#would she go for it . . . does she continue just trying to make do with Aylin . . . does Aylin recommend more Chosen . . .

[slverblood]

Wanna know something else that's interesting to think about? Sha.dow.he.art's story being a symptom of Sel.ûne's weariness. I'm not even really talking about the Sharrans taking her + her parents. I know we want to hold the gods accountable for every misfortune — and there's some merit to that — but a glaring trait of the DND pantheons is they are not omnipotent. Sh.ar and Sel.ûne have been locked in a cosmic battle for millennia, each winning and losing different battles. This isn't a "every bad thing is Sel.ûne's fault" argument that I'm making.

The argument I am making is that what happened to the Hallowleaf family and families like them is probably a result of Sel.ûne's lessened power — which is itself partially Sel.ûne's fault. We can't say entirely because it's unclear what caused Sel.ûne to surrender part of her portfolio to Sune and serve her. What is clear, though, is that Sel.ûne at a point made the choice to live in as mortal a manner as possible. She locked away her godly power, stopped checking in on godly affairs, and lived as her avatar, Luna. This would cause her already lessened power to wane even more.

This occurred a little over a century ago, but it takes time to build back up the sort of power Sel.ûne once had. Not to mention her portfolio has only shrunk over time and it hasn't expanded again in ages. Sh.ar meanwhile has been steadily growing her power. She's experienced a loss here and there (i.e. to Mask), but her power has largely experienced either growth or a plateau. She hasn't waned as Sel.ûne has.

Now Sel.ûne is still considered a greater deity. HOWEVER, she is not a member of the Circle of Greater Powers like Sh.ar is. Which, combined with other evidence, implies that Sel.ûne is currently less powerful than her sister. They might be in the same "rank", but within that ranking, Sh.ar outstrips her. By how much is unclear, but any imbalance in their power dynamic makes a great difference. Especially to mortals who rely on these deities. Sel.ûne's waning power logically makes it more difficult to oppose her sister — which includes protecting her faithful from Sh.ar. It's not that Sel.ûne didn't hear the cries of the Hallowleaf family and others like them. It's not even that she didn't care. It's that she has never had perfect power to thwart her sister, and now, partly due to choices she's made, that task has become even more difficult.

[trappedinafantasy37]

ACT 3 was one hell of a ride and I have finally completed the Shadowheart origin run! Now it is time to finalized this story. If you have missed the previous updates, check out Act 1 and Act 2.

WARNING: this gets pretty long. Again, it's a story. Some things are gonna be a little bit out of character and involve my own headcanons as I try to fill in the gaps of what isn't directly said in the game.

THE CITY AWAITS

After a long walk from the Shadowlands with Isobel and Dame Aylin, Shadowheart and Minthara finally made it to the city of Baldur's Gate! Shadow can feel that she is on the precipice of many conflicts and so many things are about to be resolved. Unfortunately, she can also feel that many of those resolutions may require violence. She has only recently turned from Shar and still doesn't really know what it means to be a Selunite. Sure, she's taken some guidance from Isobel and Aylin, but their journey with Selune is not the same as hers. They were not brainwashed to hate Selune and all that is good with the world, they did not have their minds wiped over and over so that they can be molded and shaped into the perfect hate machine, and they were not actively tortured by their goddess every time they had dirty and naughty thoughts like empathy and compassion.

Breaking decades of religious indoctrination and countering everything that you have ever known is a difficult and arduous process and not one that is done over night. It isn't easy and it takes an incredible amount of effort. But, no matter how hard she tries, there are some thoughts in Shadow's head that pop up on their own, even if she no longer wants to have those thoughts. Every action she takes from here forward is a deliberate and conscious effort that she makes to not be the same person that she used to be. Unfortunately, Shar and Mother Superior have left deep and lasting scars within her, things that she will never be able to rid herself of. Even though she has turned a new leaf, made an internal vow to do better and be better, she will always have blood on her hands.

It has only been a few weeks of Shadow putting in this effort within herself and Minthara can see the changes. Minthara may not care too much for Shadow having a bleeding heart and wanting to do the "right thing" all of a sudden, but she can appreciate that Shadow is no longer pretending to be something she isn't.

And for a moment, Minthara herself begins to reflect on her own upbringing and the things she has been indoctrinated with. She starts to deconstruct her relationship with the gods and the influence that they should have in their lives, her place in society and where she feels she truly belongs, the importance of trust, and the desire for power. Minthara starts her own process of challenging all the things she's ever known, but unlike Shadow, she is not a blank slate. She does remember everything she's been through these past 200+ years and undoing all that experience isn't going to be so easy for her. Like Shadow, there are just some things even she cannot undo. And there are many things that she would prefer to hang on to.

The process of breaking their own indoctrination is a slow start for both of them. Even though they both recognize the toxicity of their upbringings and the marks it has left on them, neither of them is afraid or ashamed to leverage their teachings in a way that benefits them both. They are also not afraid to continue with their morally dubious actions if it means getting them closer to their goals. So, the two elves travel all around Baldur's Gate doing good while being evil. Some of the shenaninanigans they have been up to:

Settled a squabble between a rich guy and some squatters (they both "died under mysterious circumstances")

Went to the circus and got jumped scared by Orin.

Accidentally stumbled upon a murder mystery that turned into a much deeper conspiracy

Found some gnomes and got a bomb

Started a fight at the checkpoint in which those very gnomes came and saved them

Met Gortash. It would appear that shoddy inaugurations and spilling his evil bad guy plan in front of the entire city constitutes as amongst that minutia of death cult office politics that he's so busy with.

Saved Counsellor Florrick

Continued on their investigation into Bhaal and visited the murder tribunal, killed a sacrifice to get some wicked gear, and then killed Sarevok anyway cause, why not, they were already there.

Beat up a wizard and let Dame Aylin break his back so she can break her oath

Got involved with the Thieves Guild and the Stone Lord

Did a dirty deed for Ethel, but made a crucial ally

Blew up a foundry of slaves

TEAM MOMMY ISSUES

While on this journey of self healing and self reflection, Shadow has spent the entire time just trying to forget the cause of all her worries. But the ever-present wound on her hand that exists just to torment her serves as a reminder that she cannot forget, and she shouldn't. No, Shadow is tired of forgetting. She knows her parents are in the city somewhere and she needs to save them! She can still have the life that has been denied to her. And so, she returns to the House of Grief.

Everyone at the House has been expecting her, but they are not too pleased with her arrival. They are very well aware of her turning her back on Shar and retribution is upon her. Shadow has been through so much on her long journey and has grown incredibly power. But sitting on this bench across from her mother, she is reduced to nothing more than a scared child who knows she has disappointed her mother.

Minthara stands against the wall and watches this entire interaction unfold and for just a brief moment, she sees a reflection of herself within the half-elf. She too has learned plenty of hard lessons at the hands of her mother and she holds plenty of those lessons close to her heart. But there were some days in which she did not see any lesson in the scars her mother left on her, and it felt like nothing but torment for torments sake.

Traveling through the cloister, Shadow is reminded of all the things that she had to do. She learned how to be a good liar and how to pretend to be someone else. She also learned how to torture when it was necessary, how to force information out of people and make them embrace the pain. She does not recall the days in which she learned these lessons, but she has all the skills.

Confronting her mother and the cloister isn't an easy task, but it has to be done. Obviously, Mother Superior wants Shadow to hand over the Prism and she may be "forgiven". But Shadow has learned the hard way that Shar does not forgive and her mother is full of it. Standing on her own two feet, she defies the Mother Superior and the entire cloister turns against her. She does not want to kill anyone here, but she does not feel any sorrow for people that she does not remember. Fighting them all is incredibly difficult as there is twenty of them, and only two of the elves. But with the power granted to her by Selune, Shadow and Minthara are able to burn away the darkness.

Once in her life, Minthara admired Viconia for her rebellion against authority. But she was so naive back then. As she furthered into her career as a paladin of Lolth, she realized just how much of a coward Viconia was. If the former Priestess of Lolth was still in the Underdark while she was, it would have been Minthara's duty to hunt her down and kill her in Lolth's name. Right now, all she sees is a coward who has done nothing but wipe Shadow's mind, torment her and give her lessons in which she can't remember, and rob Shadow of the ability to form her own identity. Minthara takes it upon herself to end Viconia, not in Lolth's name, but Shadowheart's.

But, of course, things are not that easy. Nothing is ever easy. There is an even darker secret hidden in the cloister. The pain that Shadow has felt since the day she started her mission, is the curse that connects her to her parents. And Shar reminds Shadow that there is no escaping her, at least not without making a great sacrifice. There is great meaning to be found in pain, and Shar decides to leave Shadow with what she would prefer to find meaning with.

Her parents want her to let them go. They have seen their daughter once more, she is alive and healthy, in Selune's embrace, and has someone who adores her more than the world itself. Shadow does not want to let them go, she did not come all this way to let them go. If Shar is to damn them all, then they can get through it together. But the Hallowleafs do not want their daughter to suffer needlessly, and neither does Minthara.

To the drow, killing ones parents is an important rite of passage. A perfect method to usurp their place in society, and gain power and status. If Shadow had made a different choice with the Nightsong and not angered Shar, perhaps that would be true. But the option presented to the half-elf is eternal suffering, or freedom from Shar's poison. And Minthara does not want to watch Shadow suffer for the rest of their lives together, not when there is a real possibility for Shadow to be free.

Minthara encourages Shadow to kill her parents. Not because she wishes to see them dead, but because their death means that Shadow will be free to live as herself and without unnecessary suffering. Taking the advice of both her parents and her love, Shadow uses the power of Selune and sets them free. Their souls are no longer bound to the Lady of Loss and they return to Selune's embrace where they were meant to be. Shadow will never know who she was before the cloister, she will never know who Jenevelle Hallowleaf was or who she could have been. And she will have to live with the guilt of having tortured them, and the grief of having to kill them.

BLOODY VENGEANCE

Every night since meeting her at that circus, Minthara's mind has been swirling with the paranoia and terror that Orin was always close by. Walking down the streets of the city, her eyes would watch every single person around, trying to determine which of them was an impostor who is only there to trick her or hurt her or worse.

Walking down into the sewers, inching closer and closer to Orin, Minthara is filled with incredible doubts on whether or not she will survive the ordeal. This is the woman who "indoctrinated" her into the Cult of the Absolute, filling her mind with what are clearly lies. To make it worse, the shroud has been lifted and the memories she once believed to be pleasant dreams were nothing but nightmares in which she was robbed of all choice in the matter.

But right now, she has a choice. She has Shadow, someone she cares for deeply. Someone who has never hurt her, or lie to her, and made a promise to protect her, even from Orin. This time, she knows that what she feels for her cleric is real and nothing is compelling her to feel the way she does. Under normal circumstances, she would feel incredible pressure and terror at admitting this level of vulnerability. Especially when admitting love and affection has always awarded her with a new scar. Or worse, a dead lover. But it is either now or never and she tells Shadow that if they are to survive this fight with Orin, she wishes to remain by her side for the rest of their lives, because the bond they share is unbreakable one.

To make it all worse, Orin did not even speak to her, didn't even address her, pretended like she wasn't even there! She had held Minthara down in a cocoon of flesh, cutting her and torturing her for days. And she doesn't even get the honor of an acknowledgement? This iblith's mind games never end and she wants to further the torment by focusing on Shadow, making it clear that if Minthara doesn't act quickly and with decisiveness, her precious cleric will be turned into a sacrifice before Bhaal. And what then? What is Minthara going to do then? She will have lost her only reason for fighting and she will succumb to her fears and become susceptible to Orin's knives once more. She cannot let that happen. Not again. She's had enough of Orin's games.

And of course, the fight with Orin wasn't easy, it was never going to be easy. All of Minthara's greatest fears are culminated into one: the Slayer. In another life, Minthara would admire this type of power. No, she would revel in it! She would open her arms wide and embrace the incredible and exquisite creature that it is! Hells, she would have willingly embraced Orin if she had been given the choice.

Too bad this isn't that life and Orin, the Slayer, is nothing but another monstrosity that needs to be exterminated. Minthara cannot and does not care about how removed a crazed Bhaalspawn will be of great benefit to the living world. She does not care that Orin needs to die so that they may nab her Netherstone and get one step closer to the Absolute. No, Minthara wants to kill Orin solely out of vengeance. To right the wrongs that Orin had brought upon her. She is well past the point of mercy.

Even though Minthara herself personally delivered the killing blow and watched the Bhaalspawn dissolve into a puddle of viscera, she still has difficulty believing Orin is dead. But right now, she can't focus on that. Shadow does her best to try to comfort her through all this, but greater problems need to be addressed. Shadow has spent too much of her life repressing how she feels and running away from her true emotions and pretending she doesn't feel what she does. She is not oblivious to the fact that Minthara has an annoying habit of doing the same exact thing, and Shadow understands exactly why.

Later at camp, when they are both in a safe and secure place, Shadow asks Minthara to open up, tell her how she feels about Orin's death. Of course Minthara is glad Orin is dead, but she is not as satisfied as she thought she would be. There was never going to be a smite that would have been powerful enough to remove the scars that had been left on her. Shadow can sympathize. As much as she does not wish to see her paladin in pain, she knows that this is something Minthara will carry with her for the rest of her life. But in time, she will overcome it.

A NEW BEGINNING

With all the Netherstones gathered, it is now time to face the elder brain and deal with the Absolute. The two of them fight valiantly and fearlessly through the city and up to High Hall. With a Mind Flayer on their side, and a few powerful allies, the elves push through the burning city and all the nightmares conjured by the elder brain. This is a fight, not just for their lives, but the world. With the brain just about ready to break, it pleads for mercy, offering itself as a tool to be used and abused just so that it may live.

Of course Minthara still wants to take control of it. Her and Shadow can stand side by side as gods and make the world a perfect place. They will be equal to the others and gods like Shar and Lolth can never touch them again. And if they tried, then the two elves will have a much easier time fighting back.

But this isn't what Shadow wants. She understands Minthara's reasoning. The drow says it's all for the power, the control, the glory! But deep down, it's nothing but fear. The fear of being abandoned, the fear of being betrayed, the fear of her devotion being thrown back in her face and being punished with death. Shadow has felt it all herself. But becoming the problem will never be a viable solution. Shadow stood before Shar, defied her, and paid the price. She knows it is possible to fight back and live. And she is not going to allow Minthara to fall into a death spiral because she is too scared to walk a different path.

What could have been their crowning achievement crashes down into the ocean as Shadow asks the Emperor to destroy the brain. Minthara stands on the pier, watching as it drowns in the ocean. All that power, all that potential, wasted. But she is free. There is no longer a tadpole in her head, threatening to turn her into a mind flayer or a thrall. The Absolute cannot break her and Lolth cannot touch her. The decision may not have been hers to make, but she will appreciate the freedom of it all. It's not as if the Absolute was the only path to world domination, just the fastest and most convenient.

The two elves take a moment to catch their breaths and get some rest after saving the world. Being a savior is... new for Minthara. It's weird and something she never thought she would be considered. The people adore her and thank her in the streets every day. Perfect! They are priming themselves up to be easily manipulated later! The drow will be sure to leverage this affection.

The city is saved thanks to Shadow's singular decision. Of course she was worried about the fate of the world. She understands more than most to have your strings pulled by a domineering god, and she did not want to subjugate others to that same torment and anguish. She does not know if she will ever fully embrace Selune yet, but she will appreciate the fact that Selune has given her the ability to forge her own path. And Shadow will give the same to others, as well as Minthara.

Minthara doesn't miss a beat, nor does she lose her breath. She has accepted the loss of the Absolute and immediately moves on to scheming about how to take over the city from the shadows. All Shadow can do is roll her eyes and laugh. Her ambition, although sometimes self destructive, is just one of the many reasons Shadow fell in love with her.

The two of them have been awarded a lifetime together and Minthara wants to spend every single second of it with Shadow. She may want to rule the city, but she wants more to do whatever her cleric wants to do. Baldur's Gate, although her home, is nothing but a fragment of a memory Shadow will never get back. She wants to know more about Selune, find out what would have driven her parents to worship the moon goddess, and maybe find some meaning in the new divinity she channels. She wants to see the world and find a new purpose and find out who she wants to be now that she has the freedom to.

Of all the gods, Selune is probably the only one Minthara has no quarrel with. She wants Shadow to be free, and Selune will give that to her. Selune is the one who won't kill or abandon or torture her followers for every tiny mistake. She will allow Shadow to make the choices she wants, and won't punish her for them. Unlike Lolth, unlike Shar, unlike Bhaal, unlike the Absolute, Selune won't force her followers to be who they don't want to be, or do what they don't want to do. All she will do is guide them through the dark whenever they feel lost.

And so, without protest, Minthara marches alongside Shadowheart out of Baldur's Gate as they continue on their new journey of self-discovery.

Thank you very much for reading all of this, I know it was a lot. And I want to give a most special thanks to those who have followed me through all of this. I'm actually kind of sad that this run came to an end. But, it's not entirely over as I got a whole fic to write about it now and I'm kinda excited about it!

< Act 2 |

[eldritchelfwriter]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @sorceresssundries !

All right, normally I don't post actual WIP's because I like being super secretive about upcoming chapters. HOWEVER. I'm going to throw caution to the wind and give you a lil slice of an (unpublished and very early draft) Aylin/Isobel AU idea I came up with a few weeks ago. Is this a fic you'd be interested to read, if I continued it? Let me know in the comments.

~~~

“So that’s it? You’re just off?” Jeh’lar says, raising her eyebrows at Aylin.

Aylin shrugs her bag over her shoulder, rapidly running through her mind all the last-minute things she’d needed to tie up. There is no paperwork left unfinished, no duties left undone, no promises left unkept. Her slate is clean and she’s free to go.

“That’s right, I’m off,” Aylin says.

“You’re not even going to commiserate with your favourite sergeant, who has to see the Minth this morning?” Jeh’lar says with a hint of a whine.

Aylin purses her lips but says nothing. She does not approve of the nickname the rest of the unit have given their new squadron commander, Lieutenant Colonel Minthara, but saying something about it would earn her no friends. She has a suspicion Jeh’lar was the one who started the nickname in the first place.

“My commiserations, Jeh’lar,” she says with an ironic smile. “Although, have you considered it might be good news?”

Jeh’lar rolls her eyes. “It’s never good news with the Minth.”

The Lt Col rules the squadron with an iron fist. The discipline is not something Aylin minds, though her cold manner chafes with some of the others.

“You’ll be fine, Jeh’lar,” she says. “Just be on your best behaviour and do not, for gods sake, call her the Minth to her face.”

“Yeah,” Jeh’lar says sheepishly. “All right. I’m just stalling you, coz I’ll miss you, Moon Angel.”

“Of course you will,” Aylin says, clapping her on the shoulder. “Try not to blow anything up while I’m gone.”

She turns to leave.

“How long are you gone for?” Jeh’lar calls out to her.

“Three weeks,” Aylin calls back, without turning around.

All around her, the rest of the base is waking up and getting ready to get to back work. A part of her itches to join them and take her place amongst the hive, but the hive will just have to go on without her while she keeps her feet on the ground for the next three weeks.

She signs herself out, and then she is walking out of the base of the 53rd Fighter Wing with her bag slung over her shoulder, a brilliant yellow and orange sunrise reflecting on her aviators.

A familiar old Ford Focus is parked and waiting for her. And an even more familiar someone is waving out the driver’s window madly at her. “Aylin! Aylin!”

Someone else is yelling from the backseat window: “Oi you! Get in here will you!”

A smile spreads across Aylin’s face, the first genuine one in a long time. Lia opens the driver’s door and crosses the last few metres to wrap Aylin a hug.

“I always forget how bloody ripped you are! It’s like hugging a statue!”

“Hello to you too,” Aylin says, smiling. “My thanks for coming to get me.”

“Lia you are letting all the cold air in would you hurry up and both get in the car?” Lia’s kid brother Cal, who isn’t so much a kid brother any more, yells from the backseat.

“Shut it will you!” Lia yells back, in the manner of exasperated older siblings. “All right, get in then,” she says to Aylin, smiling.

Aylin takes the front passenger seat, slouching to fit in and bunching up her legs to try and get them into a comfortable position. She’s used to this problem with most cars, but it makes her miss the cockpit of her F-15 already. It may not be spacious exactly, but at least there is room for all of her.

She sighs and mentally makes herself put that aside – she is on leave. It’s time to have some fun.

“All right then, Aylin?” Cal says from the back, sounding genuinely pleased to see her. It’s been a long while since she saw Lia, but even longer since she’s seen Cal. Lia was her friend and neighbour before her mother moved them into a richer neighbourhood. But they managed to keep the friendship going. Lia is the closest and longest friend she’s ever had.

“I am excellent Cal, how are you keeping? Are you still at Gortash’s Emporium?” That’s the last she heard he was doing, anyway.

“Hell no! Lia, you haven’t told her?!”

“Why would I tell her your news, loser?” Lia retorts as she puts the car into gear and drives away. Aylin is tempted to look back and watch the base disappear behind her, but she doesn’t. Time to look forward, to this time they are about to have together.

“It’s not like your life is interesting,” Cal replies.

Aylin smiles, finding their exchange rather endearing. As an only child, she never got to experience sibling rivalries.

“Anyway,” Cal continues, addressing Aylin again. “You’re looking at the maître d’ at Stelmane’s!”

“Stelmane’s?” Aylin says in an undertone to Lia, not recognising the name.

“It’s a very fancy restaurant,” Lia whispers back, deliberately loud enough for Cal to hear.

“What? You haven’t heard of Stelmane’s?” Cal says, looking crestfallen.

“It is not the kind of thing that comes up while flying fighter jets, Cal,” Aylin says.

She listens to the siblings bicker all the way back to their house. Lia parks in the driveway, next to her mother’s four wheel drive, and Aylin can’t help but feel an ache of nostalgia as she flicks her eyes to the neighbouring house. She lived there, once, in a simpler time, before everything got complicated.

Someone else lives there now. Someone with a garish taste in lawn furniture.

She shakes her head to clear away the old memories, and joins Cal and Lia, slinging the bag over her shoulder and following them into the house. But walking into their house is like entering the past in itself. Everything is just the same as it always has been, from the green and yellow wallpaper to the threadbare sofas. It’s almost a relief that something can remain so unchanged, after all this time.

“Well there you are then,” Mrs Helliwell says, stretching on her tip toes to try and pull Aylin’s face down to kiss her cheek. The woman was almost a second mother to Aylin when she was a child. She is shorter than her children, and all the years of putting up with their arguing has added grey flecks to her short, curly hair. She hadn’t been wearing glasses last time Aylin saw her.

“You’re looking well, Mrs Helliwell,” Aylin says politely. “Is that a new cardigan? Most seasonal, and warm.”

Cal sniggers behind her.

“Oh, this old thing!” Mrs Helliwell says, brightening at the compliment. “And you’re looking tall, as always. And fit, goodness! I bet you could lift me right up!”

“Oh please do Aylin,” Cal says with a mischievous smile.

Aylin ignores him.

“See what I have to put up with?” Mrs Helliwell says, confidentially, with the long-suffering air of an old grievance. “I keep trying to get them to leave home and they keep on coming back and giving me cheek!”

“Come on,” Lia, who has been rolling her eyes at the whole exchange, pulls at her sleeve. “I know you’ve been wondering.”

Aylin drops her bag off in Lia’s room, where a camp bed has been set up for her for the night and follows Lia into the garage. Her eyes immediately find a misshapen object in the shadows, bookended by travel cases and old buckets of paint.

Lia switches the light on, just as Aylin pulls off the cover.

“We haven’t touched it,” Lia says, watching her. “Promise. Cal wanted to, but I nicked his Playstation controllers til he promised to leave it alone.”

Aylin hardly hears Lia, as she gazes upon the gleaming Harley Davidson, her pride and joy.

“Shall I leave you two alone?” Lia says, teasing. “You look like you’re in love.”

Aylin ignores her as she makes her inspection. Not a nick on the paintwork. She turns the key and switches on the ignition to check it’s still running. The familiar deep putter throbs from the motor, and for a moment, she dreams of riding away, the wind on her face, feeling as though she is doing a different type of flying altogether. She switches it off, with a vague sense of disappointment.

Now isn’t the time.

“Thank you, Lia,” she says with a little bow of her head. “I appreciate your taking such good care of her for me.”

“Of course Aylin. It’s practically family too. All right what do you want to do?”

~~~

(There's more. But that's all you get to see for now).

[nocturnalcharm]

Taking Care of You (Dame Aylin x Fem!Tav x Isobel)

𐙚 prompt: (Act 2 Spoilers*) After Dame Aylin kills Lorroakan, Isobel and Tav take care of her. 𐙚 cw: poly relationship?, normal bg3 violence, 𐙚 a/n: smut will be in part 2! i haven’t had a lot of time to write so i wanted to get something out there! thank u for ur patience

18+ blog!! you are responsible for your own media consumption. if any of the above makes you uncomfortable, do not proceed.

“Aylin!” You rushed back to camp, headed straight for Isobel and Aylin.

While they were resting, you and some others went out to explore Baldur’s Gate while you had the chance. You wanted to do some shopping, stocking up on potions and such, when you found a big store called ‘Sorcerous Sundries’.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Aylin immediately looked worried.

You could tell by her voice how anxious she was due to your tone and frazzled nature. You didn’t want her or Isobel to get too upset by what you had to say, so you tried to calm down before continuing. “I was at this store, and there was this wizard named Lorroakan. Um... Do you know him?”

“What happened? Did he hurt you?” She rushed over to you, grabbing your hands, giving your body a onceover, checking you for injuries.

“No. He, um.. He said he knows you.” They both could tell that there was more than you were letting on.

“Sweetheart.” Isobel said, seriously. “What do you mean?”

“He wants to.. trap you.” You turn to Aylin. “Trap the Nightsong. And use your powers to keep himself immortal.. We need to stay clear of his shop.”

“Stay away? Dame Aylin will do more than stay away!” She turns, grabbing her glaive. Her wings spread, perked up at the thought of a fight.

“We will kill him!” Isobel's voice growls.

“No!” Aylin interjects. “No. I will kill him. You two will stay here. I will not have either of you getting injured.”

“No, please, let’s just ignore him! I didn’t tell you this so you would go kill him. I told you so we could be sure to stay away from him.” You cried out. “He is crazy! If he knows where you are, or if you fight him and lose—”

Aylin grabs your shoulders. Her eyes meet yours. “I will not fail. You two will stay here, and I will go with the others.”

You look over at Isobel, trying to decipher what she thinks. She looks defeated, knowing that Aylin won’t stand down.

“But what if—” You try again.

“Love, I will not fail.”

You paused, waiting to see if she’d change her mind, but to no avail. “Fine. Just.. please be safe.”

“Please.” Isobel emphasizes, handing her helmet over.

Aylin kisses you, then Isobel, before sliding her helmet on and disappearing from camp.

***

Hours later, the party still hadn’t returned. The sky went from a baby blue, to a dark midnight, only worrying you and Isobel more.

“I hate this.” Isobel rants, pacing around the camp. “It’s been hours and we don’t know if she’s okay. If any of them are okay!”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” You picked at your fingers, nervously.

“Don't blame yourself, Sweetheart. You’re not the evil, psychotic wizard after the one we love.” She tries to joke, attempting to lighten the mood.

Just as she does, you hear rustling in the woods behind you. “Aylin!” You call out, hopeful.

“Yes.” She finally comes into view from the campfire at your feet. You and Isobel rush over to her, embracing her in a tight hug.

“Are you okay? Are you injured?” It was your turn to check her for wounds. “You’re bleeding.”

“No, my love. It’s not my blood. It’s his.” Her voice was… off.

“Is he dead?” Isobel asks, wearily.

Aylin nods. She walks over to a log, sitting on it, staring at the campfire in a daze.

“Are you okay?” You question, and she stays silent.

“Sweetheart?” Isobel places a hand on her shoulder, and again, she is quiet, unmoving.

You and Isobel look at each other, brows furrowed in anxiety. “Don’t worry.” She finally speaks up again. “We’ll take care of you.”

She walks over to your tent, grabbing a healing potion and making her drink it until it was gone. You also stroll to the tent, grabbing some water and fruit to help her settle her stomach, that was probably in knots.

Aylin downs the health potion in one go, followed by the water, then takes a few bites from an apple. While she eats, you and Isobel rub her back gently, and stroke her hair, just wanting her to know you two are here for her. She normally didn’t act like this after a fight; It was odd. She didn’t seem to have any physical injuries at all, so the only conclusion was that the fight hurt her mentally.

You were unsure of how to comfort her, as that was never a strong suit of yours. You let Isobel take the lead, and you followed her actions. Isobel could tell you feel guilty, as if this was your fault, but it wasn’t. And that’s not what mattered right now. This was about Aylin, and you couldn’t let your self-pitying get in the way of taking care of the one you love.

“Why don’t we go to the lake? The water is warm, it’ll ease your muscles and help you relax. You can clean up, get that blood off of you” Isobel offered.

“That sounds nice.” Aylin finally spoke up.

You quickly grabbed three sets of camp clothes, and a few other things you thought you might need, and headed out to the lake. It was secluded, with only one entrance to the water. Other than that, the edges were covered with tall trees, dripped in vines and moss, and berry bushes. You knew you wouldn’t be bothered by others.

Once you arrived, Isobel started to help Aylin undress, removing her armor for her. She handed the pieces off to you, and you gently set them down on a tree stump a few feet away.

Once she was bare, you and Isobel also undressed. With one of you on each side, you took her hands and walked with her into the lake. As you sunk deeper into the water, you could feel Aylin’s body ease in the tepid water.

After minutes of silence, just filled with the sound of water and rustling trees, you finally asked Aylin if she wanted to talk about what happened.

“No. I’m fine. I just feel… different. I should be happy, killing a man who wanted to imprison the Nightsong yet again, but I’m not happy. At least, I don’t think I am. I feel numb.”

“You might be in shock.” Isobel suggests.

“I’m sure that’s what it is. After a bit of time, this feeling will go away and I’ll be back to normal.”

You rubbed her arms, in a comforting way, but also in an attempt to rid her body of Lorroakan’s blood. Isobel left the lake, only to return with an empty bottle. She filled it with water and poured it down the back of Aylin’s head, to wash away the red stains that were in her blonde hair.

Aylin had a slight smile across her face now, since she was safe with the women she loved; Her smile looked quite genuine. “I’m ready to head back, now.”

Once you were all back to the tent, dried off and cozy, you offered to give Aylin a massage to relax her even further, and she accepted. While you kneaded her aching limbs, Aylin let soft moans slip through her lips. Piquing your interest, you massaged her body deeper, wanting to draw out the moans even more.

Aylin laughed slightly, “You’re doing that on purpose, now. Aren't you?”

You smiled, “I just like to hear you. It lets me know you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I can enjoy myself in other ways, too.” She winked.

[eliteseven]

Biggest HCs for DJ!Shart and Serena? Do they butt heads a lot at the end of the journey? Read all your fics and the tag for the Redeemed DJ!Shart AU. Say Shads does not see the light when she meets her parents but takes longer, does she try to stay in contact with Serena? And what could trigger her to become redeemed later on? The cloister starting to turn on her? Her finding out Sharrans have tried to come after her former companions? After Serena?

Well, it’s complicated 🫠

Shadowheart demonstrates her willingness to go through Serena to get to Aylin. That pretty much severs their romantic relationship for the remainder of the quest. Serena grew up devoid of religion and so I think love truly is her version of faith. So this rattles her faith- in Shadowheart, in their love- as you can imagine. It’s not the first time someone she really loves has threatened violence against her 😔

I think Shadowheart tries to justify her decisions, at first. So they’re not really on great terms, immediately after the fact. I think the fact that Shadowheart continues to travel with them after this is just a testament to how tolerant Serena is. Still, in the first tendays after the fact, Serena avoids her like the plague. Serena makes sure never to choose her for patrols, gives her messages through other companions, and *flinches* when Shadowheart attempts to heal her. This breaks Shadowheart, in some ways. All the progress, intimacy, and love they’d been building up seems to have been wiped away. She misses moonlit walks with Serena, sharing wine and meals, confiding in her.

If Shads is on the Mother Superior route, I don’t think Serena is stopping by the cloister to visit. Their relationship isn’t quite there and frankly, Serena does not like this Shar business. I think Serena may write her a letter, sparingly- letters that Shadowheart can never keep, for safety reasons 🥺 she has to burn them all.

I *do* think Shadowheart’s spies would have eyes on the entire city, including the fact that Serena’s moved back to redeem her family name, get her estate back, and assist Wyll in rebuilding efforts. And I think it would kill Shadowheart to know she’s SO close- close enough that she and her spies know all about Tav- even the fact that she apparently has a “close companion” with her as well. 👀

At this point, the only thing I could see turning her allegiance would be the order to kill Serena, if she somehow becomes too important and Shar feels the need to strike her down. Shadowheart would insist upon doing it herself, and the way she’d come barreling back into Serena’s life would be pretty wild. The same snarky, sharp-tongued Sharran woman who was willing to kill her to complete her mission is BEGGING for a few minutes of her time. And Serena is frankly still very much in love with Shadowheart- or who she was on the way to becoming, before Shar ruined it- so she listens.

I don’t want the focus of this to be her necessarily running from the cloister- it’s more about the fact that she herself has realized this life isn’t what she wanted. Which is why it might be a better fit if it happens before she ever becomes Mother Superior or returns to the cloister. She just…feels terrible all the time. She drinks excessively. She lies through her teeth. She has people killed in her clandestine ops. The many eager lovers in her bed are not Serena, their worship is tainted, very different. The satisfaction she gets from pleasing Shar is nothing like the satisfaction of knowing she had friends, loved ones, a purpose beyond Shar. She misses Scratch and Owlbear, even 🥺

I envision them bickering like crazy but reluctantly coming together again. Tav is closed off, more than last time. She’s guarded- perhaps even courting someone new. But Shadowheart’s presence and redemption makes her fall in love with her all over again. Their bickering is charged with sexual tension. Tav still checks on Shadowheart nightly, even if she’s supposedly seeing someone else. They save each other’s asses a few times. And Serena seeing Shadowheart doing good, being a hero, allowing her sweeter and soft side to come out, even playing with children??? How could she resist? …..But that first night they allow themselves to fall asleep beside each other and Tav winds herself around Shads in her sleep?

It feels like Shadowheart is finally home. 😭💕

[leitmotif]

[Image ID: Tags reading #won't let me view artfight without making an account the homophobia of it all 😑 #but ahhh yeah please elaborate on zero but also water dragon lady that sounds sick as fuck #arranging a playdate for my ocs and ur ocs btw. if you even care #mine are a fantasy adventuring party so always imagining them going on sidequests for my mutuals' ocs. End Image ID.]

I HONESTLY FORGOT ABOUT THAT IM SO SORRY LOL. i will highlight my other fav oc from my artfight here since you couldnt see them hehe but i love all my ocs ofc

Zero (it/he) [image link] is my silly little sonic wolf oc [but also exists outside of the sonic universe bc he breached containment]. its Thing is that he is a robot but also not he's alive but also he's a ghost 😁formerly he was a cat named maeve with a special interest in the chaos emeralds who was studying ways to make fakes that worked just like the originals, so that they could be used to better society by powering things and such :] and he had prototypes that worked well but was never able to finish his work because he died in a lab explosion [he was murdered] 😁 but as he died his soul got sucked into one of the fake emeralds [a red one/power emerald] and was eventually found among the rubble and used to power a robot which is ZERO!! and so he has the robot body robot brain etc etc but with a mobian soul that gives it more autonomy than simply being an AI which is what the people who made it think he is [just an AI]. it doesn't have any of his memories though and in getting sucked into the power emerald he was kind of "corrupted" and is now like. campy gay villain brand of evil [that is to say. nothing truly abysmally evil like people are capable of in real life] but a little more fucked up because he does not remember ever being good! he's my silly little guy i love him it likes to cause problems on purpose and is now continuing its work on the fake emeralds but for world domination reasons ^_^ it has a scythe made of his chaos energy. very emotive when he's being real and usually smiles in the face of danger/enemies in a way that suggests he doesn't take it seriously, but usually puts up a front of smiley polite organic-non-robotic guy who isn't fucked up and evil at all. it does think its better than regular mobians for being a robot. trying to describe this in a way that's not like "this is my edgy oc he's EVIL and he KILLS PEOPLE" but. here you go HAHAHA this is just the spark notes version in favor of keeping this post from being 10 miles long [i know i wrote more for Aylin but trust. trust. if i wrote as much as i wanted to about it this would be MUCHHHH longer]

coughs. erm. moving on. Aylin (she/they/any) is my water dragon lady oc!! they were originally made for an ancient greece-themed D&D campaign but even though i'm not in it anymore they are still my babygirl. they are a water dragon who is able to shapeshift, and when underwater they are usually in their more mermaid-like form as they live among their mermaid friends. they are the main protector and overseer of the smaller sea that they live in. [it is so fucking loud here at work please excuse me if anything seems incoherent i am doing the impossible task of trying to think amidst a bunch of theatre kids (i love you theatre kid mutuals it is jsut SOOOO LOUD) <-techie voice] how their story goes is that in their world, mermaids are highly coveted by humans on land to be kidnapped and kept as wives or used to farm their coral antlers for jewelry. well one day a group of sailors comes by and attacks their little mermaid family, which she had been intentionally drawn away from by people working with the sailors causing a disruption in a part of the sea. they had expected their family to be able to protect themselves, but with advances in human technology, the sailors were able to overpower them and capture them, and those that they didn't capture they killed and took for their coral. when she returns to find the aftermath she doesn't know if any of her family/friends are still alive, just that they are gone and she knows the culprit- human beings -but doesn't know which ones in particular. so she makes it her mission to hunt down these people and rain hellfire [hell...water?] down upon them, and to find her missing family if she can. but in losing everything she has become a being basically made of grief and anger, thinly veiled under an expressionless face and mask. she now lives on the surface (with a human medic girl who lives by the sea, who she fell in love with but that's another story) disguised as a human trying to find the people who took her family from her and overthrow the establishment that allowed it to happen in the first place along with other non-humans hidden within the city who hate it just as much as them.

aaaaand honorable mention: Olly/Hollyhock (they/it) another silly robot oc but this time they don't know that they're a robot because they were raised in isolation. rapunzel kinnie 9000. they live out in the salt flats/desert with their "mother," living in an abandoned boat that fell out of use once all the water in the region dried up [very much based on the boats stuck out in the salt flats left by the receding aral sea in uzbekistan]. they are an artificer who makes things out of scraps that they find in and on other boats, plus materials that their mother occasionally brings back for them. these inventions often explode HAHA but that doesn't stop them, and thankfully since they live out in the middle of nowhere no one notices. they have a little hamster who likes to stay in their pocket named dustball and a puppy named rusty [they cannot die or age because i said so 😁 magic]. they are very naive and inexperienced with the real world, but long for connection with others and to leave their little isolated boat home. they have no idea that they're not a regular human being like their mother because she isn't around much, and when she is there's nothing that really tips them off that they're any different, because they look like a human in terms of appearance [underneath, their porcelain robot body has designs on it resembling uzbek ceramics] due to a magic core within them that gives them the look, feel, and sound of a regular human being. one day though their mother leaves and doesn't return. they wait, and wait, and wait, for a loooooooooong long time (their sense of "a long time" is a lot different (longer) obv being. a robot who lives out in the desert). when she still doesn't return and their boredom and loneliness becomes more than they can bear, they venture out for the first time :] so yeah. rapunzel kinnie

AND YEAH thank you for reading this if you got all the way through ^_^ peace and love and light etc etc

accidentally unfollowed you trying to send an ask i'm sorry :(( but i'd like to hear some stuff about ur ocs if you want! 👉👈

YOU'RE ALL GOOD i thought that was what happened when i saw the notif HAHA i've done that myself soooo many times

AND OMG..... [COMBUSTS] i have so many ocs its hard to choose just one to talk about... the one i* am the most mentally ill about is zero i'm spinning him around in my brain microwave i'm squeezing him like a squeaky toy i'm dropping him into a test tube to study im putting him in a centrifuge at maximum speed i'm sending him down a path of self-destruction i love him 😁

i also have several other ocs though most of the active ones you can see on my artfight [this is where i store my ocs sorry i could not figure out toyhouse even if my life depended on it i tried :pensive: zero and a couple others are not on there bc we're redoing their profiles.] some of the ref sheets are outdated (ex: aylin i need to update them OTL they are now a water dragon lady ^_^) but YEAH if u wanna ask about any of them.... smiles so nicely

[the-flightless-dove]

To Depose a Tyrant

It was late when Aylin rode into the courtyard of Dovewood Manor. Traveling from Stormwind was a bit of a gallop, and the groom that moved to take control of her mount murmured a soft greeting to Aylin. 

“Good evening, Alaster. Please make sure that Trigger is given a proper rub down, and walk until he is cooled down. I’m afraid I may have pushed him a little too hard, but it was already after dark when I departed Stormwind. And give him an extra beet feed. He did well.” 

“Yes, m’lady. I’ll see it done,” Alaster replied, patting Trigger’s neck before leading him away. 

Aylin watched the groom head for the stables. She wrapped the thick riding cloak further around herself before heading towards the manor. 

“You may as well show yourself, Derrek. I know you are there,” Aylin spoke candidly as her footsteps fell on the gravel below. Her boots weren’t the only steps she heard, and she couldn’t suppress the soft smile that came to fruition as a result. “The gravel gives you away.” 

“You mustn’t be so careless, m’lady. You should’ve stayed in Stormwind until first light,” Derrek answered, the shadows sloughing from off his shoulders as he fell into step alongside her.  “You were safer there than you are in Dovewood.”

“No,” Aylin casually countered. “I refuse to be kept from my home because Lucius thinks he can take over Embris while I’m not looking. Have you seen anything from him since we last encountered him when he interrupted the tea with Lady Harlowe?” 

“No, I don’t bel—” 

“Lady Gregory!” The butler she had grown up with moved out from the manor house, striding towards her with haste. “M’lady.” “Carson?” Aylin joined him, watching as Derrek melded into the shadows once more from the corner of her eye. “What is it?” 

“M’lady— Your uncle awaits you in the drawing room. He is...” Carson steepled his fingers together. “Most anxious to speak with you. I’ve told him that you hadn’t arrived back from Stormwind, and we weren’t sure when you would arrive, if at all. But I’m afraid he’s insisted.” 

“I’ll deal with him, Carson. And thank you.” Aylin placed a hand on the worried Carson’s arm before slipping past him. Aylin continued to the house at the same pace she held with Derrek. 

As she reached the front door, she pushed the door in. 

Moving through the foyer, she unclasped her cloak which revealed her riding outfit. The heels of her boots clicked on the stone below her as she headed towards the room that held her lord uncle, and, when she reached the door, Aylin drew to a stop.

The breath that she didn’t realize she had been holding finally escaped her lungs. Green eyes stared at the dark stain on the wood door, hand waiting on the handle, before she finally elected to enter the room. 

“Uncle. I heard you wished to see me. I’ve only just arrived from Stormwind.” Aylin spoke evenly, meeting her uncle’s gaze straight on. 

“I know where you’ve been, and whom you’ve been meeting with,” Lucius spat at her. Even from across the room, Aylin could tell he had lost himself to libations again.

She continued to meet his gaze, unyielding as her head tilted slightly. 

“Well, what can I do for you then, Lucius? I’ve had a long ride home, and I’m rather disgusting from mud and swe—” The tumbler shattering against the floor gave her pause, causing the woman’s words to falter on her tongue.

“Damn it, Aylin! After all I have done for you!” Lucius stormed around the sofa he stood in front of to come face-to-face with Aylin, taking her chin firmly in hand.  Aylin remained still, not moving or fighting away from his grip. 

His breath was rife with the putrid stench of the alcohol that flowed through his veins, and it caused her stomach to roil as Aylin fought to not retch before the man.

“... I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t find out about my own family, Lucius. How you sent them out and murdered them, one by one. Even your own sister,” Aylin growled, voice low and thick with malice. “You were foolish to think I wouldn’t find out. One day, eventually.” 

The truth hung like a death sentence in the air between them, igniting a storm within his eyes. It earned a slow grin, one that parted to usher forth a quiet, hollow chuckle. “The littlest dove finally figured it out.” Lucius raised his hand, his knuckles cracking against the skin of her cheek. “Tell me, my little dove. What finally gave me away?” Lucius stood over her like a starving dog being teased with meat.

“Does it matter? I overheard you plotting.” That earned her a kick to her stomach, which caused her to wheeze out a breath. Her eyes went blurry, welling with tears she willed away. “I heard you talking about how Embris would be fully yours if you could just get rid of me. But you needed a plan. It couldn’t look suspicious.” Another kick. Another harrowing gasp for breath. “Such a clever little dove,” Lucius purred, bending down to grab her by the fist full of hair. “And now we will. I’ll set the manor ablaze. They’ll think you died in your sleep, your lungs covered in smoke. And who would ever think otherwise, hm? They’ve all fallen victim to my praise.” 

Aylin fought against him as he drug her towards the fire. 

“No!” Aylin choked out, struggling away from him finally. “You don’t get to do that to me too!” She rushed to the door, determined to get away from the traitor in the room. “I’m riding to Stormwind to tell them what you’ve done.” 

“No you don’t, little dove,” Lucius snarled, snatching her wrist to spin the woman around. He pinned her against the wall, forcing her to face him as his index and thumb again collected her chin, jerking it skywards so she could bear witness to her would-be killer. “You don’t get to dictate this now. I do. And I am in con-trol.” 

It took all of her strength, all of her courage, all of her vengeance to grab the knife that mirrored one of Lucius’ own. She stole it from the band of her pants and let adrenaline do the rest, holding it horizontally and driving the blade through his ribs while the serrated edge tore through the cartilage. 

She pulled it out, and pushed back in. Again. And again. And again.

Tears sprung forth as she watched realization wash across his sweat-slicked features.

Tears for her family. 

Tears for the uncle she had onced loved. 

Tears for the man she thought she knew who dropped to the floor like a used toy cast aside.

It was done. 

Aylin sobbed openly, staring down as the blood on her hands dripped from the knife to the body at her feet.

“M’lady?!” A feminine voice called out, the door flying open as another entered the room. “M’lady!” It was Anna, her most favorite maid and confidant. 

“Anna. He— H-he attacked. He was out of his mind. I-I-I t-tried to leave an-and h-he grabbed me. He was going to kill me!” Aylin cried to Anna. “I was just trying t-to protect myself… I didn’t m-m-mean to kill him Anna!” 

“It’s alright, my lady, it’s alright.” Anna was gentle, leading Aylin away from her uncle’s corpse. “Just… Just stand here, and let me fetch you something to wipe your hands, my lady.” Anna moved from the room quickly. 

Aylin crossed the threshold of the drawing room, turning her back on the traitor still bleeding out behind her. She headed to the front door, swiftly collecting her riding cloak before escaping out into the yard, her feet moving of their own volition to close the distance to the stables. All of the grooms had retired for the evening, leaving the woman to her own devices.

That was a good thing. A lucky thing.

Aylin collected the tack from the tack room, and began tacking up in the dim light from the torch attached to the wall nearby. The blood on her hands made things slick, but finally the horse was bridled and saddled. She moved to the mounting block and with a tiny hop, swung up and over the horse. A click of her tongue against the roof of her mouth urged the steed to the barn door, and a harsh kick spurred Trigger into a steady gallop. “AYLIN! AYLIN!” She could hear Derrek yell after her. 

But she had a long ride, and no time for answers. 

She was riding to Kestramere, to Lady Harlowe, to freedom.

{ Mentions: @annaliseharlowe​ } 

[royal-writer]

but she already loves you

dummy - Sincerely, me

If it’s not obvious what this was inspired from I failed.

Most people didn’t live out this far into the wilds. There was too much magic in the lands; things spilling out of other parallel planes and monsters that roamed the thickets and darkness. The few who did choose to live out so far tended to be isolated nomads, or tribes of beings not entirely human. Sometimes you found a runaway thief, but more often than not you never found them at all, or only what remained of them.

But when they’d heard of people disappearing without warning, inescapable nightmares, and hideous beings stalking the night of a town outside the borders of where madness began, it was hard to turn away. The people were quick to tell them they had not much in wages to pay for the company of their aid, but doing the right thing was worth more than gold and platinum pieces. They had something these desperate people needed: experience, a pool of various strengths, and numbers.

Looking into their eyes, Essätha knew they all felt the same as she before they even agreed to the undertaking. After taking down beasts of all sizes and types, challenges that came easy and others that seemed impossible, there was little to be frightened of. They had each others backs, after all.

“We should look into this by night, since that is when most of the activity seems to stir up,” Essie pointed out, a sense of discomfort easing into her cautious words.

Adela gave a nod of agreement as she tacked on, “We’d best make sure we’re prepared for all outcomes too, then. I’ll see if the local slithery here has any extra silver-crafted weapons on hand.”

“I will prepare radiant spells before the evening,” Pri’cha chirped, their antenna wiggling. “And see to making two potions of darkvision.”

Giving a quiet chuckle, Aylin side-glanced to the two party members who lacked the nocturnal eyesight. Essie withheld her smirk as she watched Sulhadur stick out his tongue in the angelic Drow’s direction. He seemed in good spirits despite the mockery eyebrow-raising on behalf of Aylin; more than accustomed to their gentle jabbing.

Her eyes skirted past Amon. His face was sour, but it was a forced bitterness. There was a curl on the corners of his quivering lips, and his eyes were still bright and wide. Easy to get lost in if you stared too long, which she did not allow herself and thankfully, Abernathy helped her to sidetrack her from.

“If you two are feeling up for it, I purpose Sulhadur, Amon, and myself scout the outskirts of the city to see if there have been any signs left behind by our culprits.”

Sulhadur gave an encouraging nod; smiling as he answered, “I would welcome the idea.”

“As would I.”

Lord Amon’s words were gruff. She wondered if he was feeling unsettled, or perhaps hadn’t had a drink in a while. Or maybe it was with only disuse; as he seemed rather quite as of late.

“Where does that leave us?” Penimra piped up, sullen.

Ravamora stepped closer to him, Aylin close at her heel as she chimed in: “We’ll make arrangements at the inn and make sure there’s a place to get something to eat before the long all-nighter.”

“You do not need three people to operate such a task,” Abernathy scoffed. “Only one-”

“After they finish, they can start interviewing more of the townspeople for further reports,” Essätha hummed, reaching out to place a hand upon the larger man’s arm. “I’ll work the west side and move in, and they can start on the north quadrant where the town’s inn is.”

“Besides,” she snickered. “We wouldn’t want to break up the elf brigade; and it might be the only way we get Penimra to do anything today.”

The high-elf glared through the eye-sockets of his avian mask as he grumbled, “Horrid woman; you act as if I do nothing to support this group.”

“Penimra,” Abe warned, casting a shadowed look of irritation to the shorter man. He folded beneath the intimidating fatherly disapproval, much to Essie’s amusement. Or maybe he was less intimidated, and more infatuated with the formidable appearance of Sir Abernathy’s stocky build.

“Just don’t let Pen scare away any potential witnesses,” Adela murmured. Although the statement was clearly meant to be an afterthought, it caused a few of them to chuckle as the elf-man scowled deeper and folded his arms over his pudgy chest.

As the hush of giggles began to diminish, Essätha settled the squirming fruit loop serpent hanging around her neck back into her magically embellished bag (even as she tried to wriggle free, the sneaky noodle), and readjusted her carrying pack over her shoulder. The rest of of her goods remained in a larger backpack, left upon the cart for one of the gentleman to carry after she’d thumbed through any precautionary items to put into the pouches of her sack.

Abernathy’s hand patted upon her shoulder as she adjusted the position of the strap across her chest; his eyes brimming with pride. He said nothing, but no words were really needed with such an honest gaze.

“We meet back at the inn by three,” he advised to the group as a whole. “Plenty of time to have a meal before taking strategic posts in groups of four and five around the most prominent areas of trouble.”

A muttered agreement moved through the ranks like a grumbling storm. They began to splinter into groups; hoping to dissect the town of its woes as quickly as possible.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Amon’s boots scuffed heavily into the dirt as they moved. One hand he held to the hilt of his sword; the steel cool beneath the texture of his worn gloves. He would drop it as Abe caught him with a suspecting look. So he might be a bit reluctant and jumpy; but some of the townspeople seemed a bit ill at ease to see a man wandering around with a hand to his weapon, ready to brawl at a moment’s notice.

It seemed most of those they passed were skittish. They jumped at the slightest noise and shadow; their eyes wide and frightened as if they’d seen a ghost. They would offer a forewarning to their presence; a greeting, a kind word to let them know they were there to help. Most, Amon noted, seemed not to be eased by these statements but would hurry inside and close their doors behind them to lock it tight and shutter their windows.

“I guess whatever’s spooking them has done a number on their trust,” Sulhadur remarked gloomily.

“Or perhaps they’re wary of travelers this far out of the main city’s,” Abe thoughtfully added. “Bad prior experiences, perhaps?”

“The chairman said they hadn’t had any help from anyone outside the town yet in dealing with the mysterious problem,” Amon reminded them both quietly.

“Just frightened then,” Abe remarked. “Maybe it is humanoid in appearance then that skulks these grounds?”

They grew silent once more at the question. The mayor had so little to go on; hallucinations, night terrors, and disturbing dreams and encounters. Loved ones not acting quite rationally or the same, and then up and disappearing. Nothing to say what may be coming or going; if it was indeed some creature haunting the village or something else entirely.

Passing by the homesteads, they encountered more frightened people who fled upon their presence. Men and women alike; some husky and powerful in build and others thin and petite. It mattered it seemed not their size, their stature in the town, or what concealment of weapons they had on their person; they ran. A muttered few words from the braver for a short moment, or a stutter from another, and they were quick to seek shelter within their homes as if they would be their salvation from whatever plagued the area.

Amon watched, disheartened to see the lack of life. No children in their yards or running down the streets. No mother’s and father’s hanging clothes, tending to livestock for more than what was necessary, or chatty gossip between windows. There were smokestacks from some of the houses as meals were prepared; the only sign of life from some at all.

As they passed another quiet-looking home, they spotted a timid, trembling woman trying to uproot herbs and bounty from a garden overflowing into the brush.

“Good afternoon, miss!” Abe bellowed cheerfully, his smile wide.

She startled at his voice. Her head whipped towards them; flat black hair and pale skin. She looked heavily tired, with darkness beneath her eyes even as they opened wide with surprise so her droopy eyelids were pinned up. Her tongue swept nervously to her lips, and she pulled her wicker basket filled with produce close as she flipped wrappings protectively over them.

“Good Afternoon,” the maiden drifted with unease. Her dark eyes moved between them all, before settling on Amon.

She had almost Essätha’s hair color, he realized. But her skin was far too light; and her eyes much too dark. But she dragged her teeth against her lip, and the gesture seemed strangely erotic rather than nervous energy.

“Seen anything unusual around here lately, miss?” Abe inquired gently, looking around the house.

“Only yourselves,” she replied quietly.

Abernathy coughed with uneasy laughter.

“We’re not from around here,” Sul clarified.

“Yes, I can see that…”

“Well if you see anything miss, we’ll be in town,” Abe offered.

She bobbed her head slowly, like she was unsure if she should. Her eyes, all the while, continued to move between them all as she placed a death-grip upon the woven handle of her basket with a white-knuckled grip.

Clearing his throat, Amon softly spoke: “Thank you for your time, miss. If you recall anything at all: seeing anything, feeling anything, hearing anything, smelling or thinking differently, we’ll be in the town’s inn. We would gladly be of service should you require it.”

“I m-might remember something I heard; a little less than a fortnight ago, from outside my window,” the woman stated, her gaze darting between them all as she licked her lips.

Abe lit up, puffing out his chest as gushed, “That would be-”

The woman cringed; stepping further back as she whispered, “I- I would rather speak privately of it.” She swallowed, her eyes falling at last on Amon as she murmured, “P-Preferably to someone… trustworthy and less prone to violence.”

An uncomfortable weighted silence dropped upon them like a guillotine blade. Amon’s eyes grew wider by fractions as the young lady’s words sank into him, and he looked over the mask covering the pair’s face. Each expressionless. Friends he knew and trusted who would never do any harm unless it was absolutely necessary to apply force.

“Miss, I guarantee you would find no safer-”

“That’s alright, Amon,” Abe cut in; his voice cool and eerily chipper. “Why don’t you have a word with the lady? Sul and I will forge on ahead. We’ll round back here if you don’t rejoin us by the time we finish scouting out the next one-thousand paces.”

Sul made a noise; smoke curling from his nostrils as he teased, “Are we really going to count our steps?”

Placing a hand against the crimson dragon’s shoulder, Abernathy nodded to his comrade before turning to do the same to Amon. He watched, his eyebrows knitted together as the duo moved to continue along the edges of the town before glancing back at the shivering woman.

Her pink tongue moved across her lip slowly. It once again appeared more like a lewd suggestion than a nervous tendency. Not quick and jerky, but slow and methodical.

She wasn’t terrible to look at. Her skin was smooth and appeared well-cared for; flawless in complexion. Just the right amount of temptation with a low cut in her shirt and voluminous thighs. As she turned to pick up another basket Amon hadn’t seen behind her almost overflowing with goods, he noticed the careful lacing on the back of her shirt and the shape of her rear before darting his eyes away respectfully.

What was more worrisome; the fact the lady was interested in him, and trying to flirt with him rather than provide actual aid to their mission, or the fact he felt… nothing.

He wanted to want something. But everything from the shape of her eyes to the color of her lips and the angle of her curves, he continued to compare it to someone else in his mind.

And it was that image of a smiling, warm complexion and the golden-brown of shining eyes that was coiling and semblance of desire in his thoughts.

Turning around; both cradles in her arms, the lady presented a shy curtsy as she ushered, “Alice.”

Her fingers were thinner than Essätha’s. Less muscle build in her fingers, maybe? She might not need to wiggle them with precision for spellcasting.

“Lord Amon of Briarton; and of the Emerald Expanse,” he offered, dipping his head forward.

“Ohhh a Lord?” she exhaled, placing a hand over her mouth. “My I- I would think it surprising a Lord would depart his territory for an expedition. What brings you all the way out here, to our little town?”

He laid the bait perfectly to impress her but…

Her reaction meant nothing to him. It felt like so many he’d heard. Expected. The same curiosity; the same wonder for how many coins were to his name. The later was admittedly cruel to assume; knowing little of her as he did any other, but the way she perked up at the title seemed draw a suspicious air around her interest. But maybe she was being honest in her surprised statement; though he doubted it.

“Offering my help, along with my associates,” he admittedly flatly. His voice didn’t lessen in the deadpan confliction as he went on, “If there was anything you had that could help us to figure out what might be prowling on the town, that would be appreciated. If not, I would like to meet up with my companions, before they’re forced to round back looking for me.”

“My most sincere apologies, Lord Amon,” Alice faltered quietly. “I did not mean to pry unwanted. I will tell you what I know; about the strange voices in the night.”

Nothing they hadn’t heard about before; but not everyone remembered what the voices said. Those that did seemed to all recall very different stories, too. Maybe another would help to unravel the pattern.

“Alright,” Amon remarked, straightening his posture.

“I would feel more comfortable, inside my home.”

“Lead the way, miss.”

“Oh, would you mind carrying one of these for me?” she ushered, offering out one of her wicker baskets with a flirtatious flutter of her eyes. Only a fool would mistake the gesture for anything else. A large, pouty lip and whispered damsel’s cry for help.

Ignoring the implication of her voice entirely, Amon carefully accepted the offered hamper to hold at the crook of his elbow. He cleared his throat, turning to look at the house as he stated firmly: “Now then, which way to… to…”

Slowly blinking, he shuffled his boots into the dirt to turn. His eyelids suddenly felt tremendously heavy, and a drowsiness was settling over him like a fog.

The beautiful mistress had stepped back from him; and was continuing to do so as she hissed in a sharp tongue and gestured with her hand.

Amon cursed in a tired slur. He staggered towards the woman, his hand outreached.

But never made it quite to her, slumping to his knees and sagging into the ground with a heavy sigh. His limbs felt heavy and weak. The basket, and its contents, were mangled and scattered on the ground beside him.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done,” the lady crooned; her voice cracking. “You’ve gone and ruined my herbs.”

Grunting, his eyelids fighting to stay awake, he reached for her. Trembling fingers curled in the air, and fell to the dirt. His vision blurred and began to grow dark as he blinked his eyes closed, seeing the woman’s dark hair begin to growl gnarled before he fell into a slumber, snoring quietly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Josephine stared at him with utter disgust in her eyes. Turning away, she placed a hand to both of her children’s shoulders to encourage them to do the same. Their faces were all displaying the same vision of revulsion and loathing as they followed their mothers lead.

“Josie, wait-”

“Do not speak my name,” she stated flatly; her voice cold as a blizzard as she looked over her shoulder upon him. “You are no brother to me. You are a coward, a liar, and a deceiver. You let our family mourn in sorrow over a lost man you killed. I never want to see or hear from you again.”

“Please,” Amon begged; his face warm with tears. “Josephine listen to me. I am your blood. I love you; I love your children, I would do anything for them-”

“Or anything to them, apparently,” she deflected, storming up the stone stairs. He groveled upon the bottom step; calling to her as she opened the doors to guide her children inside. The young Master of the house did not so much as glance back, but his sister did, and the young lady named after their mother looked at him with a heart-clenching amount of fear.

What he would give, to take it back. He didn’t mean to let Fontane die down there. It was a mistake that haunted him endlessly. Now he got to see the affects that it lead to; the terror in the eyes of a young girl who had trusted him and adored him. Once so eager to throw herself in his arms, smiling and laughing and squealing ‘uncle’ with great pride.

Josephine cast him a long stare. Her mouth twisted into a vile look of disdain, and she gripped the door handle in a white-knuckle grip as she flung it closed.

“Josephine please-”

Nothing but silence greeted him.

Jealous man, a voice whispered from a distance. He held a grudge to young Master Fontane. The moment he became the new heir to the Illiad estate, he had plotted to kill him.

“I did not such thing!” He wailed in desperation, throwing his gaze around to see the townspeople standing at the gates, marching in towards him.

“Please believe me, I never intended for this to happen! I only wanted him to stop tormenting me, please-”

“Liar.”

“Fraud.”

“Murderer.”

“Bastard.”

“Monster.”

“Savage brute.”

A recognizable face stepped forward before all others. Their eyes were almost glowing. No, they were glowing. Fierce and white, blazing like a hot summer day’s sun with a glowering look of anger and disappointment.

“I had thought better of you, Amon,” Abernathy stated solemnly. “But your true colors were there all along, and I thought to see better of you.”

He fell back upon his rear, gasping with shock. His arms outstretched; hoping to defend himself as the man raised a massive axe.

Shackles, instead, slapped upon his wrist.

Darkness began to swallow his vision. The nobleman gasped with fright, pulling his cuffed hands in close to his chest. His head bowed and he sobbed; shaking uncontrollably from head to toe.

“Kill him?” Etheron’s Queen purred; her voice pure and clear to stand out against the hisses and snarls. “No. We’re not killing him. Strip him of his name, his title. Briarton will be given a new leader. I never want to hear another Illiad speak on behalf of the people of the Emerald Expanse. Let them rot and fall to history.”

“And toss him to the dungeon,” she stated; voice curling. “Let him rot down there with all the rest of his kind.”

The ground suddenly buckled beneath him. A cry let his lips, and he was freefalling weightlessly into a void of black. As he doubled over and spun, there was no hope of control or breaking his fall. His hands were still bound in chains.

Suddenly, the darkness was pierced by light.

Fire.

Fontane’s maniacal laughter rang in his ears; sinister and cruel. The shadowed outline of his body moved in the flames as he fell further into inferno without burning. But his lungs, they did ache. He howled; his voice breaking and rasping until it failed as the laughter mingled with another, deeper laughter. Hearty but wicked; filled with dark glee.

A hauntingly familiar fatherly voice boomed through the flames: “You are no son of mine.”

He struck the ground. Glass shattering to splinter into his very bones as he tried to utter a cry of pain that wouldn’t leave his throat. His eyes were black and dripping with tears as he looked up to see the youthful face of his lost mother. Her expression one of grim, pained suffering.

“Amon, my son… How could you do this?”

“Was it always about the power with you, boy?” A grating voice sneered. “Is that all you ever wanted?”

He wanted none of it. They just wouldn’t listen. No one understood. Being the Lord of the Emerald Expanse was not an honor; it was a burden. The title came with knowing what he had done. Every day he looked into the mirror, knowing Fontane should be sitting at the vanity in his bedchambers and going over the town’s ledgers after shaving his face. Every day he knew what he had done; knew that this was not what his father had destined for him after all and that it was only because of his fear and hurt and anger that Fontane had ended up decaying in the basement cellar, lost to time.

So many voices buried themselves in his ears. A thousand tones; many he did not recognize any longer but so many he still did. It mattered not that he bowed his head with shame, and admitted defeat. He had failed their expectations; he had ruined their lives, his family’s name. A lifetime of servitude to his people did not hide the nature of what he had done, and it was unforgivable.

“Lord Amon,” a soft voice called. “What gives you the right to carry such a title?”

He raised his head, baffled. The world moved beneath him, as though on a rocking ship. Her image swayed, with a most peculiar look of nausea in her expression.

This was not the face he knew. It was not the smile he sought and desired.

Faces began to materialize and morph behind her. Their arms crossed, their heads shaking. Family and friends; colleagues and acquaintances. People he’d worked with for generations were looking upon him and his crimes and his life with a scrutinizing eye; picking him apart like vultures.

“Essätha-”

“I’m sssorry I ever met you,” she hissed.

This… This wasn’t real. Josephine hadn’t, she wouldn’t throw him to the streets. Even betrayed in her feelings and hurting in the depths of her heart, she hadn’t the power to do it. They’d grown together; watched their mother pass, watched their father do the same. They’d had each other no matter how difficult things became. She supported him even when she found it hard to do so in his decisions, and tried to understand his solitary life despite the fact he clawed with want for something unobtainable in his eyes.

Abernathy was not a grudge-holding fiend. He was understanding, and patient. He treated all; big and small, old or young, with delicacy and the gentleness. There was a fatherly nurturing to his tactics to all of them. He cared too deeply for all of them even when not all of them were shaped like perfect puzzles but were missing pieces and stained.

And his mother, no matter the idea he was young to watch her go, was a kind and thoughtful soul. She had dotted after her children with such consideration for their well-beings, and reprimanded their father’s harsher teaching methods when she felt he was wounding their pride and feelings. She had been a gentlewoman, and if anything, Josephine was a branch of their mother’s good heart.

Now this. Her with such a warm heart; such a sweet, soft, compassionate soul of mercy and humanity. Patron of second-chances and generosity. Gentle as a bubbling river or the cooling breeze on a hot day, she was tenderness and understanding even when the world only looked in black and white. She tried so hard; never giving up, never giving in. She reached out to the wounded and the lost, the broken and the hurting even when they fought against her help to try pulling them back from the darkness.

He’d seen what she was capable of. He’d seen criminals snap beneath her scolding, and fall prey to her sugar-spun words. They were guilty of charges and ideals that had made them do horrible, terrible acts and yet she offered them comfort. It did not stop them all from justice; placed in jail cells for their crimes but even then sometimes he could see the unburdening of the broken before his very eyes just being around her.

“You have stopped fighting?”

The voice was irritated; reverberating in his head as the terrors of loved ones and fiends left his sights.

Before he could question or answer the inquiry, his field of vision shifted once more. The sultry looking woman from before stood before him, dressed in provocative and revealing clothing. Her hands caressed down her sides as she stepped closer, moaning like a wanton harlot.

As she reached for him, Amon slapped her hand aside. He scrambled backwards; appalled as he awkwardly rose to his feet.

“Is this not what you desire?” the woman taunted; her voice ragged and nasty. “Is it the hair color? The breasts? I can change it. I can change everything about myself, to fit what you desire.”

“You’re a succubus?” Amon stated, fumbling backwards as the woman’s eyes turned a startling green right in front of him. Her hair, too, began to turn shades; becoming a mid-range brown as her shape began to morph and twist before him. Not unnerving, but unsettling to see such rapid growth and sloping changes in curves of a feminine form.

“No,” the woman stated flatly; infuriated. “But that doesn’t make me any less your end.”

“What have you done to me? Why am I here? What is here?” he demanded, pawing beneath his cloak and against his person. There was no sign of weapons on his person.

“Not the right look, I suppose,” the bewitching woman hummed. Her face began to slim; cheeks rounding up as her hips swayed. Her skin grew warmer; darker in hue as the sun settled into her eyes and they grew to the color of falling leaves. Curls of ebony descended to frame and outline her perfectly sculpted face, and she placed a dainty little hand to her full lips.

“Is this one any better, Lord Amon?”

“You desecrate the beauty of a woman you can not even hope to copy,” he snarled; clenching his trembling fists at his sides.

Essätha’s voice spilled out of the strange anomaly as it replied: “I dare say I have made an exact replica. Memories do not lie, Lord Amon. Unless, perhaps, you have not seen… all of her. Which would be a hopeful fantasy that could be quickly reprimanded.”

As she stepped nearer, he exhaled with fury. The tone might be right, but it was not used in the same infliction's. He furrowed his brow as he stepped further away, vaguely aware of the atmosphere changing around him in a constant flip-book pattern of places he’d seen and been.

A hand moved to caress his cheek, and he slapped it away.

“Amon-”

“You are not Essie,” he snarled; snatching upon the false-image’s throat with more anger then intended. His gloved fingers curled into skin, and with a horrifying realization, he began to see the image of the woman he admired so deeply crumble beneath the visage of a weathered and wretched old wrinkly woman.

“Release me at once!”

He raised his hand, finding a sword had manifested within his grip as he raised it. The blade rested perfectly in his grasp, and the sharp end glinted as he held it close to the vile witch’s throat.

“Where are we, and what are you doing to me?”

“Let go of me,” the woman wheezed, struggling. Her hands, shaped with lethal looking fingernails, grasped upon his forearm but the blade pressed into her throat. Blood beaded up from the knick it caused, and she tensed despite her claws piercing through his garments into his skin.

“Answer the question, witch.”

“I know what you want most in the world,” the woman gagged, desperate. “I can offer it to you. The love of the young woman you wish so fondly for. A pinch of magic. A lovespell you could say, and she will want you and nothing else. Adore you; infatuated forever with you… despite the corrupt man that you are.”

His eyes narrowed. Flaring his nostrils as he breathed deeply and heavily, he aggressively shook the woman. It was like rattling a flesh-covered skeleton. She rattled and teeth chattered; squealed with pain as her talons ripped into his sore flesh.

“I would never-”

“She doesn’t want you,” the enchantress cackled; twisting her nails into him until he grunted with pain. “You will never have a better chance. She pities you; poor, broken, lonely man. All alone in the world. She takes care of everyone, even you. That does not make you special. But I can make you something more in her eyes.”

“I can make you her every dream and fantasy. I know you long for her. I can see it in your thoughts. You dream about her. Picturing her eyes, lost in her smile. It would be easy to play her mind-”

“I do not want her, an enslaved puppet to feelings she does not have!” Amon snarled. “Love that is not real is never yours. A stolen heart is a lie, and bleeds for all the wrong reasons.”

Deep, in the most hurt parts of himself, he tried to ignore the inflicted wounds of the sorceress’ words. A poor, broken, lonely man he was. Not so lonely anymore. Not as lonely. But he ached, even still. The tendrils of a lifetime of doubt and shame were not so easily erased.

And it felt like no matter how much he battled and fought himself, he could never open his mouth to say the words. It was all true: Essätha was a sun-kissed will of charity and selflessness. Her attention upon him was not unusual. She picked up anyone she thought she could help. He was not exceptional; in fact it was easy to argue they’d met up with some more interesting people along the way. Glorious stories, handsome and pretty faces, courageous and strong. Famous and infamous; various lifestyles and quirky habits.

The quiet attempts he made to chivalrous romance were politely brushed aside, or met with embarrassed teasing.

But he would rather take a single ‘no’, and honest friendship, then twist the mind of the woman he felt so fondly for into a zombie of untrue affections.

“M’lord Amon-”

That voice-

With a fierce cry, the beastly lady slashed at his face with her talons.

Amon flung his arm forward; decapitating the woman in a single swoop just before her nails could catch upon his flesh.

Everything exploded around him, and suddenly, he was falling again, with no hope and no safety net in sight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“There are only two hags here, where is the third?!”

“How do you know hags travel in groups of three, Abernathy?”

“I just know these things Aylin!”

Despite the pounding headache from the yelling, the vicious mockery, and countered acidic splash of her magic that burned her hand, Essie ran past the corpse of the foul looking old woman (who appeared much like the dead before actually being dead). The second hag was still too busy trying to defend herself from the onslaught of magic missiles Adela sent in a frenzied torrent her way as she passed; dropping down on her kneecaps with a wince to the still form of Amon.

Sweat peppered his limp frame. His face appeared ashen pale, with heavy lines beneath his eyes. There was little color to his lips, and his eyes darted beneath his eyelids in rapid little movements.

Fear. Fear settled in her heart, despite seeing the clear indication he was breathing. It was not the sound of normal breathing however; it was fast and quick. Chasing each one as though it was going to be his last. Short and sputtering one after another.

Raggedly trying to catch her breath, Essätha reached out to him with trembling fingers.

“M’lord Amon-”

She had yet to sweep the sweaty hair from his forehead when a dark shroud materialized a few feet away from her. From the inky black shadow, another old woman appeared, with her features as animated-dead like as the other two appeared. Long, thin hair, a frail looking body, and nasty clawed hands.

Her body whipped towards Amon, and in turn Essätha, with rage.

An incantation formed on the woman’s lips. Familiar words, but spoken in a cryptic harsh tongue of Abyssal.

Without thinking twice of it, she threw herself over Amon.

Magic missiles pelted upon her back. The spears of witchcraft caused a sharp ache where they struck; colliding with her spine and bringing a sharp ache into her backside.

In a flurry of crashing boots, and a unified howl of wrath, she turned around with a flick of her wrist to summon her Hound of Ill Omen just as the others began to clobber upon the unexpected woman from another dimension.

Beneath her, Amon began to stir with an agonized groan.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His eyelids lifted, barely. A ringing in his ears. A taste of blood on his tongue. There seemed to be an all-over throb carrying with the pounding of his pulse, that began in his head and radiated everywhere else. The world smelled of sourness in a way that churned his stomach into knots. Everything was filtered lighting and shapes.

“Oh m’lord, your skin is so cold.”

Cold like death, he thought numbly. He sure felt like death, punting an enchantress out of his mind and waking to a body that felt… out of place from reality.

He tried to catch sight of the one with the melody voice that wakened him. His vision doubled and refracted; trying to collect itself into a singularity.

Arms wrapped around him. Enticing. Warm breath to his neck, and curves melding against him as he shivered while a waking awareness dawned upon him.

Essätha.

She smelled of magic; burning and harsh. But there was something else upon her skin. He couldn’t place his thumb on what it was, but he recognized the floral aroma. Something he’d planted once, but by Pelor’s name he couldn’t recall what it had been called. The plant had lasted some seasons, and had a delightful scent.

To hell with the name. It was the Essätha flower now. Smelling of home and nested in warmth. He breathed the perfume in against her throat; mostly limp in her arms. What strength he found, he wrapped an arm around her to sink his fingers into the back of her cape and hold himself to her. His eyes closed; soaking in the sun that exuded from her that felt so delightful… even if the area was loud with snarling voices and the sickening wails of a dying woman.

His fingers discovered a tear in her cloak, and the delicate frame fused against him hissed with pain.

“Es’-”

“Shhh it’s fine,” she whispered, raking her fingers through his hair. “Magic Resistance, remember? Just a little sting.”

Amon tried to move, but found his strength oddly zapped. Stuck between utter bliss, and frustrated immobility, he drank in the smell of sweat, battle, and perfumed fragrance of her skin. Nearly a grateful groan on his lips as she frisked him; rapidly running her hands all over him to warm him.

But it was more then warming. He burned, even cold. It was like searing her skin, her body heat, her softness right into him. More intoxicating than the scent drifting off of her, or the very star they called their sun.

“Essätha?”

“I’ve got him; he seems a bit out of it, and chilled to the bone!”

He gritted his teeth at the loud voices, snuffling his face into the crook of her shoulder. Breathing her in; hearing the stuttered way she dragged in air like a sound of shock.

Too tired and achy to care, Amon remained lax in her arms. It would be nice, to look upon her face and those eyes crowned with heavy lashes but his head throbbed. A bit of rest first, though. A bit of rest and he’d address their questions, and fill in the blanks, and find out how they’d found him…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Essie looked back over her shoulder. She cradled Amon closer to her chest at first, before her shoulders would relax as she witnessed Sul sliding his blade into its sheath and Abe, only feet behind, sliding his still gore-covered axe against his hip.

“He’s unconscious again,” she murmured, running her fingers against the back of his head. “I think he’s just sleeping, though.”

“Good. Or, maybe good,” Abe gruffed, kneeling down. “Sul and I can carry him from here, Essie.”

“Make sure you support his head,” she fretted, holding him closer. “And he’s cold, so maybe-”

Her voice stalled, falling short at the weird, knowing look in the older gentleman’s eyes.

“We got him, Essätha, you did your part,” the orcish-elf repeated, patting her shoulder.

Frowning, she relented the lax frame into Abernathy’s arms. He murmured softly to Sulhadur as he kneeled beside him, dragged off his bear-skin cloak to wrap around the pale nobleman.

Her heart danced with unease in her chest If they’d just been a little later…

She couldn’t lose him.

Exhaling nervously, Essie wrapped her arms around herself with a deep shiver. She didn’t even want to think about it. She refused to think about it. The green hags and the night hag were dead now, and Amon was safe. The town was safe. Nothing else mattered now but making sure he was going to be okay.

As Abernathy hefted himself to his feet; holding Amon like a babe in his arms to support his head and neck, Essätha scrambled to her feet to hover at his side.

She told herself it was just to be there to correct him, should his grasp slip up. To make sure Amon was comfortable, and no further injuries were bestowed upon him in a tussled ride. Nothing to do with her overwhelming worry for him, that clawed at the back of her throat and stung at her eyes. Nothing to do with the fact that she needed to be there when he opened his eyes again, and make sure he was alright.

Nothing to do with her alarmed heart at all, that felt nearly ready to escape her chest if doing so would see to Lord Amon being okay.

[muffinswritingblog]

Original Fic Fest - Day 1 - Characters

Alright! After a very busy weekend I’m finally ready to sit down and play catch up with @originalficfest ​.

Day 1 is characters. I’ve put the two protagonists for each story above the cut and the rest of my mains are below the cut. You can click on their names to be taken to their tag pages. I’ve also included a brief intro for my side characters, for those of you who’ve already been following me.

Keeping Secrets

Main Characters

Liam

     Liam is the protagonist of Keeping Secrets. He’s a 21 year old college student who left his small town for school and hasn’t been back to visit in over two years. He’s gay and out at college, but is not out in his home town. Rather than face the potential disappointment of his family Liam enlists Jess to come home with him and fake a relationship for the holidays.

Jess

     Jess is the secondary protagonist in Keeping Secrets. She’s 20 years old, and Liam’s best friend at college. Always one to look out for the underdog, Jess readily agrees to Liam’s plan knowing that he was bullied in junior high and high school. She hopes that coming home with him will allow her to help defend him against Greg’s bullying, only to find that the situation isn’t quite as one-sided as she believed.

Winter’s Mourning

Main Characters

Khiar

Khiar is a Deity who’s abandoned his position. As the son of the God of Death, he was never meant to be born. His father bent and broke the rules, made deals and killed another child, all to have him. It wasn’t something he asked for, but the accountability seem to have fallen to his shoulders. Tired of being judged for his father’s actions and choices, and disappointed by his position as the God of Mourning (a position he sees as a penance for his father’s actions) Khiar fled his home and has since been living among mortals.

Frustrated and bitter towards many Deities, Khiar uses his ability to see spiritual energy to identify the talisman of other Deities and steal them. He then sells them on the black market. It’s proven lucrative, and Khiar has started to make a name for himself, so when a client seeks him out with a job to steal an ancient talisman that belongs to a sleeping goddess he thinks nothing of it.

Little does he know that stealing this talisman will put the entire pantheon in danger.

Visadelle

Visadelle despises the Deities. As the last born child to the God of the Ocean, she stands to inherit his Godhood should she die, and this has painted a target on her back. A deal struck between the Goddess of the Moon and the God of Death, was meant to see her dead at birth. The only reason she was spared was so that her fate could be bound to his son’s and she would die in Khiar’s stead.

Angry over the callous meddling in her life and countless others, she’s turned to the old ways, and prays to the long slumbering Goddess, Tam, who is the original Deity that created the world. Wanting nothing more than to live the years she has in peace, she’s gone into hiding and spends her days guarding the ruins of one of Tam’s temples. However, when Khiar washes up onto her island and then makes off with a dangerous sacrificial talisman she’s forced to make a choice. Continue to keep herself safe, or go after him and retrieve the talisman before it’s used to kill others.

Keeping Secrets - Mains Continued

Greg

     Greg is technically an antagonist, but not all is as it seems. He’s 21 year’s old and is Liam’s step-brother. When Liam returns home initially it seems like everything is the same as it always was, but we’re quick to learn that while Liam is still stuck in the way things were, Greg wants to make amends. After seven years of animosity it’s hard for Liam to believe he’s changed, and old habits die hard, but a lot can happen in two years and Greg is determined to proved he’s not the same person he used to be.

Derek

     Derek is Liam’s love interest. He’s 19 years old, transgender, and out about being gay and it’s made life in his small town hard, but he refuses to hide who he is. He and Liam them met online, after Derek went searching for people to talk to and share experiences with. Realizing Liam was born in a town right near his he reached out to form a connection. Despite Liam insisting he’s not interested in having a relationship with anyone from the area, they have gotten closer over the last year and things have started heating up. Derek is hoping that Liam returning home and agreeing to meet are signs of a change of heart.

Side Characters

Christine

     Christine is Liam and Victoria’s mom, and Greg’s step mother.

Scott

     Scott is Greg’s dad, and Liam and Victoria’s step father.

Victoria

     Victoria is Liam’s older sister.

Zack

     Zack is Jess’s older brother.

Winter’s Mourning - Mains Continued

Nashari - Goddess of Wild Fire

Nashari is Khiar’s partner in crime. Having only recently come into her Godhood, after her father’s death she struggles to control her powers. Khiar agreed to help her with her control in exchange for her helping him get on his feet when he first left home. She taught him about life on the streets and selling things on the black market, and was the one who provided the contacts to have the talisman sold.

Having been an orphan from the age of twelve, Nashari is living it up now that she and Khiar are making money. She feels an immense sense of gratitude towards him, even though she refuses to admit it, and when push comes to shove would stand by him at all costs.

Arisu - Goddess of Navigation

Arisu has been watching over Khiar since he left home. It’s a fact Khiar has been aware of and tolerates, believing that she does so for his mother. The truth is Arisu is actually serving Qual. Initially charged with keeping Khiar away from Visadelle, Arisu has had an easy time doing her job, and has developed a soft spot for both Khiar and Nashari. However her loyalty is about to be put to the test, when their latest job takes them directly to the island Visadelle is staying on.

Talas - God of Tides

Talas is one of the few Deities Khiar has kept in touch with, after all he’s never had room to judge, since it was his mother that asked for the girl’s death. Caught between his parents struggle for power and vengeance, Talas yearns to follow in Khiar’s footsteps and abandon it all. Only he could never disappoint his parents like that. But when Khiar asks him for help with his latest job, Talas jumps at the chance, considering it a small act of rebellion. Little does he know he’s about to get swept up in a plot that could easily see him dead.

Other Characters

Satu

Satu is Arisu’s first official follower. When Arisu returned her youngest sister to her family, Satu offered her devotion as reward. She has since followed Arisu and acts as a means of contact to other Deities for the group.

Tigua

Tigua is the main antagonist to the series. She’s young demi goddess whose been wronged by the Deities and is tired of the way they stray further and further from their responsibilities and instead use their powers for selfish means. Sick of being the victim, she’s decided to take matters into her own hands and fix the problem.

Qual - God of Storms

Qual is Myr’s oldest child, and one of the first demigods to attain Godhood. When he found out that one of his favourite followers was pregnant with his father’s child, he knew her life and the baby’s would be in danger. After failing to save Neria, Qual took Visadelle in and has watched over her since. He’s determined to keep her safe no matter what the cost.

Ereb - God of Death

Khiar’s father and one of the two oldest created Deities. He always followed the rules and respected his position, but after dozens of failed pregnancies, he couldn’t bear to watch the love of his life loose another child. He abandoned his principles and morals, knowing there would be dire consequences for doing so. He’s just waiting for those consequences to catch up with him.

Aylin - Goddess of the Moon and Fertility

Aylin’s relationship with Myr has been a long and complicated one. There was a time when she loved him, but over the millennia that love has corroded and died. For her the only good thing to come of it was her son, a son who stands to inherit his father’s powers, and rule his father’s nation provided she can kill him before he produces another heir.

Moiral - Deity of Fate

Moiral is one of the oldest Deities in existence, and like Ereb has been loyal to Tam’s rules for all their life. However with Tam long gone and more and more Deities cropping up who care more about their self interest than caring for their followers, Moiral finds themself struggling to help maintain the balance of the world. They know the mortals are questioning the Deities place in the world, and it’s only a matter of time before things boil over. They only hope the pieces they’ve put into play will be enough to balance the scales before the entire pantheon is destroyed.

Tam - The All Mother, Goddess of Life

The original Goddess. Tam created the world, the people and six original deities eons ago. She charged them with caring for the world and maintaining the balance she’d struck. Only over the centuries her powers waned, as more and more life populated the world. As her children gained favour her own followers dwindled until her power could do nothing more than sustain the world she built. For Millenia she’s slept and no one has been able to wake her.

Myr - God of Oceans

Father to Qual, Talas, and Visadelle. He not only is a God, but he rules over the people of The Hook.

Masozi

A sailor on the ship Khiar and the others use to book passage that ends up getting dragged along for the ride.

Khione - Goddess of Winter

Khiar’s mother. Khione has spent much of her time since Khiar has left trying to keep tabs on her son and attempting to find a way to reconcile him with his father before it’s too late

[folorunshoayeni]

COVID-19 vaccine and the conspiracy theories:Is Bill Gates the Anti-Christ?



COVID-19 vaccine and the conspiracy theories:Is Bill Gates the Anti-Christ

The Bible says there will be an Antichrist, a man that proclaims to be God, who will try to unite the world in a one-world government with a one-world financial system and establish a one-world religion.

Pastor Adam Fannin, a controversial Florida preacher, is one of the advocates of the anti-vaccination movement in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic. In his preaching, he asked, “who is this man?” Fannin is referring to Microsoft founder, Bill Gates. This is according to an online publication,fastcompany.com, where Ruth Reader writes on the conspiracy theories surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic. “In Fannin’s video, which has garnered 1.8 million views on YouTube, he lambasts Gates for supporting vaccination and suggests that he is working on implantable devices with “digital certificates” and “quantum dot tattoos” that would identify people with COVID-19 and send their information to the United Nations.” Could Bill Gates indeed be the Antichrist?

There are many reasons why a lot of people in The United States have gone to the streets to protest against the proposed vaccine by Bill Gates. Many claim that “Gates is going to spread nanobot mind control systems through a COVID-19 vaccine he’s going to help create and deliver. They’re claiming links to 5G, which will be used to talk to the nanobot and of billions of dollars he intends to make from this project”.

In a report by Business Insider (businessinsider.com), according to Ben Gilbert, in his article posted on April 19, 2020, the factors behind the conspiracy theories that claim Gates is responsible for the coronavirus pandemic are:

• Bill Gates has pledged a quarter billion dollars to combat the coronavirus through his foundation

• Gates has been an advocate for pandemic preparedness for years, and his Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation is contributing financing to several vaccine initiatives. He famously gave a 2015 TED talk warning of the potential devastation caused by---- and urged readiness for---- worldwide pandemic. 



Even though he did not give the name of the pandemic, many now believe it is the coronavirus. Many are of the opinion that he engineered the virus in an effort to depopulate an overcrowded planet and, while he’s at it, to inject people with free-will- subduing microdots. They claim that Gates started the severe acute respiratory syndrome-coronavirus 2 (SARS-CoV2).

In another report by cnbc.com, some claim that” Gates has reportedly stockpiled food in his basement to prepare for a pandemic”. Melinda also gave a TED talk speech in 2015-“warning people that an infectious virus was a greater risk to humanity than nuclear war. That speech has seen 25 million new views on YouTube in recent weeks according to the New York Times. Various anti-vaccination groups and the conspiracy group QAnon now reportedly cite the video as supposed evidence of Gates’ foreknowledge of the event”.

Christopher James in his article on “Bill Gate’s comments on COVID-19 vaccine enflame mark of the beast worries in some Christian circles”. He writes, “the Anti-Christ will,according to many Christians, come to power in the chaos of the apocalypse”.

In Revelation 13, it is believed that the beast, commonly known as the Anti-Christ will deceive the nations to worship the image of an earlier beast, a dragon with seven heads and ten horns that is sometimes identified as Satan himself. Some Christian pastors believe it is part of the plan of the beast to keep people away from weekly church services in the guise of social distancing orders.

In an article written by Kathy Clubb titled: “Bill Gates: Saviour for a New World Order”;she emphasized ,“ in Bill Gates we see a nexus of control over heath, politics, surveillance, finance, energy, water and digital industries, making him a perfect front man for a global economy. Coupled with his influence on social norms such as family size, it becomes obvious that Gates has been behind plans for a One World Government. He is absolutely committed to immoral practices such as abortion, abortifacient contraception and population control”.

Before we continue with reasons why many believe that he is the one responsible for the outbreak of the pandemic, let us examine the man Bill to see how he started.



Gates co-founded the computer software business, Microsoft in 1975 and built it up into one of the world’s most indispensable companies. He worked at Microsoft on a daily basis until 2008, and still has an advisory role there. In 2000, Gates and his wife founded the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation hereafter known as BMGF, which in 2015 became the largest private charitable organization in the world. This is according to Kathy Clubb.

Some are of the opinion that Bill is not the one responsible for the pandemic. According to Ben Gilbert of Business Insider, “this is a bizarre conspiracy theory that puts Bill Gates at the centre of the coronavirus crisis and he is of the view that major conservative pundits are circulating it”.



In an analysis in the Washington Post, Valerie Strauss writes an article titled: No, Bill Gates did not engineer the Covid-19 pandemic-and other fake news. She writes,”the theories–which selectively and inaccurately knit together quotes from Gate’s speeches and interviews, his connections with people such as Jeffrey Epstein and Bill Clinton and details from grants and other activities of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation-advance wildly false schemes accusing the Microsoft co-founder of having foreknowledge of the pandemic, actually engineering the pandemic, and using the pandemic for profit or to institute population surveillance and control mechanisms”.

However, “despite being especially vocal lately, Gates hasn’t said much in response to the conspiracies. He declined an interview with the New York Times for its report on coronavirus-related conspiracy theories. He however answered a question in a televised interview with Chinese broadcast channel CGTN”. He stated in the interview, “I’d say it’s ironic that you take someone who’s doing their best to get the world ready and putting, in my case, billions of dollars into these tools for infectious diseases, and really trying to solve broadly infectious disease-including those that causes pandemics. But we’re in a crazy situation, so there’s going to be crazy rumours”.



Even though the US president, Donald Trump has criticized China as being responsible for the pandemic, Bill Gates has come in the defence of both China and The WHO (World Health Organization). Trump accused the WHO of colluding with China in hiding thorough investigation to the source of the virus he attributed to the Wuhan laboratory in China. In his interview with CGTN, he talked on: China is reliable, time for collaboration on Covid-19. He stated, ”the Chinese have made all the data accessible”, praising the country for its contribution to the global research on the novel coronavirus as well as avoiding a medical supplies market disruption. China is no longer a source of spread of the infection”. Gates also absolved The WHO of any cover up in the saga.



If China is not the source of the infection, is Bill Gates the source? Or is there some sort of collaboration between China and Bill Gates to form a New World Order? In a report by Washington Post on April 30, 2020, Josh Rogin writes: Bill Gates is wrong, China’s coronavirus cover-up is not a distraction. In the article, Josh claims that Gate’s comments in defence of China “are simply wrong, and dangerously so. Beijing’s bad behaviour is neither past nor benign. In fact, it continues to put us at increased risk”. Secretary of State, Mike Pompeo also declared,” we’ve had now thousands of Americans that have died as a result of this virus, and we know where the virus started”.

In an article by Peter Beaumont in theguradian.com, he writes: “Donald Trump, the US president, has given credence to the idea that intelligence exists suggesting the virus may have escaped from a lab in Wuhan. Several theories have been promoted. The first, and wildest, is that scientists at Wuhan Institute of Virology, were engaged in experiments with bat coronavirus, involving so-called gene slicing, and the virus then escaped and infected humans. A second version is that sloppy biosecurity among lab staff and in procedures, perhaps in the collection or disposal of animal specimens released the virus”.

Business Insider’ report by Aylin Woodward states that-” both the new coronavirus and SARS outbreaks likely started in Chinese ‘wet market’, the Huanan Seafood wholesale market. There are two things common between the SARS outbreak in 2003 and the novel coronavirus- animals commonly sold in “wet markets”.

While the world is confused as we battle the pandemic, there are lots of current conspiracy theories surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic. 

Mark Lynas of the Alliance for Science, an online journal, writes: “Conspiracy theories that behave; like viruses themselves are spreading just as rapidly online as SARS-CoV-2 does offline. Here are some of the conspiracy theories he penned:



• Blaming 5G. According to him, “this conspiracy theory should be easy to debunk. It is biologically impossible for viruses to spread using the electromagnetic spectrum”. But I’m afraid to buy a 5G phone though.

• Bill Gates as scapegoat. COVID-19 is part of a dastardly Gates-led plot to vaccinate much of the world’s population” so he could make more money.” Some have spread the myth that Gates wants to implant digital microchips that will somehow track and control people.

• The virus escaped from a Chinese lab. “This one at least has the benefit of being plausible. It is true that the original epicentre of the epidemic, the Chinese city of Wuhan, also hosts a virology institute where researchers have been studying bat corona viruses for a long time”. I’m of the opinion that if this is correct, why is China denying the fact and Bill Gates absolving them? Is Trump really wrong? I have my doubts.

• COVID was created as a biological weapon. Another view is that COVID not only escaped from a lab, but it was intentionally created by Chinese scientists as a bio warfare weapon.

• The US military imported COVID into China. The Chinese government responded to the anti-China theories with a conspiracy theory of its own that seeks to turn blame back around onto the United States.

• COVID-19 doesn’t actually exist: According to professional conspiracy theorists like David Icke and InfoWars’ Alex Jones, COVID-19 doesn’t actually exist, but it is a plot by the globalist elite to take away our freedoms. As a result of this, their believers increasingly refuse to observe social distancing measures.

These and many more are some of the conspiracy theories surrounding the coronavirus. Who shall we believe in all these? 

As we try to unravel the mysteries around this pandemic, let me show you who to believe:The Lord Jesus Christ. He already prophesied about what we are currently seeing in the world today. Turn to the Holy Bible, in Luke 21:11: “There will be great earthquakes, and there will be famines and epidemics in many lands, and there will be terrifying things and great miraculous signs in the heavens”. But in all these, we have a sure anchor in the Word of God.

Whether Bill Gates is the Anti-Christ or not, I don’t know but one thing I know is that Jesus declared in His Word, in Matthew 16:18 ...” I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it”.

[ecotone99]

[RF] The Gazing Flower

Wake up, clean up, work, eat, sleep.

Wake up, clean up, work, eat, sleep.

She did not had to leave her house to enjoy life. Her home, was also her office. She was one of the few residents still living on the tallest apartment in the neighbourhood. Her office overlooked at a roofless restaurant surrounded by other empty apartments and palm trees around.

A long, grey, and quiet hallway would greet the brave people who took the metallic trap box of an elevator. The brown dusty carpet on the floor lead the people to her door. She would clean parts of the carpet weekly to make it known that someone was there, in between the dirt. A welcome mat stood outside of her wooden door. Next to the mat, a Weeping Fig named Ördek stood tall. Its puffy and green leaves were slowly reaching for the roof with every passing season.

She had removed her name tag from the side of the door bell permanently, to right below the peephole after it went missing one morning. Now, a bronze metal was screwed to the door that shined with her name; Dr. Özlem Karadağ.

Özlem would greet the clients herself, if her little girl was not around. A smile she practiced longer than her job would be on Özlem’s lips moments before opening the door. A tall wooden hanger stood next to the door that was mainly empty. Her clients would often carry their jackets and bags with them inside the office. On her first year of practice, she realized people who were anxious and depressed often needed a familiar object to reattach them with reality. Inside, the door opened to a short hallway. Flowers of all shapes and sizes decorated each side of the empty wall. She had photos of her daughter, and a few landscape photos taken by her over the years. One end of the corridor lead to Özlem’s own bedroom, adjacent to her daughter’s smaller room that was occupied every weekend. It was decorated with cutouts of rainbow and various animals. On their first week of moving in, her daughter borrowed a blue marker and a piece of paper to notify any passerby with her own hand writing; Aylin’s Room. The paper was taped on to the white door, which would fall down with almost every swing.

The visitors peaked at her corridor, to take a glimpse at the lifestyle of their psychiatrist. Özlem then would gesture them to a small opening behind an arch that lead to her office.

Özlem did want to keep the decorations simple at first. There was a beige couch for those who wanted to lay down. She sat on a red chair in front of the couch. She had a work desk during her off hours to work on reports, and to keep her leather notebook in between sessions. A short, yet wide table seperated the couch with her seat for those who wanted to rest their legs. A kettle on a small cupboard would finish running moments before every appointment. Single use tea and coffee packets were available next to the sugar cubes.

Although she wanted to fill the cupboard with actual cups, Özlem got tired of picking new and special ones rather quickly. There was only a handful of them now. She first pick out what was popular on TV that year for their decorations, but all became rather dull in colour as the years passed. A colleague suggested her to pick ones with motivational quotes on them. Özlem did not want to give false hope to her clients. It was not her job to make people happy. Books of various genres slowly began to take more space on the cupboard than glasses.

The ones who sat on the couch were able to take a peak at the restaurant below through a wide window. It was alive every day of the week, from morning to late at night. The laughter and chatter of the crowd below helped her patients to escape their minds even if it was momentarily.

The once plain walls saw many changes throughout the years. She had a map of the world behind her chair, right where the clients faced. Then she moved it a little bit higher, to hang a plank on the wall for her flowers. It was only a few lines of carefully cut wood at first. Her flowers grew in numbers as the years passed. Once the house had enough flowers, she would take Aylin with her on a road trip, to Özlem’s village where her parents lived.

During her first introduction with a new patient, Özlem would try to match them with a flower in her mind, then she would place their flower in front of the window before every appointment. She named them all based on a specific word her clients had said previously.

Her new favourite flower was a white Orchid that was not for a patient, but a gift for her after a conference she attended recently. Özlem was invited as a speaker by an old professor to talk about the ways her patients dealt with the anxieties of terminally ill patients. Although Özlem thought she bombed the speech, many of her colleagues had approached her afterwards to give their praise.

The flower itself was a gift from the widower of a famous psychiatrist. Özlem and the woman only chatted for a brief moment at the end of the conference, yet she found the Orchid waiting by her door with a “Thank You” card.

The nameless Orchid stood tall on a table by the window, occupying most of the space. The flower for that hour’s patient stayed in the shadow of the Orchid, listening to the patient with Özlem.

Today, it was a sun flower seed that was growing for a few months. While Adil the Fifth was still some time away from producing any seeds, it had finally given out yellow leaves that turned itself over the couch. The brown and rough disk on the center stared at the two human.

A man was sitting in front of Özlem today. His hands met above his khaki pants. His thumbs fought each other as he thought about words to say. His dark brown eyes took a tour around the room. It never stared at Özlem for long, but she kept hers on the man through the appointment.

His eyes found the world map still hanging on the violet wall as he prepared himself to speak. A blue vein that was pulsing in rage above his eye brows slowly calmed down. Gray lines of his hair shined in the summer heat. Whatever left from his old brown hair was slowly succumbing itself to the grayness with each passing week. He was full of life just four months ago when he first knocked on her door. As the sessions continued, he only gave details about himself during his outbursts.

“At least she is still letting me see my kids.” He spoke calmly.

“Of course. That is your parental right.” Özlem replied. “Have you planned anything with them?”

“I wanted to take them on a resort.” He scratched the wrinkles that had appeared recently by his eyes.

“Maybe to İzmir. My son loves his history, and my daughter enjoys the water. She will become a great swimmer one day.”

“Will you go?”

“I really do want to leave.” His eyes turned towards the two flowers bathing under the afternoon sun. “It would be good for me too, I suppose. I am planning on taking an unpaid leave from work.”

“But?”

“I don’t want to drop dead on vacation, and leave my kids all alone. The doctors are not giving me a clear time table. They first said it would take 10 weeks for the cancer to make me bed bound. It’s been eighteen, and I can still walk. I even run in the mornings.”

“How do you feel during your runs?”

“I have the energy of my son, with the back pains of my dad. I run twenty minutes before cramps hit my leg.”

“But what do you feel during those twenty minutes? Do you feel free? Do you get tired? Nauseous? The couch you sat on saw a lot of tears from people before you.”

“I will not cry.” The man said. The vain had appeared above his brows once again.

“It is a perfectly normal response.”

“I have a killer following me everywhere, and there is nothing I can do. It is more frustrating than normal. I run because that’s what a normal human does to relax, not because I want to outrun the illness when I know I can’t. I know I am dying. I know I may not wake up the next time I go to bed. I know today might be the last time I will ever see my kids. I know the kiss I gave to them may have been the last. The beer I drank yesterday might be the last. The goodbye kiss I got from my girlfriend this morning might be the last. I know all those things, and it is not fair to them.”

“What makes you think life is fair?”

The man moved his eyes towards Özlem. They were open wide as he struck his brows to think. “I worked hard to be where I am in life.” He spoke after a moment. “My wife… my ex-wife, and I lived in a one bedroom apartment not far from here for half a decade before I began making a proper living. I didn’t bought her current house by slacking. I put my blood and sweat to give my kids the life they deserved.”

“Yet, you did not provide the same love for your wife.”

The man turned his eyes to the sun flower during his reply. “I don’t think she did the same for me either. She filed for divorce months after she learned about the affair. She was gone as soon as my wage tripled.”

“Do you think she was right to leave?”

“I did beg for forgiveness.”

“Before or after your diagnosis?” Özlem doodled on her notebook.

“Both times.” The man smiled. His fingers reached for the sun flower leaves momentarily. “I didn’t want to start over again with a new woman, I suppose.” The man’s words were cut short with the clock on the wall quietly ranging. Özlem got up first, and the man followed as they slowly walked out to the corridor.

“Thank you for coming today. Think about what we talked until our next meeting.”

“If I am still standing.” The man mumbled.

“You are stronger than you believe. Much more stronger.” Özlem smiled as she opened the outside door.

“Thank you for having me.”

*

Özlem sat on the stairs of the building’s fire escape during her supper. She had a few extra bottles of beer on the side, and a plate on her lap. Her feet dropped on air as the warm evening breeze hit her face with the sunlight. She drank and ate with the patrons of the restaurant below. It was not long before the neighbourhood cats smelled the meat and cried for her on the ground.

“You again?” She smiled at the gray cat. Another ginger furred one watched her silently.

“Meow.” The gray cat responded.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Özlem picked a piece of meat to drop on the ground.

“Meow.” The ginger cat watched the gray one eat.

“Here.” She tried to drop the next piece closer towards the ginger.

*

One beer was to escape from the heat. Two to forget about her daily patients. Three beers made her mind fuzzy, and allowed her to walk without thinking for long. She left her apartment when the grey streets were lit by lamps and the moonlight above. Music blasted on the narrow streets of Kadıköy. Every turn brought new and different melodies. She could feel their echoes on her ears. She chose a pub built underground as her destination, with dark walls and playing music to push her on the dance floor. She did not speak other than ordering more drinks. She danced for hours before coming back home alone.

The door bell woke her up the next morning. She still had her clothes on from last night. She noticed her messy hair on the mirror before leaving the bedroom.

The door bell rang once again.

“One moment, please.” Özlem yelled as she ran to the bathroom at the other end of the corridor.

The door bell rang again.

“I will be right there!” She responded as she quickly threw water on her face, and combed her hair. She grabbed a towel on her hands as she walked over the door. There was no one on the other end of the peephole, but she still opened it.

“Mommy!” Aylin jumped on Özlem to give her a hug.

“You are early, hun.”

“Daddy said he had a last minute meeting come up as he was packing for his vacation.”

When Özlem looked at the end of the hallway, she saw the elevator doors closing on a man. She could make out the colours of navy blue T-shirt she once bought before the sliding metallic doors met each other.

“I see.” Özlem grabbed her daughter’s backpack from Aylin’s shoulders, and held her hand as they got inside. “Did you had your breakfast yet? I am starving.”

“I did.” She stared at her mom with big eyes. She had gotten Özlem’s wavy black hair, but those green eyes that gazed one’s soul were definitely from her dad. “Sarah got me this new colouring book, and we went to the zoo yesterday.”

“Well, tell me all about it.” Özlem sat Aylin on the kitchen table as she grabbed the ingredients.

Wake up, clean up, work, eat, sleep.

Wake up, clean up, work, eat, sleep.

Özlem did not had to leave her house to enjoy her life. She taught Aylin how to take care of the flowers during the day, and Aylin would question her about random ones around the house. Özlem could listen to her little mess talk for hours. She read books out loud every night as Aylin fell asleep on her chest.

*

Original post was removed for a mistake on my end. Here it is again. It was an interesting experience to write a Slice of Life short after losing myself in so much Sci-Fi/fantasy.

submitted by /u/HydraVea [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/361mhE3

[royal-writer]

a little ‘what if’

no fancy title idea for this. I’m feeling the onslaught of sickness coming on, so I’m cutting this short. massively short but oh my god sleep.

Mama don’t just ‘like’ any man that steps up to win her daughter’s hand. Nah, you have to EARN her respect and blessin... what’s better than to see the genuine trust and love of two people, and knowing that someone has your kids best interests at heart, and that they can make them smile and laugh and bring joy to their life? true, real joy. that’s all mama wants for her child. Yee ;;

Hepsiba Medüza did not like him. Lord Amon saw it in the way she behaved with everyone, but himself. Where she was maternal. How she was warmhearted. Her elaborate actions to please. Yet it felt like all was different and reserved the instant she observed a glimpse upon him.

There were moments when she held to a toothy grin and a mother’s wisdom while fretting over their team all between her teases. She held much of Essätha in her actions, he came to realize swiftly. They had the same sort of joy in their faces when they were happy; where it gripped every feature on the face and exploded into frenzied gestures and boundless energy. They even had a similar laugh, and grinned with the same effort that would at times, peek out the extended length of their cuspids. So like mother, so was like daughter.

But despite their likenesses, they were equally different. Essätha sneezed loud, while her mother sounded like a squeaky door hinge. Where the young Yuan-ti was bold and impulsive; the wild of a raging storm, her mother was timid and soft-spoken like a doe. When tired, his dear heart curled up to conserve heat and her mother oppositely lounged to stretch over her sofa and twitch as she slept.

Essie craved adventure and freedom. She fought with passion, and would do so until her dying breath. Always a burning inferno whipping nearly out of control. Brilliant and hard to grasp or understand. Hepsiba was polite beyond measure, in contrast. Her battles were fought with kindness, or abandoned when she felt the purpose beyond lost. She held a mysterious tongue, but was generally revealing and open in nature.

Both Medüza women were their own unique type of lady. From the tight coils of light brunette in Hepsiba’s hair, to the loose curls and bouncy wave’s of Essie’s light black that the Briarton Lord’s fingers grew tangled in.  Their eyes told different stories of tragedy. One he he knew well; saw the summer solstice burn gold around the iris and fleck throughout a soft coppery tawny. The other a bright green; aloe leaves that were showing the wear and tear of time and age.

The illness that had at one time tried to consume Hepsiba had left a great toll as much as aging did. Her eyes appeared to have a wash of discolored fog faded faintly to them. The thick texture of her mane had, according to his Essie, had grown thin (which left Amon astonished; it appeared lethally dense as it was). Her skin looked paper thin and the appearance of veins were in some areas, dark in contrast. She grew fatigue at the simplest work; and if not for the kindly neighbor a bit down the way who visited frequently to help her out, it left Amon to wonder how the elder woman managed. Her body was a fraility, but her mind was sharp.

She had a knack for pushing through exhaustion. When Hepsiba was sure she could manage something; despite the lack of belief on any other, she did so. Her words would come out cutting in a way that was haunting when you did not heed her first words to back off. She was feisty in her independence, he’d give her that. The string of words she could put together sounded like the teachings of scholars; lengthy and astute.

Yet try as he might to connect with the slender aged woman, she did not try to connect with him. Her studious remarks were clipped. Her mannerisms respectful but distant. She would curtsy or bow, accept a kiss on her hand in the deepest level of respect with a smile. It was an echoed version of Essätha what felt like centuries ago. Disconnected and unwilling; not lining up with her eyes and disjointed.

Hepsiba squeezed her daughter with all the fond love of a mom; her every dream and affection put into her child. Dotted over her, but held herself back as she watched Essie continuously grow and make her decisions and become her own person. She was devoted and endlessly proud, as one should be to watch such a magnificent woman grow into her own. The haze-gloom over Hepsiba’s gaze could not stop the saturation of merriment when she looked to her daughter in a way that enticed a slice of envy in the soul of anyone who noticed. It was the kind of relationship every child longed to have with their parent. It held notes of the kind of connection you wanted to hold with everyone you held dear.

She treated Abernathy like an old friend within moments of meeting him. He was invited to return as often as he’d like with his husband for brunch, for lunch, and so on. They chatted of ‘younger days’ as if they’d lived them together. The laughter hardly ceased. He seemed to be the only one aside from Sulhadur she accepted help from in rare occasions.

The Dragonborn held her attention for his polite qualities. Hepsiba glorified his heroism and innocence with trusting pats. When dinner came, there was always an extra slab of meat cooked up and added to Sul’s plate so he wouldn’t have to eat so much of the grain and vegetables she steamed (which was fine with Amon, he found himself sneaking seconds like a ravenous wolf for her well seasoned cooking).

Quite the opposite, Rava got the disciplining gentle motherly hand. Sometimes Hepsiba’s words mingled in with Essie’s in a h soft reprimand that had everyone laughing. She scolded the young elfling when her curiosity had her leaping and taking without thinking of the consequence. She frequently pushed more health-optional food the young girl’s way, too. It didn’t stop Rava from grabbing something sweet or drinking a bottle of syrup when they left the private home at the far reaches of the village, but Hepsiba tried.

Aylin she held politeness to, even when he slipped Rava treats. When he inquired about her and the culture of her kind, she answered what Essätha would not or could not. The straightforward notion of his race’s harsh beliefs seemed to cause her unease and discomfort, but nevertheless, she smiled patiently through their chats.

Courteous she might be to the Drow, it was nothing compared to her admiration for Pri’cha. She adored the well-mannered cleric at first glance. When Pri offered prayer before supper, Hepsiba gladly joined her. She sung a few hymns of Pelor with the Radiant One; the parts said she could remember, anyway. It seemed to take no effort to like the humanoid insect. It was a sentiment Amon could agree with.

There was no judgment on behalf of Adela. The name of another Tiefling came up upon first greetings that made Amon wish to curl his lip, but he refrained. Solace contained none of Adela’s refined decency. They spoke over a small, unimpressive collection of the Medüza matriarch’s jewelry and trinkets, and when Adela presented her with a custom bracelet; simple but elegant, she’d been ecstatic and clung to the pale reddish-pink woman with boastful lines of flattery. They did not connect as deeply as she did some of the others, but there was no denying the friendliness.

Although startled by Penimra’s horrifying demented mouth as he ate, the old Yuan-ti woman tried to associate with the arrogant elf and understand him. When his euphemisms came out unintentionally biting, she remained polite and thanked him for his opinion. Penimra was given more notice than he was.

Amon tried not to suffocate in his desire to impress the mother of the woman he adored. No amount of honest compliments, or generous gifts, seemed to make her smile past a flat line. Hepsiba thanked him, offered him questions and concerns, and moved on to the next party member. Every now and then, he caught her sights upon him. The shadows made it hard to identify her true feelings, but they were watchful. Studying him intensely.

The next moment, she would be offering kisses to K’varr, or stroking Caesar’s head as the animals paraded around the small house. Although her eyes were no longer on them, he could still feel a tension in the air. Clenching to his aching jaws, setting in his taut pulled shoulders. Trying not to stare too hard as she cooked and cleaned, or performed smaller feats of magic. When she walked past, and he held his breath for fear even just being too loud would upset her.

What future would he have with the woman he loved, if her mother didn’t like him? Would she hold it against him? Would she tell Essie he was no good for her? Would there be a future for them at all, if he couldn’t convince Hepsiba he only wanted happiness for her daughter?

He had to know what he was doing wrong. Some way, some how, he would try and try again as much as he could, in hopes of getting her to like him. After all, it was going to be rather difficult to get her approval and blessing for her daughter’s hand, if he could even manage that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“More tea, Abernathy?”

“No thank you, Hepsiba. I’ve had enough.”

She smiled over her shoulder, rinsing out her mug in the deep bowl filled with water in front of her. The cracked window before the counter where she often chopped vegetables was letting in a lovely breeze today. Outside, she could make out the shape of the many house visitors. Some were sitting around talking, some were goofing off, and others were packing and unpacking items from their wagon.

The firewood Amon had chopped for her the other day still had a sharp smell sitting just outside the window. It was blowing directly into the household. Hepsiba sniffed softly, setting the glass aside to air dry. Her legs ached from standing making the massive breakfast she’d worked on since before dawn to serve her hungry new children. They came and went often, since their current work was nearby. Essätha had been sure to stock the tiny cottage with enough food to fill an army, which is what it felt like she was often doing.

Try as she might, Essätha continued buying her things and stocking the house, without taking any reimbursement. That child of hers. She’d been sending bank slip notes home ever since she took flight and left the nest. Though Hepsiba scolded her for it, it was a large help. After she’d managed to make it out of that wretched city with her daughter and failing health, it had taken a long recovery process and many clerics to nurse her back to some functional state.

Work always remained hard. Raising a rambunctious girl had been tiring to the bone, but it never made her love her spirited daughter any less. She made their lives doing small jobs; sometimes picking up a seamstress service, other times actually getting hired on for a ceremonial event as a cook when people were desperate. Her body hurt as if it was much older than it was for years, and only grew worse as time went by.

She’d raised a wonderful, brilliant adult though. Essie had made it all worth it. Labor intensive or not. She’d grown up so much; much too fast in so many ways Hepsiba wished she could take back. The youth of her brave little girl, never understanding why people were so cruel to her for being different. The nurturing ways she sometimes had to look after her when too many days of hard, grueling work left her bedridden for a day or two.

Now she had Ethan down the lane, who was a perfect gentleman and helped all the neighbors. He brought her clothes from the villagers, and she would mend them up and he would return them. They exchanged meals; his kind wife Helen visited with their kids and they helped clean up and she’d offer her help where she could.

Life was simple and quiet, but it was just the way she liked it. She was left to long for the days when her little serpent would visit again, but she had wielded her own life now. An extraordinary life of grand adventures that people spoke of even among their little town. Essätha was a name among many, with her comrades that swirled around gossip and news. What a delightful surprise for her baby to visit home, and bring all these interesting and lively people with her for her to meet.

What a courageous daughter she had. She worried for her, the more the rumors spread. It made her look around as she wiped her hands dry, but there was no sign of her pretty little girl among those outside. There was no Essie at the table, either, where Abe and Adela still sat speaking softly to each other.

The front door opened, and Hepsiba looked that was expectedly. Though she did not see her daughter, the dark-haired nobleman entered cautiously. He pushed the door closed with a gloved hand; the bottom trim of fur on his cloak brushing the floor as he stepped through the house without a glance in their direction a few yards from the door. One arm was kept firmly down to his side, not swinging as was natural to people in motion.

Hepsiba moved to follow after Lord Amon; unnoticed. He disappeared behind the wall that separated the kitchen from the sitting area, and from there she spotted the wide shape of his frame move into the hall to the bedrooms.

Adela and Abernathy were still speaking to each other in a deep conversation when she shuffled quietly after the man.

It had nothing to do with a lack of trust in him moving through the home, but she was curious. Wherever that man seemed to wander, her Essie didn’t seem to be far.

She was close to the archway when she heard voices. Hesitantly, her eyes peeked around the extended wall to spy. It was her house. She tried telling herself there was nothing wrong with a bit of snooping.

It was dark. The only lighting was the natural lighting cutting through from the open doors to bedrooms with windows. In the shaped silhouette outlines, her vision began to pick up the details of two people standing nearly in the doorway of Essie’s old bedroom.

A girlish giggle escaped Essätha shyly. She pressed a self-conscious hand across to hide her face as Amon tucked the folds of a fully bloomed pink lily behind her ear. He retrieved that same hand moments later, bringing it to his face to rest his lips against the patchwork of scales. A radiant and genuine smile was broadly displayed on her daughter’s face, where it glistened up into the sunspecks of her eyes.

As they shifted, Hepsiba pulled herself out of the line of sight from the pair just as her Essie leaned in to kiss the man.

“I love you.”

Hepsiba exhaled quietly. The whispering husk of the man was hardly audible, but those words were hard to mistake for anything else.

“I love you too, m’lord.”

She’d seen what she’d needed to see. Even with the words, she’d seen enough.

There was long silence, and then a scrap of boots against the floor. That’s when Hepsiba made her move.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was a glow about Essätha’s eyes that only seemed to shine brighter the moment he expressed his feelings. He hadn’t been able to stop the compulsion when he’d seen the blossom, at the peak of it’s life. With a steady drag of his blade to the steam, he’d nipped it free and knew just where it should be, to compliment an even more graceful beauty than even it.

Her smile was warm and enticing. It fastened him like gravity to the ground even as he felt weightless and life beneath such a longing gaze. He held upon her delicate fingers with a careful grip, pressing her fingertips to his lips next. The shape of her face she tried to hide; tucking her chin in with a shy blush and sections of curls hanging over her eyes and cheeks.

With a little tug on her hand, Essie took a step down the hall to encourage him to follow. He felt instantly pulled to the traverse of the sun as she moved; her ethereal light beckoning him.

A figure moved into the hallway suddenly, beaming brilliantly. They moved with a slowness; and stalled Amon’s advance even as Essätha’s hand slipped from his fingers.

“Ma,” the younger Yuan-ti greeted quietly, leaning in to kiss her mother’s cheek.

“Oh Essie my little viper,” the elder Yuan-ti laughed, pecking her daughter in return as she took hold of her hand in a squeeze. “Would you mind going and finishing the dishes? I’m a bit sore today, I’m sorry.”

“I can do that mom, you go sit down and rest a while, okay?”

“Yes, I think I’ll do that dear, thank you.”

The Lord of the Emerald Expanse almost dared to think to call her back. Instead he stood uncomfortably still, and watched his darling float out of sight. It left him awkwardly alone, with the adoring look of her mother staring after her.

Maybe he’d be lucky, and she would not strike at him like a furious cobra.

When she turned to him, the expression on Hepsiba’s gaze grew calculating. He stiffened considerably more under her evaluation.

He grew even more rigid as she broke into a wide grin.

“Oh, Lord Amon!” she gushed with delight. “My word, you stepped in without a single hello or good day.”

This felt an awful lot like a setup. Unsure which card to play, he moved to bow politely to the elder woman.

“I apologize, lady Medüza-”

“Oh stop with the ‘lady’ this and ‘lady’ that,” she scoffed, shambling down the hall towards him. “‘Hepsiba’ works just fine.”

Amon was numb as the woman reached for him. Linking her arm through his, he looked on with bewilderment to the fragile looking lady of the house. Her smile was full, and worked its way up into the glint playing off her eyes.

“I- uh-”

“Would you mind helping me to the couch, Lord Amon?” she inquired in a fast-paced voice of joy and excitement. “I would appreciate the help so much.”

The sudden change in demeanor made no sense. What had he done differently today? He was perplexed by her joy, which was in that state of resembling Essätha’s bubbly glee. He’d seen that look plenty, but never was it directly aimed to him.

Swallowing his confusion and his nerves, he spoke briskly but politely as he inclined his head, and reached across to carefully place a hand over the bend of her arm.

“It would be my pleasure, lady Medüza.”

“Hepsiba, please, young man,” she taunted him playfully, patting his hand.

With all the bewilderment in the world to this sudden change, Amon took full advantage in guiding her carefully around the jutted out wall in the direction of her sofa. Whatever the reason for her change of heart, he had a foot in the door, and if this was all the chance he was going to get, he was going to make the best of it.

[ecotone99]

[RF] The Gazing Flower

Wake up, clean up, work, eat, sleep.

Wake up, clean up, work, eat, sleep.

She did not had to leave her house to enjoy life. Her home, was also her office. She was one of the few residents still living on the tallest apartment in the neighbourhood. Her office overlooked at a roofless restaurant surrounded by other empty apartments and palm trees around.

A long, grey, and quiet hallway would greet the brave people who took the metallic trap box of an elevator. The brown dusty carpet on the floor lead the people to her door. She would clean parts of the carpet weekly to make it known that someone was there, in between the dirt. A welcome mat stood outside of her wooden door. Next to the mat, a Weeping Fig named Ördek stood tall. Its puffy and green leaves were slowly reaching for the roof with every passing season.

She had removed her name tag from the side of the door bell permanently, to right below the peephole after it went missing one morning. Now, a bronze metal was screwed to the door that shined with her name; Dr. Özlem Karadağ.

Özlem would greet the clients herself, if her little girl was not around. A smile she practiced longer than her job would be on Özlem’s lips moments before opening the door. A tall wooden hanger stood next to the door that was mainly empty. Her clients would often carry their jackets and bags with them inside the office. On her first year of practice, she realized people who were anxious and depressed often needed a familiar object to reattach them with reality. Inside, the door opened to a short hallway. Flowers of all shapes and sizes decorated each side of the empty wall. She had photos of her daughter, and a few landscape photos taken by her over the years. One end of the corridor lead to Özlem’s own bedroom, adjacent to her daughter’s smaller room that was occupied every weekend. It was decorated with cutouts of rainbow and various animals. On their first week of moving in, her daughter borrowed a blue marker and a piece of paper to notify any passerby with her own hand writing; Aylin’s Room. The paper was taped on to the white door, which would fall down with almost every swing.

The visitors peaked at her corridor, to take a glimpse at the lifestyle of their psychiatrist. Özlem then would gesture them to a small opening behind an arch that lead to her office.

Özlem did want to keep the decorations simple at first. There was a beige couch for those who wanted to lay down. She sat on a red chair in front of the couch. She had a work desk during her off hours to work on reports, and to keep her leather notebook in between sessions. A short, yet wide table seperated the couch with her seat for those who wanted to rest their legs. A kettle on a small cupboard would finish running moments before every appointment. Single use tea and coffee packets were available next to the sugar cubes.

Although she wanted to fill the cupboard with actual cups, Özlem got tired of picking new and special ones rather quickly. There was only a handful of them now. She first pick out what was popular on TV that year for their decorations, but all became rather dull in colour as the years passed. A colleague suggested her to pick ones with motivational quotes on them. Özlem did not want to give false hope to her clients. It was not her job to make people happy. Books of various genres slowly began to take more space on the cupboard than glasses.

The ones who sat on the couch were able to take a peak at the restaurant below through a wide window. It was alive every day of the week, from morning to late at night. The laughter and chatter of the crowd below helped her patients to escape their minds even if it was momentarily.

The once plain walls saw many changes throughout the years. She had a map of the world behind her chair, right where the clients faced. Then she moved it a little bit higher, to hang a plank on the wall for her flowers. It was only a few lines of carefully cut wood at first. Her flowers grew in numbers as the years passed. Once the house had enough flowers, she would take Aylin with her on a road trip, to Özlem’s village where her parents lived.

During her first introduction with a new patient, Özlem would try to match them with a flower in her mind, then she would place their flower in front of the window before every appointment. She named them all based on a specific word her clients had said previously.

Her new favourite flower was a white Orchid that was not for a patient, but a gift for her after a conference she attended recently. Özlem was invited as a speaker by an old professor to talk about the ways her patients dealt with the anxieties of terminally ill patients. Although Özlem thought she bombed the speech, many of her colleagues had approached her afterwards to give their praise.

The flower itself was a gift from the widower of a famous psychiatrist. Özlem and the woman only chatted for a brief moment at the end of the conference, yet she found the Orchid waiting by her door with a “Thank You” card.

The nameless Orchid stood tall on a table by the window, occupying most of the space. The flower for that hour’s patient stayed in the shadow of the Orchid, listening to the patient with Özlem.

Today, it was a sun flower seed that was growing for a few months. While Adil the Fifth was still some time away from producing any seeds, it had finally given out yellow leaves that turned itself over the couch. The brown and rough disk on the center stared at the two human.

A man was sitting in front of Özlem today. His hands met above his khaki pants. His thumbs fought each other as he thought about words to say. His dark brown eyes took a tour around the room. It never stared at Özlem for long, but she kept hers on the man through the appointment.

His eyes found the world map still hanging on the violet wall as he prepared himself to speak. A blue vein that was pulsing in rage above his eye brows slowly calmed down. Gray lines of his hair shined in the summer heat. Whatever left from his old brown hair was slowly succumbing itself to the grayness with each passing week. He was full of life just four months ago when he first knocked on her door. As the sessions continued, he only gave details about himself during his outbursts.

“At least she is still letting me see my kids.” He spoke calmly.

“Of course. That is your parental right.” Özlem replied. “Have you planned anything with them?”

“I wanted to take them on a resort.” He scratched the wrinkles that had appeared recently by his eyes.

“Maybe to İzmir. My son loves his history, and my daughter enjoys the water. She will become a great swimmer one day.”

“Will you go?”

“I really do want to leave.” His eyes turned towards the two flowers bathing under the afternoon sun. “It would be good for me too, I suppose. I am planning on taking an unpaid leave from work.”

“But?”

“I don’t want to drop dead on vacation, and leave my kids all alone. The doctors are not giving me a clear time table. They first said it would take 10 weeks for the cancer to make me bed bound. It’s been eighteen, and I can still walk. I even run in the mornings.”

“How do you feel during your runs?”

“I have the energy of my son, with the back pains of my dad. I run twenty minutes before cramps hit my leg.”

“But what do you feel during those twenty minutes? Do you feel free? Do you get tired? Nauseous? The couch you sat on saw a lot of tears from people before you.”

“I will not cry.” The man said. The vain had appeared above his brows once again.

“It is a perfectly normal response.”

“I have a killer following me everywhere, and there is nothing I can do. It is more frustrating than normal. I run because that’s what a normal human does to relax, not because I want to outrun the illness when I know I can’t. I know I am dying. I know I may not wake up the next time I go to bed. I know today might be the last time I will ever see my kids. I know the kiss I gave to them may have been the last. The beer I drank yesterday might be the last. The goodbye kiss I got from my girlfriend this morning might be the last. I know all those things, and it is not fair to them.”

“What makes you think life is fair?”

The man moved his eyes towards Özlem. They were open wide as he struck his brows to think. “I worked hard to be where I am in life.” He spoke after a moment. “My wife… my ex-wife, and I lived in a one bedroom apartment not far from here for half a decade before I began making a proper living. I didn’t bought her current house by slacking. I put my blood and sweat to give my kids the life they deserved.”

“Yet, you did not provide the same love for your wife.”

The man turned his eyes to the sun flower during his reply. “I don’t think she did the same for me either. She filed for divorce months after she learned about the affair. She was gone as soon as my wage tripled.”

“Do you think she was right to leave?”

“I did beg for forgiveness.”

“Before or after your diagnosis?” Özlem doodled on her notebook.

“Both times.” The man smiled. His fingers reached for the sun flower leaves momentarily. “I didn’t want to start over again with a new woman, I suppose.” The man’s words were cut short with the clock on the wall quietly ranging. Özlem got up first, and the man followed as they slowly walked out to the corridor.

“Thank you for coming today. Think about what we talked until our next meeting.”

“If I am still standing.” The man mumbled.

“You are stronger than you believe. Much more stronger.” Özlem smiled as she opened the outside door.

“Thank you for having me.”

*

Özlem sat on the stairs of the building’s fire escape during her supper. She had a few extra bottles of beer on the side, and a plate on her lap. Her feet dropped on air as the warm evening breeze hit her face with the sunlight. She drank and ate with the patrons of the restaurant below. It was not long before the neighbourhood cats smelled the meat and cried for her on the ground.

“You again?” She smiled at the gray cat. Another ginger furred one watched her silently.

“Meow.” The gray cat responded.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Özlem picked a piece of meat to drop on the ground.

“Meow.” The ginger cat watched the gray one eat.

“Here.” She tried to drop the next piece closer towards the ginger.

*

One beer was to escape from the heat. Two to forget about her daily patients. Three beers made her mind fuzzy, and allowed her to walk without thinking for long. She left her apartment when the grey streets were lit by lamps and the moonlight above. Music blasted on the narrow streets of Kadıköy. Every turn brought new and different melodies. She could feel their echoes on her ears. She chose a pub built underground as her destination, with dark walls and playing music to push her on the dance floor. She did not speak other than ordering more drinks. She danced for hours before coming back home alone.

The door bell woke her up the next morning. She still had her clothes on from last night. She noticed her messy hair on the mirror before leaving the bedroom.

The door bell rang once again.

“One moment, please.” Özlem yelled as she ran to the bathroom at the other end of the corridor.

The door bell rang again.

“I will be right there!” She responded as she quickly threw water on her face, and combed her hair. She grabbed a towel on her hands as she walked over the door. There was no one on the other end of the peephole, but she still opened it.

“Mommy!” Aylin jumped on Özlem to give her a hug.

“You are early, hun.”

“Daddy said he had a last minute meeting come up as he was packing for his vacation.”

When Özlem looked at the end of the hallway, she saw the elevator doors closing on a man. She could make out the colours of navy blue T-shirt she once bought before the sliding metallic doors met each other.

“I see.” Özlem grabbed her daughter’s backpack from Aylin’s shoulders, and held her hand as they got inside. “Did you had your breakfast yet? I am starving.”

“I did.” She stared at her mom with big eyes. She had gotten Özlem’s wavy black hair, but those green eyes that gazed one’s soul were definitely from her dad. “Sarah got me this new colouring book, and we went to the zoo yesterday.”

“Well, tell me all about it.” Özlem sat Aylin on the kitchen table as she grabbed the ingredients.

Wake up, clean up, work, eat, sleep.

Wake up, clean up, work, eat, sleep.

Özlem did not had to leave her house to enjoy her life. She taught Aylin how to take care of the flowers during the day, and Aylin would question her about random ones around the house. Özlem could listen to her little mess talk for hours. She read books out loud every night as Aylin fell asleep on her chest.

*

Here is my DeviantArt page with my other short stories and a few poems. It was an interesting experience to write a Slice of Life short after losing myself in so much Sci-Fi/fantasy.

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