I Wanted a Pet Bunny

 Sorry for the late post; it's the holidays. But here's a Christmas miracle, a blog post! If you want to support me, head to my Patreon and buy my poetry book.

    I was either 4 or 5 when I begged my Mom nonstop about getting a pet bunny. She told me there wasn't enough space in our apartment—it only had one bedroom that barely fit me and Mom. Yet I still wanted a pet. Bunnies are indoor pets that eat hay. Neither of us had a grass allergy, so I begged and begged, and finally, Mom took me to the pound. She didn't take me to get a bunny. The pound usually had cats and dogs. But she told me if I could find a bunny, I could have it. I was too young to realize what she was doing. But God decided to play a joke on both of us. There was a bunny. A blind, old, fat brown bunny. His health was bad. Looking back, the ethical thing would have been to euthanize the poor thing. I didn't see an unhealthy bunny; I saw my new pet. My Mom doesn't cuss, except when faced with something that messes with her life lessons. I threw a tantrum when she tried to talk me out of getting it. After hollering for 30 minutes, I don't believe it was that long; Mom got me the bunny.

    But she told me this: "Since you don't want to wait for a healthier bunny, this will be the only one you get. Got it?"

    I didn't realize the trap and agreed. My first and only bunny died four days later. I put him in a Payless shoe box. The lid didn't cover his body. His paper box coffin was heavy, and flies kept sneaking in. I threw him in the giant green trash, and my Mom grabbed my hand. She asked me if I wanted a new pet bunny.

    I told her: "No, you made me promise." END.

As You Wake

 Sorry for the late post. The fall quarter is almost over, and I've been busy and stressed. If you want more frequent updates, head over to my patreon. On to the post!

    Sweat builds upon your neck and chest. Your bedding cocoons you. There's no sleeping without a comforting weight on top. Your new tower fan blasts on the second-highest setting. It's quiet, unlike your old creaky fan dead in the apartment dumpster.

    A voice in the distance calls. Who? Your face flushes and the crown of your head is soaked. A name, whose? You shiver from the dampness as your sweat cools from the blowing cold air. "Mommy!" A child? There shouldn't be a kid at your place. Louder and louder, "Mommy, mommy, mommy!" "Help!"

    You're fighting with your bedding. "Mom-" Your eyes open. Your voice dies as it hits the wall. Summer heat never lets you sleep. END.

As the Day Starts

  The sun lazes over the eastern horizon. The gray morning breath leaves bits of dew atop the unmowed grass. A black-and-white stray cat climbs up a tree full of twittering birds. However, the stray loses its grip and falls off the trunk. The birds' perky chirping derides the stray's failed attempt to eat them. The stray cat slinks away to nap off its declawed pride. Peaceful mornings need at least one disappointment to start the day.

Home After the Apocalypse

    When Niamh was able to return home after the Strange Change, she noticed that the old family house was affected. The frost of early winter caused the surrounding area to feel desolate. Anyone who's survived the world ending has faced the ghosts occupying their homes. And now Niamh has to confront the wraith lingering within her childhood home. Once inside, Niamh noticed the woody smell of the house.

"Welcome back...Niamh."

The front door slams shut and locks. Trapped inside, the temperature grows so icy Niamh can see her breath.

"I'm home." END.

Happy end of summer, and into autumn we go. I'm almost finished with school! Fingers crossed, I'll get my BA in creative writing Spring 2025. If you want to support me, join my patreon and buy my poetry book.

A Person in White

 This summer has been too hot for comfort. If you're interested in supporting my writing, head over to patreon. You can also buy my poetry book and leave a review.

Every March 1st, a man in white appears before an old office building. After a few minutes, he enters the busy structure. The man joins the frenzy of co-workers rushing about. They're weighed down by long hours and little rest. Everyone moves about in a trance, barely missing each other. Despite the heat of working bodies in an increasingly warming place, not a drop of sweat dampened the man in white. Reaching a seemingly random row of cubicles, the man in white makes his way to a depersonalized desk. A discolored nametag that reads Matthew causes the ghost to disappear. END.

I'm not going to get into politics, but remember to vote. If you care about democracy, vote blue.

Noir Fiction

    I hope you've been wearing sunscreen this summer! If you can support me and what I do, join my patreon and purchase my poetry book. Doing so allows me to keep growing as a writer.

    The cramped apartment is dark, besides the living room and kitchen. The heavy rain taps along to the white noise of evening downtown traffic. You've been relaxing to reruns of NCIS episodes for about an hour while your half-eaten meatball sandwich dries up. You toss aside political ad after political ad, not bothering to read them. You already know who you will vote for anyway, and this is all junk. You're about to discard another envelope when you see that it's actually a personal one. Your name, Raymond Hall, is written in sleek cursive. Who even writes in cursive these days?

    Curious about what's inside, you open the envelope despite not knowing who it's from. Unfolding the paper, you see that it's typed. Only one line is typed: What happened to your cousin Oswald? Along with the letter is a picture of you and Oswald smiling at the camera. Freaking out, you drop everything in your hands to scramble for your cell.

    Unlocking it, you dive through your contacts to call your mom. She'll know if any family has sent you a letter. The cell rings once, and your mother's loving voice answers. She goes through the basic conversation beats most parents ask their kids who don't call enough. You do your best to answer calmly, but your voice sometimes wavers. You get an opportunity to ask your mother if there's any family gossip going around with your aunts and uncles. Your releases a somber sigh and tells you that Oswald's body has been found. You still and mumble something before hanging up on your mom. As you stare blankly ahead, you stumble back into a childhood memory.

***

    It was the year Oswald disappeared. The both of you were spending winter break at your grandparents' house. The nearby woods were barren of leaves and critters. The dark gray clouds were heavy as they darkened the afternoon sky. The air smelled damp and caused your hair to frizz. Although the sky threatened to drown them, you dared Oswald to traverse the woods alone. That arrogant twelve-year-old did it and didn't return after fifteen minutes. Then it started drizzling, and you waited for him to get back. The rain picked up, and what was a drizzle transformed into a storm.

    You feared getting sick and waited for Oswald to come back inside the house. An hour passed, and your grandpa called the police to investigate. The cops searched the woods for five hours, but Oswald was never discovered. When questioned later, you reiterated that Oswald should have returned before it started raining. You didn't enter the woods; no one else was around the house.

At least that's how you told it to the adults.

***

    Snapping out of it, you pick up the photo that your grandma took and reexamine it. The thundering rain picks up as you flip the photograph. It's Oswald's handwriting on the back. He dated the picture and wrote yours, his name, and the place. You knew that Oswald would get lost in the woods without your help. He had been ridiculing you because of your lisp, and you wanted revenge. You spent days attacking his shallow pride. He was supposed to bitch-out of entering the woods.

    What happened to your cousin Oswald?

    Someone knows there's more to Oswald's disappearance and death than what you've told. Their threat is obvious, and you need to discover who it is. After all, two people can only keep a secret if one of them is dead, and you have a lot to live for. END.

Outer Space Call

 Hope you're having a good summer! If you'd like to support me and my writing, go to patreon or purchase my poetry book.

Phone Call

    It's 2:30 AM, and Andy is on his phone. While mindlessly scrolling, a restricted number calls. Feeling curious, he decides to answer. But the voices that came through weren't human. Instead, Andy hears words inside white magnetic noise. After a minute of foreign sound filling his mind, the call ends. Shaken awake, he checks his phone in search of answers. But his call history doesn't show any sign of the restricted number. Believing it was a vivid dream, he puts his phone away and falls asleep. Shivering awake, Andy finds himself in the middle of an isolated field. Alone. END.

A Pink Donut Box

 Here's May's blog post! Be sure to support me on patreon to get more frequent posts from me and to support my writing. You can also purchase my poetry book.

    Sophia walks into the kitchen and notices a pink donut box. She doesn't remember her roommate mentioning buying donuts. But, since she's hungry anyway, she might as well take a donut for herself. Unmarked snacks are open to munch on. As she approaches the counter, Sophia notices the grease stains are darker than usual. Maybe the donuts were a day old, and she hadn't seen them before. The sugary aroma of the donuts is strong. Weirder still, the tape used to close the box is unbroken. Sophia places her hand on top of the donut box. SNAP! She lifts the lid. END.

Snow in the City of Yarrows

 It's time for another blog update. If you would like to help support me, join my patreon. You can also buy my poetry book.

Once upon a time, a girl teeters on the edge of the ancient clock tower. At the eleventh hour of the night, she should be asleep. Lost in a land of dreams guided by the summer’s night heat. But, instead, in her hands is her heart remade into a mirror. Glaring at her reflection, she squeezes the corners of the glass. A web of cracks fragments her heart. But before it shatters into a billion pieces, she lays a curse upon it. Time stills.

“May the shards of this mirror infest the victim with an unmovable frost. Let them not know mercy, warmth, or beauty just like I was forced to,” the billions of shards of her heart get carried through the city. The looming clock hands move again as time resumes.

It was not long ago when that lonely girl didn’t have a heart of glass. When her eyes weren’t hateful, and her lips a scowl. She was innocent of the curse she dared to lay. A snowflake unknowingly the herald of a blizzard.

At the blossoming of summer, the City of Yarrows greets the Festival of Fools with humor and an unending sprinkle of rainbow confetti. Colette gazes out her attic window, wistfully wishing to join the celebration. The clock tower is an ominous shadow that stares at her. But she’s unaware of its singular voyeuristic gaze. But she’s to remain in her dry room brimming with stories, longing to participate in the festivities. Always desiring more than the walls that surround her. Colette’s morning breakfast of jasmine tea, poached eggs, and wheat toast alarms her stomach of her hunger. Extracting herself from the window, Colette sits down at her desk and savors her breakfast. Sasha is only able to speak to Colette when she brings Colette her meals. These moments of direct human contact are something that Colette cherishes immensely. It’s one of the few selfish joys she’s allowed to have.

As Colette finishes her jasmine tea, three gentle knocks echo against the oak walls. Then, gathering her dishes on a silver tray, Colette goes to the door and touches the chilly space where the doorknob once was. A reminder of Lord Leslie’s punishment for her disobedience.

“Miss Colette, are you finished with your breakfast?” Sasha whispers.

“I am; how are the festival preparations going?”

“They’re going well; I’ll take the tray now.”

“Oh, okay,” Colette steps back as the door swings open.

A tall and boney woman with ashen hair and skin holds out her hands. Her pale lips downturn as she takes in Colette’s appearance. Despite Colette having one window, her eyes aren’t clouded by envy for the outside. Lord Leslie will be displeased.

Sasha snatches the tray, “Don’t forget to read today’s stories before nightfall. I’ll be back to bring you lunch.”

“Of,” the door slams close, “course.”

Leaving the door behind, Colette picks up her most recent book from the coffee table. The stories from this book touch the fleeting warmth in her heart. Colette rubs her hand against her chest, attempting to remove the chill. Then, sitting down in her dark leather reading chair, she cracks it open to her bookmarked story.

The Bitter Fruit Tree

Years ago, a young maiden, Lisa, worked as a maid for a great General. His bravery in battle, wealth, and handsome face made him popular among the local populace. But Lisa cared for none of it, as she loved his kindness and courage. So, she devoted herself to him and helped to ensure his daily life flowed smoothly. And he thanked her with a grateful smile. It wasn’t long before rumors of marriage spread around, with Lisa as the most likely candidate for his wife.

She had been loyal to him and cared for his needs like a loving housewife should. His parents expected the marriage, along with neighbors and friends. Lisa, thoughts her feelings were clear. But the days became weeks, and week to months, and a year had passed without the tolling of wedding bells. Everyone grew nervous, but Lisa remained determined. The General would propose to her soon. But that day hadn’t come, for the General brought home another woman, Alicia.

Alicia was a beauty with silky red hair, pale eyes, and translucent white skin. There wasn’t a freckle in sight. She spoke little and ate even less, maintaining a graceful and thin figure. Her delicate features made Lisa nervous. The General had always felt compelled to protect fragile things, and Alicia seemed made of glass. But Lise refused to be discouraged by doubt. Alicia is but an unfortunate woman found by the General and protected by pity. Jealously hasn’t a place in her heart, but the seed was already planted whether Lisa desired to acknowledge it.

Despite the unease Lisa felt, she remained kind to Alicia. Introducing the other woman to other members of the community. On one of their outings, Lisa discovered that Alicia caught the eye of the third prince. Prince Leroy was a beautiful man that many nobles gossiped about becoming the next King. He was the favored heir, and his mother, the Queen, lobbied to make him Crown Prince. He was the only man the General was seconded to.

Observing this as a sign from God, Lisa assisted in introducing Alicia to Prince Leroy. Over time, Prince Leroy and Alicia fell in love even when the General’s attempted to separate the two. And Lisa forgot her own jealousy and helped Alicia be with Prince Leroy. By the following spring, Alicia announced that she planned to become Prince Leroy’s mistress. Lisa was the first to congratulate Alicia. Alicia levied praise upon her for friendship and sisterhood. But the General only stewed in his wrath. Finally, the two women gathered Alicia’s things, and Alicia took a carriage to be united with her prince.

When Alicia’s carriage was but a dot in the distance, the General confronted Lisa. He raved unjust criticisms at Lisa and grew physical in his anger. It was then that Lisa’s blood-warming scream tempered the General’s fury. She collapsed to the dusky ground clutching her stomach. Blood streamed from her wound. The silver glare of the General’s dagger blinded her. The man she loved had stabbed her for a woman that hadn’t returned his affections. He hadn’t yelled for assistance or apologized for stabbing her. Instead, he planned to abandon Lisa and revolt against the imperial family, all for Alicia’s hand. As Lisa withered from the mortal coil, she cursed him to fail his vow of claiming Alicia for himself. Lisa never knew whether her curse held true, for when she died, her body transformed into a tree that bore bitter fruit. The End.

Colette jerks her book close onto her finger. The stinging pain causes her to reopen her storybook and blow on her hand. The self-inflicted injury dulls with each cooling blow. For a nameless man, the General is someone worth cursing. Lisa’s devotion was wasted, and Colette felt the woman was idiotic to be blinded by love. Lord Leslie’s guidance ensures that she’ll never end up like Lisa. Bitter because she failed to recognize she was being used by the man she trusted.

Readjusting in her seat, Colette turns the page to her next required reading. This one is shorter than the first, and she sighs in relief. The first story entranced her to the point of hunger. Colette’s fingers dance upon her belly to hush it as it rumbles quietly. But instead, she refocuses on the short tale.

Pork Stew

It was a year of famine, and a little girl, June, stood hungry in her family’s kitchen. The iron cauldron boiled above the fireplace and smelled of herbs gathered from the forest. Her parents swore pork would be added to the stew, but their last pig was slaughtered three weeks ago. She pondered where the pork would come from when a skull-breaking pain caused her to blackout. It was June’s mother who knocked her out. Her father was the one to hack June up. The husband and wife had a hearty pork stew for a week. The End.

Colette recoils from the story and wonders if the previous pig was a sibling of June’s. Someone June’s innocent mind could no longer recall. Then again, she can only remember Lord Lesile. Her parents but a blur. An unexpected growl disturbs Colette’s mind-numbing thoughts as her hunger demands her attention. With food at the forefront of her mind, Colette prays that Yarrows will never suffer a famine as she doesn’t want to become a cannibal.

“Miss Colette, it’s time for lunch,” Sasha stands between Colette and the outside.

Colette rises upon weakened knees, “Thank you, Sasha.”

Colette walks up to Sasha to take the tray of food. Atop the silver platter is a steaming bowl of pork stew.

“I have no taste for pork. So please, prepare something else, Sasha.”

“Lord Leslie wants to remind you that your parents abandoned you to his care.”

“What does that have to do with today’s meal?”

“An assurance that the lesson is engrained with you. Be sure to devour it all,” Sasha forces Colette to accept her lunch and shuts the door.

Colette eats, standing up, not gazing at the meat. Her mind flees from her body as it robotically spoons another mouthful of stew. It’s only when metal chimes against the bottom of the porcelain bowl does Colette stop eating. A large icy hand grips her shoulder.

“Good, you ate it all,” Lord Leslie’s low voice brushes her ear.

His cool word shocks Colette’s mind back to her body. The silver spoon clatters against the bowl’s rim.

His harsh stare keeps Colette from turning around, “Is there anything I can do for you, my lord?”

“Read the last story,” a rush of cold air proceeds the quiet hush of the door.

Following the order she’s been given, Colette returns to her reading chair to resume where she left off in the storybook.

Mirror, Mirror

Melpomene knows nothing of the outside world except the unreachable sounds through the high windows carved from the stone walls. Everything within the frosty cage is frozen. Her only friend is her reflection, which stares back at her from the full-length mirror. At the trick of the light, her doppelganger smiles while she frowns. Or stands closer to the mirror’s edge than Melpomene thought possible without her just as close. She didn’t know that a person’s reflection shouldn’t move independently. She hadn’t thought it strange, but one day the sound of festivities caused too great of an ache inside her heart. It is on this day that Melpomene’s reflection decides to speak.

“It’s painful, isn’t it? To be trapped here while everyone else cherishes the outside.”

“What, how, when have you been able to?”

A biting chuckle answers, “You can speak, and so can I! Although, it took me some time to figure that trick out.”

“Is it normal for mirrors to do what you do?”

“No, I’m special because of you!”

“How can I be special?”

“Why else would you be locked away?”

“Because...”

“Because there’s something about you that’s worth fearing.”

“I haven’t done anything, though.”

“Maybe nothing you can recollect, but you’ve created me out of loneliness.”

“You’re nothing more than a figment of my unstable mind.”

The scathing giggle returns, “Those ingrates out there would have long since killed themselves from the isolation. You haven’t, nor have you starved from lack of nutrients. In fact, dehydration should have killed you within the first three days after the water ran out. Yet you appear as any healthy young woman strolling atop the cobblestones.”

“How do you know all this if you’re as caged as I?”

“Now, you’re asking the correct question,” The doppelganger leans so close its lips glaze the glass, “I’ve found a way to escape.”

Melpomene’s vision blurs, “How?”

“Sacrifice”

“...sacrifice what?”

“The one that’s closest to you.”

“But I’m alone.”

“You have me remember. I suspect you’re locked away because you must lose someone close to gain what your heart desires most.”

“Is that why time stagnates inside these stonewalls?”

“Most likely.”

“I don’t wish to lose you.”

A passing solemn smile, “To be free, you must. To take revenge, you will.”

“Everyone who forsook me to this wretched place?”

“The vessels to your eventual escape.”

“What must be done?”

“On a day when the wind sweeps the dust from the floor, smash this mirror to bits. Grind every last shard into dust. If you bleed upon the glass, it’ll strengthen the curse even better. As the glass tornadoes around you lay your will upon it. The wind will carry the shards out the windows.”

“And implant themselves inside the ingrates outside.”

“Precisely, you’ll invest them with an identical desolate feeling until,”

“One grows cold enough to become my ideal vessel to body swap with. Deserting them here while I leave a blizzard in my wake.”

“The wind should pick up soon.”

Melpomene flattens her hand against the mirror. Her doppelganger hesitates but reflects Melpomene’s action.

“You’ll see me once you’ve escaped.”

“You’ll be like every other reflection.”

“That’s the price.”

The hot autumn air thrashes against icy stones as Melpomene shatters her mirror. Blood, tears, and striking wails assist in grinding the shards to dust. The heated wind tornadoes around her as she lays her curse in a shrieking voice. And for a brief moment, the storm stills. Then floods out the unreachable windows carrying along the specks of glass. The shards became a parasite to their new host, either a person or a beast. Weeks pass as Melpomene waits in isolation. Despite being the hottest time of the year, the village outside grows colder. The majority of the citizens are distant and cruel. And on an unnaturally chilly day, Melpomene feels a tug on her body. Guided by the pulling force, space warps around her, and Melpomene discovers herself outside the stonewalls. And as she promised herself, Melpomene brings forth a storm of ice and snow. The End.

A bouquet of sounds from the outside dance across Colette’s window. Dumping her storybook on the table, she goes to the window. The early evening mocks her for the life she’s missed out on. Of all the stories Lord Leslie has her read, Mirror, Mirror stabs at a familiar memory. And in her heart, envy blossoms into a flower of destructive loneliness. The air shifts, and a light thump weights down on the ground. Turning around, Colette notices the door is cracked open, and a small mirror partnered with a letter keeps it from closing.

Cautiously approaching the door, Colette picks up the letter. It’s written in Lord Leslie’s elegant hand. The only important words are, “The clock tower is downwind.” Compelling the door to open further, Colette gathers the mirror and makes her way to the clock tower. This summer night will bring snow. END.

The Court of Blossoming Spring

    Here's another piece I wrote for a creative writing class in 2023. If you want to read my written works more frequently, check out my Patreon. You can also buy my poetry book.

The last bite of winter whimpers off in the night as the Horn of Spring announces the succeeding fairy court, the Court of Blossoming Spring, into session. The frost of the Court of Gentle Snow melts as the Elfin King Ambrose takes his place on the throne. An ancient tree was transformed through magic to become the seat of the four seasonal fairy Kings and Queens. And with winter’s end and spring’s beginning, the icicles that once covered the throne melt into the water that sprouts the virgin greenery of spring. With the vibrancy of a new court awakening to greet their King, Ambrose’s rich voice calls their attention.

           “It is good to see you all have risen from your hibernation. And while we will be getting to the festivities soon, I have an important announcement.” Ambrose looks around his court until he spots someone, “I’ll be taking an official Consort this spring season.”

           The Court of Blossoming erupts in a frenzy of complicated emotions. Despite being the King of their court for four short human generations, Ambrose never seems smitten with anyone. At least not to the point of marriage. Although those who pay attention think of a nymph, Ambrose has known since he was a prince. Typically, a ruler of a fairy court is already married or engaged. As it is through a union that allows for better allyship among a ruler’s seasonal court. But that wasn’t on Ambrose’s mind. All his violet eyes can do is stare into a distant pair of amber eyes. However, the owner of the amber eyes refuses to let Ambrose see within the soul behind them. He relents in his undivided attention to the familiar gaze and continues with his announcement.

           “On the third day of spring, the Horn of Oshun will be blown by me. And all available court members will participate for the chance to become Consort. The participants will be challenged to go through the Sweet Nightshade Labyrinth,” says Ambrose.

           Again the court bustles but quickly quiets down as Ambrose says, “Whoever completes the labyrinth first will be wedded to me upon completion. Now, with that said, the court may move on to festivities.”

           With the seriousness of the evening over, the fairy folk is a buzz with gossip and liquor. But the sweet-tasting question spilling from everyone’s red wine lips is, who is Elfin King Ambrose hoping to be Consort. It is the celestial nymph Aphrodite, clear-eyed and determined to seek answers from King Ambrose. Aphrodite rushes through the formal pleasantries and confronts Ambrose.

           “Will the race through the Sweet Nightshade Labyrinth be fair?” says Aphrodite.

           Ambrose’s lip quirks, “No more than three participants should die.”

           Aphrodite’s amber eyes narrow, “That wasn’t a direct answer, elf.”

           Ambrose smirks, “Everyone who survives their run through the labyrinth will find it fair. Those who die only have themselves to blame.”

           Lifting his large hand, he gently moves the large box braids from the side of Aphrodite’s face. His dark olive hand then caresses Aphrodite’s round dark brown cheek lovingly. Aphrodite’s cold amber eyes warm under Ambrose’s attention; however, the moment between them lasts like a flash of lightning. The fairy folk around them is starting to pay attention to what they’re talking about. Ambrose slowly removes his hand from her cheek, not wanting to be accused of bias. And Aphrodite misses the warmth of his familiar hand. In a low voice, he wishes Aphrodite luck, and she resists having his wish grace her lips. Aphrodite thanks him and turns away to rejoin the other celestial nymphs. A hobgoblin sniffs out the last of winter’s mulled wine and passes around goblets so everyone can taste the warmed liquor. The celebration of spring’s rule is filled with jokes about King Ambrose’s final days as a bachelor. Stolen kisses and hidden enclaves for more intimate caresses are fueled by spice wine courage. Any foolishness Aphrodite could get up to is forgotten as she chooses to return to the night sky after her third cup of wine.

           The following morning is filled with hangover cures as many fairy folks overindulged in alcohol. And those who hadn’t arisen from slumber yesterday were caught up with the recent events. With only a day left until the competition for Consort, the court is overwhelmed with chatter. Nothing was able to get done, and King Ambrose didn’t even try to get his court to focus. Finally, the last gasp of ice and snow melts into fresh water, and winter is but a memory. As promised, Elfin King Ambrose blows the Horn of Oshun. The goddess Oshun had a dwarf craft it, and she enchanted the horn as a gift to a lonely giant King so he may find love. Everyone not partnered this spring season feels compelled to meet the one who’s blown the legendary horn.

           Aphrodite, feeling the pull of the Horn of Oshun, falls from the sky like a shooting star and lands among the other participants. With all the competitors before him, Elfin King Ambrose gracefully leads the way to the entrance of the Sweet Nightshade Labyrinth. The dark berried aroma curls around the nose of the crowd. The labyrinth’s seductive fragrance calls.

           Ambrose’s voice breaks through, “The dangers that lay within the labyrinth are a part of its natural charm. But be warned that your obstacles will threaten your life if you are not careful. Whisperers will always inform me where you are inside the maze and ensure you’re not cheating. A seeker will be dispatched to punish you if you’re found cheating. The chance to become Consort of one of the seasonal rulers is sacred. Dare not sully our tradition because of your shortcomings.”

           Taking the Horn of Oshun to his lips again, King Ambrose blows into it, signally the beginning of the race. All the participants rush through the entrance. The dark berry perfume of the labyrinth embraces the competitors into its serpentine depths. When Aphrodite crosses the starting line, she finds herself alone. The labyrinth likely separated all the contestants so they could figure their way out alone. Straying away from the walls crawling with nightshade, Aphrodite makes her way forward until she reaches a fork in the maze. Seeing this as an opportunity to test the labyrinth’s wall, Aphrodite leaps into the air. A rush of wind sprites twirls around her. As she rises, the walls scramble higher than her to block her view. Ensuring that no one can peer ahead and solve the maze. Aphrodite smiles and descends to the ground. On her way down, Aphrodite reaches out and grabs hold of a wind sprite. With her feet touching the ground again, the labyrinth walls return to their standard height. Aphrodite uses nightly shadows to create a spacious birdcage around the wind sprite.

           “Why, hello there, little friend,” Aphrodite makes sure she has the wind sprite’s full attention, “I would like for you to lead me through the labyrinth. You’re much better at following the earthly winds than I am. If you do so, I will feed you fresh honey and ripe apple slices after I release you.”

           The wind sprite grins and shows off its needle-like teeth, “And what would happen if I lead you to your death, nymph?”

           Aphrodite smiles sickeningly sweet as she pinches the wind sprite’s fragile insect wings between her thumb and pointer finger. Then, she tugs its wings softly and says, “A wind sprite doesn’t live long if stuck on the ground.”

           The sprite gets comfortable in its cage and tells Aphrodite to take the left path. Aphrodite releases the sprite’s wings and cradles the birdcage to her bosom as she goes left. As the duo makes quick progress through the maze, Aphrodite comes upon her first challenge, a riddle in front of a hedge blocking her path. The violet flowers of nightshade form King Ambrose’s sigil.

           Aphrodite reads the riddle aloud, “What runs but never walks. Murmurs but never talks. Has a bed but never sleeps. And has a mouth but never eats?”

           Before she can puzzle over the riddle, a tiny voice catches her elfish ears. Turning her face towards the voice, she spots within a nightshade flower, a flower pixie. It must be the Whisperer, for the pixie hides inside the violet bud as soon as she catches its eye. Since the Whisperer is docile, Aphrodite focuses on the riddle. She repeats different parts of it, hoping for an epiphany. With no epiphany coming to her, Aphrodite tries to solve the riddle another way. Looking for a clue, she gazes around her surroundings when her ears pick up another sound. It’s the sound of running water coming from the irrigation system. Surveying the water closer, Aphrodite realizes it looks like a little river.

           “The river runs, it murmurs, has a bed, and a mouth!” Aphrodite says.

           The hedge accepts her answer, and the sigil glows to create an archway for Aphrodite. However, the barrier becomes an unmoving obstacle once she passes through it. With the first and easiest trial over, the wind sprite points out the next direction. So Aphrodite and the wind sprite continue down the new pathway. However, it is only a short time before the sprite grows bored of pointing Aphrodite in the right direction.

           Seeing that it’ll be some time before the next challenge, the wind sprite digs for information, “So, Aphrodite, do you want to marry Elfin King Ambrose?”

           Aphrodite rolls her eyes, “Even the Horn of Oshun could not compel me to join this race if I didn’t want to.”

           Unsatisfied, the wind sprite probes more, “If you want to be here, then you have some sort of relationship with King Ambrose?”

           Aphrodite’s eyes age with a distant fire, “During the Requiem of the Seasonal Princes, I was beside Prince Ambrose. His hair was shorter then, less easy for his brother to grab.”

            The wind sprite’s eyes widen in shock. The Requiem of the Seasonal Princes was a bloody war. Any fairy knight that survived possesses a devastating amount of magical power. And for Aphrodite to be on King Ambrose’s side during the warfare, she isn’t someone an opponent fights recklessly. The sprite’s captor is far more fascinating than they initially thought. And if she was intimate with King Ambrose before he wore the crown, their union would withstand even the deadliest of iron swords.

            As for Aphrodite, the memory of that time sings an old song of death. The stench of burning snow and decaying flower petals mix inside Aphrodite’s nose and cause her to stall her progress. Her thick box braids curtain her face as her amber eyes ignite with an old fire of that time. Her fingers twitch, wishing for her sword. It has been nearly a hundred years since her blade last kissed flesh. That was the last time she and Ambrose danced together across the battlefield at that time. They were an inseparable force of crimson-drench lovers, and the six other princes were reduced to shadows and plant fertilizer. But the weight of the war caused Ambrose and Aphrodite to temporarily separate. And, of course, her heart began to yearn as the burning snow melted to water, nurturing hardy roots of love. A love that blooms passionate red petals.

            The rustling of the leaves is what snaps Aphrodite out of her memories. Breathing out a long sigh, Aphrodite instructs the wind sprite to lead them toward the exit. As they go forth on their journey, screams and hisses from the other participants echo through the pathways. Whether the other contestants are at their subsequent trial or have been captured by a Seeker, their wails never cease. Aphrodite and the wind sprite ignore them as there’s nothing they can do to interfere. After making it past another bend in the maze, Aphrodite catches a musky cologne in her nose.

            From behind, a Whisperer says, “The second challenge has begun.”

            Following the alluring fragrance, a teasing masculine voice calls out, “I’ve been waiting for you, my star. Any longer, and I would have had to find you myself.”

            Her feet guide her towards the voice owner, but Aphrodite barely resists his call to stand before him. His voice hooks into the top layer of skin and tries to reel her in closer. Her body flushes with desire, and her resistance loosens despite digging her toes into the maze’s floor. But only the threat of imminent harm can stop her from failing before she can even start the following challenge. Thinking quickly, Aphrodite decides that only the threat of deadly nightshade can keep her from falling into the trap. Then, getting dangerously close to the labyrinth’s walls, Aphrodite sneaks around the hedge, separating her from the one serenading to her heart. Shyly peering around the flowery wall, Aphrodite spots an incubus relaxing inside a delicately carved green marble garden pavilion.

            With a handsome smile, the incubus calls out, “My star, all you need to do to beat this challenge is be seen by me. Come on now; I can feel my foot falling asleep.”

            “If that’s all, we should trust the incubus and move on,” says the wind sprite.

            Aphrodite scoffs, “The incubus is lying.”

            “How do you know?”

            “If the easiest challenge was the riddle, why would the following challenge be just as easy, like being seen by an incubus. That can’t be the correct answer. Unless I’m supposed to be seduced by him? And in a competition to become the Elfin King’s Consort, that wouldn’t make sense.”

            “But…but how is he lying?”

            Aphrodite wrinkles her nose, “He must have stolen a human tongue so he can tell lies.”

            The wind sprite squeaks in surprise. Tongue stealing is one of the few ways nonhumans can do more than deceive. But, unfortunately, it’s nasty business, and humans aren’t particularly willing to depart from the spongey muscle.

            “Then what are you going to do, nymph?”

            Observing the incubus, she notices that he hasn’t moved around much, “I think I’ll have to get him out of the pavilion.”

            “That should be easy for you; after all, you’re a fairy knight.”

            Her eyebrow quirks up. She didn’t think the wind sprite would figure out her role during the Requimum of the Seasonal Princes. Wind sprites tend to be a bunch of snippy airheads. She guesses this one has more sense.

            “I’m afraid I can’t attack the incubus.”

            “Why not?”

            “My internal rules forbid me from dismembering nonaggressive fairies. And, since the incubus isn’t hostile, I can’t cause him harm.”

            “So, what are you going to do?”

            Seeing that the shadows grow longer as the sun descends, an idea comes to mind, “I’m a celestial nymph. The effects of the heavens on the earth are within my domain of power. And I am quite skilled at influencing shadows.”

            Manipulating the sunset shadows, Aphrodite creates a shadow double. She puppets the shadow doppelganger to catch the attention of the incubus by rustling the nightshade leaves. The shadow dances around the corner of the incubus’ eye enough times that he finally vacates the pavilion. The teasing giggles draw the incubus farther away and out of sight. Then, taking the small window of opportunity, Aphrodite and the wind sprite enter the pavilion themselves.

            In a tiny voice, the wind sprite asks, “So, what are we looking for?”

            “Remember the flower sigil upon the labyrinth’s wall during the first challenge?”

            “I do.”

            “That’s what we’re looking for now,” Aphrodite carefully lifts a decorative vase.

            “Check the seating; the sigil could be there!”

            “Are you even looking?”

            “No, you just asked me to point you in the right direction. Not to help you solve your problem, blooded nymph.”

            A cruel smile graces Aphrodite’s lips, “Praise Oshun, for I still have use for a wind sprite that flies.”

            As she looks around the pavilion, Aphrodite’s gaze sweeps across the marble floor, carved into is the Elfin King Ambrose’s sigil. With a tiny sound of triumph, she stands atop the sigil. The transportation magic circle activates and softly glows as it readies to teleport Aphrodite and the wind sprite to the next section of the labyrinth.

            A cry of frustration reverberates through the maze pathways as the incubus realizes he’s been tricked. Aphrodite’s shadow doppelganger must have dispersed into nothingness when the incubus caught it. Or the light of the teleportation circle signaled to him. The air shivers as the incubus’ wings slice through the air as he flies back to the pavilion. He was closer than she thought.

            The incubus’ seductive voice kisses up Aphrodite’s neck to her ear, “You’ve been a very naughty star; I’ll have to teach you better through a fun little game.”

            “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!” says the wind sprite.

            Aphrodite only holds the wind sprite’s cage closer as the magic circle barely erects a barrier wall to keep the incubus from interfering with those within it. Finally, the incubus appears before them in a passionate fury and steps into the pavilion. The glow of the magic circle intensifies as it readies to take Aphrodite and the wind sprite to the next section of the labyrinth.

            The incubus scoffs, “Congratulations, my star, for completing the second challenge. I’d say I had fun, but you didn’t even give me a taste.”

            “I would say you were a challenge, but I didn’t get a taste,” and with that, Aphrodite and the wind sprite transport to the final challenge area.

            At the end of the Sweet Nightshade Labyrinth, Aphrodite and the wind sprite find the area eerily quiet after the moans of anguish from the previous section. Sensing that it should also remain silent, the wind sprite only points in the direction Aphrodite should go. Thus the duo noiselessly make their way to the end of the labyrinth. The tension causes the air to thin as both dread what could be wandering through the maze with them. The wind sprite’s wings twitch with nervous energy, and Aphrodite’s eyes never halt in their surveillance of the area.

            Out of nowhere, the atmosphere turns soggy with the briny taste of the deep sea. Then a drowned neigh resonates through the maze’s pathways. The nightshade flowers shiver and gray. The air stills in fright. The water running through the irrigation system halts its flow. And the wind sprite whimpers as Aphrodite freezes from her forward momentum. A haunting soak trot grows closer, and Aphrodite dives into a shadowy corner. Fearing that they wouldn’t be hidden enough, she wraps herself and the wind sprite in a cacoon of darkness to ensure whatever is patrolling the paths won’t see them.

            Aphrodite barely feels hidden when she and the wind sprite watch the nuckelavee pass by them. The skinless abomination is on the hunt for participants to capture and likely drown in the cold sea. Catching the stench of raw burnt flesh, she identifies Ambrose’s sigil branded onto the nuckelvee’s chest. King Ambrose wanted to ensure no one passed the last challenge or survived before her. She is one of the few fairies to ever battle a nuckelavee and live. Blessedly, the sea isn’t close. So there’s no chance for the nuckelavee to retreat and collect its strength once injured. Since a nuckelavee is from the briny depths of the sea, she will need fresh water to halt its movements. Staying within the shadows, Aphrodite slowly gathers fresh water from the irrigation system into a jug crafted from the darkness. The process is slow and soundless, as she only stays in one section of the maze for a short time as the nuckelavee is always searching. Finally, after three passes around the limited area, Aphrodite feels secure that she’s gathered enough water. Not sensing the nuckelavee near her, she springs her plan into action.

            Dividing her bounty in half, Aphrodite morphs one part of the darkness into storm clouds. She then has the false clouds rumble across the sky and rain upon the labyrinth. A furious scream bounces off the maze walls. Following where the shriek came from, Aphrodite runs to the heart of it.

            The wind sprite shouts over the wails, “Why are we going toward the nuckelavee!”

            Aphrodite says nothing as a wicked smile conquers her lips. She glides to a halt before reaching the nuckelavee and sees it paralyzed by the rain. Steam rises from its burning flesh as raindrops hail onto the skinless creature. Wasting no time, she uses the second half of the gathered water to create a circling river around the nuckelavee trapping it. Without any way to escape from her trap, Aphrodite’s shoulders relax, but the wind sprite squirms. She then reveals herself to the nuckelavee, much to the wind sprite’s anguish. Gazing upon its captor, the nuckelavee bellows out a screech of anger as the false rain stops. The wind sprite trembles and tries to hide inside its cage. Aphrodite only smirks, knowing there is nothing the nuckelavee can do. Raising her hand to the sky, she summons her sword. Grasping at the sunset, her hand holds onto a handle, and as she draws it towards her body, a blade the color of the evening sky forms. It has been thirty years since the elfin Sword of Evening was summoned by its mistress. The sword blushes in delight to sing the song of death again. The wind sprite gasps in awe as the nuckelavee trembles in terror. Nothing survives a killing blow from one of the ten elfin Swords of Night and Day.

            The nuckelavee desperately tries to find a break within the magically made river. But Aphrodite ensured the circle had no gaps, so it couldn’t escape her blade. So when the nuckelavee finally accepts its fate, she raises the Sword of Evening above her head and slashes it downward. A crimson crescent of dying daylight cuts the nuckelavee open from the sternum of its human head through the top of its horse head. Any blood the nuckelavee could have bled colligates from the heat of the attack. The nuckelavee’s horse legs buck under its dead weight and collapse onto the labyrinth floor. Piercing the sky with the tip of the Sword of Evening, Aphrodite resheaths it. She then puppets the nuckelavee’s shadow to control its corpse. Guiding the nuckelavee’s long arms, Aphrodite has the nuckelavee’s hands grasp the fractured edges of its busted open rib cage. Carefully, the hands open the nuckelavee’s chest as a pair of double doors. Bones moan out in distress as the hands break the nuckelavee’s torso open wider until a walkable gateway is created. With its torso unable to widen anymore, she drops her control over the nuckelavee’s shadow. Gazing through the nuckelavee’s chest, Aphrodite sees members of the Court of Blossoming Spring waiting on the other side. With the gate out of the Sweet Nightshade Labyrinth ready, Aphrodite, with the wind sprite in hand, walks through the nuckelavee’s torso. The watching Whishperers chatter among themselves as they relay Aphrodite’s feat throughout the maze. A mystical wind races through the labyrinth and rejects all the competitors trapped inside.

           Once on the other side, Aphrodite releases the wind sprite from its shady birdcage. The wind sprite gives her a large smile, displaying its needle-like teeth.

           “It was fun, nymph, but I’ll receive my honey and apple slices later,” the sprite then zips off to reunite with the other wind sprites.

           Aphrodite gives her former companion a small wave of goodbye. She then takes a brief walk to where she hears the rest of the Court of Blossoming Spring. It’s a selkie that spots her first and shouts congratulations at Aphrodite. After that first cheer, the entire court erupts in cheers celebrating the new Consort of King Ambrose. Fresh flowers and melodies of triumph swell and bubble up to the heavens. Aphrodite floats through the crowd until she reaches the center of the mass of fairies. But a hush settles upon the court as Elfin King Ambrose approaches her with the Consort Flower Crown. The crown is made of forever blossoms, purple roses, lunar pearls, and gold. Weaved together into a circlet crown. All the fairies kneel as King Ambrose places the crown atop Aphrodite’s head. He then leans close to his new spouse and whispers his congratulation. And Aphrodite takes a kiss from her husband’s lips. END.