Drowning Sun

The Sun drowned last night.

He followed the Moon through starlit passageways, black hair streaming behind her in waves.

She tripped over galaxies, swaying in the celestial ocean; waiting for the next starry tide to come in.

He waded out to stand beside her; their hands entwined like the constellations.

His lips grazed her still night hair, breathed in the newest scent of her and laughed.

She kissed the lemon slice of his mouth, drinking in the golden lips, a hand coming up to tangle in his wheat field hair.

The stars chattered, their diamond teeth clinking together like spoons in glasses; warning bells.

He lost his grip on her hand, slipping under a crescent wave, drifting out on primordial seas.

She lost him amongst the roiling blackness; holes swallowing the sound of her cries.

It was foolish to believe such moments were endless.

When all of heaven's din was hushed, they found him glowing beneath the mirror of the universe.

He had drowned in the tempest of her skies, lost in the voids of their eclipse.

The Sun drowned last night and the Moon has yet to stop weeping.

Prometheus

You thought yourself Prometheus;
stealing fire from the gods to warm
the world.
In the end, you turned my bones to
firewood and warmed only you.

I am Woman, Phenomenally.

Maybe I'm just a little girl in a big world full of monsters.
Maybe I can't stop even a fraction of them.

But in the end, I'm standing there brandishing my sword,
screaming the battle cry that is pounding in my blood.

I have big dreams; a big voice inside my head calling me
to something greater than all this.

The monsters may come. Let them. I may die,
but I'll die fighting. No one can say I didn't try my hardest.

Isn't that what courage is? Running towards the monster,
rather than away from it?

Maybe I'm a speck in the endless seas of humanity,
drifting in and out on a tide of relentless insanity.

A ragdoll, tossed into the fray of the screaming waves.
Another pair of breasts in the wriggling masses.

But I was born to be Joan of Arc; the heart of a lioness,
consort to scarecrow princes and ready for battle.

Let the Jabberwockys come, let them do their worst.
I am still standing, a giantess with my soul painfully alive.

There is more to me, a little girl in a big world,
than could ever be imagined by the seething oceans.

In the words of Maya Angelou, "Phenomenal woman, that's me."

All of Her: Prologue (Edit #?)

"I'm still in love with all of her."

I say nothing. What is there to say, really? I barely hear anything else he says, not that it matters. He keeps talking, as if this conversation were about what to have for lunch. Or something just as bland. He doesn't even notice that my heart is breaking. It feels like it is disintegrating, crumbling into nothing inside my chest.

His words are echoing in my skull. I'm stuck on repeat. All I can hear is that awful sentence and my heart, fit to burst from my chest. I know that he is telling the truth. I don't even have to look at them to know it is true. I look anyway, because I'm already drunk on the pain so why not? She's smiling, lit up by the sunshine of his love.

"I'm still in love with all of her."

I'm not blind; anymore. Its like the gauze has been ripped from my eyes. How did I not see it before? How could I have been so completely clueless? Looking at it now, I can imagine them entangled, wrapped up in pink sheets; their pink flesh fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. How did I miss this?

Am I an idiot for wishing he was looking at me?

She's standing a short distance away, barely out of ear-shot, and he is staring off and into her distance. She's still smiling at him, practically basking in the assurances of his love. I recognize that smile. Its the same one I had plastered across my, idiotic, face. Once. I can still remember that feeling; being loved and believing his sunlight would always shine on me. That smile, the one she wears now, is the same smile I was wearing just a few weeks ago. How did I not recognize that look before now?

The whole beach feels like it is trying to swallow me whole. Everything is rolling beneath my feet and he is rocking away from me and into her arms. I just stand there. I try to smile, like everything is okay, but it wobbles with knowing the truth. He doesn't notice. I will never smile, like her, again.

How can I when I am watching the love of my life fall even more in love with my best friend?

"I'm still in love with all of her."

"Stop saying that!" I say, practically shrieking. David looks back at me, startled.

"I didn't say anything."

I look at him, sheepishly. Having no explanation for my odd behaviour, I bite my lip and turn away.

I feel like getting drunk. I feel like I've been punched in the chest. My whole body aches. Its all just so ridiculous. It isn't fair, of course, but I can see that it doesn't matter what is fair and what is not.

"Abra," he touches my shoulder. "Are you alright?"

The gall. The absolute gall.

"Am I 'alright?'" I ask, turning back toward him and shaking off his hand. "Yes, David. I'm absolutely, and completely, fucking peachy. The love of my life stood me up, on our wedding day, and then has the audacity to tell me that he is in love with my best friend. I've never been better."

Dumbfounded, he just blinks at me.

"I... I'm sorry." he stammers. I wave off his apology as if it smelled bad. The thought that I should be nice flits into my head. I mean, you can't help who you love, right? As quickly as it entered, it is chased out by my anger and pain. I feel like I might vomit. I feel like I'm going to start screaming, or laugh hysterically. It is, in a sick and twisted way, quite comical.

She's looking back at us again. Her face is slightly cloudy, concern warring with the sunshine of love.

"Go." I say, turning away. "You're going to leave with her anyway, you might as well leave now."

I turn back in time to watch him walk away and I have to resist the urge to chase after him. I feel like screaming at him, like grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. I wish I could slap some sense into them both. Or perform a relationship saving lobotomy. Well, relationship saving for me, not so much for them. I watch them, their shadows seeming to swim off into the sunset, like a couple of mer-people to Atlantis. Or maybe that is my broken heart's imagination.

I turn to leave, again, but I can't seem to make my feet move. Instead, I turn back and see them kissing. Alice and David, off in their own personal wonderland, in love and laughing. They're smiling, that sweet and innocent smile of a first, and only, love. Damn, why did I look back?

I'm feeling like I've just been turned into a pillar of salt; frozen and slightly raw, like the wound just got vigourously scrubbed.

The time has come, the walrus says, to talk of many things. He's right, of course, even talking walruses can be right. I don't feel like talking. Not to a talking walrus or anyone else. God, I hate Alice so much right now. I never thought it was possible to hate someone so much, but, looking at her with David, I could almost spit acid. I could almost go up to them and wring her pretty, swan-like, neck.

Why couldn't they just disappear as soon as I looked back? Would that be too much to ask for?

Despite my desire, nothing changes the fact that Alice and David are still canoodling and I am just standing there. Caught up in my stupid daydreams. If only I had super powers or something, I could destroy Alice and live happily ever after. With David. Like I was supposed to. If only she were my ugly step-sister, who cut off her nose to spite her face, I could win him back with my perfectly fitted glass slippers and my obvious charm. He would realize he is the only Prince Charming there has ever been for me and everything will be right with the world.

Now I'm just rambling.

"I'm still in love with all of her."

Those words are still echoing in the air around me. I have to get out of here. I need distance. I'm not running away.

He didn't even hesitate when I told him to go. I guess that tells me all I need to know.

The Magic Man: Part I

Sleep now, sleep deep. Soon you will awake and the morning will no longer be.
Soft, sweet, softly. They'll hear your breathing, but not your heart beating.
Soon we will be swept up in the dark of night, candy colored lights to guide the way home.

Celeste awoke in a cold sweat. Her thin shift clung to her drenched and shivering body. The fire in her tiny cabin had gone out and only the faintest glow came from the coals. Tugging on the tattered quilt, she burrowed into the warmth of her bed and tried to block out the sound of the snow falling.

It wasn't that the sound bothered her, but snow reminded her that Poppa was gone and Momma was sick with the fever. It also made her feel nervous; as if there were a thousand eyes watching her every move. If she closed her eyes tight enough, it was summer time and Poppa was out in the fields. Momma would be in the kitchen, the windows flung wide and the whole place smelling of bread and lavender. William, the butcher's youngest son, would be playing on the floor with the kittens and Susan, her youngest sister, would be banging her wooden spoon against the table legs.

"Celeste," moaned her mother. Her voice seemed to echo from beneath the covers, growing louder against the well of her ears.

"Yes, Momma?" she whispered, curling into herself. She imagined her ribs growing outward to cage her within them. The smaller she was, the less chance of being found by whatever it was that seemed to be haunting her.

"The fire," her mother's voice sounded weak now. "its out."

"Yes, Momma." shivering, she eased out from under the covers. She did not look out the window as she tip-toed to the pile of dry wood. If she looked out she was sure she would see the Magic Man from her nightmares.

Squatting, she gathered the smallest sticks first. If she could get those going, with what little flame was left, then she would put on the thicker logs. Poppa had taught her well. Without fully rising, she moved toward the fireplace.

Sleep now, sleep deep. Soon you will awake, my prisoner you'll be.

She jumped, falling backwards, scattering a few coals and dropping her sticks. His eyes were glowing in the pit of the fireplace, shining like two moons in a sea of fire. A small scream pressed free of her lips and the wind rattled the windows so that the whole room was shaking.

She did not have to look out the window to see him. She knew he was there. His long black cape flapping furiously in the bitter winter wind, his long black hair plaited down his back and his black hat dusted white by the snow. She did not have to look out the window, but she was drawn to it. Her eyes met his auburn coloured ones and his smile, sardonic and mirthful, gleamed in the faint light of the coals.

Soft, sweet, softly. Mustn't let momma hear you leaving.

Gingerly, she lifted the latch on the door and stepped out into the swirling white world. She did not feel the bite of the snow against her bare feet or the sting of the wind as it whipped against her reddening cheeks. All she saw was his face and the edge of summer rising behind his black cape.

Love's Own Madness

If all be, but madness, let me stay where I am, painting the roses red and wishing on stars that never seem to come unhinged. Trusting in one's own madness is the fruit of strange dreams and I, alone, have to believe they are true.
If you but spare a breath for love, I'll gladly run the maze. I'll hap'ly drown, just bid me try. Say one word, tell me true or tell me false, I'll believe whatever you say. Do you love me? Or am I just imagining this poison is sweet?
I am hang'd on your every word, wriggling like a worm on a damn hook. Could you tell me, plainly? Or must I falter on, bewildered and bespeckled with questions? If madness is all that is left me, I shall dress in Juno's gowns and dance about Poseidon's floor.
By Jove, do you have no feelings in your breast for me? Swear on your sword, or swear by my heart that you do not love me and I shall let it all go. I shall burn all the words that have touched my tongue; clench my teeth 'til they forget they knew how to part. Please, I beg you, end the agony you are putting me through.
If all be, but madness, let me stay where I am. I'll gladly paint roses red and wish on stars that are never to fall. 

The Goddess of Storms

The ocean rose, like a salty tongue, to lick the shoreline. The sky was bleached alabaster white, marbled with gray clouds that threatened more than rain. The voice of thunder rumbled as though it came from below one's feet. The beach seemed to be turned to miles of salt, white against the white of the sky against the blanched waves.
It was a perfect day for a battle.

The Mer-king reared up from the depths, seaweed woven into his crown, his scepter glowing a hot red. He roared in challenge and shook his fist at the bleached sky.

As if in response, the clouds darkened and opened to reveal a staircase of swirling gold. Stepping down from the sky, the Goddess, radiant in all her prismatic splendor, looked about, as if to ask who might dare to disturb her stormy preparations.

Spying the Mer-king, flanked on either side by a battalion of mer-men, she laughed. The sound was like the tinkling of rain against window panes, like sunlight jumping off of water. Unamused, the Mer-king raised a haughty salute and heaved a jagged breath. It was all a game. Petty disruptions in prelude to the ultimate conquest; her heart.

Every autumn, before the winter winds twined their icy fingers about his throat, he and the Goddess danced about one another. They raged at one another, fiercer combatants never before seen. The storms they created ravaged continents, broke open the earth, drowned the cities.

And, in the calm after they had battled to the brink of death, he would woo her. Pleading prettily that she join him below the lightning shattered waves. She would laugh, that beautiful musical laugh, and she would kiss him before she would disappear in the rain drenched sky.

This time he was determined. Determined that the destiny he was promised by the Sea Witch would be his. That he would be crowned the God of Sea and Sky, consort to the Goddess of Storms.

This time, when he took her in his embrace, she would find herself within the sea's embrace as well. She would preside over sparkling pearl palaces, gardens of brightly coloured plants glowing in the depths and his heart.

Female Liberation: Part 1

In rolling red script
the declarations proclaimed that a
woman's life was profane. With
sadistic glee they began the purge,
chortling in delight as they
raped, pillaged and purged.

Some they kept alive, for how
else would their population thrive,
but it was decreed that no
female babies would be kept
alive. Mothers, sisters, aunts,
daughters and friends were
each dragged away for no
other sin than that of being womankind.
The smoke from the pillars
let off a dark and foul stench,
tangled with cries to "burn the
wretched wench!"

The gallows bowed under the
weight of so much female weight.
The ones to be kept were corralled,
collared and caged. They were
given numbers instead of names.
The were fed, but they were
starved. They were kept healthy for
breeding and when a woman was
deemed infertile she was
executed with no remorse.

For a century they were enslaved by
the men in power. For a century they
struggled. (All the centuries of female
liberation and female power shattered.)

One night, in the quivering darkness, a
woman, once named Amira now called
number 27, prayed to the goddess, her
tears pleading.

"O great and wonderful goddess, please
send a one who will save us from this
hell. We are faithful to you, please be
faithful to us as well." That night
the Goddess heard, as if for the first
time, the cries of the harmed. She
wept at the chaos caused and the
cruelty of such caustic laws.

So, when the breeding season came,
she caused a soft rain to ensure
feminine seeds. Her magic was gentle
and pervasive, calming even the most
hostile of the delegates.

The Dragon King: Part Seven

Waking up, Aysel saw the cave split asunder like an over-sized geode.

The Dragon construct lay, shattered, a small distance off. Its underbelly was torn open revealing the inner-workings and beside it lay the body of Emyr.

The land was scorched beyond repair, the caverns shattered. She stood to look over her realm, her damaged wing fluttering as she righted herself. For miles the ground was strewn with bodies; goblins, faeries, woodland creatures. Limping, she moved toward the cavern opening.

Beside a Faery body was a ruby eye and a tiny flower, the only living thing for miles.

The Dragon King: Part Six

After they had traveled a day, they stopped to rest. All was quiet in the camp and Aysel could not sleep. She wandered the camp, her wings twitching with nerves.

"Milady," said Faolán. "Ye must rest. We have a long march ahead of us."

"Aye, Faolán, thou art right. Yet, I feel Emyr's approach in my bones and I am wracked with fear that we have traveled in vain."

Before Faolán could reply, an arrow tore through the tent beside him, setting it ablaze. Over the crest of a landing, poured the goblin horde, Emyr at the front.

Grabbing their weapons, the faeries moved to attack.

"Hide in one of the tunnels!" cried Faolán, withdrawing his sword and flying to the attack.

"I am no delicate butterfly, Faolán." replied Aysel, hefting a battle axe and joining the fray.

Spying the queen, Emyr loaded another arrow. Taking aim, he released, sending the arrow through one of Aysel's wings. The wing ripped, sending her tumbling. Barely able to stop the free-fall, she found herself above the abyss with nothing to save her. Fighting against the pain in her wing, she struggled upward, flitting, drunkenly, toward Emyr.

"You thought you would call upon the Dragons for aid, Aysel? Where are your Dragons?" he barked, chortling.

"You will not speak to my Queen in that manner!" cried Faolán, darting toward the Goblin King, his weapon held high to strike.

Quick as a snake, Emyr shot Faolán, his arrow hitting with a sickening thud. The Faery knight looked shocked for a moment before tumbling into the black chasm.

"Faolán!" cried Aysel, moving too late to catch him.

Turning toward Emyr, Aysel held her battle axe aloft, her undamaged wings fluttering frantically to keep her balanced. The glow of the sconces seemed to set her wings ablaze and her apricot hair seethed like raging flames about her alabaster face. Her damaged wing hung, limply, at her side, throwing her off kilter no matter how she tried to steady herself.

The Goblin King smiled, his teeth gleaming, and lifted his bow again.

"Aye, ye look the radiant Queen, and fierce too. But I will have you, Aysel, and your whole court as well. You cannot frighten me with mythos and old wives' tales."

"Nay, good Emyr, I'll have none of thee, nor thy ilk, to sully my court. Mythos, say thee? I awaken no myth." Raising her face toward the unseen ceiling, Aysel lifted her voice in a scream to shake the very halls of the city.

He roared with laughter, lowering his bow to clasp his ribs.

"You think I'll be unnerved by howling in ancient halls? I have drawn wails the likes of which would set your pretty hair on end. Scream away, Aysel. You will be mine if I have to tear the wings from your body."

Without warning, the earth beneath his feet gave a jolt. Emyr looked down, into the abyssal labyrinth below him, before looking back into the plum hued eyes of the Faery Queen. She smiled as the whole cave began to tremble and the stone floor began to roll. From the belly of the old city rose a roar and Emyr was tossed back as a mighty wind rushed upward and out. Swept up in a surging tidal wave of motion, Aysel foundered and was thrown upward. Unable to right herself, she tumbled back down.

Coming up out of the chaos, a clawed hand caught her, holding her in a loose grip as it moved toward the mouth of the cavern. She saw only a glimpse of burnished gold, polished ivory and the frightened face of the Goblin King before she was taken by a swoon.

The Dragon King: Part Five

In the dark, Kiri could feel, rather than see, the voice of Uduak. Sounds took on physicality and her heart throbbed in time with the words.

"There must be a dreamer."

The shape rising out of the darkness was that of a Dragon.

"Please," she begged, trying to crawl away. "I have only desired to return to my grove."

"There must be a dreamer." replied a chorus. A million eyes opened, lighting the crypt. Hands took hold of her, dragging her toward Uduak. He appeared to be made of stone, a part of the tomb. His onyx eyes seemed to pin her to the ground. Before him lay the fabled Prince of Dreams, Prince of Dragons. The chorus whispered his name in the darkness at the edge of her vision.

"Arman."

The chassis gleamed ivory, beneath the sheen glowed red and blue circuitry. The dead eyes were emerald and, though he was magnificent, he was dull. A shell.

"Awaken, my son." said Uduak, his voice tender. His claws reached out to caress the construct and the eyes suddenly came alive.

Her screams reverberated through out the crypt, sending the waves above into white-capped frenzy and roaring up past the marching faeries.

Faolán looked down into the winding maze of darkness, and shivered.

The Dragon King: Part Four

When the Faery knight and the sorceress returned, they immediately pulled up the camp. The troupe followed the dryad into the hexagonal room, the Eyes all closed, and down the sparsely lit tunnel. They marched through the cloying dark for what seemed like ages. The torches sputtered, threatening to gutter out, making their shadows dance wildly. Pushing forward, they began to hear the faint roar of an ocean and the taste of salt tinged the stifling air. When they emerged from the passageway, they looked out over glowing waves.

Fluttering to the ground, the Queen approached Kiri, jerking her off to one side.

"Ye will awaken the Dragon King, witch, or ye will perish." she hissed, the fear in her eyes was overwhelming and, though she acted otherwise, she was shaking. Her hands fell to her sides in, what resembled, defeat and her eyes looked at Kiri, pleading.

The guards led her toward the water, undoing her bindings. She rubbed her wrists, gingerly, and stepped into a wave. The tide would be coming in at any moment, large crystals illuminating the cavernous ceiling and small water phos flowers glowing beneath the water. It had to be done according to the legends, according to all the stories, or it would not be right and she would have to wait until the next lunar cycle.

The water was warm and thick with salt, clinging to her skin in an unpleasant way. She waded in until she was waist deep and could barely touch the bottom, lifting her arms above her head. With her arms lifted, she began chanting, all of her tattoos becoming bright white against her skin. The water began to swirl around her and the waves began to bubble; slowly at first, building into a roiling boil so that she was almost lost under the waves. The ruby eye on her forehead flung open and began to pulsate, radiating pain, and pleasure, through her skull. The royal court was thrown off balance as the grotto began to rock and the waves crashed into the gem spangled ceiling.

The dragon rose from the water slowly, his enormous wings stretching out and beating lazily. When he opened his onyx eyes, they came to rest on Kiri, boring into her soul. She shivered, watching the pearls of water drip from his red and white scales, his massive wings pumping the heavy air. Taking several steps back, she knelt before the Dragon King, lifting her hands toward him.

"Oh, great Uduak, we come to ask for help and to awaken the Prince of Dreams."

Lowering his head, so that he was on eye level with the dryad, the Dragon snorted. The blast of air knocked her off balance only a moment, but she felt a fear rising within her.

"What aid would you desire, child of the wood?" his voice was soft, but it was deeper than the ocean in which they stood.

"I seek no aid for myself, Mighty King." she lowered her eyes, desiring to hide the wishes building within her.

His ancient eyes drifted over the Faery Queen, her gossamer wings trembling with fear and defiance. Her curly-haired knight stepped in front of her, raising his sword and covering her with his wings. The Dragon, amused, returned his gaze to the witch, the ruby eye on her forehead blinking wildly.

"To awaken the Prince of Dreams, there is to be a price. Are you willing to pay it?"

Kiri's henna skin paled, her bones trembling. She had made a promise to the eyes. She had made a promise and the weight of it suddenly fell to her very marrow.

"I am." she whispered, feeling sick and small.

"Let it be so." said Uduak. Beneath him opened a staircase, the water receding until they stood on dry ground.

Aysel stepped forward, pushing past Faolán. She halted a step away from Kiri, her eyes lit with fire.

"What price dost thou intend to reap, Uduak?" she asked, her wings rustling in agitation.

"Ah, Aysel, though you were a child, surely you have not grown so old that you do not remember? Take your court and return to the world above. The price will be paid and you will receive your aid."

"What of me?" cried Kiri, the weight of promises and fear becoming nigh unbearable.

"To awake the Prince of Dreams there must be a dreamer. You swore to pay the price and you are the strongest dreamer."

Out of the watery staircase shot a snake-like rope, coiling itself about the enchantress and dragging her into the dark. The water quickly swelled, the unseen door closing tight. Uduak sank back into the waves, his scales glowing until he was completely covered. Aysel, her stomach turning somersaults, felt her breath escape in a whoosh. She smiled, then, and retreated to her company, ordering their immediate return to the surface.

The Dragon King: Part Three

Faolán and his scouts made their way through one of the smaller tunnels on the western side of their bivouac. Within the tunnel they found a dozen pools of fresh water, unspoiled and cool. They filled jugs for the camp before retreating back to their tents, wary of unknown creatures that might be lurking in the dark.

They did not rest long, quickly returning to their task of exploration. They did so with little zeal, as they were exhausted from marching and longing for fresh air. As children of Naira, the Moon Goddess, they felt a growing uneasiness the further they were from the moonlight. Though they adored their queen, they questioned her judgment and, silently, pondered returning to the surface, with or without the prince of dreams.

As they explored, they came to an abandoned oasis, which had become overgrown with malum flowers and carrion trees. In the humidity, and frondescence, was a rather large pool of stagnant water shadowed by the skeletal remains of a dragon cousin, the drake. Smaller than a dragon’s, the skeleton seemed poised to strike at an enemy and the foliage around it appeared as though it had risen up to prevent it. It was a startling sight and the men stood in awe of the scene. As they stood, agog, Kiri crept into the passage. She drew near to Faolán, her teal eyes glowing. She did not touch him, her gaze bound to the view.

As if rising from a dream, Faolán felt her presence and he turned to look at the sorceress. She stood as still as a statue, at first, her face unusually pale. Half in fear, and half in wonder, he reached out to touch one tangled strand of beryl hair. She turned to look at him and his mouth went dry.

Slowly, she moved toward the remains, whispering. No one moved to stop her, watching in shock as the vegetation parted for her. The drake's bones began to tremble, as though a great weight was pressed upon it. The witch lifted her hands, almost in reverence, and her mumbling became chattering, growing louder and louder. It grew until her voice was as deep as the ocean and as brutal as the winter winds. The drake began to sway and the overgrown forests fell back, releasing it.

"Show me." she demanded, her hair rising as though in the grip of a building storm. She began to glow, her tattoos suddenly vibrant and her whole being vibrating under some unseen strain. An illusory storm burst inside the tunnel, bending the overgrowth to its will and building in pressure until it seemed that they would all be destroyed. Several guards fell into a swoon, collapsing like flowers in a hurricane.

"Kiri," cried Faolán, throwing himself against the swirling magic. "Cease! Thou wilt destroy us all!"

Without turning, she threw out a hand and he was ensnared by snake-like vines, twisting themselves into his clothing, almost to his skin.

Tangled, he watched in wonder as the drake's skeletal wings began to beat, lifting it up and revealing a hidden room. It hovered for a moment, blazing as brightly as a torch, waiting for some signal. Then, gently, the drake landed, settling like an over-sized dog before a fire, its long decayed snout pointing toward the door. Just as quickly as it had risen up, the witch storm surceased and the whole passageway fell into an unearthly silence.

The scouts watched, gaping at the scene in something resembling reverence and horror, as Kiri neared the wooden archway. The door opened slowly, an eerie light illuminating an ivy draped frame and a glimpse of glowing runes. She seemed entranced, her body moving almost mechanically, still pulsating with the effects of magic.

Faolán, still twisted up with vines, tried to reach his sword to hack his way out. The vines, however, suddenly offered no resistance and fell away. Sprinting toward Kiri, he tried to grab her and pull her away from the entrance. Too late, his fingers grazed her henna skin as the heavy oaken door slammed in his face. No matter how he beat against it, he could not enter and, when he pressed his ear to the timber, he heard nothing but his own heart pounding against his ribs.

Kiri glanced back at the door, Faolán's touch against her wrist fading and her heart pounding in her ears. She should be unsurprised, the unseen thread drawing her to the center of the hexagonal chamber. The voices of ghosts bubbled in her blood, warnings and secrets, hooking into her subconscious and dragging her to her knees. The walls were carved with shimmering crystal eyes, each shining brighter than the next and blinking out of time. They observed her, kneeling as though she were rooted to the floor.

"Why have you come, enchantress?" asked a soft voice, resonating long years and deep scars.

"I have come as a prisoner of the Faery Court." she replied. The weight of years settled upon her shoulders, like a heavy cloak, pressing her against the rough hewn floor.

"What do the Moon children desire to find within these caves?"

"We come seeking the Dragon King and the Prince of Dreams. The Queen of Faeries is under siege by the King of Goblins and she is in need of an ally. No ally is as powerful as a Dragon."

"The Dragons have long faded from this world," said the voice, all the eyes closing in unison, leaving the room in complete darkness. "You will find no allies here."

Struggling to her feet, Kiri took a step toward a large crystal, the color of a swan's beak, fighting down the overwhelming terror she felt as all the voices within her went silent.

"Please, she cried, her hands outstretched, imploring. "There are myths, stories passed between the goddesses as they bathe, that say that the Dragon King, Uduak, still lives. That he can be awakened by one, such as I, and that he will grant aid to one who is in desperate need."

The eyes flung open, the room suddenly bursting with a light brighter than the moon and the sun, focusing on her. She covered her eyes with her arm, crumpling to her knees in pain.

"What makes you believe that you are in desperate enough need for such as Uduak to help you?" boomed the voice, shaking the room.

"I have no proof of desperate need," she cried, tumbling over and attempting to shield her eyes. "I am only one, and small, but I feel the calling of my trees in my blood and I will beg on these knees before you. I long only to return to my grove and that the Goblin King shall not have the Faery Queen to wife."

The lights dimmed a moment and Kiri looked up, afraid and hopeful. The large crystal, the color of a swan's beak, blinked at her.

"Give us a promise, witch." said the voice, speaking in time with the blinking eyes.

"What would you have of me?" she asked, tense and weak.

"When the Dragon King asks for a price, give him whatever he may ask."

"I will do this." she replied, though she was afraid. What "price" might Uduak require?

Satisfied, the eyes closed, one by one, and another door was revealed in the stone wall. The voices returned, whispering the way to the King's chambers, and she felt it like a sizzle in her blood. At the same moment that the voices drifted into the background, the opposite door opened, allowing Faolán into the chamber. He said nothing, his weapon partly unsheathed, looking at her in open astonishment.

Inscribed upon her forehead was a small ruby eye.

The Dragon King: Part One

The faery knight stood guard at the mouth of the cavern. The entrance of the abandoned dragon city glowed, eerily, in the moon’s pale light, causing the young chevalier to nervously flutter his iridescent wings. As a man-at-arms in the court of Lua, it was not the moon that unnerved him. Rather it was the things that could lurk in the shadows, and escape the moon’s wandering gaze, that caused him disquiet.

It was folly to be here, he thought. The whole quest was lunacy. He would never express such doubts to the Queen, but her obsession with awaking the dragon king was bordering on insanity. He was not the only courtier whispering behind their wings about the queen’s odd behavior, either. The court had been buzzing with rumours, for at least a season, and the capture of the dryad witch had only increased them. Sighing, he leaned against the polished jet archway, his wings rustling, in a slightly irritated way, in the cool breeze. Who was he, after all, to question the actions of his queen?

Out of the darkness came a low, menacing, growl, snapping him out of his thoughts and to attention. Dropping down, he edged against the wall, slowly drawing his weapon. His wickedly curved scimitar slid slowly from the sheath, the sharpened edge faintly glistening. The growls grew louder, followed by the sound of teeth gnashing and the war cries of goblins. From the silver-leafed trees strode Emyr, the Goblin King, his obsidian bow drawn and arrow nocked. He was followed, closely, by a horde of goblin warriors, many of them astride the hairless wolves of the Cristal Mountains, carrying the meticulously honed bones of fallen enemies.

The goblin king stopped, raising a long fingered hand to halt the army. The moon hid behind dark gray clouds, as if she were frightened, blotting out the stars and casting the earth into shadows. Emyr’s long, colourless, hair seemed to glimmer in the sudden, and complete, darkness and his eyes gleamed like icy gold. He raised his bow, aiming into the lightless void of the cavern’s mouth. His keen sight fell on the frantically beating heart of his prey and he smiled, wickedly.

“The queen expects to awaken the dead and defeat me?” he hissed, his nocked arrow glittering green with poison. The faery chevalier said nothing, believing himself hidden from view. He held his weapon in front of him, as if it would shield him further from the horde. His wings spread out, fully unfurling, their colour shifting to the black of the cave’s outer walls. Thinking himself still concealed, the knight crept toward the inner corridor of the dragon city.

Again Emyr smiled, his jagged teeth capped with sharpened gemstones, and let the arrow fly. Moving too late to escape, the dart embedded itself in a muscle, betwixt the heart and shoulder, of the target.

He looked surprised for only a moment before he began to convulse from poison. He clawed at the arrow, choking and spewing pink flecked foam. A small trickle of blood dripped from his eyes, as though he were crying, and he collapsed in a twitching heap. Nonplussed, the goblin king strode forward, stepping over the fallen carcass, and entered the Caverns of Omra.

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

I sit, behind the counter at work,  morosely involved in a tepid novel that I really don't feel like reading. The tea is probably cold, I certainly am. I feel absolutely no motivation to do anything, which is bad when you are at work. The phone rings and I fight the urge to ignore it.

"The Wilde: Rare and Used Books, this is Abra, how may I help you today?" I say, as cheerily as I can, into the old-fashioned rotary phone.

"Yes, I'm looking for a book on mythology. Particularly mythology surrounding humanity's creation." The voice sounds vaguely familiar to me. It tickles at the back of my mind for a moment, like a feather against the base of my skull.

"We have several of those." I remark, flipping back a page in my novel and book-marking it. "Were you looking for one in particular?"

"Do you have anything related to Aristophanes's mythology of three genders?"

"Are you referring to a work by Plato?" I ask, the feather tickle sensation increases.

There is a silence on the other end of the phone and I hear a soft click. I pull the phone away from my ear and look at it quizzically. I put it back to my ear a moment, hear the dial tone and then hang it up. The tickling sensation turns into more than aggravation. Laying my book down, I go in search of Plato. I find him, nestled between Socrates and Hypatia of Alexandria, and before I can pick him up I hear the bell for the door.

"Hello," I say, rounding a corner and almost smacking into someone. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

I look up and into the lime colored eyes of Jae. He smiles, his cupid's bow lips seeming to shoot arrows into my heart and I immediately step back.

"Hello." He says, still smiling.

"It was you on the phone?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," he has the gall to look a little sheepish. "I wanted to make sure I had the right book store."

I feel awkward. I don't know what to do. I lace my fingers behind my back and look everywhere but at Jae. He lets me feel awkward, just smiling down at me. After a moment I pluck up my courage, finding it beneath my pancreas hiding, and just start talking.

"Would you like some Nana tea? I have some brewing." I gesture toward the counter and begin moving before he responds.

"I'd love some." he replies, falling in step beside me. I feel wracked with nerves. I step behind the counter and begin pouring the tea. Some of it splashes on my hand, burning it and I drop my cup. Quick as can be, he is behind the counter and pouring some ice water onto a paper towel, pressing it to my hand. He then cleans up the mess I made, leaving me in shock.

"Why are you always here when I need you?" I ask, watching him pick up bits of my broken cup. He doesn't answer at first, merely dumping the shards into the dust bin and wiping up more of the spilled tea. When he stands up, he looks me in the eye and just smiles.

"Why do you always run away from me?" he asks, re-wetting the paper towel for my hand.

"I don't know you that well. You could be a serial killer for all I know."

"Don't you think that I would've killed you by now if I were a serial killer?" he asks, laughing.

"I never said you were a good serial killer." I retort, following him as he goes back to the 'customer' side of the counter.

"You act as though I've never tried to let you get to know me. The complete opposite, m'lady. Every time I try to know you better you run. Why?" He turns toward me and I feel those beautiful eyes as though they were inside of my head.

"I'm afraid." I mumble, looking at my hand. It is only a little red now and barely stings.

"Why are you afraid?" he asks, taking my chin in his hand and lifting my face toward him. I don't resist and look at his ribbon of a mouth.

"Because... I don't know why. I'm just afraid. I'm afraid of your attraction to me. I'm afraid of myself. Afraid in general, I guess. What does it matter to you anyway?"

"You said it yourself, I'm attracted to you. I have some very strong feelings for you. Feelings that I don't fully understand, but are there nonetheless."

"I don't understand." I murmur, my chin still in his hand. My gaze drifts down so that I just stare at his throat. He lifts my chin a little more and my eyes sweep up toward his eyes.

"You don't have to understand it. I see something you don't see." He lets go of my chin and I hear the bell over the door again. I scurry off to greet the newest customer, pretending that I can just forget he's there, waiting. After I direct the customer toward the section they were looking for I return to the counter. I throw the soggy paper towel away and avoid his eyes.

I pick up the book I was reading and carry it back over to a randomly stocked shelf. I continue to avoid any direct eye contact and shuffle back toward the tea pot. He comes around the counter, again, and pours the tea for me. He then goes back to the proper side and looks at me, expectantly.

"What exactly is it that you want?" I ask, irritated that he can make me so flustered.

"Would you be willing to go out for dinner after you get off work?" He sips his tea so nonchalantly. How does he manage to seem so unruffled while I feel like a cat who has been rubbed the wrong direction?

"I don't know. I have plans." I lie. I look up and see something in his eyes before it is gone. He looks at his tea, drinks it down in one go and carefully sets the cup back on the counter. He begins to head toward the door and I come around the counter as if I am going to chase him down. He turns and looks at me, his head tilted slightly to one side.

"I'll come again, some other time." He says.

"When?"

"I always know when you need me, so I suppose the next time you are in need of a friend."

"Wouldn't giving me your number be much easier?" I ask, trying not to sound too eager. He turns and looks at me, his smile suddenly turned devilish.

"I don't have a phone." With that, he winks at me and walks out the door, leaving me with my mouth dropped open.

I go back to the counter and flop down onto my stool. I see what he did, lying in response to my lie. I silently kick myself and then get back to work. It won't do me any good to mope about. He'll either come back or he won't. And I suppose that is an answer in, and of, itself.

Fortunately for my sanity I don't have to wait too long for Jae to come back. He comes in on a Friday morning, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. I look up from my book and give him a questioning look.

"I thought you might like some coffee." he says, scooting a cup toward me. I must look surprised, because his smile widens. "Believe it or not, despite your efforts, I'm trying to court you and that includes bringing coffee to you."

"Why are you trying to court me?" I ask, picking up the cup of coffee and bringing it toward my nose. The smell of vanilla hazelnut makes me drool a little and I take a sip.

"Why do you question it?"

"I question everything." I reply, somewhat haughtily, placing my book on the counter.

"Have you ever seen yourself?" he asks, taking a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving my face.

"Of course I have!"

"I mean in person. Not in a mirror, not in a photograph."

"No, of course not. How would I be able to do that?"

"Exactly." he says, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Exactly what?" I ask, puzzled beyond all belief.

"You will never understand what it is I see in you because you have never seen yourself from the outside. If you did, you might recognize what it is in you that draws me to you."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just step over to a random book shelf and begin straightening it. I hear him set his coffee down and move toward me. He steps up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. My nerves begin to jump, my heart twirling inside my chest so fast that I fear it will burst. He is like a jolt of electricity, cycling through my blood stream, snapping my synapses.

He gently turns me toward him, his face mere inches from mine. I look up into his vibrantly green eyes and my throat tightens. I want to kiss him. I want to let him love me. I'm so tired of fighting a losing battle. I am wildly attracted to him. I have been since we met that first time at the bar. I want to see what it is he sees in me. I want to know him better than I do. I am shocked to discover that I don't just want to sleep with him, even though there is a very strong desire there as well.

"Tell me you want me to kiss you." he whispers, against my lips.

"What if I don't want you to?" I murmur, my eyes never leaving his.

He pulls back a bit, not in anger or hurt or even disappointment. In fact, he smiles at me again.

"Then I won't and I'll wait until you say 'yes.'"

"What does that mean?" I ask, confused and slightly surprised by this reaction. I had expected him to just kiss me anyway, with or without my permission.

"It means I'm willing to wait for you. It means I want you to say 'yes.' I want to know for certain, not just guess. I want you to be comfortable and actually interested in me."

"What if I was to just kiss you? Would you pull away?" I ask, closing a small amount of the distance between us.

"Would you like to find out?" he brings his lips closer to mine, but he continues to hold back. He is so infuriatingly close and, yet, so far.

I don't hesitate in that moment and I kiss his mouth. Something I've wanted to do since we met. He kisses me back, his arms wrapping around me so that I am securely pressed against him. As far as kisses go, this is by far the most amazing I've ever had. When he pulls away, I almost whimper.

"Kiss me," I say, my eyes locked on his. He smiles and obliges me.

After a moment, I pull away, remembering that I am, in fact, at work and my boss might frown on me making out with customers. He smiles at me, he is always smiling, it seems. I take another step back and begin organizing the shelf again. He goes back to the counter and sips at his coffee.

"Would you like to grab a bite to eat after you get off work?" he asks, taking another sip of his coffee.

I don't look at him, but my face is flushed at the thought of spending more time with him and my heart is beating like a high-powered drum. Still not able to look at him, I nod my head. The soles of his shoes scuff the floor as he comes back up behind me. He doesn't try to turn me around, simply holding me from behind. He wraps his arms around me and I feel so completely safe for a moment. He rests his chin on my shoulder for a moment and I turn my head slightly to look at him. He isn't smiling, though he doesn't look unhappy. He seems thoughtful.

Distantly, I hear the music we have playing over the store speakers. I smile at the very last line, the girl asking if his name rhymes with her own, and, for some reason, it makes me giddy. I look at him and wish. Wish for what, I don't know. I just wish. Looking at him, I think of having two faces. I search his to see if I recognize anything of our former incarnation. I don't know if it is my imagination that makes me believe that there is something that I recognize. Not in his face, but in him. Something I recognize and am drawn to.

"Why am I so drawn to you?" I murmur, glancing at his lips and then looking into his eyes. He looks at me, just looks, not speaking. He then looks at the book shelf and I follow his gaze. There are at least five different books he could be looking at and I don't know if he is even looking at the books or if he is just staring off into space.

"I can't speak for your attraction to me," he says, softly, still staring at the books on the shelf. "I can only speak for myself. And I am drawn to you because there is something in you that I recognize. You are someone that I want to be a part of, even if all you want from me is friendship. I want to be close to you, because there is something within you that pulls me in."

He looks back at me, his face mostly somber, though there is a tiny lift to the corner of his mouth. He seems so serious right then, as though he just gave me a promise. I search his face, again, my eyebrows furrowed and I must look just as serious as he does.

"Do you truly believe that I could be your other face? Or is that something you have said to many girls before?" I ask, even though I know that my phrasing is cruel. I bite my lip after I say it, as if I could take it back now. I see the sharp words embed themselves, like so many invisible knives, into his face. I see the moment that it registers in his heart because there is a subtle shift in his eyes and I regret opening my mouth. I start to apologize, but am interrupted by him speaking.

"I have never said that to anyone else. And, if we were to say goodbye today and never say hello again, I would not say it to anyone else, true or not."

He lifts his chin off of my shoulder and there is almost a tangible ache at the sudden weightlessness. As if some piece of myself just separated from me. He goes to grab his coffee and I watch him walk out the door, the chime sounding hollow in my ears. I feel like a bitch and an idiot.

I go over to the counter and find my cell in my purse. I punch in Noah's number, head to the door and flip the "Back in Ten" sign. I pat my pockets, as if I expect to find cigarettes, but quickly stop doing that because I gave up smoking. On the fourth ring I'm about to go and find a gas station, I'm that desperate for a smoke. So much for quitting my self-destructive habits. On the sixth ring I'm about to pitch the phone. On the eigth ring, he answers, sounding very tired.

"Hello?"

"Noah, I'm an idiot." I say, pacing a bit, probably looking like a complete crazy person. Which, I am, but that's beside the point.

"Tell me something I didn't already know." he says. I hear him yawn and I can picture him stretching. I look at my watch, 10:15. I'm supposed to be here until three, this is going to be a long day.

"Were you still asleep?"

"Yes."

"I would say I'm sorry, but you called me an idiot." I can't help but smile, considering how many times he has done the same thing to me.

"To be fair, you set me up for it. What did you do now?"

"I insulted Jae." I can practically hear him perk up through the phone at the name.

"Jae? Who is Jae? Please tell me you aren't starting up another self-destructive sexual binge again."

"I'm not! Well, I'm not trying to anyway. Jae is the really cute Korean that kissed me in the cafe. You remember, I asked him about a pizza and a fuck."

"And you insulted him? How and why and was it deserved?" Noah sounds more and more awake by the moment, I can hear the sounds of coffee percolating and fuzzy slippers shuffling.

"It wasn't deserved. It was by accident and I opened my mouth. Honestly, I have no idea where it came from."

"You've become jaded." He says that so matter-of-factly that I am speechless for a moment.

I glance at my watch again and wish I'd just closed for lunch. That would've been better. But who eats lunch at 10:something in the morning?

"Well, I think I'm going to be alone after work, do you want to go grab a bite to eat? I need to talk about this more, but I need to get back."

"Yeah, what time?"

"Meet me around 2:45? I am trading off with another girl at three, but she's always early."

We confirm our plans and I hang up, heading back into the store. Nothing to do now, but wait until three. There's nothing I can do about Jae right now.

Ocean Speaks Peace

The ocean always spoke to her in ways no human voice could. It spoke to the parts of her that descended from mermaids and myth. It spoke to the depths of her azure colored soul and the breadth of her white-capped spirits. With her toes dug into the sand, she drifted out to the place where only the ocean knew her name. It rocked her to sleep, it dressed her in green and silver, it loved her. It constantly ran to kiss her feet, her hands, her face; it wrapped her in its salty embrace and carried her down into water softer than satin.

In Defense of Short Hair

To the frat boy who seems to think that short hair automatically makes a woman ugly,

In case you haven't looked in the mirror recently, you aren't such a peach yourself.

I promised myself that I wouldn't stoop to your level, because that would be insulting to ME. And my mother used to say "If you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all." However, my mother also taught me to stand up for what I believe is right. So, instead of letting you continue, I'm going to stop you right there and I won't let you finish.

Boys (I wouldn't call you a man, because real MEN don't act the sexist pig) like to claim that sexism doesn't exist. And, if it does, it is most definitely MISANDRY, because Feminists are all man-hating bull dykes who make it impossible for a perfectly nice man to live with his simple pleasures. Feminists come in and ruin a perfectly good party or a perfectly good lay or a perfectly good "dumb blonde" joke because they're ugly and can't get a man.

The funny thing is that the term "feminist" is not limited to women of a homosexual nature. In fact, there are a lot of MEN (there's that word again and, no, it doesn't mean what YOU think it means) and women of varying sexual orientation, skin color and beauty make up the word. You think you can set limits, but in reality, it has to do with a collective conscience. All of us, who are living in the 21st century, realize that NONE of us are EQUAL until ALL of us are EQUAL. Meaning, that women should be able to *gasp* cut their hair, shave or not shave, dress how they want, etc. All things that men have been able to do.

And yes, Misandry does exist! It exists because BOYS believe that MEN can't express any feminine traits without being "gay," "pussy-whipped" or "weak." Misandry exists because BOYS don't know how to be MEN and they live like petulant assholes for the rest of their lives.

So, welcome to the 21st Century. Believe it or not Women can do any of the following:

* Vote
* Have Sex with WHOMEVER THEY PLEASE
* Dress how they want
* CUT THEIR HAIR
* Drive
* Have as many children as they want
* Go where they want
* Read
* Write
* Not shave their legs, privates or under-arms
* Own their own property
* Get a divorce from an asshole who thinks cutting their hair makes them ugly

Sincerely,
The Girl whose Husband helped her cut her hair short, because she wanted it that way, and who is still beautiful despite your stupidity.

The Release of Echo (Part 1)

Echo had been banished, cursed, for a very long time. So many centuries had passed that she had lost count. It was like being mute, but somehow worse. The only words she was able to speak were repeats. She could voice no independent thoughts or opinions. She was unable to speak at all, unless it was to parrot others. No one seemed to want to say anything interesting either. IT was always "hello," sometimes her own name and, more often than not, profanity.

Spiteful Hera. It really wasn't Echo's fault Zeus couldn't remain faithful. Why should she be punished when it was his idea she tell a story? How was she supposed to know what Zeus was really doing? It was supposed to be a lovely story and it was all spoiled by Zeus and Hera.

They had gotten their comeuppance though. All the gods had been forced into sleep by a lack of devotion. They had been beaten out by the latest religions; Christianity, Islam, Judaism. Monotheistic religion was the latest craze, like a poison. It had spread until all the gods were touched.

Echo, however, still had a place in the world, thanks to Hera's spite. Perhaps she should cut her some slack? What kind of existence was this, though? It was miserable like this. No one ever said what she wanted to say. It was lonely. It wasn't as if she could live among the regular people. Eventually they would catch on that she wasn't normal. They'd discover she was old, almost as old as the world.

"Stupid Zeus." she thought. He was handsome, well, had been handsome once. She had flirted with the idea of sleeping with him, once. However, she had played attendant to Hera enough times to have seen her temper unleashed. Look at Hercules, look at her! Maybe she should've seen this coming.

Tucking a narcissus into her hair, she sighed. She had found a small reflecting pool, some piece of Gaia she could call  home. However, the need for companionship, even if it was only to parrot, would drive her away. Her search for dank tunnels and small canyons seemed never-ending.

She didn't quite run to her latest haunting ground, but she didn't walk either. The thought of being discovered terrified her. How many times had she run from the puppets of Pan? How many times had she been almost killed by those who couldn't understand what she was? It was dangerous being a nymph in the modern age. It was dangerous being only an echo.

Lingering in the shadows of a tunnel, Echo marked the passing of Apollo's chariots. The chariots of Artemis were fast approaching and full dark would be soon. She envied the twins. At least they had a purpose, some reason to continue, and without fear. Hera hadn't tried to punish them and they were born of Zeus' infidelity. It made her angry to think of what she had been reduced to. She had been a story teller, a nymph with good standing. Stupid Hera.

Shaking her head, she pushed thought aside. It would only make her cry. There was no point in crying either.

As it grew darker, she heard voices approaching. Surely one of those voices wouldn't be able to pass without shouting. It was perfect, getting dark and abandoned. It would give them an eerie feeling and a rush. Then they would scurry off into the night, leaving her to the night animals.

"Hello!" called a timid voice. The sound reverberated in her chest before responding.

"Hello!" she repeated, timidly.

"Hello!" the voice called again, bolder now.

"Hello!" she echoed.

"Come on, let's go. Who wants to hear an echo?" said another voice.

"Hear an echo?" she repeated, already bored with these voices.

"Its fun." replied the first voice, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Its fun." she echoed, faintly.

"Whatever." said the second voice, flippantly.

"Whatever." she replied.

There was a silence settling into the tunnel so that she thought the voices had gone. She would wait a few moments longer before rushing back to her reflecting pool, back to her piece of Gaia. She had almost decided to leave when she heard the second voice.

"I want..." said the voice, speaking so softly Echo could barely hear.

"I want..." she whispered back.

"Want to be..." said the voice, growing stronger.

"Want to be..." Echo could feel something bubbling inside her as she repeated the words. She felt like she was having a heart attack. Everything was painfully alive suddenly. It was like hanging off a cliff, waiting for the landing.

"FREE!" screamed the voice, full of anguish and longing.

"Free!" the word ripped from her throat in a scream of triumph. "Free! Free! Free!" she kept repeating until her voice was a whisper.

The second voice, seemingly satisfied, had faded and disappeared in the darkness.

Running as fast as she could, she raced back to her place. Kneeling beside the water, her whole body vibrated like a tuning fork. She was shaking so hard she could barely make out her reflection.

A pressure was building up in her chest; like a fist pushing upward from her stomach. It had slowly gotten worse, becoming more and more crippling.

Without warning, the feelings hit the base of her throat, the intensity making her gag. Something sweet and metallic filled her mouth, crashing like waves into her gritted teeth. She opened her mouth, gagging and clutching her stomach. The pressure continued up her throat, burning one moment and then painfully cold the next.

It was unbearable and tears began filling her eyes. What was happening? She had never experienced anything like this in her long centuries. The only thing that had come close was when Hera had locked her voice away. Even that hadn't been this exquisitely, painfully, terrible. Yet, for all the pain, there was a joy, an ecstasy, building underneath it.

Her jaw ached from the pressure and it cracked painfully as something substantial filled her mouth. It cut off her air way, her fingers clawing at her throat, trying to force whatever it was out of her. Her vision blurred and black spots dotted everything. The pressure was slowly coming to an end; her energy rallying long enough to pull the item all the way out.

Exhausted, she fell over, her fingers gracing the water. With the item fully vacated she gasped for breath. The air had never tasted so sweet. She felt dizzy as she looked at the object she had purged.

It was small, smaller than it had felt in her throat. It was a small, gilded, birdcage with a tiny padlock. It was exquisite looking and she recognized the Greek letters for "Hera" on the lock. Her brain stumbled on Hera's name, trying to find an explanation and trying to tap down the hope building.

That's when she heard it, a voice emanating from the cage. It was melodious, singing and talking. It was a cacophony; all of her different thoughts, songs, stories and dreams going at once. Everything she had longed to say was spilling out of the cage.

The lock came undone and the door opened up, her voice flowing out. It was beautiful, standing three inches tall, golden and sparkling.

"Its time to speak, Echo." it said, before plunging into her throat and spreading out like honey. Her throat ached for only a moment before she fainted.

The sunlight dappled the ground around Echo. A leaf drifted down and landed on her face. When she opened her eyes, Apollo's chariot rested at its Zenith. She moved stiffly, wondering if everything had been a dream. She was afraid it was and couldn't bring herself to try her voice.

Maybe she would try tonight. If it had been a dream, she wouldn't be able to resist repeating. She would be compelled to echo, it was the most vicious part of the curse.

The Box

You are a simple box.

You are not ornamental or wrapped in glitzy papers. You are small, but you can hold many different things. And, for ornamentation, you have a small red ribbon.

You are simple, but you yearn to be called beautiful. You long to be opened up and loved for all that lies within. So you wait for that one person who will open you up and realize that you hold so much more than you appear to.

People come and go, they pass you by without a second glance and others stay for a short while. Some people open you up and laugh at what you have to offer. Others try to force more into you, things you don't want to hold; hate, fear, self-doubt. Some can accept parts of what you hold, but they can't accept you as a whole being.

You begin to doubt that you will ever be given to the right person. After all, you are just a simple box, simple to the point of plain and stupid. You tell yourself that you aren't worthy of being given to someone who matters. You begin to lose hope that that one person will come along to love you.

You become ashamed of what is within you. You try to hide the pieces of you that people can't seem to accept. You try to change who you are to fit in to this world, so that you will belong to someone. You try to change your shape, change your color, change your ribbons and your spaces. You try to be everything anyone could ever want, but they still pass you by.

You slowly shrink, though you should expand. No one wants a big box full of life, they want a tiny box with a diamond or some other expensive trinket. They don't want you because you are too bulky, too plain, too full of things they can't comprehend. You begin to believe that no one could ever really want YOU. Not the YOU that you are.

Then the day comes when someone tells you that you are beautiful just the way you are. They compliment your ribbons and they look at your insides without flinching. You think that you have finally found a home, a place to belong, to be accepted. For a little while you are happy, but it never lasts. There is always that one thing inside of you that you can never express. Never let anyone see, because you are ashamed of it, because you have been made to be ashamed of it.

And that someone leaves you, open and exposed, abandoned.

You begin to believe the lies that have been told to you. You are ugly, you are useless, you are too empty or too full, you are worthless. You have no value. And you try again to make yourself useful, beautiful, lovable.

If you are not unlovable, why does no one love you? If you are perfect just the way you are why can't anyone accept you? Why does everyone try to make you fit into the ideas they have for you? Why?

You continue to wait for the day you can say all the things you need and want to say; a day when no one walks away from you. And, though you begin to lose faith that that day will come, there is a tiny bubble of hope building inside of you. A tiny butterfly of hope, waiting for a Pandora to set you free.

Awaken September's Gods: XV

XV

Everything suddenly went sideways, staggering Lorcan. Everything tilted and sent some of the others sliding. Niamh stood as though she were unaffected, her eyes seeing something more than could be seen. He looked at her and was afraid.

“She woke him. She woke God.” She whispered, her eyes searching the ceiling for something only she could see.

A roar came rushing up from under them then, knocking everyone down. Lightning cascaded from the ceiling, a waterfall of energy and light igniting the Cells. Fire roared up from their feet, spreading quickly, but not touching them. It was followed by a rushing wind and the thunder grew louder.

The room continued to shift, sending them flying, their feet out from under them. Niamh took hold of Lorcan’s hand and hauled him up just before another clone fell past him.

“We have to get to Kean.” He cried.

“We have to leave here, Lorcan.” She whispered. “We have to flee. There isn’t much time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is no time! You must trust me! Kean will understand.”

Uncomprehending, Lorcan took hold of Niamh and held her close. The feel of her against him was enough to send him into frenzy. Quickly, they gathered those they had freed and ran. The Cells were collapsing, the water coming up and the wind taking on the howl of a woman possessed. The speed of the oncoming waves washed them further down the staircases, closer to the tunnels.

Then everything went still. The main entrance to the Caverns stood open to full daylight. A radiant sun poured warmth into the opening, a small pool of it growing golden in the darkness. The water and the wind vanished. The fire and the electricity retreated. A soft melody pulled at them, inviting them to taste the sweetness of the world outside.

Taking Lorcan’s hand, Niamh led them out into the sunshine.