SJ Maylee Week 157: For a Smile

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SJ Maylee’s’ Choice: 1

Title: For a Smile

Jason dabbed the inside of the jar over and over. He’d been at it all afternoon. At this rate, he’d finish just in time. He didn’t know if it would be enough to make her smile tonight but Beth deserved his best effort. He switched brushes and added more dots of blue glow in the dark paint to each jar.

When Mrs. Connors paired them as science partners, he never would have guessed how their friendship would grow, especially after their self-inflating balloon exploded and they spilled vinegar all over themselves. But once Beth had started to laugh, he no longer cared that he smelled like a ripe pickle. From that day forward, life was different.

Hours later, he carefully wrapped his gift and set them in his pack. With his lucky hat in place, he walked out the back door and in a direct line to the girl on his mind.

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SJ Maylee believes hearts are meant to come together and find love. As a writer she has a tendency to break hearts, but she always glues them back together. You can follow her at @SJMaylee,

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Miranda Kate Week 156: The Dragon House

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Miranda Kate’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: The Dragon House

Gerald hovered at the front door of the shop, unsure whether to go in, but it was definitely the right place. He glanced up at the pink dragon on the roof to verify this decision, even though he knew it already in his bones. He told himself to stop stalling and get on with it.

A bell tinkled over his head as he stepped through the door. The shop was as he had imagined: dim lighting, strong smells of burned incense, and lots of red and gold lanterns. But there were no dragon pictures. He had expected lots of those, but there were none.

He roamed round the shop looking at the various tubs of herbs and spices on offer, and picking up the occasional candle and giving it a sniff, but no one came out. The only sound came from the display of tiny wind chimes hanging by an open window. He went up to the counter and lingered, hoping to make himself more visible to anyone in the back.

It worked. He heard footsteps and shuffling, and a small man appeared. His mind laughed at the stereotype of the small Chinese man in a conical hat, adorned with a long white beard and moustache, but when he spoke he did so with an Oxford educated accent, not a Chinese, broken English one.

“How may I help you?”

Gerald paused for a second before replying, “I’ve come for the Blue One.”

He’d expected a reaction, maybe even a gasp or a step back, but the little man merely raised an eyebrow.

“The blue one of what?”

This puzzled Gerald. “No, the Blue One, of breath and fire.”

A crease between the eyes broke the serene expression on the little man’s face. “I’m not following you. Is it an object you have seen, which you would like to buy?”

Gerald didn’t want to ask again. He had been assured those words would work. He was stumped, but then a thought came to him.

“I am not here to buy, I am here to engage. I am here to ‘match breaths’.” He said the last two words slowly, sure of their impact.

For a second the little man looked at Gerald as though he thought he was out of his mind, but then he regained his composure.

“Come this way.”

The little man indicated the end of the counter, and Gerald followed it round until he joined the man behind it. He was led to the back into a large storage room, and then up a dusty, wrought iron staircase at the back. At the top were two heavy doors which the little man pushed through, and Gerald entered the world he had anticipated.

Their footsteps were hushed by a thick red carpet, and they followed the inlay of a pair of golden, long-tailed dragons depicted on the walls on either side of the corridor. At the other end the little man pushed open two more heavy wooden doors revealing a large, high room, more like a warehouse, which was thick with the acrid smoke of a hundred giant incense sticks. More red and gold lanterns hung at all levels and a thousand shadows danced across the walls. But it was the dense one at the back that interested Gerald the most as he continued forward.

Gerald heard him before he saw him, the rasping drag of an ancient body on the rough wooden floor. Tinges of faded turquoise broke through the smoke, until Gerald made out the great mass of body and worn scaled skin. The Blue One was magnificent, despite his age, and Gerald baulked at the reason for his visit.

As the Blue One’s face came down to greet his, he felt the familiar stirring in his belly. His perspective changed as he grew in size, and the Blue One shrank back to make room for him. The cloudy mists of smoke changed to ethereal threads as his eyes changed, and the claret red of his scales shone in the lantern light.

At Gerald’s full height, the little man was but an ant now, running about gathering objects in preparation for the ritual.

The Blue One breathed, “You have come.”

Gerald nodded. “It took me some time to locate you. You have concealed yourself well here among our Western friends.”

“Yes, they keep me well. But you are here now, so my time is up.”

“On the contrary, our journey has only just begun.”

“I fear I can not match your breath.”

“Maybe you don’t have to match it - but join it.”

“Join it?” The Blue One’s yellow eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“Wasting your life energy and centuries of learning would be foolish, just because your vessel has grown old. There is no reason you can’t join me.”

“But how?”

Gerald waved a sleek talon at the little man at their feet. “He knows. You need not be afraid. You need only to step closer and breathe your fire light across mine. It will be a smooth transition.”

Gerald heard the chanting from below rise up as the Blue One stepped closer, and gathered his own breath ready for the moment. He heard the sound of the shutter slide back in the roof above them and the brilliant light struck, making them glow. He tilted his head back and let out his breath, hearing the Blue One do the same.

They were met; the swirl of red and blue energies spiralled upwards into the light. Gerald continued to maintain his, even when the Blue One had slumped back, his life force spent. Their twirling energies rose up into the light, then descended again, entering his mouth and throat, and running the course of his body.

Again the familiar sensation in his belly, and a shudder he couldn’t control, causing his tail to flip hard on the floor, shaking the building. Then he felt his skin change, his eyes change, and the presence of another within his mind. And when he looked out on the world it was through a dual perspective, complementing each other, and responding to its nuances in a deeper, more learned way.

He looked down at himself and the little man, who smiled up at him with open joy. They had done it. It was complete. The Purple One had arrived, ready to face the dawning of a new era for man and dragon kind.

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Michael Wombat Week 156: Echoes

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Michael Wombat’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Echoes

..the sleepers are spaced perfectly for my natural stride, almost as if each one magically appears in exactly the right place just before my foot meets the ground. My bare soles delight in the feel of rough wood, warm on this spring afternoon. Long weeds caress my ankles. The flowery nightdress excites my thighs as I follow the curve of the rusted, corroded track ahead.

I am looking forward to surprising Percy, working all alone in the tiny signal box ahead. I shall climb the steps silently, creep up behind him and slide my hand down his trousers. He will kiss me, lift off my nightdress, and make love to me in the pauses between the passing of trains. This time, this time, I will reach him and we will make love.

The sleepers vibrate against my feet, and I look down, puzzled. The rails sing. The 15:10 to Windmill End, twenty minutes late as it is every day, hits me full in the back. The wheels slice through my neck and my thighs, quartering me and splashing crimson over the willow-herb, dandelion and dock leaves that grow between the rails. My last sight is of the endless arc of the old, abandoned railway track. The rails are rusted after decades of disuse, and the sleepers are spaced perfectly for my natural stride, almost as if each one magically appears…

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Michael Wombat has published several books - search for him on Amazon, or go talk to him on Twitter where he is @wombat37.

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Mark Ethridge Week 156: If It’s Just A Dream, Let Me Dream (Part 11)

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Mark Ethridge’s Picture Choice: Two

Title: If It’s Just A Dream, Let Me Dream (Part 11)

Typical of the Church, the religious leaders left the planet. The Levites left with them, of course. The rest of their people they abandoned. Threw them away, like trash. Left them waiting, on the planet, with no way off, no escape, for God’s punishment of a world.

The sad part for me was how many of the Christians had no idea what God’s punishment was. They were stupid and uneducated. They knew nothing about science, or nanotechnology. So, they had no clue what the Church was doing to them. No clue at all. To them, it was simply God’s will. God would strike the planet, send a cloud of vengeance from heaven to purge the planet of it’s sinful life. If it was God’s will, they’d die in that cloud. And if they died, it was because God considered them sinners, like everything else on the planet.

The part that pissed me off was how some filthy rich bastard would order a nanotech plague dumped on the planet to kill off all life on it, including his own people. Except to him, they weren’t people. They were disposable, replaceable human resources. To him, this was a write off as a bad investment, nothing more. There was no loss of life involved, no harm to the Church. It was perfectly acceptable to kill everyone on the planet. In fact, it was a good business decision. Hell, it was certainly cheaper than hauling all those human resources off the planet. Hauling them to safety was fucking expensive. Better to dispose of them, and try again, on another world.

My love and I stood outside the human city and watched. There was nothing we could do. Nothing we could say. We’d walked among such people before. “Don’t you know they’re going to kill you? They’re just throwing you away!” And always, we’d heard the same answer, “Whatever God’s will shall be done.”

We watched as some of them put on masks to protect against allergens, dust. Those throw away paper masks. Some, doctors, nurses, put on their surgical masks. None of it mattered. They knew the cloud would kill them, so they tried to filter the cloud from the air they breathed. It was useless. The nanomachines in the cloud would pass through their skin, like water through a sieve.

I held her hand, “It won’t be long now.” I looked at the sky, glad I couldn’t see the starships orbiting in above us.

“They’ll all die.” She pulled my arm around her. “Every last one.”

We didn’t talk about if it was quick and painless, or drawn out and horrid. We both knew the truth, having your cells ripped apart by machines wasn’t pretty. Having those machines use your body’s chemicals to make more of themselves, so they could rip more of you apart wasn’t pretty.

It was a death only a demon could conceive of.

“A give from the Church.” I held her close.

“Blue’s people are ready?”

I nodded. “They’ve all taken the drug.” A nasty enough drug. One that attacked the specific nanomachines of the Church’s plague. One that destroyed those machines, then used their remains to attack more of the machines. One that hurt like hell to take, because it replicated in your body until it achieved numbers sufficient to protect you against the plague.

To take the drug was to know pain you’d never forget. To scream, to cry, to pray for death. To wish you could breathe, then wish each breath wasn’t like drinking acid.

But, you’d survive. And if you wished to survive the plague, you had no choice. Blue’s people took the drug. We injected the drug in every animal we could find, wild and domesticated. We put it in bird feeders, sprayed it on grasslands, dumped it in lakes, rivers, seas and oceans. We put it in the water and watered the plants. We’d spread the drug through the planet, for months.

Blue had asked, “Does this work?”

I’d nodded.

“How do you know?”

“I took it.”

“And?”

“And I walked on the surface of a planet, and watched it die.”

I’d survived the plague. I knew the drug worked, the nanotechnology did its job. Some of the people in the city would have encountered the drug, some of the drug would be in them. Those might survive, at least for a few days. But the drug would not be at full strength. The nanomachines would wage a war in their bodies. If enough of the drug was in them they’d survive, and have stories to tell of walking through the tenth level of hell, as they'd know pain even I couldn't describe.

If they didn’t have enough of the drug in them, they’d die. Slowly. Painfully. Horribly. Their bodies consumed gradually, as the drug became overwhelmed by the plague. It was a death I wished on no one. Not even on the leaders of the Church.

My love clung to me, “Blue’s people will watch for those who won’t survive?”

I nodded, “They’ll kill them. Spare them the days of…” There were no words to describe it. Spare them the days of what? Hell? “Mercy killings.”

We stood outside the city, and waited.

Until the sky began to change. The black of the sky, the light of the stars, turned pale blue. “The plague.”

All we could do was wait. And hope the people of the city died quickly.

I looked at the sky, “God’s will be done, indeed.”

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Mark woke up in 2010, and has been exploring life since then. All his doctors agree. He needs to write.

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Denise Callaway Week 156: Regret

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Denise Callaway’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Regret

Tyler stared out at the sea, its water lapping at the beach in cheerful greeting. He came down to the islands to escape the memories but they found him, and continued to haunt him. Dad, he reflected, it seems as if I always failed you. Even when you wanted me to come home right before you passed away, something always came up. Now, it is too late and I missed that chance. He picked up the rock and tossed it across the surf. It skitted across but it seemed rocks skipped much more on still waters. His dad would take him to the lake and they would talk about life and skipped rocks across the lake. His dad could always find the best rocks for skipping. A sigh escaped his chest and he felt his eyes mist up.

Laughing down the shore caught his attention and he quickly wiped away the barely presented tears. A child kicked at the waves as her mother stood sentry nearby. Recognizing his neighbor, he waved their direction and Trish beckoned him her direction. Time with others seemed the best cure, or escape, so he accepted the invitation.

“Hello, Tyler. How are you today?”

“Father’s Day. It’s amazing how important it seems, now.”

She smiled tenderly, scooping her toddler up and walking up the beach towards their picnic. “Good dad’s are so rare these days.” Trish had shared her story with him about how Mattie’s Dad had skipped town when he learned she was pregnant. Her own father, however, had made sure she had a place to live and job at one of his resorts, the same one where Tyler worked. “Having seen what a good man is like, I don’t know how I found myself with Mattie’s father.”

“We all live with regrets. Mom says it shouldn’t keep us from living life, to learn and move on.”

“I think I’d like your mom.”

“She’s amazing, knows when to give advice and when to let you figure it out on your own. Sometimes, she says, the lessons speak louder with experience.”

“I suppose she is right. I know I’ve been much more cautious with my heart since Mattie came along.”

Tyler squatted down to help Mattie pat the sand into the bucket before turning it over to reach another turret for her sand castle. “Sometimes, we just need to live in the moment and enjoy what we have right in front of us.”

“True,” Trish responded, digging a small hole thoughtfully with her toe. Tyler watched the simple movement, a small ring decorating the second toe and polish adorning the tips. “Tyler?” He lifted his eyes slowly to meet hers. “Would you like to...join us for dinner tonight?” He knew she didn’t let men into her home and the trust she was offering him.

Nodding, he stood, dusting off the sand. “What time?”

“We eat early, so Mattie can go to bed. Sixish...perhaps we can watch a movie afterwards, or sit on the patio and talk.”

“I can’t think of a better way to spend the evening.” Life is too short to live with regret, he thought as he walked up the beach. His dad would want him to move on and take a chance.

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Denise finds herself lost in a field of dandelions. With one blow, her dandelion dreams transform into the words on a page. Some of those dreams have found their way to her website: https://lostinafieldofdandelions.wordpress.com/

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Samantha Lee Week 156: Entwined

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Samantha Lee’s Picture Choice: 1

Title:

You know, it may not...may not be my fault. Not entirely. She's just one of those girls - the kind that you can't help but love. I think it may be something in her aura, something that just...pulses from her and gets into your head, makes you want to keep her safe, keep her protected. Decades, centuries, eons - an eternity spent at her side, longer than anyone else, the first - or, well, one of her first...her second, technically, but only by a few years. And I've been good, loyal, devoted. She commands, I obey. She requests, I acquiesce. A lifetime spent as general of my own legions, master of my own domain, now enslave forever after in my afterlife to an insane Fae Queen everyone and their broomstick wants dead.

I'm one of those lucky mighty who didn't just fall; I hit rock bottom and kept right on falling.

Oh, and look, here she is now. Savannah is the perfect specimen of her species; as beautiful and graceful as any angel, as fierce and deadly as any predator. Blood red hair with snowy bangs falls to her waist - she's decided to embrace the fairy tale motif and go for the long, rippling waves you'd expect of a Fae Queen. Her honey golden skin is a network of various dark umber tattoos. And her eyes...her eyes are big and vibrant, her thick irises a constant swirl of colour and patterns. I love her eyes; like endless pools of possibilities.

Why couldn't she be ugly? Everything would be so much easier if she were ugly. Maybe had some warts or a hideous birthmark or two or ten.

"Keeley!" My name is Bel-keelal-tohu. Time was, my name inspired fear, so much so it was whispered in hushed tones for fear its utterance would draw my attention. Then I died for a couple of millennia and woke to a child who told me it was too much of a mouthful and cut it down to Keeley. A name of awe and power brought down to a cute little snippet. By a child.

"I've been looking for you everywhere." The woman can summon me with a thought; why she'd bother to expend the energy actually physically searching for me boggles the mind.

She plops down beside me on the edge of the bed and flops back, going briefly spread eagle before bouncing up to prop herself on her elbows, smiling, oblivious to my resentment, my anger.

"Is something the matter, milady?" I ask coolly, my hands clenching, my fingers digging into my knees.

"Keeley, do you remember when I brought you back?"

"I'm afraid it is not one of my most clear memories, milady."

"You put me in a coma for three days and Da wanted you destroyed. He thought severing our tie would wake me."

"Ah, yes, fond memory. Can't imagine why it didn't come straight to mind."

She laughs, shifting to her knees and draping herself over my shoulders from behind, her cheek pressed against mine. "Fairy tales all start off pretty rough, you know. They usually get better though. I mean, I did wake up after all, and just in time too. And Da let you out of the dungeons, gave you back to me. Do you remember what you did the first time we met?"

"No," I tell her, and it's the truth. Memory lane, at least for me, is a dark and dim street, one I try not to travel too often.

"You tried to kill me," she murmurs, rubbing her cheek against mine. "You took me by the throat, pressed me back against the wall, rattled off a long list of impressive names and titles, and demanded I release you."

I sigh, turning away from her, breaking away from her. I leap to my feet and start to pace, wanting distance but unable to bring myself to leave. Under her thrall, always and forever hers - bound, tied, tethered, linked, whatever pretty word you want to give it, trapped all the same.

"Do you remember what I told you? My answer, Keeley, do you remember it?"

"No." A lie this time - her words haunt me, echoing through my mind in every whisper of silence, but...but it's not my part to tell.

"I have titles too and names," she says, echoing those first words to me. "I'm not even a century yet but already I've got quite the collection going. I have a whole kingdom beyond this room who'd burn the world to ensure my survival. Plus, you know, I'm a princess which is exactly as awesome as you'd think. Unfortunately, I also have a father who's a time walker, so I know exactly where my story's going. A thousand years ago you were a god, a lord of darkness and nightmares, a demon knight, and then you died and woke up here and now to find yourself leashed to a hurricane and, really, truly, I am sorry. There's no undoing this, no cutting the ties, no unlocking the shackles, no setting you free. Ever. From now until my last breath, you and me, we're a package deal. And I'm really sorry about that. My story...my story's going to suck."

I frown. "You're saying you warned me? Suggesting, perhaps, that I should just suck it up and carry on because at the start you gave me the courtesy of a warning?"

I realize too late I've crossed a line, made her angry. Savannah is powerful, the sort of powerful that scares ancient vampires and makes original demons think twice about engaging. All that power does not mix well with strong emotions, particularly anger, and so someone - probably her Da - had taught her that anger and rage, like revenge, were best served cold. Glacial, preferably, if not colder. And so when she gets angry, Savannah shuts down, folding up like one of those night blossoming flowers and swiftly drawing in all the warmth and light around her until she seems to pulse with chilling darkness.

If I'd been paying attention, I would have noticed sooner, would have recognized the danger. But I wasn't and I didn't and now...

Now she lashes out, her hand clamping down on my wrist, her fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and pushes her power into me. It's a spell I've felt before, felt often in fact - it's a favourite of hers, one she uses to share memories and calls her Vulcan Mind Meld. This time, it has teeth and claws, its bite sharp and painful as it drags me into her mind and our past.

"No! Da, no, no, no - I won't do it! I can't...I can't do it." I'm shaking my head and pulling futilely at my wrist that's caught in my father’s grip. Angry tears are a warm weight against my cheeks and I can feel something - some emotion I can't quite name - sitting heavy in my chest, like an iron grip around my heart.

"Kitten, you must; this has to be done to see the extent of your powers, here and now where the fallout can be controlled and not as a surprise that catches us all off guard. Not again."

It's panic, I realize, and fear. I'm afraid; I don't want to do this, don't want this choice taken from me. Khary was an accident, a horrible, terrible, beautiful accident but doing it again, knowingly and willfully inflicting his fate on another soul...it would be monstrous. And I'm not a monster.

Not yet.

I pull harder but Da won't let go. He loves me and wants me to be safe, wants me protected. He doesn't see what he's doing as stealing my choice from me, as essentially raping my Magic. He doesn't see what I'll do as a perversion. No, Da sees this as your classic two-birds-one-stone scenario: he gets a sense of just how powerful my newly discovered gift is and, should it prove successful, I'll have a powerful defender at my side for the rest of my life. That said defender will no doubt resent and loathe me is inconsequential so long as he serves his purpose.

Surprise, surprise - Fae morality is a darker shade of grey.

"You told me death was to be respected! That warriors earn their rest and have a right to it, a sacred right and deserve to left to it."

"I am afraid that Bel-keelal-tohu will simply need to re-earn his happily ever afterlife, kitten. Now, please, get on with it. Now."

Desperately, I summon my energy into my free hand and push at Da; the ultimate useless move seeing as how Da just absorbs my magic with a small grunt and an exasperated look.

Sighing, he shakes his head and turns to one of his guard. "Bring in the ghost!"

His words instantly change the panic and fear from an iron grip to an icy javelin, spearing right through me so swiftly it paralyzes me. I know what they're going to show me before the guards even return but it doesn't make it any less horrifying; Khardeen is chained spread eagle onto a wooden wheel carved with various magical symbols meant to dampen and block our bond and keep him from corporeal and bound. He is bloodied and bruised from torture; apparently someone wanted to test they'd hit upon the right combination of spells to affect our bond.

"Kitten, I am sorry, but I'm afraid your choices are to have two of these creations of yours or none at all."

"You can't kill Khary, Da."

"No, but I have faith that were our dungeon masters to apply their arts to their fullest, we'd at least be able to break him into something unrecognizable to you. Choose."

It isn't a choice at all and Da knows that.

I sigh, defeated, and summon my magic.

Da nods and lets me go, stepping away to give me space. My tears are flowing faster now, sprinkling the dusty floor at my feet like raindrops. This demon, warrior, high lord, whatever he was...he's going to hate me so much. Ripped out of whatever peace he's managed to claim to serve a fairy princess for the sake of an experiment, he's going to hate me. All of time is going to be spread out before us, trapping us together for the eons I'm going to have claim to, and he's going to hate me for all of it. That Khary doesn't is a bloody miracle, one that's probably defunct now after what Da's done.

Is it petty of me to not want to spend eternity linked to beings who loathe and resent me? I...Because of Da's gift, I know what my future holds - I've known, gods, seems like since the womb I've known exactly that nightmares await me. Da says there's nothing to do but endure them, that they're necessary for a future that's brighter than anything I could imagine further down the road. Easy for him to say; he just has to die, I have to live. Is it selfish of me to want at least one person with me through it all who wants me alive by preference rather than necessity?

I mean, doesn't everyone want to be loved?

I wonder...I wonder what that must be like as I close my eyes and set my magic free.

"I'm sorry."

Savannah is gone when I open my eyes. I'm on the floor, collapsed beside my bed, and I have no idea how much time has passed, a side effect of her spell. Groaning, I manage to get myself sat up when I notice Khardeen leaning against the far wall.

"What are you doing here?"

"You're an ass."

"I'm aware, but that doesn't answer my question."

"Milady wanted to be sure you were alright. She's gone for a walk to calm down."

"Alone?"

Khardeen glares, the gold in his eyes heating with anger. "No. London and Banshee are with her and Sabine and Jester are sweeping the area around her."

"Why?"

"She is very angry; we do not wish for her to do something she will regret with the return of her senses."

I nod, understanding, and scrub at my face with both hands, frustrated.

"You should have told her what was bothering you, Keeley. She would understand. She knows us, after all, better than most anyone."

"Because she rents out room in our heads, Khardeen, because she's infiltrated us like some sort of virus to which there's no cure and no recovery."

Khardeen shakes his head. "It has always amazed me how you could be so outwardly loyal while so inwardly resentful, even after all these centuries."

"Not all of us are made to be good little puppies," I murmur. "We're not all like you, Khardeen."

"I'm not her puppy, Keeley, none of us are; that's not how this works and you know it."

"How do you do it, Khary? How do you serve her, obey her, love her, without losing yourself, losing who you were and all respect for yourself?"

"The rest of us - Djinn, Fae, vampires, werewolves - we're used to servitude of one degree or another. Fiddle with the volume, change the channel, play a different song even, and it doesn't change anything, not really; we are what we are. You, though, you were one of the mighty, someone strong and powerful and free, someone who'd had so many centuries of independence, of command he'd forgotten any other way to live. Worse still, you awoke to a world that had forgotten you. Your name, your triumphs, your legend, all of it had been swallowed by time and lost to its ravages. You were nobody, tied to a child. You forget, Keeley, that I was there when Lyr spoke to you, that I heard what he said while milady slept."

Ah, yes, the missing scene from our origin story. After Savannah had brought me back to life as her wraith, before she woke, there was her father. Same hair, same eyes, but a beauty that was more harsh, less graceful, and with none of that vulnerable tint that baited your protective instincts. Quite the opposite in fact.

When I came back to myself, the first thing I remember is Savannah smiling, looking down on me with an affectionate look neither of us had earned a right to. I remember passing out - I've never known for how long, never bothered to ask the few who might know - but when I next became aware, I was caged. On the other side of my bars, two men argued; Lyr and Khardeen, the latter still tied to the wheel that was now hung on the far wall like some sort of bizarre decor piece.

"Let me down, Lyr," Khardeen growled. "I have served your purpose - milady has resurrected the demon lord - now let me go! Let me...let me go to her."

Lyr chuckled, the sound dark and laced with ice. "Twenty years ago, you were dead, a mere figment of people's imaginations trapped haunting ruins no one had visited in centuries, and now look at you attempting to give orders to a king. An impressive turn of fate, wouldn't you say?"

"Your daughter-"

"Is more powerful than I could have ever hoped," Lyr snapped. "Giving corporeal form to a spirit, that was incredible. But what she did today? Drawing forth a long dead spirit with nothing more than the place of his death to draw from? That should have been impossible. She's not even connected to our people, has no other source but herself to draw from, and look what she has wrought."

Bound, bloodied, and bruised, Khardeen should not have been intimidating with a mere glare, but somehow he managed. "At what cost, Lyr? When Fio woke me, she was fine afterwards, walking away like it was almost effortless. Today? She's UNCONSCIOUS, Lyr. And for what? She's Fae, he's a demon; he will never care for her, only ever be a monster to her. You go too far and risk too much."

Lyr shrugged. "Fionnuala is immortal; there is nothing he can do to her that will not heal in time. And it was not for nothing. Eventually, Fionnuala will tame him, one way or another, and have at her disposal one of the greatest weapons our enemies have ever produced and an asset we could never have hoped for if not for her magic. The great and powerful Bel-keelal-tohu, revered for his brutality and viciousness, famed for his prowess as a warrior and skill as a general, leashed like a mongrel cur to a Fae child. Couldn't it have happened to a nicer guy."

He knelt down in front of my cage and smiled coldly when he caught me staring back at him. "Welcome to our Court, Bel-keelal-tohu. May you enjoy that defiance of yours while it lasts."

Five centuries later, that defiance of mine still burned strong, despite outward appearances to the contrary, in spite of all Savannah's efforts.

"Congratulations," Khardeen tells me. "You've resisted Savannah's allure. She was captured and tortured for three centuries, but you resisted. She was driven insane and unleashed two massacres and a plague before I could find her, but you resisted. She has you lead her protection detail and manage her plans, is careful to always ask and never command, and has never once summoned you, but you resisted. And now she's dying, but, hey, you resisted."

Everything stills, the world hit off its axis and unsure of what to do next. "She can't-"

"Oh? She has seven Wraiths tied to her, feeding off of her energy, plus the dragons, plus who only knows what else. Over five centuries at her side and you know I never bothered to ask if the cats feed off of her? If the werewolves?" He pauses to chuckle and shake his head. "She's starving, Keeley, and she's dying. And when she goes, so do we. We're entwined, like vines around a tree; when the tree falls, the vines are crushed, and all die. But, hey, congratulations, demon lord; you resisted. And soon you'll be free. We all will."

"I never meant-"

"For five centuries, Keeley, milady has tried while you've done nothing but hold tight to your defiance and pride. Now, well, as they say, it is too late to matter. But, hey, enjoy your victory."

Damn it.

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Lizzie Koch Week 156: Photoshoot

Picture 1


Picture 2


Lizzie Koch’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Photoshoot

“Smile Saffron. You’re supposed to be warm, inviting, sexy,” snapped Archer. “All I’m getting is frosty.”

“Perched on top of a milk churn isn’t what I’d call sexy,” she mumbled before turning her gaze back to his lens. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes and Archer saw it. His cold stare sent chilled ripples down her back as he approached.

“Take this,” he said, gently touching her hand. “And when you come back, I want to see you smiling and giving the punters what they expect.”



Biting back the tears, Saffron gazed upon her distorted reflexion in the cracked mirror, a true reflection of her life which was miles apart from the shots Archer took. That was fake, all fake but she couldn’t leave. She had nowhere to go, no money, no family. Nothing. She looked at the mirror, grabbed it with both hands, yanked it off the wall and threw it to the floor. Shards of glass splintered her legs but she didn’t care. Pain was all she felt. The rest of the time she was empty. Taking a step, her bare foot crunched down on a large shard. She watched as red trickled across the floor, pooling around the glass.



It wouldn’t take long, she thought as she bent down, lifting up a thin triangular shard. She’d feel pain for the last time then no more. It was the only release.

She ran the glass gently up her arm with a trembling hand, her fingers clammy. Her grip tightened. She inhaled deeply.



“Don’t!”

Saffron jumped, dropping the glass as Jade stood before her.

“He’s not worth it, please don’t leave me here.”

“I can’t do it anymore, Jade. I can’t.”

“Then don’t.”

“Archer won’t accept that. You know what he’s like. The only way out is to end it.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jade said quietly, sitting next to Saffron on the strained lino floor. She took the glass from her hand. “Don’t you think he’s taken enough from us?”

“Exactly. There’s nothing left.”

“Survival, Saffron, That’s what’s left. You and me. We’re a team. We can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Get rid of Archer,” she said flatly as she wrapped her arm around Saffron. “We get rid of him for good and then we’re free.”

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I dream of sharing my work with the big wide world one day as a published author. Right now, I share flash fiction with a wonderful community of writers and friends. If you liked this story, then why not visit my blog at http://40somethingundomesticateddevil.blogspot.co.uk/ for more. Thank you. Love Lizzie x

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