicrous. So ludicrous that I start to respond without thinking, but then cut myself off. If I was the one doing the ritual, then yes, I’d need to suppress the runes in order for it to work, just like I did last night. I never designed my improved mana siphon to work with them, because there was absolutely no need to and it would have just complicated the inscription. If I still tried anyway, though… the siphon would eke out the barest amount of mana, then promptly give up. The distribution lines would do their best to convey the mana to the rest of the circle, which would… which wouldn’t even get through the first step of the intended output. No spark. It would try, though, and if I had to guess, that weak, mana-starved attempt would probably look just like a faint purple glow in the air, and nothing else.

It doesn’t make sense. It makes too much sense. It explains everything nicely and raises so many more questions. I desperately want to hang onto any possible evidence it’s not true, because it couldn’t be. I would know. And there’s no way. No way at all. But…

"But she’s human," I say, voice a little weaker and more unsure than I’d like. Ember simply raises an eyebrow again.

"You thought you were."

I sigh. I don’t want to acknowledge even the remotest possibility of Ember being right, but at my core I’m too much of a scientist to not at least attempt to test the possibility.

"It’s been long enough; she’ll be itching to try again," I say, defeated. "You go get her, I’ll turn off the compensation runes."

"Of course, my lady," my maid says, in that way she’s perfected that conveys very little of the deference the title would imply. She exits the workshop, and I get back to my feet, turning around and placing my hand on the wall. A twist of will sees the rune contained within made dormant for a time, and I walk to and repeat the process with the other five walls, finishing just as Selin rushes in with Ember behind her.

"What’d you figure out?" Selin asks excitedly, already throwing her apron back on and pulling her hair back. "Are we good to go?"

"There’s… a chance we are," I hedge. "I don’t want you to get your hopes up, but I’ve tried something and there’s a very remote possibility it should work now, no other modifications necessary."

"Alright!" Selin cheers, tying the apron strings behind her back. "You don’t sound very hopeful, though."

"The lady has a tendency to temper her expectations to an unreasonable degree," Ember says, insolent little creature that she is. "I have faith in your abilities, Selin."

"Aw, thanks!" Selin says, grabbing the materials she needs for another attempt. "Anything I should do differently or just like I designed?"

"Just like you designed," I confirm. "And if this doesn’t work then please don’t feel discouraged."

"No promises!" she declares, working with remarkable efficiency. "Okay, prepped and reset for another go."

I give her work a cursory glance, but I have no doubt it’ll be perfect, just like all the other attempts. Alright. No time like the present.

"On my call," I say, and Selin nods. "Three. Two. One. Ignite."

Selin pours her magic into the circle once again, and the air above the ritual circle blooms, brilliant purple light coalescing into one single, shining point. I allow myself a fraction of a second to process, which is not nearly enough, but I have a job to do.

"Seven. Six. Five. Four," I call, and the spark fragments, much smaller points of light rapidly spreading out to fill the cylindrical space above the ritual circle. There must be thousands of them, and the density Selin has achieved is noticeably greater than what I managed last night with the exact same conditions. "Three. Two. One. Indicators. Four. Three. Two. One."

"Succeeded," Selin declares, voice full of pride. The results are plain to see, stabilizing well before the seven second mark and taking much less than four to interpret.

"Hold," I continue in cadence. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Stable."

Selin hesitantly sticks her hand into the field of purple, and the motes in a small radius around it drift towards her. She clenches her hand into a fist, and they rapidly move to coat her hand, before all suddenly jumping back into position when she opens her hand again. She beams at me.

"Well done," I say as I release a bit of the tension in my body, though not all of it, and catch Ember’s eye. She’s grinning at me very smugly, which I suppose is well-deserved. This… complicates things.

"Told you it works," Selin says, self-satisfaction oozing out of every pore. She pulls her hand back and the pinpricks of purple light stay where they are, having done their job in this demonstration.

"If you’ll recall, I never doubted that it should," I respond. Okay, time to start teasing this mystery apart. "Selin, your mana siphon. Why did you use my design over the standard one? It must have been harder to integrate."

"Huh? Oh, the siphon. Because the standard one sucks and yours is better?" Selin says as she pushes her goggles up to her forehead. Somehow I don’t think she means it solely as a compliment.

"It’s harder to inscribe than the standard version, though," I prompt her. "And reproducibility was one of the factors you were instructed to keep in mind when designing your project."

"Well yeah, of course I thought about that," she defends. "And I started with the usual one, like I’m supposed to, but I’m bad at inscribing it and I could never get it right so I just rebuilt the ritual around yours and I actually started getting results."

I freeze. She does not mean what I think she means. She can’t.

"What do you mean you’re bad at inscribing it?" I ask. "Your inscriptions are some of the most precise I’ve ever seen."

"Aww, thanks," Selin blushes. "And I mean I’m bad at it! I can only get it to work half the time, usually when you’re helping me. Anything that’s designed by you always works for me. It’s consistent!"

It’s consistent because I always deactivate the compensation runes in my classrooms and workshop when we’re working with rituals I’ve designed, because of the fact that they interfere with each other. And any time she’s tried a ritual with my mana siphon outside of those places, there aren’t runes to worry about. But no, that would mean���

"Selin, have you ever successfully completed a ritual using the standard siphon outside of this room or a classroom?"

"Uh, well… not really?" she admits sheepishly. Oh goddess. "I’ve just kinda taken to modifying the rituals when I’m at home, 'cause there isn’t an instructor there to tell me off for doing it wrong."

"You’re modifying rituals to include my mana siphon?" I ask, flabbergasted. "You can’t just put it in place of the old one; the integrations are completely different!"

"Uh, yeah?" Selin says, sounding confused. "It’s not that difficult to rework the distribution lines around it."

Yes it is. Yes it fucking is. I don’t say that to her, though, instead turning to the room’s other occupant, whose grin is almost too wide for her face at this point.

"Fine. Fine! You win, Ember," I declare, throwing my hands up in the air. "You were right, I was wrong. She can’t do rituals without compensating."

"I’m so glad your humility hasn’t left you, my lady," Ember beams. Selin, meanwhile, just looks confused.

"Sorry, 'compensating?'" she asks. "I’m not doing anything differently, as far as I know. What did you figure out? Why did it work this time?"

I sigh.

"You didn’t do anything different. It was a problem with my workshop, which I apologize for. But, we’re not quite done yet. This is not part of your exam, but I’d appreciate it if you humored me anyway. Light spell, as by-the-book as you can."

Selin’s confused expression only deepens, but she obliges me, holding up a hand and making a simple ball of light appear above it. It roils and shifts, maintaining a loosely spherical shape as it ebbs and flows. Selin’s magic has frequently expressed itself this way, and while I’ve drawn parallels to my own experiences, I never made the conclusion that it’s seeming like I should have.

"Hold it there, don’t lose focus," I instruct her as I walk back towards the wall. With a touch, I draw back out the mana keeping the rune within suppressed, fixing my eyes on the Selin’s light spell as I do so. It flickers, though not by much. I walk to two more walls and do the same thing, then return to my student. With half the runes in effect, the ball of light has calmed itself a bit, still far from static but significantly more under control. Selin looks to be concentrating hard on keeping it stable, her lips pursed, but I don’t offer her any insight, instead walking to the remaining three walls and reactivating the runes contained within. Walking back up, I can see that the little ball of light has become a perfect, static sphere, as textbook as I’ve ever seen. Selin looks up at me questioningly, but I preempt her with a question of my own.

"Are you sure you’re human?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" she asks incredulously.

"Like I asked earlier, please humor me," I say patiently.

"I… yes?" she says, and I can tell she truly believes it. "There’s some elven blood on my dad’s side if you go back like eight generations, but that’s extremely diluted, I know how this works."

And indeed, it should not have this kind of effect oh her magic. But, what I’m asking about isn’t something brought about by genetics.

"Release and disengage the ritual at your leisure, then you two start cleaning up," I order. "I need to grab something. Ember, don’t bias her while I’m gone."

"Bias me?"

"My lady?"

"I’m doing a test," I state, and Ember’s eyes go wide.

"Hey wh—"

The rest of Selin’s confused exclamation is cut off as I abruptly turn on my heel and yank myself through space, the workshop around me immediately transitioning into a new, much larger space. Cavernous walls of rough-hewn rock, globes of magical light suspended from the very high ceiling, and approximately forty fireballs spontaneously generated and fired towards me by the wards the second I take a step forward. My stride doesn’t falter as they hit and harmlessly wash over me, my robes being enchanted to protect themselves and anything contained within the many pockets from flame. That doesn’t include the wearer, but, well. The day I can’t handle a bit of fire is the day I die.

I was lucky enough to find this cave a couple of centuries back, and promptly sealed it up and warded it to high heaven to prevent anyone else from doing so after me. If anyone else besides me or my staff tried to get in here, they’d be faced with a lot worse than just fireballs. They’re more of a precaution, anyway. Plus, the heat is nice. These mountains don’t have any geothermal activity, so the entire cave system has to be heated magically, which takes a lot of energy.

It doesn’t take me long to reach the cave’s main event, since while this chamber is absolutely massive, so is the pile of treasure it contains. For years, I never really understood the appeal of having a hoard, but the very first time I held a gemstone the size of an apple in my hands, I was hooked. That was a long, long, time ago, though, and now my trove has grown to a size even the most ascetic of my kin would salivate over. Not that they’ll ever get to see it, of course, nor will any humans. Very few people know my true identity, and I like it that way. I doubt my life of tenured pedagogy would be quite so peaceful if the rest of the staff knew there was anything more to me than an experienced noblewoman with a penchant for magical research and a slightly strange magical response to rituals. Anonymity holds power, in this world, which is one of the many reasons why part of me greatly dislikes the idea of potentially revealing myself. But, I’m forced to admit, if I’m correct, the alternative would be worse for Selin, and I like the poor girl far too much for that.

I spend around half an hour searching through the piles, examining each splotch of color poking out from in between pieces of gold from this century and many past. My search criteria is very specific, and it’s not like I can just pull some random ruby out and be done with it. I’m loathe to part with even a single piece from my collection, as any self-respecting dragon would be, but I know that if this test succeeds then there will be no way I’m getting this back. Finally, though, I spot it. A brilliant purple, Selin’s favorite color. Round, roughly cut (though that just adds charm, in my opinion), and large enough that it’s awkward to carry in only one hand. Corundum. It’s perfect. …Now I just have to find something to carry it in.

When I return to my workshop, a large felt bag clasped in my hands, my eyes barely have time to focus before I’m assaulted with a shrill exclamation.

"You can teleport!?" Selin yells, and I wince before schooling my expression.

"Were you waiting the entire time just to ask that?" I say tersely.

"Well yeah, you just disappeared so what else was I supposed to do after cleaning up?" Selin responds, and I am pleased to see the workshop is looking spotless. "Ember won’t even talk to me and I am still very confused as to what is going on."

"I apologize for leaving you in the dark, so to speak, but this is very important," I sigh. "Yes, I can teleport, it’s rather advanced magic and relatively inaccessible to most people, but I will teach you, should you desire. In any case, I think things will very soon become clear. Come."

I turn and walk towards the door, navigating down the hall and to the sitting room. As expected, Ember is waiting there, tea already prepared. Cinnamon this time, I can smell, not chocolate. I sit down on one of the chairs, bag in my lap, and motion for the other girls to do the same. Selin picks the chair opposite me, looking at me intently, while Ember picks the couch to the side of us. She always gets squirmy when she’s excited, and that’s quite evident now, despite her attempts to sit still.

"So, first things first," I begin. "Nothing you are about to see or hear is to be discussed outside of my quarters, and never with anyone besides me or my staff. Do you understand?"

"'Staff,' plural?" Selin says, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Ember. "Are there more?"

"Cinder and Tinder tend to the estate while I’m teaching; you’ll be introduced to them eventually," I elaborate, and before she can think too much on the names I continue. "Besides Ember and I, you will not breathe a word of this to anyone else. I repeat, do you understand?"

"Yes," Selin nods, and I can tell she means it. Everything that’s happening is much too intriguing for her to just walk away.

"Good," I say, then reach into the bag and tug it off of the gemstone contained within, watching Selin’s expression carefully. "Secondly, congratulations on passing your practical exam. As I said earlier, I will be awarding you full marks, plus extra credit."

As I reveal the giant purple corundum, I see the spark in Selin’s eyes, and my theory is confirmed. A bittersweet feeling washes over me at that. As much as I was enjoying the relatively solo life (well, as solo as a girl can be with three kobolds), it’s nice to know that I’ll be mentoring my favorite student for a good while longer yet. I stand up, holding the gem in both hands, and walk over to Selin, holding it out to her.

"A gift," I tell her. "And hopefully a fitting start to your collection."

Her eyes grow even wider than they already were, and she reaches up, almost reverently, taking the gemstone from my grasp. I feel a pang in my heart as it leaves my hands, but I push it down. This is necessary. I’m not going to let her wander, lost, like I did.

"I… I don’t know what to say," Selin starts as I walk back to my chair and sit down. "This is… this is too much. What even… what?"

"Purple corundum," I state matter-of-factly. "The same thing that rubies and sapphires are made of, just with a different name and color. Near flawless, as best I can tell. I’ll help you weigh and grade it later. You’ll want to know."

"Professor, this is… how much is this even worth?" Selin nearly whines, most of her sense of decorum leaving her. Which is understandable.

"Oh, I have no idea," I tell her, semi-honestly, then lean forward in my seat. "If it’s too much, then simply give it back. I’ll find you something more appropriate."

She looks at the gemstone for a long while, longer than she thinks, I’m sure. Then, very slowly, she brings it down to her chest, holding and hugging it despite the weight. I nod approvingly. There really was no chance of anything else.

"Then, thirdly, your ritual," I say, and I think I manage to recapture most of her attention. "Like I said, the problem was with my workshop, not you or your execution. I would like to once again apologize for causing that unnecessary stress."

"That’s… alright," Selin nods. "What was the problem, if you don’t mind me asking?"

"The answer is rather complicated, but I’ll do my best to explain," I start. "While my preferences lie in other fields, I do consider myself somewhat of an expert in ritual magic, and I’d hope my teaching position supports that assertion. This is in spite of a rather curious quirk of my magic, which interacts with most modern ritual designs in a way that precludes them from working. Unless, of course, the ritual circle utilizes the mana siphon I designed some two hundred years ago to address this very issue. You, Selin, have this same quirk."

"Okay, wait, slow down," she says. "I’ve seen you use the standard mana siphon before. I’ve used it before. And my ritual used yours, but it wasn’t working. Also, sorry, did you say two hundred years?"

"Young lady, you should know better than to ask about a woman’s age," I admonish her, and savor the wounded expression on her face for the couple of seconds I can manage to prevent my mouth from cracking into a smile. "But yes, I am significantly older than I look. And in regards to your other questions, there is more than one way to mitigate the effects of this quirk, which I had to do before I designed my own ritual components. Built into the walls of my workshop and classrooms are runes that, when activated, compensate for the volatility of my magic, forcing it to behave as normal to standard mana siphons."

Understanding begins to dawn on Selin’s face.

"So when you had me do the light spell and it got less and less chaotic…"

"The runes were processing and calming your magic as I activated them, yes."

"That… makes a surprising amount of sense," she says. "The standard siphon only working for me in the classrooms and your workshop, not at home. Wait, but what was the problem with my ritual, then? I was using your design, that takes care of the issue, you said."

"It does, yes," I nod. "The problem was that I, not knowing about your situation, left the runes activated for your exam. The siphon does not process my magic after it has been affected by the runes, due to the specificity of the design, and neither was it processing yours. When I deactivated the runes, as I do whenever I deal with rituals of my own design, that allowed your natural magic to fuel the ritual as normal, and thus leading to the success. The compensation runes have no effect whatsoever on magic without this quirk, so I did not expect them to have any effect on your performance."

"Huh," Selin responds, thoughtfully. "I assume you’re willing to show me the runes so I can use them myself?"

"I do plan on doing so," I nod affirmatively. "They’re not exactly simple, but I have no doubt you’ll be able to reproduce them with relatively little effort."

"Well, okay then!" she beams. "That’s good to know. Use your siphon when I can, use the runes for the standard version, don’t mix and match. That all seems pretty clear. I don’t really get why this is such a secret, though."

I sigh. Here’s where we get to the more significant part of this conversation.

"Selin, you are the twelfth person I have met in my life besides me with this condition. This is over many centuries, and I know there are a number more I have not met but experience the same thing, since it follows a very clear pattern. I hope you believe me when I tell you how rare this is, and that I am very confident when I say it is indicative of more overall characteristics of the person the volatile magic comes from. I was initially extremely unwilling to believe that the runes were responding to you, for the very simple reason that the runes do not respond to humans, nor most other races. Yet your magic is of the variety they were designed for, which only stems from one source."

"So, what are you saying?" she asks me, pulling the gemstone a little tighter against herself. "That I’m not human? How the hell could I not be?"

"In this case, it’s a matter of the soul," I tell her. "I do not know the exact mechanism behind it, for there are so few of us to be studied, and I am still not entirely sure how similar it is for other races. But, sometimes, very rarely, a person can be born with a soul not befitting of their body, and this leads to a mismatch. One that could potentially go unnoticed for their entire lives, given a lack of the right circumstances. Such a case is certainly a tragedy, which means that it is my responsibility to prevent the same from happening to you."

She takes a deep breath.

"Just… out with it. Stop dancing around whatever it is."

Well. Here we go.

"Selin, every single person whose magic behaves like this is a dragon."

To her credit, she doesn’t laugh.

"Bullshit," is her response, soft, too quickly. I say nothing, and simply draw my hand down my face, letting my human visage fall away and the deep blue scales of my true form shine through, though still in a somewhat humanoid shape. Selin gasps at my sudden reveal, then glances over to Ember, whose disguise falls away at the same time mine does, leaving a short orange kobold sitting on the couch instead, tail rapidly wagging. She’s still wearing a smaller version of her maid uniform, though, and waves happily to a stunned Selin.

"I hope you understand why I asked you to keep this a secret," I say, only managing to hide around half of the amusement I’m currently feeling. Not much of my body is visible with the robes, but it should certainly be enough.

"I… yes," Selin responds, finally managing to find her voice again. "But you’re… that’s not… I’m not…"

"Here’s a proposal for you," I say to her, leaning forward to give my folded-up wings some space. "Hand the stone back to me, or fail my class."

The immediate look of shock and betrayal on her face is just what I expected, so I escalate, holding out my scaled palm and summoning a roiling ball of flame above it.

"Hand the stone back to me, or die."

She tenses up, eyes narrowing. I know that look, and while it is what I’m fishing for, I don’t particularly feel like ruining my sitting room with a mage battle, so I extinguish the flame and raise both my palms up deferentially while lowering my head.

"Easy, easy," I placate, letting my human form wash back over me to break her concentration. She blinks, eyes refocusing, so that hopefully did the trick. "I’m not going to take it away, I promise. I’m sorry."

"G-good," Selin says. Then, after a moment, her eyes widen. "Wait, holy shit, I didn’t mean to… fuck, I am so sorry, um—"

I lower my left hand, letting the right one remain up to stop her.

"It’s exactly the reaction I was provoking; there’s no need to apologize," I assure her. "It’s natural to get defensive over items in your hoard."

"My hoard?" she asks incredulously. Then, softly. "Oh. Fuck."

I nod at her.

"Are things starting to make a bit more sense?"

"…Getting there," Selin says, demurely. "There’s still a lot I don’t understand."

"Well, we have all the time in the world to get to remedy that," I assure her. "And as it turns out, all the time is the world is going to be a lot longer for you than either of us thought."

"Aaaa, this is going to be so much fun!" Ember squeaks, and I can’t help but agree with her. Even Selin lets a hint of anticipation show through on her face, which makes my smile grow even wider.

Goodness, I love being a teacher.

(Part two is here!)

[malevolent-miss]

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[digitialwonderland]

Okay, but Cthulhu!Price who has resigned himself to a life of loneliness in the waters of an isolated island until a spritely new lighthouse keeper shows up?

Nobody was giving you the full story about what happened to the last lighthouse keeper. Frankly, you didn’t know why the place was still operating. But either way, you had just finished shoving all your boxes into the living room.

They looked like a grand, cardboard palace that had been built over your wooden floors. How you were going to get this all done, you didn’t know.

A soft knock sounded at the door, startling you for a moment as it broke the silence.

When you open it, a man is standing, waiting quietly on your porch. He’s handsome, with the type of age lines that only serve to bring out a persons features. His eyes were as deep as blue as the sea, and his rugged edge almost admitted that he was a sailor of some sort. Even though the worn, brown leather jacket he was wearing with jeans and a deep green button up didn’t show signs of being worn out at sea.

“Hiya,” you chime, trying your damndest to not blush like crazy.

His eyes land on you with a force that could only be described as magnetic. It made your stomach dip into that pleasant little flutter of warmth. You almost caught yourself stepping further out of the house. “Hey there, sweetheart.” He answered as a warm smile crawled over his lips. His voice was deep and smooth, once again sending your stomach to a world of butterflies. “I heard I had a new neighbor at the lighthouse, figured I might come to introduce myself.”

He stepped forward, offering up a large, calloused hand to you. “I’m John Price, I live down the road.”

Eagerly, you slipped your hand into his, enjoying the warmth of it as his grip curled around yours. But as you did so, you could help but look a little ways past him. The road out was up on a ridge, the lighthouse itself almost seemed to fester on the slope between the road and the beach. Further down the shoreline, you could see where rocks had built up into a sort of artificial mountain. But one thing that wasn’t in view? A house. “H-how far up the road do you live?”

Another one of those charming smiles curved over his lips, he released your hand, though the warmth seemed to linger much longer than he did. “Within walking distance, just a few minutes.” He leaned away, pushing his hands into his pockets as he glanced inside. “Hope you’re not having too hard of a time moving in. This place can be a bit spooky for lone keepers.”

The hair on the back of your neck stood, for what reason, you were still trying to figure out. “Oh I don’t mind it. I like authenticity. Plus, it’s good fun being able to figure out where I want to put everything.”

He laughed, low and deep, letting that sound fill the air until you felt a rush of heat go down your body. “You and I have different ideas of good fun.” He shot you a quick wink, starting to take slow steps back to the porch steps. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. The old keeper should have a list of emergency numbers in there. If you ever need anything, just call mine.”

You nodded, bidding your goodbyes. But the second the door was closed again you went on a scavenger hunt for the list of numbers. Sure enough, it was on the old desk in the keepers room. Scrawled out on a yellowed piece of paper were about six numbers. At the top, that of John Price, Johnny McTavish, Kyle Garrick, and Simon Riley.

Hmmm, wonder who all these people are?

John made sure that the little keeper wasn’t looking before he changed his direction on the road and made a jog back for the rocky craig on the shore. The air had shifted, the ocean splashed up anxiously against the black stone, nearly striking him as he slipped into the small, hidden entrance.

This place could sense her, the light house could too. He could tell in the way its old, worn white boards seemed slightly brighter. The lights inside were warmer too, as if to welcome her.

Inside the cavern, the moist stone glistened on all sides, the air was thick with salt and the smell of aquatic plants. When the small shaft opened up into the massive chamber inside, he finally let go of his human form. With a deep, rumbling sigh, John grew to nearly quadruple his human size, his facial hair turned into writhing tentacles, and on his back large wings fluttered and stretched.

“You’re back,” said a familiar voice. Simon Riley, dawning his human appearance and shaggy sailors clothes.

“Yes, I have.” John said, running a webbed hand through his hair and strutting forward. In the center of the room, a large, stone throne sat. He took his place in it with a short, contemplative huff.

“Well? Will the next keeper be quick to go or must we intervene?” Simon pressed, stepping up to the throne. He was always so eager to cut to the chase.

“As quick to go mad as the last? No, she’s bright, dare I say the house likes her. I also don’t think that she will run for the hills”.

“Then why do you remain so calm?”

“Because,” John paused, thoroughly and carefully considering his next statement. “I find her….pleasing.”

“Pleasing,” Simon almost snarled, his scared face pulling back as he bared his teeth. “We should see her soon flushed into the sea or fed to a shrink. Not leave her be as a toy.”

“Oh please, Simon, are you so opposed to playing with your food?” Once again, a long, tense pause filled the cavern. When John spoke again, he could barely keep the mischievous smile from his face. “Call the others, our little keeper will be far more entertaining than the last.”

What we thinking about monster!141 gang?

[stump20]

❤️‍🔥😁

the elevator pitch for this is "a Toy Story/Night at the Museum-style educational series that teaches kids about art history"

they probably wouldn't let me have the tits-out minoan snake woman but that's ok