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[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

A Werepenguin Romance Novel

Sofia never thought she would fall in love. Or, more accurately, she never thought she would fall in requited love. Especially not with the handsome Sir Percival Arthur James Charles Eustace Brougtham-Langton. When she first saw him, in front of her favorite exhibit at the local zoo, she'd been convinced he was Not a Real Person. No Real Person wore a tuxedo to the zoo. No Real Person had that sharp a jawline, or such a fine figure, or (as she learned when he turned his head and caught her staring) such deep, dark eyes. She was so caught up in his eyes that she didn't even notice he'd moved until he was right next to her.

“You are also a fan of the penguins?” he asked, tilting his head endearingly to one side. Sofia was only able to nod. “Wonderful little birds,” he continued. “Did you know they mate for life? When a male penguin finds a female he likes, he gives her a pebble as a form of proposal.”

“Oh,” Sofia managed faintly, still a little lost staring at his broad shoulders, imagining his arms around her.

“But he doesn't, as commonly believed, search the beach for the perfect pebble. Any old pebble will do. It's for their nest, you see. Some species of penguins build nests out of stones –” he seemed quite content to prattle on about penguins forever.

“Forgive me for interrupting, sir, but I do not even know your name!” Sofia exclaimed, as much to stop his rambling as to learn more about him.

He blinked, seeming almost confused by the polite request. “I am Sir Percival Arthur James Charles Eustace Brougtham-Langton ,” he admitted after a moment.

“I'm Sofia Lareine,” Sofia answered, holding out her hand. Instead of the handshake she had expected, Sir Percival brought her hand up and pressed his lips against her knuckles.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sofia,” he smiled. His eyes crinkled nicely at the corners.

Then an overexcited child bumped into Sofia from behind, knocking her into Sir Percival's arms. They were just as warm and solid as she had imagined them being. And he smelled nice, too. With all the dignity she could muster, Sofia straightened, reluctantly puling herself out of his accidental embrace.

Sir Percival looked at the ground, then back at her. “May I ask you something, Sofia?” he inquired shyly. At he nod, he looked up, thought he didn't quite meet her gaze. “I was wondering if... perhaps... you would like to… That is, I would like to… I wish to see you again. If you wish to see me again.”

“That would be lovely.” Sofia pulled a pencil and pad of paper from her purse, jotted down her phone number, and handed it to him.

He looked at the paper like he couldn't believe it was real. “You mean it?” he asked, eyes wide and incredulous. “No one has ever agreed to that before. Not that I've ever asked anyone before, I guess...” he trailed off, staring at the paper for a while. “I'll call you!” he declared, looking Sofia in the eyes and nodding firmly before turning on his heel and marching away.

It was two days before Sir Percival called. Sofia began to suspect he was not as interested as he had appeared at the zoo, when her phone lit up with an unknown number. Sir Percival invited her to dinner at his Manor, oddly named “The Rookery,” which Sofia had happily accepted.

One the day of The Date, Sofia found herself quite nervous. She had never been to a proper Manor before, let alone dined with the Lord of the place. She put on her best dress, black and elegant, and accessorized with a strand of fake pearls, hoping Sir Percival wouldn't know the difference.

When she arrived at the Manor, a young man in a tuxedo opened her door and offered to park her car. Sofia handed over her keys and walked up the steps to the grand front entrance of the house. The doors opened before her, no doubt thanks to some unseen servants behind them. Immediately to her left was a large, empty formal dining room. To her right was a blank wall. Sofia waited a minute, to see if someone would come show her where she was supposed to be. When no one appeared to help her, Sofia took a couple hesitant steps further into the house.

“Hello?” she called. “Sir Percival?” Getting no response, she took a few more steps. “Sir Percival?” she repeated. This time, there was a clatter from somewhere in front of her.

“Sofia!” Sir Percival appeared from a side room a little ways down the hall. “I didn't send anyone to meet you! I'm so sorry, I'll make it up to you, I promise!”

“It's okay,” Sofia assured him. “I'm sure the food will still be delicious.” He brightened.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “My cook is the best there is! She keeps the freezer full of all sorts of food!”

“It must be a big freezer,” Sofia commented.

Sir Percival paused. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he murmured. He turned away without another word. After a moment of hesitation, Sofia followed him to a cozy room with a small table and two chairs in the middle.

Sir Percival pulled out a chair and motioned for Sofia to sit down, then settled himself across from her. As if on some unseen cue, a hidden set of doors opened and a middle aged woman pushed a large metal cart into the room. She set a plate down in front of Sofia and whisked the cover off with a flourish, revealing a fancy looking meal.

“I hope salmon is okay?” Sir Percival seemed genuinely nervous that she would reject the meal.

“Salmon is wonderful,” Sofia answered. As each course was finished, the cook removed their plats and presented them with new ones, until Sofia thought she couldn't possibly eat another bite.

“It is late,” Sir Percival began, “but perhaps you could stay a little longer? I don't want you to go yet.” Sofia acquiesced, herself not willing to leave the awkward but charming Lord. He showed her around his house, from the kitchen, with the promised walk in freezer, to the gardens, with their prettily arranged paths.

Finally, Sofia deemed it to be Too Late, and declared that she must return home. When Sir Percival opened the front door to let her out, the same young man who had greeted her was waiting to give her back her car keys. But as Sofia started down the steps, Sir Percival put a hand on her arm, stopping her.

“Sofia.” She turned to look at him. He was closer than she'd thought, so close she could feel the heat of his body. He leaned in, eyes closing. Then he jerked away. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to rush things. I'd like to – I'd like to kiss you,” he admitted, “but I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

Sofia put her hands on his shoulders. Using them as leverage, she pushed herself up to kiss Sir Percival.

“Oh,” was all he managed to say when she ended the kiss.

“Thank you for dinner, Percival,” she said.

“Oh, uh. Percy's fine,” he stammered.

“Thank you for dinner, Percy,” Sofia amended. “I hope I'll see you again soon?”

“I'm always at the penguin exhibit at the zoo,” he informed her. “Did you know that sometimes penguins will steal eggs from each other?”

“I didn't,” Sofia said. “I look forward to learning many more fascinating penguin facts on future dates.” She left him at his front door, apparently reeling at the fact that she had considered their night a date.

So it continued. Sofia visited Percy at his Manor and listened to him ramble about penguins. She didn't mind, really. He was quite endearing when she started talking about his favorite animal. He became very animated with his hands, once knocking over a lamp because he hadn't realized it was so close.

He also asked Sofia about her life, encouraging her to elaborate on her job (secretary for a reasonably good boss), her hobbies (gardening and sewing, as stereotypical as it was), and her family (mom, dad, an older brother, and an older sister). He listened intently to everything she had to say and remembered the littlest details about her. It wasn't long before Sofia realized she was falling in love with the handsome nobleman.

Sofia called Percy, intending to set up a date where she could admit how she was feeling. But the phone rang and rang and rang. She figured he was busy and set herself a reminder to call later. But he still didn't answer. After a day of not being able to reach him, Sofia decided to try his favorite haunt. But he wasn't watching the penguins at the zoo, either. Now worried, Sofia drove out to The Rookery.

The valet met her as she drove up, but this time he refused to take her keys. “Sir Percival is not here,” he informed her.

“Well, where is he?” Sofia demanded.

“I am not at liberty to say,” the man replied.

“When will he be back?”

“Try tomorrow,” the valet advised. “Sir Percival will probably be back by then.” Defeated, Sofia drove back to her house and tried not to imagine what Percy could be doing for three days that he wouldn't tell her about.

The next day after work, she drove back out to Percy's house. The valet took her keys without comment and the doors opened seemingly on their own, as they always did. Sofia walked through the now-familiar Manor to the sitting room where they spent most of their time.

“Percy?” she asked, knocking gently on the door.

“Sofia?” Percy's voice was muffled, his “S” a little slurred. “What are you doing here?”

“I've been trying to get in contact with you for three days,” she explained through the door. “I called you, I checked the zoo, I even drove all the way out here to see you but your valet wouldn't let me in Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” he answered. Sofia waited for elaboration, but none came.

“Where were you?” she asked. The door handle didn't turn under her hand.

“Nowhere,” he replied.

“Nowhere?” Sofia demanded, anger rising. “You disappeared for three days and now you're locked in a room slurring your words and you expect me to believe you were nowhere?”

“Fine. I was here.”

“Here? In The Rookery? Then why didn't your valet let me in?”

“I told him not to. He knows the drill.”

“Listen here, Sir Percival-Has-Too-Many-Names!” Sofia stopped for a moment to wallow her anger and continued in a slightly calmer tone. “I was really worried about you. The least you could do is tell me where you've been these last three days.”

���I can't,” he answered. Something in his voice made her pause. He sounded pained and miserable. “I can't tell anyone. You wouldn't believe me, anyway,” he added.

“Try me.”

“I can't, Sofia.”

Sofia blinked back tears and tried to keep her voice from shaking. “Well, if you can't trust me, then I guess I'll just leave. I hope you enjoy your penguin-filled life.”

There was a sound like a sob from the other side of the door, but Percy didn't say anything.

The valet was waiting for her, as always. “Sir Percival really likes you,” he said.

“He can tell me himself, along with where he was for three days,” Sofia answered, snatching her keys.

“It was a full moon,” the valet called as she shut the door.

“It was a full moon...” Sofia mused, back at her apartment. She remembered the way Percy hadn't even tried to keep her. “Well who cares if it was a full moon? That's no excuse to be mean to a lady!”

She crawled into bed and tried to lose herself in the depths of the internet. Hoping to forget the awkward man she loved, she clicked on an article about mythological creatures from around the world.

Vampires. Next. Fairies. Next. Unicorns. Next. Werewolves. Next. Wait – go back. Something on the werewolf page had caught her eye, but she wasn't sure what it was.

Right at the top was the sentence she'd been looking for: “Werewolves are men who transform into wolves during the full moon.”

“It was a full moon!” she exclaimed. Without giving herself time to reconsider, Sofia grabbed her keys and drove back out to The Rookery. She blew past the valet, barely stopping long enough to give him her keys. She rushed back to the sitting room, only to find the door open and the room empty.

“Percy?” she called. “Percy! I know your secret and I don't care!”

“How can you not care?” he demanded morosely. She followed his voice to his bedroom, where he was laying face down on his bed.

“You've never hurt me,” She answered. “You hide yourself away during the full moons, presumably so you don't hurt anyone else. You're a good person, and being a werewolf doesn't change that, Percy. I love you anyway.”

Sofia could feel her heart beating in her throat.

Percy groaned. “A werewolf. Of course you would think that. I'm not a werewolf, Sofia.” he mumbled into his covers.

“Then where do you go during the full moons?” she inquired. The silence was deafening. Percy mumbled something. Sofia thought she caught the word penguin.

“Percy, now's not the time for another random penguin fact,” she admonished gently.

Percy lifted his head from the pillow. “I said I'm a werePENGUIN,” he repeated, then dropped his head back down.

“Even better,” Sofia replied immediately.

“I love penguins.”

“You mean that?” Percy asked, looking at her for the first time since she'd arrived.

“Yes. I love penguins and I love you, Sir Percival Arthur James Charles Eustace Brougtham-Langton.”

“I love you too, Sofia Lareine.”

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Part 1: To the Pretty Red-Haired Dancer

I don't know you I don't know your name Or your age Or even where you live I'll never see you again You inspired me Dancing in the darkness Hair flashing and drawing attention You are freedom And the innocence of childhood You are the carefree summer days Spent with fairies and forest creatures That fade to nothing when we grow up I do not know you But how I wish I did

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Part 2: To the Vampires I’m More Than Half In Love With

You stalk through the night in search of new victims Unsuspecting humans that you lure in with your unearthly beauty And just when they are in the throes of ecstasy, you strike You rip out hearts in a twisted facsimile of love Drinking your victims dry And leaving their empty, longing souls behind you You are nightmares that haunt the darkness Hiding in shadows Watching and waiting Entrapping lovesick mortals for pleasure I know you are dangerous But if you asked me to tear out my own heart I would give it to you gladly

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Part 3: To the Pretty Red-Haired Dancer and the Vampires I’m More Than Half In Love With

I stood in the dark Neon lights slashed my eyes Music invaded my ears My pulse beat like a butterfly in my throat To the pounding of the drums You danced You hopped and whirled and waved your arms A dark silhouette against a smoky white screen And I hid myself in the crowd hoping to avoid notice A parade of monsters walked slowly by Inspecting us, seeing into our very souls With eyes like piercing swords You led the way Sharp-fanged seducers Singing sweetly from your truck and staring down little children Until they are frightened and look away Wine-red hair that stands out in the dark And Red velvet cloaks that hide the claws A half-remembered vision from a dream I never had And A fading childhood nightmare brought to life Here's to the friends I never made And The lovers I never had

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Tithe

A retelling of Beauty and the Beast. Trigger warnings for self harm and implied rape.

The village women rushed around Corrine, doing her hair and makeup in preparation for the Tithing ceremony that night. Corrine tuned them out. Her mind wandered to the ceremony eight years ago. She had been ten at the time; she remembered because it was the first year she had stayed awake all night.

That year, Nathalie had been the chosen one. The whole village gathered in the square at ten o’clock at night to wait. Nathalie stood at the front of the crowd between her sobbing parents. Her little brother clung to her skirt, also crying. Nathalie herself had shown no emotion.

At midnight, a grand, black and gold carriage had rolled up. The door opened, revealing darkness. Nathalie took a step forward. She turned to face the village, sadness and fear showing on her face for the first time that night. The village stared back, equally sad and afraid. But there was nothing they could do. Nathalie took a deep breath and stepped into the carriage. As soon as she was inside, the door shut and the carriage drove away, off to the Lord’s castle. Nathalie never came back.

“Ow!” Corrine shrieked as someone pulled her hair, bringing her attention back to her current state.

“Sorry,” the culprit said shortly.

“I don’t understand why I have to get all dressed up,” Corrine complained. “Everyone knows I’m going to my death.” The women in the room froze.

“No, child,” one of them admonished softly. “We don’t know that.”

“Yes, we do.” Corrine tried to escape the hands still buried in her hair, but they pulled painfully until she sat back down. “No girl has ever come back from the Lord’s castle.”

“That doesn’t mean none ever will,” her mother answered, resting a hand on Corrine’s shoulder. Corrine put a hand over her mother’s and met her eyes in the mirror, trying not to cry. “Look at it this way,” her mother offered. “It’s an honor.”

“An honor?”

“Yes. The Lord’s men choose the prettiest girl in the village.”

“Aha!” Corrine exclaimed, eyes lighting in rebellion. “If they thought I was the prettiest on choosing day when I wasn’t all made up, why do I have to be now?”

“For the Lord,” the woman doing her hair answered. “The prettier you are, the longer you’ll survive. If we make you pretty enough, you might even come back to us someday.” Her voice trailed off. The women finished their work in silence.

The crowds began gathering at sundown, like they had for Nathalie and every year since. By ten o’clock, everyone was there. This time, Corinne stood at the front of the crowd, sandwiched between her mother and Victoire.

Victoire squeezed her hand tightly. “Don’t go,” she pleaded, softly enough only Corrine could hear.

“I don’t have a choice,” Corrine answered sadly.

“Then go. But you better come back to me, Corrine de Calay. You made a promise.” Victoire lifted their joined hands so her ring flashed in the moonlight.

“I know. And I intend to keep it. I’ll come back to you, Victoire. I promise.”

At midnight, the carriage pulled up. Feeling like she was in a dream, Corrine hugged her mother and Victoire goodbye. She disengaged herself from their embrace and backed up a step.

“I love you,” she whispered, a single tear falling from her eyes. She turned, like Nathalie all those year before, and got in the carriage.

The interior of the carriage was as opulent as the outside. It was also more foreboding. The seats were plush, black velvet. The sides were black lacquer with glinting gold edging. Stiff black curtains covered the windows. Corrine pushed them aside to watch the landscape as she was carried away from the village and the life she loved.

The journey through the countryside felt surprisingly short. Far too soon for Corrine’s liking, the carriage stopped. After a few moments, the door opened and a handsome man offered Corrine his hand. She accepted his help and alighted from the carriage.

“Corrine de Calay,” he said, bending to kiss her hand. “You are beautiful. Welcome to your new home.” He straightened up and swept his hand towards the manor behind him.

It was smaller than Corrine had anticipated. Most houses in the village were one story tall. The lord’s manor was a whole two stories, with a small watchtower on top. The dark, shuttered windows seemed to stare at her menacingly, making her feel small and exposed. She turned to the man and curtsied.

“It is an honor to be chosen, My Lord,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on her skirt hem.

He laughed. “So formal. They always are at the beginning. Come, dear Corrine. Let us go in and eat.”

He led her up the steep white marble steps to the grand, elaborately carved front doors. The door opened as Corrine and the Lord approached. Bright gold and rainbow light and gentle flute music flowed out, wrapping around Corrine and forming a strange, soothing cocoon.

“Maybe this won’t be so bad,” she mused.

The Lord stopped. “Bad? Corrine, my dear. Who told you this would be bad?”

The calming fog invaded her head and whispered that it was okay to tell the Lord anything. “The village people, My Lord.”

“Why would they say something like that?” he asked, looking hurt and bewildered.

“Because no one ever comes back,” Corrine answered. She felt sleepy.

“Because they don’t want to,” the Lord said gently. “They stay with me for a while, but then they start to get ideas. They want to go out and change the world. So I let them. I give them money and proper accoutrements for their trips, and off they go. It’s not my fault they never return to the village.”

“Oh,” Corrine nodded. Her head felt like it was going to fall off.

“Are you okay?” the lord asked, peering closely at her. “You look a little shaky.”

Corrine nodded again, careful not to snap her neck too hard. “I’m fine. I’m hungry.”

“Of course.” Still slightly unsure, the Lord turned and led her by the hand out of the entryway and through the large, dark formal dining room. He stopped in a much smaller, more intimate dining room. “I hope you don’t mind,” he commented. “I don’t like to use the formal dining room for two people. It’s rather cold and incredibly difficult to hold a conversation.”

Corrine’s head no longer felt like it was going to fall off. Now she felt like she was going to throw up. “My Lord,” she gasped. “Please forgive me. I don’t think I can eat right now…” She trailed off as vomit rose in the back of her throat.

“Corrine?” he asked.

She turned her head and threw up in the corner of the room. “I… I’m sorry, My Lord,” she murmured miserably when she could speak again.

“No,” he responded, looking a little shaken. “It’s all right. No, don’t worry,” he caught her arm as she tried to wipe up the puddle. “I’ll have my servants clean it up. You should go lay down until you feel better. Let me show you to your room.”

Corrine tried to stand up, but her legs wobbled and she fell back to her knees. After a moment of watching her struggle, the Lord scooped her up so she was reclining in his arms. He carried her through the house and laid her down in a soft, comfortable bed. Corrine barely remembered putting her head on the pillow before the darkness swallowed her.

“Corrine!” Somewhere, she could hear the little voices calling her name, but she couldn’t find the power to open her eyes and look for them. “Corrine… Corrine…” they trailed off, getting softer and softer until she couldn’t hear them anymore.

She shot upright, eyes opened in alarm, unsure what had awoken her.

“Corrine!” The little voices giggled. Tiny elf-like creatures swarmed to her, crawling into her lap and nestling into her hair. “We love you, Corrine. We love all of them, but we love you the most.”

“All of them?”

“All of them,” the elves sing-songed, gesturing to her right. She turned to look. Twenty-five pristine white coffins rested on a sparkling glass table. Cautiously, Corrine pushed herself off the bed and walked to them. The elves giggled again. Set into the lid of each coffin was a glass-covered cutout through which the young women’s faces could be seen. Corrine walked past them all wondering who they were.

“Corrine…” not the elves this time. It was a quiet voice, carried on a breath of wind from one of the coffins. She became afraid, but the elves hugged her and assured her it was all right, so she approached the coffin that had spoken. “Corrine… Do you remember me?” The woman opened her brown eyes and smiled her dazzling smile. “Do you remember me?”

“Nathalie,” Corrine breathed.

“Yes.”

“Corrine…” a voice from the second-to-last coffin. Nathalie closed her eyes and Corrine moved to the end of the table. She was distracted from the calling voice by the last coffin. It was empty, its lid lying beside it on the table. “Corrine,” she recognized the voice as Regina, the girl who had been sent to the castle the year before. “Do you know who the empty one’s for?” Regina taunted. “It’s for you.”

The coffin lids floated upwards and disappeared. The dead girls sat up, beautiful and frightening, and looked at Corrine with flat eyes. “For you…” they chorused. “It’s for you…” The coffins disappeared. The women stood up and began advancing towards Corrine, who retreated backwards to the bed. The elves jumped off Corrine’s shoulders and charged the women, but they burned up the second they touched the corpses.

“The dagger, Corrine,” the dead women hissed, bodies starting to deteriorate. “Remember the dagger!” Their bodies melted together to form the shadow of a giant dagger. Screeching like banshees, they dove towards Corrine’s heart.

She woke up screaming, arms and legs tangled in the fancy silk sheets. She calmed herself down and lay still for a few minutes, shaking too hard to get up. She jumped when someone knocked on the door.

She swallowed and forced herself across the room. “H… hello?” she asked, opening the door just enough to see who was there.

“Hello, dear,” answered the matronly woman on the other side. “The Lord heard you screaming. He sent me to make sure you were okay.”

Corrine nodded vigorously. “I’m fine.”

The woman looked unconvinced. “If you’re sure, dear. The Lord wishes you to dine with him this evening, if you’re well. Six o’clock sharp, in the small dining room.”

“I’ll be there.”

Corrine arrived in the small, intimate dining room slightly before six o'clock. At ten minutes after six, the Lord swept in, dressed in a black suit and polished shoes. Corrine felt ashamed at her choice of dresses – a simple blue frock that now seemed shabby in comparison to the Lord's fine clothes.

“My dear,” he began, voice seeming colder than it had before. “Why didn't you meet me for dinner like I requested?”

“I thought we were eating here,” Corrine stammered, slightly offended at the Lord's tone.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Only a stupid, backwards country girl could believe we eat here every day.” He turned and strode out of the room, leaving Corrine to scramble after him. When they reached the formal dining room, he pulled out her chair with an overdramatic bow before settling comfortably in his own chair.

“Now that my Lady has arrived,” he said to no one in particular, “the food may be brought out.” Servants appeared from the dark corners of the room. They placed the food on the table silently and slipped away. Some avoided looking at Corrine entirely; others glanced at her from the corners of their eyes. The pity and fear in their gazes made Corrine's stomach churn.

“I trust you slept well?” the Lord asked, picking up his fork and stabbing the meat violently. “Aside from that one episode of unearthly howling? Tell me, girl, what happened that you had to scream like a banshee in the middle of the night?”

“I… I had a dream,” Corrine faltered, unable to meet the Lord's piercing eyes.

“A dream? Are you so weak that you can't even control your own mind?”

Corrine didn't move.

“You will answer when I talk to you,” the Lord murmured in a dangerously soft voice. “Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Corrine stammered.

“Yes, my Lord,” he corrected gently. His tone sent shivers down her spine.

“Yes, my Lord,” she repeated.

“Better.” They finished the meal in silence. When the servants came to clear away the uneaten food, the Lord offered Corrine a tour of the castle. Corrine nodded, despite the fact that she wanted nothing more than to run back to her room and cower under the blankets. When the Lord offered her his arm, she took it with a graceful curtsey.

The castle was magnificent. Even though it was only slightly bigger than the houses in the village, it felt at least a hundred times larger. Each room was decorated according to a specific color scheme, with matching walls, furniture, and various decorations ranging from simple pictures to a large piano. As they walked, the Lord talked about the history of the castle and how his family rose to power. Corrine nodded when he paused, but she wasn't really listening.

“And this, as you know, is your bedroom.” The Lord opened the door and graciously ushered Corrine in ahead of him. She crossed the room on shaky legs and collapsed on the bed. The Lord followed, sitting beside her.

“There is one place you must never go,” he said, eyes scanning the room sightlessly. “You are never allowed to enter my bedroom.”

“Yes, sir,” Corrine answered numbly.

“Good.” He bent down and kissed her forehead gently. His lips slid down her cheek to her lips, leaving a burning trail behind them.

“No!” Alarmed, Corrine pushed him away and sat up.

He chuckled. “Oh, Corrine, my innocent duckling. I am the Lord of this castle. You will do as I say.” He leaned in for another kiss. “And if that doesn't convince you, I am the Lord of your village.” Corrine let him kiss her. “Much better,” he murmured.

His hands were inappropriately  gentle as they undid he buttons down the back of her dress. She lay still and scared as he pushed her hem up above her hips.

“You are beautiful, Corrine,” he assured her. “That's why I'm doing this. You're so beautiful I just can't help myself.”

When he was done, he buckled his belt and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Corrine lay shivering in the dark, unable to fall asleep until light shown on the far horizon.

Each day, Corrine was left to amuse herself as she saw fit. Mostly, she wandered around the castle and its attached gardens. In the corner of the garden was a little rosebush. Unlike the rest of the garden, which was magnificently cared for, the little rosebush was dry and dying. Corrine began to take care of it, finding solace in the thought that if she couldn't save herself, at least she could help this little plant survive. Sometimes the Lord joined her on her walks. She avoided the rosebush when he was with her.

Every night, Corrine and the Lord ate dinner together. Then, they would retire to Corrine's room and she would close her eyes and try to escape her body as the Lord had his fill of pleasure. As time wore on, his pleasures became more and more violent. First, it was just hitting her. Then she was choked if she made any noise. He had yet to draw blood, but Corrine, surveying the new bruises each morning, felt sure it wasn't far off.

One day, the Lord stopped by Corrine's room early in the morning.

“I have to go to the village today, my dear,” he smiled, greeting her with bow and kissing her hand. “perhaps you would like to come with me?”

“I would love to!” Corrine exclaimed before she could stop herself. She backed up, dreading the slap for speaking out of turn, but the Lord just laughed.

“Very well, my dear. You may come with me. You will have to stay in the carriage, though.”

Corrine dressed in her best clothes and a heavy veil to hide her face. She sat across form the Lord as the carriage jolted over the road to her home. When they arrived, the Lord reminded her to stay inside.

“If you even think of leaving this carriage, you will regret it,” he warned. The door shut, leaving Corrine in darkness. Timidly, she pushed aside one curtain, peering out at the life she used to know. She could see the cobbler's shop and the apothecary immediately in front of her. Behind that, she knew, was her mother's house. She wondered how her mother was doing. Surely Victoire would help her with the daily chores.

As if summoned by the thought, Victoire herself walked into Corrine's view. Corrine gasped at the sight of her beautiful beloved, whose long, golden hair was tangled and dirty and whose shoulders slumped forward. Victoire's  gait was unsteady and her eyes were flat and dead.

But at the sound of the gasp, she turned, freezing at the sight of the Lord's carriage, sitting in the middle of the square. She glanced around quickly, then darted to the window where Corrine still peered out at her.

“Corrine!” she exclaimed in a whisper, grabbing the handle and pulling herself to the window. “You're alive!” Tears spilled from her tired eyes.

“Victoire!” Corrine was also crying. She reached an arm through the window to caress her lover's cheek.

“I missed you!” Victoire cried, placing her hand over Corrine's. “I was sure you were already dead. Of course, your mother said you weren't because the Lord only choses a girl once a year so he can't kill them that quickly, but I wasn't so sure. Oh, Corrine, I wish you could stay here with me!”

“I wish I could stay, too,” Corrine answered, brushing her finger over the silver ring on Victoire's hand. “The Lord took away my ring,” she confessed. “He said I have no need for anyone but him now.”

Victoire smiled through her tears. “That's okay,” she whispered, kissing Corrine softly. “I know you'll never forget me.” She jumped down from the carriage and started to walk away, but a sudden command stopped her. The Lord strolled into view.

“Who are you, young lady?” he asked Victoire.

“Victoire… de Calay, my Lord,” she answered shyly.

“De Calay?” the Lord's eyebrows shot up. “I didn't know Corrine had a sister.”

“She doesn't,” Victore retorted, pushing her hair off her shoulders and letting her silver wedding band flash in the sunlight.

“Oh,” the Lord murmured, taking her hand to examine the jewelry more closely. “I see. What an interesting situation. I admit, this has never come up before. Corrine, my dear, why didn't you tell me you were married?” He turned at looked up at the carriage window expectantly.

“Would it have mattered, my Lord?” Corrine asked.

“Perhaps it might have,” he answered. “It is too late to tell now. However, I can offer you a little bit of comfort.” He turned to Victoire. “Would you like to join Corrine and I for supper this evening?” he asked. Victoire nodded eagerly. He helped her into the carriage and settled across from the two girls. “A very interesting situation indeed,” me muttered, eyeing their tightly clasped hands.

A bustle of activity greeted their return to the castle as a new place was set at the table. Throughout dinner, the Lord kept up the conversation, asking about Victoire's life in the village and her relationship with Corrine. After dinner, Victoire prepared to leave, but the Lord stopped her.

“No, I'm afraid I cannot allow you to leave now,” he apologized. “It is dark and cold and no respectable young woman would return home at this hour. Why don't you stay here tonight and I will drive you back to the village tomorrow.” Victoire graciously accepted his offer. Extra pillows and blankets were brought to Corrine's room and the servants set out two nightgowns. The Lord bade them goodnight and shut the door softly, leaving them alone. For a while, it was nice.

Corrine woke in the middle of the night to Victoire squirming and muttering in her sleep. Corrine frowned. Victoire had never been one to have nightmares. The whimpering got worse and Victoire wouldn't wake up. Afraid for her lover's life, Corrine did the one thing she had been bidden never to do: she crept into the Lord's bedroom to wake him and ask him for help.

But on the threshold, she paused.

Regina straightened, turning to face the intruder. “Remember the dagger!” She smiled, sharp white teeth bright against her dark face, and backed into the shadows. For a moment, Corrine stood in the doorway, frozen. She took a deep breath, reminded herself that she was doing this for Victoire, and stepped into the room. Her breath seemed too loud in the dark, silent room. It echoed off the ceiling beams and came back like thunder in the night. She reached out and touched the Lord's arm. He shifted. She touched him again, pushing harder.

“My Lord!” she whispered. He opened his eyes, grabbing her wrist and pulling her close to him.

“What are you doing here?” he growled menacingly.

“Victoire!” Corrine spluttered. “She's having a nightmare and she won't wake up. Forgive me, my Lord. I only thought you'd be able to help...” her voice trailed off. The Lord released her wrist and sighed.

“I must gather some things first. Meet me in your bedroom.” He got up and left. Corrine started to follow him when a sliver of moonlight caught her eye. When he arose, the Lord had moved his pillow just enough to reveal the blade hidden underneath.

Hardly breathing, Corrine darted forward and snatched the weapon, hiding it in her skirts before she returned to Victoire's side. The Lord arrived a few minutes later. He watched Victoire whimpering and digging at her skin in her sleep.

“Good,” he said.

“What?”

“You see, Corrine,” he began in the tone of someone having a casual lunchtime chat, “this is the direct result of Queen Anne's poison. To most people, Queen Anne's lace is simply another pretty weed. But to those who know, it is the main ingredient in a powerful poison, one that causes awful hallucinations. The suffering can last for days. But no one really knows how long Queen Anne's poison takes to kill because most of its victims take their own lives.” Corrine stared at him, horrified.

“Why?” she gasped out.

“You disobeyed me,” the Lord shrugged. “She was a threat. I wanted to see the poison in action. Take your pick.”

“You cruel, vicious monster!” Corrine lunged at him, dagger flying at his face, but he managed to block her attack.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded, shaking her arm to make her drop the blade. She gritted her teeth and held on.

“Under your pillow,” she answered. Victoire shrieked. Made stronger by her anger at his actions, Corrine pushed the Lord back against the wall.

“Yes,” the voices chanted. “Do it. Slit his throat. Kill him. Kill him!” Without looking, Corrine knew the dead girls from her dream were gathered around her. Someone placed a hand on her shoulder. With the last of her adrenaline-fueled rage, Corrine dragged the knife across the Lord's throat. She turned to face the ghosts, who smiled and faded away one by one.

“Thank you,” Nathalie whispered as she disappeared.

“Corrine?” Victoire sat up, staring around her. “Where am I?”

“You're safe, Victoire,” Corrine answered, sitting down next to her wife. “I killed the Lord. He won't hurt you anymore.”

“What about the monsters?” Victoire asked. “They're horrible! Oh, Corrine, I wish I couldn't see them!” Moving too fast for Corrine to stop, Victoire grabbed the Lord's dagger and gouged out her eyes. Screaming with pain, blood flowing down her face, Victoire collapsed on the bed. “Help me, Corrine! Help me!”

“Corrine! Corrine!” the little voices chorused. The little elves from her dream swarmed over Victoire's convulsing body. When they finished, Victoire lay sleeping peacefully once more. Her eyes had stopped bleeding and the wounds had scarred over.

“We can't fix her,” the elves said, nestling against her cold skin. “But we did what we can.”

“Thank you,” Corrine smiled. The elves ran off, vanishing to wherever they lived. Corrine wrapped her arms around Victoire and slept.

The next morning, the servants came to wake her and found the Lord's dead body. They buried him in the gardens under Corrine's rosebush. The driver took Corrine and the wounded Victoire back to their home. When Corrine stepped from the carriage, a roar of triumph rose from those gathered in the square. Someone ran to get Corrine's mother. But then Victoire stepped down, eyes bandaged, leaning heavily on Corrine's arm. The silent crowd parted, letting Corrine's mother pass through. She was crying too hard to speak, so she simply hugged Corrine for what seemed like an eternity. She hugged Victoire, too. The two girls followed her back to their little home. Corrine spent the rest of her life caring for Victoire. Many, many years after their horrible ordeal, they died together, holding hands in their sleep.

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Dear Freshman,

It's okay, baby. I know it's hard to be away from home for the first time. I know you want to run back and never leave again. You'll be fine. Listen, let me tell you what's going to happen.

You'll find new singers whose lyrics you can write on your arm to remind you not to cry in public. Someday, you'll get those lyrics tattooed on permanently as a testament to your strength. Most of your relationships this year will be superficial and short-lived. That's okay. You'll make more and better friends next year.

Now listen. This is the most important thing I'm going to say. There will come a night. You will be alone in your room with the lights off. Your roommate will be at a party or home for the weekend or somewhere not-there so you can cry in peace. And that night, the knives in your cupboard will call to you. They'll want you to open your veins for the first time. Don't. Don't do it. Don't listen to them. Listen to me, little fighter: you will get better. You will make it through unharmed. I should know.

Get on Facebook. Get on Skype. Get on Tumblr. Grab your phone. Open every social media website you have. Talk to someone. Talk to everyone. Send a message to anyone who's even remotely likely to respond. Even those blogs on Tumblr that you've never spoken to before. You need to make it through. Because if you don't make it through tonight, you'll never make it to the end of the year. And here's what's going to happen if you make it to the end of the year:

You'll get a summer job. When you leave for college in the fall, they'll say they expect you back every time you're home for an extended break. Your coworkers will sign a card saying how much they'll miss you. Make it through tonight for the little children who will love you in the summer.

You'll dance again. Your class moved up a level while you were away, but it's okay. You'll move up with them. You'll dance hardshoe at Erin Feis and visit California to compete at Nationals. Live to see if you can qualify for World's.

You'll finally be confident enough to wear those crazy clothes and eye-popping makeup you never could before. Seriously. You'll go to class your first day of sophomore year with green winged eyeliner. And I mean big, noticeable wings. You'll get green lipstick that makes you feel more badass than you could ever have imagined. You'll realize you were always beautiful and you always will be. Survive to show the world you are unbreakable.

Hold your head high, Heavy Heart. Listen to the songs that make you want to open your veins and cry until life runs out. Listen to the ones that make you cry for even thinking of hurting your loved ones like that. Finally, when you're ready, listen to the ones that make you think of good times. Dance along if you can. Sing, even if it's just a whisper through your tears.

You can make it through this, little fighter. I promise. You will survive and you will be stronger for it. I know it's horrible and I know you think it will never end but I swear it will. I swear it's worth it. Please, for those who love you, for those who you don't know yet, for yourself, fight through this. You will be fine.

Love, Sophomore

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

The Star Queen

So it's not the best thing I've ever written, but I like it.

The little star looked down at Earth

And she said,

“I want to go there.

Here, I am not important

I am one star, just like all the rest.

But down there, I could be special.”

And so she fell

 The king and his men were out hunting

They saw a flash and went to see what happened

They found the most beautiful woman they had ever seen

 She was tall and beautiful

Jewels shone at her wrists, neck, and ears

But most amazing of all were her eyes

 They were dark blue and flashing silver like the night sky

And when the king looked into them

He swore he could see eternity

 He got down on one knee right then and there

They were married the next day

And the little star became a queen

 For years she lived happily with her king

She had everything she wanted

But most importantly, she was special

 She was special

 One night, as she stared at the sky, the little star realized something

She was lonely

No one on Earth could really understand her like the other stars could

She asked the king’s permission go home

 And he gave it

 The little star returned to the sky

The other stars were overjoyed to see her again

After a year in the sky, the little star returned to Earth

 But time moved differently there

 The king had spent his life waiting for his queen to return

But she hadn’t

He had died of a broken heart

And his kingdom had died with him

 The little star found the ruins of her castle

And the tomb of her king

She cried golden tears

But there was nothing she could do to bring him back

 She returned to the sky in sadness

And dimmed her light until it couldn’t be seen on Earth

 But every year

On the anniversary of her arrival

She returned to the ruins to mourn her lost love

 And that’s where shooting stars come from

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Cinders

A retelling of Cinderella

            The stepsisters were beautiful. That’s the first thing they don’t tell you. The stepsisters were beautiful, and Cinderella was deformed.

            The second lie they tell is that the stepsisters hated Cinderella. They didn’t. In fact, they loved her like she was their blood family. It was Cinderella who hated her stepsisters.

            The stepmother was not around much. She preferred to spend her time with various men, leaving her daughters to live in the manor on their own.

            The stepsisters, Adeline and Destiny by name, were vain girls. After the daily chores were done, they spent time washing and brushing their hair, making potions to improve their complexions and figures, and shopping for new dresses. Cinderella could have joined them, but she chose not to.

            Instead, she stayed in her room. She chose the dark, cold, cramped room in the attic. Many times, her sisters tried to convince her to move to a more comfortable room on the second floor, but she refused. She hid her hatred and bided her time.

            Despite Cinderella’s strange habits, she and her sisters got along well. They lived together quite happily for years.

              One day, someone knocked on the door. Cinderella answered, barefoot and in her ragged, shabby dress.

            “Is the mistress of the house available?” asked the handsome, liveried man.

            “I am the mistress,” Cinderella answered.

            He raised his eyebrows and scrutinized her, scanning her from head to toe.

            “I am the mistress,” Cinderella repeated.

            He held out an envelope made of thick, fancy paper. Cinderella took it and closed the door in his face. She turned the letter over in her hands, examining it closely.

            “Adeline!” she called up the stairs. “Destiny! A letter from the palace!”

            “From the palace?” her stepsisters came running down the stairs excitedly. “Oh, open it, Cinderella!”

            She did. It was an invitation to the prince’s birthday party. Three masquerade balls were to be held, and all eligible young women were to attend. Adeline and Destiny began planning immediately.

            “We’ll need new dresses –”

            “And matching hair things –”

            “We don’t have a coach –”

            “We’ll have to hire one –”

            Chattering happily, they hurried back up the stairs. Cinderella stayed where she was, staring at the letter. She walked to the fireplace and put the corner of the paper delicately in the flames, watching as the edges curled and burned. She smiled.

              The night of the first ball arrived. Adeline and Destiny, dressed in new dresses with fancy new hair things, stood in the foyer and waited for the coach.

            “Cinderella,” called Adeline. “Aren’t you ready?”

            Cinderella stood in the shadows at the top of the stairs. “I’m not going.”

            “You’re not going?” gasped Destiny. “Why not? You’re an eligible young woman. You could meet the prince!”

            “I don’t want to meet the prince,” Cinderella answered. “I’m happy here.” No amount of begging or cajoling could change her mind. Soon, the stepsisters left in their borrowed carriage, off to the ball to meet the prince.

            Cinderella went up to her tiny room. She gathered her supplies and went to the overgrown garden behind the manor. She drew the symbols on the ground and recited the incantations. Above the cracked fountain, a shadowy figure with coal-eyes appeared.

            “Cinderella,” the shadow murmured, hissing like a snake. “What do you desire?”

            “I desire a dress,” Cinderella said. “I wish to go to the ball and dance with the prince.”

            “Yes,” the shadow sighed, coiling itself around her. “We can give you a dress. But you must pay.”

            “Of course.” Cinderella held out her hand, revealing a gem as gold as sunshine. “I offer the memory of a summer’s day, stolen from my stepsister while she slept.”

            The shadow wrapped around her hand, absorbing the gem into itself. “We accept.”

              Adeline and Destiny arrived at the palace. Awed, they walked up the marble steps and entered the grand ballroom.

            “The ladies Adeline and Destiny Grimoult,” the herald announced loudly. They descended the grand staircase, joining the throng of young women eager to meet the prince.

            A young man tapped Adeline’s shoulder. “Would Milady care to dance?” he asked, bowing gallantly.

            Adeline curtsied. “I would be honored, Milord.” The young man took her hand and led her to the dance floor. Halfway through the waltz, he stopped, dropping Adeline’s hand and staring at the young women who had entered.

            She swept passed the herald before he could announce her. As she reached the bottom of the staircase, the crowd parted. Her dress was shiny red and orange like fire. As she moved, small flames seemed to flicker around her collar and hems, there for a second than gone in the blink of an eye. Her mask, matching red with gold accents, covered her nose and forehead. Trailing golden wisps extended down the sides of her face.

            She walked up to Adeline and her dance partner.

            “Happy birthday,” she murmured, curtsying. “Your Highness.” Adeline gasped and turned to study the young man next to her. He was average height, with average features. Nothing about him revealed his royal identity. He stared at the new girl, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He immediately asked her to dance, and didn’t leave her side the whole night.

              The stepsisters returned home disappointed after midnight. They took off their fancy gowns, washed their faces, braided their hair, and went to bed. In the morning, they went downstairs to find Cinderella had made breakfast and was waiting for them in the dining room.

            “Tell me everything,” she demanded. “Was the prince handsome? Did he dance with you?”

            “He doesn’t look like a prince,” Destiny said.

            “He danced half a waltz with me,” Adeline said.

            “Only half a waltz?”

            “Yes. There was this girl, you see.” The stepsisters related the story of the mysterious girl in the fire dress.

            Cinderella sighed. “There are two more nights,” she reassured them.

              That night, Cinderella again insisted on staying home. Again, the stepsisters left without her. And again, once they left, Cinderella went to the garden and called the shadow.

            “I desire another dress,” she declared.

            “Another one?” the shadow asked. “Did not the first one suffice?”

            “It served its purpose,” Cinderella answered. “But there is another ball tonight. I need another dress.”

            “We see.” The shadow looked at her speculatively. “You will have to pay.”

            This time, Cinderella held out a light blue gem. “I offer the happiness of a day spent playing in the snow, stolen from my stepsister while she slept.”

            “We accept.”

              The herald announced the stepsisters, and they joined the crushing crowd. After an hour, the prince approached and asked Destiny to dance. She accepted, and he led her to the dance floor.

            As the dance began, he asked, “Did you know that maiden yester-night?”

            “Which maiden, Your Highness?”

            “The one in the fire-dress. You must have seen her.”

            “Indeed I did, Your Highness. But I do not know who she was.”

            “Ah. What a pity.” When the dance was over, he bowed impersonally and began to walk away, only to freeze as the doors opened.

            She was obviously the fire-maiden from the night before. This time, though, her dress was white, sparkling like ice. Wherever she walked, she left a faint trail of frost that quickly vanished in the heat of the ballroom. Her mask was semi-translucent blue, covering the left half of her face. The prince rushed to her side and asked her to dance. Like the night before, he spent the whole ball with her. Once again, the stepsisters returned home after midnight.

              Cinderella was waiting for them the next morning. “Did the prince dance with you?” she asked. “Was the fire maiden there?”

            “He did dance with me,” Destiny answered. “But he only did it to be polite.”

            “The fire maiden was there,” added Adeline. “Only this time she was wearing an ice dress.”

            “There’s one more night,” Cinderella told them. “And you saved your fanciest, prettiest dress for last.”

              This time, the stepsisters didn’t even try to convince Cinderella to come. They said their goodbyes early and left in the carriage without her.

            For the third time, Cinderella gathered her things and called the shadow.

            “I desire a dress.”

            “Three dresses in as many days,” the shadow hissed. “Why?”

            “The kingdom is celebrating the prince’s birthday. Tonight is the last ball.”

            “Very well,” the shadow murmured. “But you must pay.”

            Cinderella held out her hand, but the shadow stopped her. “No! We do not want another memory from your stepsisters. Tonight, we want something from you.” Cinderella hesitated. “If you do not pay, we will not give you a dress.” The shadow started to vanish.

            “Wait!” Cinderella called. The shadow turned its coal-eyes to look at her. Trembling slightly, Cinderella held out her hand. “I offer a memory of my true love, he who lies buried beneath that fountain.” In her hand, she held the clearest, purest crystal, pulsing gently and shining with an inner light.

            The shadow seemed to smile. “We accept.”

              The prince sat on one of the couches scattered around the edges of the ballroom, bouncing his leg anxiously.

            “She said she’d be here,” he said to the young count at his side. “But it’s an hour to midnight, and I haven’t seen her anywhere.”

            “I’m sure she’ll be here, Your Highness,” the count murmured uncertainly, patting the prince’s arm. At that moment, the double doors at the top of the stairs swung slowly open. The prince stood up.

            She was wearing a dress of pure gold, so delicate and light it made her seem to float down the stairs. A simple gold domino mask covered her eyes. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and smiled at the crowd. The prince rushed to her side.

            “Fair maiden,” he cried. “You are late.”

            “I do apologize, Your Highness,” she answered. “But I am here now.”

            “Yes,” he breathed. “You are.”

              As midnight approached, the golden maiden seemed to get more and more uncomfortable.

            “I have to go, Your Highness,” she said “I am expected back by midnight.”

            He held her tighter. “No, please don’t go! You’ve left me each night before the grand unmasking. I don’t know who you are. I won’t lose you this time.”

            “Oh, but I must go.” She fought against him, breaking free of his hold and hurrying towards the door.

            He grabbed her hand. “Fairest maiden, please wait!”

            “I can’t.”

            “Then take this with you so I can find you again.” He pulled a ring off his finger and offered it to her.

            “I couldn’t, Your Highness.”

            “Please, take it. I insist.”

            She hesitated a moment. “If you insist,” she said quietly. She held out her hand and he slid the ring on. She looked up at him shyly. “Would you like to meet my family?” she asked.

            “Of course!” he exclaimed. “Stay here tonight, and I’ll send for them first thing in the morning.”

            But the maiden shook her head. “We’re leaving tonight. Our servants are packing as we speak. That’s why I need to leave immediately. But you could come with me.”

            “And so I shall!” The prince agreed eagerly. He followed the girl out to a waiting coach, as brilliantly gold as her dress. He courteously helped her in, then settled himself on the opposite seat.

            Taking her hand tenderly, he entreated, “Now that we’re engaged, won’t you tell me your name, my love?”

            “Lady Cinderella Grimoult,” she answered.

              When the carriage pulled up to the large stone manor, the windows were dark.

            “I thought you said you were preparing to leave,” the prince said.

            “We are.”

    ��       “But the lights are all off.”

            “Oh, I’m late.  They must be in the back waiting for me. Come on, hurry!” She led him around the side of the house to an empty, overgrown garden with a disintegrating marble fountain in the middle. She stopped next to the fountain and looked around desolately.

            “They’re not here! They must have left without me!” she wailed, sinking to her knees and starting to cry.

            “There, there, my love. Come back to the palace and stay the night with me,” the prince offered, moving to comfort her. But as he stepped past the old fountain, a circle of light sprung up suddenly, trapping him inside.

            “I could,” Cinderella laughed, standing just outside the circle. “But I have something else in mind.” She began to chant in a language the prince didn’t know. The words were simultaneously harsh and as musical as water flowing. The light around him brightened.

            “Who are you?” a voice hissed. The prince whirled. A shadow raised its head from the fountain, looking at him with eyes like lighted pieces of coal. His mouth went dry. He opened and closed his mouth unable to speak.

            “I have called you here to make a trade,” Cinderella said calmly. “I wish to trade this man’s life for the life of my true love who lies buried under the fountain.”

            The shadow stared at her. “A bold bargain,” it hissed. “Why should we trade with you?

            “It is a fair trade,” Cinderella continued. “A life for a life. Why does it matter to you whose soul you have?”

            “We did not protest the bargain,” the shadow said, sliding to the edge of the circle and staring her in the eye. “We asked why we should trade with you, a mere mortal woman.”

            Cinderella met the shadow’s gaze without flinching. “Because I am the Lady Cinderella Josephine Grimoult, only heir to the line of Morgana le Fey, and I command you to bargain with me.”

            “Morgana le Fey,” the shadow spat, turning away. “We do not like Morgana le Fey. You should not threaten us, little girl.” It drifted back towards her, pressing against the invisible barrier between them.

            “I do not threaten,” Cinderella answered. “I claim what is mine by birthright. A deal was made with Morgana many years ago –”

            “Yes, yes, we know about the deal.” The shadow turned back to face the terrified prince. “This one for the one under the fountain?”

            “Yes.”

            “Very well, Cinderella Josephine Grimoult. We accept your trade.” The ground began to crack. The old fountain fell over as the earth parted beneath it, revealing a plain wooden casket. The shadow circled the prince, weaving itself around his arms and legs. He collapsed slowly, landing face down in the dirt. Then, the shadow was gone. Cinderella was alone in the garden.

            A faint banging came from the coffin. She picked her way carefully over the broken ground and opened the lid.

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

She

Believe it or not, this one was inspired by Chris Pine

When she was little, she was Red Riding Hood

“Don’t stray from the path,” her mother told her

But she was also Alice, eternally curious

And of course, she left the path

And when she left the path, she encountered the wolf

  He took her to a dark room and touched her

She ran home and tried very hard to forget what he had done

  She became Pinocchio, lying to her mother about what had happened

She was the princess, unable to sleep no matter how hard she tried

She just couldn’t get comfortable

  She grew up untrusting and distant

She was Belle, beautiful and separate

She met the Beast in high school

She was a wary freshman, but he was so sweet at first that she let her guards down

  After a while, he started pressuring her

But he always stopped when she told him to

Except one night, he didn’t

  She became Rapunzel, locked in her tower by choice rather than spell

She avoided others as much as possible

She walked across her college campus without meeting anyone’s eyes

She was voiceless Ariel, a fish out of water

  One night, a friend convinced her to go to a party

She met a boy

She didn’t trust him

  Like Cinderella, she left the party early

Back to her tower, never to come out again

  But Prince Charming found her

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,” he called “let down your hair”

She pretended not to hear him

  He stayed, sleeping at the base of her tower

Every day, he called to her

  She laughed at him as he begged her to come out

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair”

  “I will never come out,” she told him

“I do not need a man”

“I have been Little Red Riding Hood, and men were mean

I was Belle, and boys were cruel

I was silent like Ariel, and no one cared

I am done with the world”

  “I am not your Cinderella

And you are not my Prince Charming”

  “I am Rapunzel, proud and strong

And I will stay here in my tower forever”

  A few weeks later, Prince Charming gave up

She looked out her window and smiled

He was gone

And she was free

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

With Sparkles in Their Eyes

I don't really like the title on this one, but I haven't come up with anything better yet.

            I met Annie in the town square on my first night in Maise, a town on the edge of the kingdom. I bumped into her, causing her to fall down. I helped her up and complimented her dress. She smiled at me, a big grin that showed off a missing tooth.

            “I’m Annie,” she announced proudly.

            “I’m Piper,” I answered.

            “I’ve never seen you here before, Piper.”

            “My parents just moved here. They sent me out to play because I was in their way. They don’t like me much.”

            “Do you have any friends?” she asked. It was an odd question. She seemed fairly interested in the answer, like it was an extremely important question.

            “No,” I answered. That was my mistake. I let her know how alone I was.

            “You do now,” she declared, linking her arm through mine. “Here, I’ll show you a secret.” She took me to the edge of the square and showed me a little gap in the hedges. I hesitated, but she seemed to know what she was doing, so I followed her.

            A few feet from the square, there stood a medium-sized metal cage with bars as thick as my twelve-year-old arm. Inside, a majestic tigress paced in a circle, tail flicking sharply back and forth. She growled under her breath. It almost sounded like a human mumbling angrily.

            “She’s from the Jungle,” Annie told me in a hushed voice. “It took twenty men to capture her.” She raised her voice. “Thea!” she shouted. The tigress looked at us. I froze. Her eyes were dark and intelligent. She looked at me like she knew my darkest secrets. She leaped forward, snarling, teeth barred as she tried to reach us through the cage. I backed up, frightened, but Annie just laughed. “Are you scared, Piper?” she asked. I nodded, unable to speak or break Thea’s gaze. “She’s just a silly beast.”

            Annie walked away, but I stayed. Thea calmed down, but continued to look at me. I could swear I saw sympathy in her eyes. She whined quietly and pawed at the lock on her cage door.

            “Piper!” Annie called. I looked at her, breaking the spell. When I looked back at Thea, she had curled into a ball at the back of the enclosure. I followed my new companion back to the town square.

              We played together almost every day. Annie came to my house several times, but every time I suggested going to her house, she said no. I was a quiet child, afraid of confrontation, so I never argued with her.

            From time to time, she would take me through the hedge at the edge of the square to visit Thea. When I was fourteen, another cage appeared next to the tigress’.

            The new cage held a monkey. It chattered loudly and shook its fist at us. Annie ignored the display.

            “This is Lina,” she announced, gesturing at the primate.

            “How do you know her name?” I asked in a rare moment of bravery. “How do you get these animals?” Annie’s face changed. Her brown eyes darkened, turning almost black. I knew I had messed up. Annie stood in front of me and put a hand under my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes.

            “Are you questioning me, Piper?” she asked softly. I shook my head, and she smiled. I always thought her teeth were unusually sharp. “Good.” She released me and stepped away, turning her back to me to watch Thea.

            “What kind of monkey is she?” I asked, hoping to make Annie like me again.

            “I don’t know,” Annie answered, not looking at me.

            “It’s getting dark,” I stammered. “I should be getting home.”

            “Goodbye.” Annie didn’t move. I waited a moment, in case she turned around to wave, but she didn’t. I slipped through the hedge and went back to my house.

            I lay in my bed that night, wondering about the animals. I wouldn’t ask Annie again, but I was curious. But I didn’t dwell on them for too long.  I was more concerned with getting back on Annie’s good side. Despite living in the town for two years, Annie was my only friend. I had tried to make friends with the other girls in the village, but Annie got jealous. She said I was only allowed to hang out with her. Naïve child that I was, I listened to her. After all, she was two years older than me and quite glamorous. It was an honor she chose to be friends with me.

              The next week was my sixteenth birthday. My parents, in a rare moment of concern for me, had decided I was much too shy. They had planned a big party for me and invited all the town girls to attend.

            “A party?” Annie asked when I gave her the invitation.

            “It wasn’t my idea,” I protested. “It was my parents.”

            “I’m sure it was,” Annie answered coolly.

            “Please come,” I begged. “I don’t want to hang out with the other girls.” Annie smiled her slightly disturbing little smile, the one that made me question why I trusted her.

            But she came to my party. She sat on one of the living room chairs and talked politely with the other girls. She gave me a pretty necklace with a milky white gem pendant. Of course, I immediately decided it was my favorite gift, and the prettiest necklace I had ever owned. I wore it every day, which pleased Annie.

            When the party ended, Annie grabbed my arm and pulled me out to the small garden behind my house.

            “You enjoyed that,” she accused, eyes narrowing to slits.

            “No!” I protested, even though I had enjoyed being the center of attention for once.

            “You’re lying.”

            “I’m not! You know I dislike being the center of attention.”

            She backed off, something she had never done before. Before I could say anything else, she was gone.

              The next day, I stayed at home, sure Annie was still mad at me for enjoying the party. I overheard my parents talking about the princess.

            “Her birthday is coming up,” my mother said. “I heard there’s going to be a big parade in her honor.”

            “She’s going to be in the parade,” my father added. “It’s a way to greet her subjects, now that she’s eighteen and can take over from the Regent.”

            “Queen Anne Lucia,” Mother mused. I stopped listening then, because Annie had suddenly appeared in front of me.

            “Why aren’t you in the square?” she asked.

            “I thought you were mad at me because of the party,” I answered, not meeting her eyes.

            “Of course not. It wasn’t your idea. Follow me. I have a new animal to show you.” I smiled as I followed her out of the garden. If we were visiting the animals, I knew I was forgiven.

            In the forest, a birdcage hung from a tree next to Thea’s enclosure. A brightly colored parrot hopped around on the bars and flapped its wings.

            “Paulie,” Annie called. The bird looked at her. “Speak.”

            Paulie opened her beak. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she squawked.

            “Your Highness?” I wondered, examining Paulie’s feathers.

            “She belonged to the princess,” Annie answered. “I got her as a birthday present.”

            “You know the princess?” I asked, shocked. It had never occurred to me to question Annie’s station. “Are you going to be in her parade?”

            “No. You shouldn’t go to that, Piper. There will be thieves and murderers and all sorts of bad people in the crowds. Really, it’s safest if you stay in your house that night.”

            “But I’ve never been to a parade before! I want to go!” Time seemed to slow down. The birds stopped chirping. I could feel the weight of Annie’s necklace around my neck.

            “No, Piper. You will not go to the parade.”

            I stepped back. “No, I won’t. It’ll probably be too crowded anyway. I don’t like to be around so many people.” Unable to break Annie’s gaze, I took another step backwards and tripped on a tree root. I fell hard. I got up, careful to keep my head down and avoid looking at Annie, and hurried back to my house.

              “Piper!” my mother called, annoyance obvious in her voice. “Get down here!”

            “No!” I shouted back. “I’m not going.”

            “Of course you are,” she huffed, grabbing my arm and hauling me towards the door. I tried to move with her, but my feet felt like lead. Taking even a single step took all my concentration.

            “Ow!” I shrieked, jumping backwards. “The necklace burned me!”

            “Then take it off. Come on, we’re going to be late!” My mother glared at me until, with shaking hands, I pulled Annie’s necklace over my head and dropped it on the table. Mother grabbed my arm again and dragged me out the door. The whole town had turned out for Queen Anne’s Parade.

            “She’s still a princess now. When she reaches the capital, she’ll be crowned,” Mother whispered to me.

            “Why is she here then?” I asked. “We’re just a small border town.”

            “Don’t ask so many questions, Piper!” Mother snapped. I shut up. We forced our way through the crowd until we were at the front, where we would have the clearest view of Princess Anne’s carriage.

            First, there was a band, then young girls strewing flowers, then some acrobats. They were my favorite part. One of them gave me a small bouquet of wildflowers. The trumpeters came next, playing the Queen’s Entrance Song, even though she wasn’t crowned yet.

            And then – oh, it was beautiful. Princess Anne’s carriage, shining silver with gold decorations. Princess Anne Lucia herself, sitting on top, smiling and waving at the adoring crowds. She turned to face our side of the street. Suddenly, the parade wasn’t much fun anymore.

            Annie saw me. For a second, she glared at me. But it was only a second, so quick I didn’t know if I’d actually seen it. Then she was smiling and waving again, greeting her subjects. She rode away, off to the capital. A few weeks later, news of her coronation filtered out to our little town.

            With the coronation news came a messenger dressed in royal livery. Mother answered the door, revealing a small man with thinning hair.

            “Does Piper Conwell live here?” he asked in a quiet, pompous voice. Mother beckoned me over. The man narrowed his eyes and looked at me. He saw my necklace, which I had started wearing again after the parade, and nodded to himself. “Very good, ma’am. Uh – may I come in?”

            He immediately settled himself in the most comfortable chair, putting his fingers together in front of him.

            “Miss Conwell,” he began. “I am here to convey to you the wishes of Her Majesty Queen Anne Lucia. She remembers how sweet you were as a childhood friend, and wishes you to come visit her in her palace. With your permission, you shall depart with me at noon tomorrow.” Being almost seventeen, I correctly that realized “with your permission” didn’t mean I had a choice. I mumbled the appropriate thanks yous and packed my things. At exactly noon the next day, the messenger and I set out for the palace.

              It was night when we arrived. I’d never seen a sight as magnificent as the palace. It was taller than Maise’s church steeple and larger than the mayor’s mansion. And, to punctuate the size, every window and roof-edge was illuminated with sparkling white lights. As we passed the grand front entrance, I marveled at the elaborate carvings depicting the history of our country. To my dismay, we passed the ornate doors and stopped in front of a much smaller set made of plain wood. The footman opened the door and helped me down. He ushered me inside where I was greeted by three young women only slightly older than myself.

            “Hello, ma’am,” said the first girl, a tall, tan blonde with merry green eyes. Her dress was the same green. I could see the thin chain of a necklace, but the collar of her dress covered the pendant.

            “Miss Piper, please follow us,” said the second girl. She was dark. Everyone in Pianda was dark, but this girl was darker than any I’d seen before. Her skin almost matched her black hair and dancing black eyes. Her dark purple dress hid her necklace.

            “We are the Queen’s maids, but tonight and tomorrow we will help you,” explained the third girl. She was the most interesting. Her arms, legs, and half her face were slightly darker than average. The other half of her face was as pale as the Landellens from across the sea or their Andrian neighbors. Her dress was the fanciest, orange like a pumpkin with pale lace at the hems.

            I followed them up a staircase to my room. They showed me where to put my things, told me they would help me dress the next morning, and left. I sat on the bed, almost numb to the extravagance of it. I wasn’t used to such soft sheets, and having curtains that closed around my bed was something I’d never even dreamed of. I fell asleep quickly.

              I woke to someone shaking my shoulder gently.

            “Miss Piper. Miss Piper, please get up.” I opened my eyes a bit and saw the green-eyed girl standing over me. I sat up too quickly, waited for my head to stop spinning, and looked around. The dark girl stood behind the green-eyed one. She was holding a fancy dress, similar to the ones they were wearing. I didn’t see the third girl anywhere.

            Then I became aware of a splashing sound from somewhere to my left. I got up and walked curiously towards the noise. The third girl was in the bathroom filling the clawed tub with water.

            “Good morning,” she said without turning around. “Take your batqh. When you’re done put on those clothes there –“ she gestured to a pile of cloth on the sink “– and come out. We’ll help you finish getting dressed.” She left the room without looking at me.

            As instructed, I bathed and dressed myself in the soft fabric. It seemed to me to be a nightgown. When I entered the main room again, the dark girl told me to hold still and fastened a metal hoop around my waist. The green-eyed girl put more skirts over it and gave me a chemise to put on. Finally, the third girl pulled my fancy dress over my head. I admired myself in the mirror. The dress was white, decorated with simple embroidery on the bodice and around the bottom hem. I decided I liked the way the sleeves puffed out at my shoulders and tapered to points on the backs of my hands.

            “Come, Miss Piper,” the dark girl said, tugging me towards the door. “The Queen is eager to see you.” They led me through a confusing maze of halls, stopping in front of a set of doors much like those to my own bedroom.

            “This isn’t the Great Hall,” I murmured, confused.

            The third girl glanced at me. “No,” she said quietly. “It’s not. The Queen wanted to greet you in her bedroom, without all the formal pomp and ceremony. Don’t disobey her.” I stared at her, confused by the last sentence, but she refused to meet my eyes again. The door swung open and I entered the Queen’s chambers. The three girls passed me, taking up positions behind Annie.

            She was stunning, lying on a day couch in an elaborate red-and-gold gown. Her crown rested on a pillow by her head.

            “Piper!” she exclaimed, getting up and throwing her arms around me. Shocked, I hugged her back. She had never enjoyed physical contact when we were children. She pulled away and examined my face. “I do declare, Piper. You’re getting lovelier every day. Soon, you’ll need your own guard to stop the young men.”

            I shook my head. “The village boys don’t even see me most of the time.”

            Annie blinked. “The village boys? No, no, Piper. The young men of the court! I didn’t just bring you here to see you again. I want to make you one of my ladies-in-waiting!”

            “Me?” I gasped.

            “Yes. You were a dear friend to me when we were little, and I’d like to reward you for it.”

            I stood there, mouth hanging open until Annie shut it for me.

            “I know this is probably a little overwhelming, so you don’t have to answer me right now. Here, let me introduce my other ladies-in-waiting.” The three girls stepped forwards.

            “This is Theodora,” Annie said, gesturing. The third girl, the one with a half-pale face, curtsied to me.

            “This is Caraligne,” the dark girl curtsied.

            “And this is Paulette,” the green-eyed girl curtsied. As she did so, her necklace swung free of her collar. It was the same style as mine, except her stone was green to match her eyes. She straightened and tucked the gem back out of sight. Annie turned back to me. “You may stay here for the day and decide if you want to accept my offer or not. Should you choose not to, you may return home with my continued friendship.”

            “I don’t need a day,” I said quietly. “I would be honored to be your lady-in-waiting, Your Majesty.” I tried to curtsy, but wobbled and almost fell. Annie laughed.

            “Don’t worry, clumsy Piper. The other girls will train you in such things.” She dismissed me, sending her maids to escort me back to my room. Cheeks red from being called clumsy, I left her presence.

              Theodora, Caraligne, and Paulette spent the next two weeks teaching me everything I needed to know to be a proper lady-in-waiting. I learned everything from how to dress myself to announcing guests to proper court flirting etiquette. There were rules for situations I hadn’t even imagined could exist.

            “You are with the Queen at a ball,” Theodora started. “She is not currently in her throne. A squire asks you to dance. What do you do?”

            I thought for a second. “I say yes. Since the Queen is not in her throne, I am allowed to dance with those who ask me. It would be rude to refuse. If no one has asked me to dance, I may make eyes at appropriate young men to entice them to ask.”

            “Define ‘appropriate,’” Paulette ordered.

            “Those who are near to my age and are not higher than the rank of count. The sons of higher nobles are also considered appropriate.”

            “What would you do if the Queen was in her throne when the squire asked you to dance?”

            “I would refuse. It is not proper for a Queen’s lady to dance while her mistress is resting.”

            “What if you are dancing with the squire and the Queen returns to her throne?”

            “I finish the dance and return to the throne.”

            Theodora smiled, a rare occurrence. “Very good, Piper. I think you’re finally ready.” Her smile fell. “I’m sorry.”

            I paused. “Sorry for what?” I asked, but the three had already left the room.

              After dinner that night, Theodora came to my room alone.

            “The Queen bids you meet her in the rose garden tonight at an hour before midnight.”

            “What for?” I asked.

            Theodora pulled her necklace out and showed it to me. It was the same as mine and Paulette’s, except her gem was orange. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” she murmured. I stayed silent. “Caraligne has one, too. Hers is black. Onyx, I think it is.” She looked at me. “Do you ever take it off?”

            “My necklace?”

            She nodded. “I know I wore mine all the time when I first got it.” It seemed an odd statement, since I had never seen her without it.

            “I took it off once because it burned me,” I offered.

            Theodora nodded. “Take it off. Right now. Put it back on before you meet the Queen, but for now, don’t wear it.” She watched me as I slowly raised the chain over my head and put it on my bedside table. Theodora left. I tried, but I couldn’t fall asleep.

              At quarter to eleven, I put the necklace back on, slipped into my shoes, grabbed a cloak, and hurried to the garden to meet the Queen.

            “Piper,” she greeted me. “Thank you for coming. I apologize for pulling you out of bed so late, but I just don’t have time for things like this during the day.”

            “It’s fine, Your Majesty,” I assured her.

            “Follow me,” she commanded, but it was a gentle command. “I thought you might like to see the animals again. I had them moved here shortly after I was crowned.” She led me from the rose garden to the heart of the hedge maze. I saw the three cages and their inhabitants.

            Thea looked at me. She seemed sad. She glanced at the Queen, whimpered softly, and turned her back on us. Lina, usually rather loud and energetic, sat in one corner of her cage and watched us silently.

            Paulie sat on her perch. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she squawked. Annie smiled and gave her a biscuit.

            “She sound like Paulette,” I commented.

            “Yes,” the Queen answered. “Parrots imitate the voices they hear. When I got Paulie, the first voice she heard was Paulette’s. In fact, that’s why I named her what I did.” I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

            Annie turned to face me. “Dear Piper,” she said, putting her hands on my shoulders. “You always were a quiet one. Quiet and frightened, like a rabbit.”

            My necklace began to burn. I tried to take it off but Annie held my arms against my sides. I screamed. Thea roared and charged the cage bars over and over again. Lina chattered angrily. Paulie echoed my scream in an eerily human voice. I blacked out.

                “Thank you for coming, My Lord.” Queen Anne Lucia smiled graciously and held her hand out to the visiting dignitary from Landelle.

            He kissed her hand gallantly. “It is my honor and my pleasure to be here, Your Majesty,” he declared dramatically.

            Queen Anne Lucia smiled. “Perhaps, My Lord, your departure can be delayed a bit? You displayed an interest in my little zoo. Now that business is concluded, I would be delighted to escort you.”

            “I would enjoy that very much, your majesty,” the delegate smiled. Queen Anne Lucia left her throne, took the man’s arm, and led him through her rose garden to the heart of the hedge maze, where her small zoo was held.

            “I’m afraid it is not as impressive as the ones other royals have,” she apologized. “I am working to expand it, but for now it is rather small.”

            “Nonsense,” the delegate declared. “It may be small, but I know many royals who have much larger zoos but cannot boast to own such a magnificent tiger.”

            “This is Thea,” the Queen replied. It took twenty men to capture her from the Jungle.”

            The delegate inspected Thea, who regarded him in turn with a cold eye.

            “A monkey!” he exclaimed, moving on. “What kind is he?”

            “She,” the Queen corrected. “Her name is Lina. She is a spider monkey.”

            “Yes, Your Majesty,” Paulie interjected.

            The delegate laughed and offered her a biscuit. “Who is this charming bird?”

            “Paulie. She was a gift from a cousin of mine.” The Queen thought for a moment. “You know, they say parrots can imitate the voices they hear.”

            “Is that so?” The delegate turned to Paulie. “Can you imitate me?”

            Paulie fluffed her feathers. “Can you imitate me?” she squawked in the delegate’s voice.

            “How wonderful!” he marveled. Then he crouched down to peer into the last cage.

            “And who lives here?”

            “My newest addition,” the Queen answered, opening the cage and reaching inside. “She’s not as exotic as the rest of them, though.” She pulled out a white rabbit and settled it in her arms. “This is Pip.”

            “How adorable,” the delegate murmured, scratching behind the rabbit’s ears. “Is it good for her to be out here? What about the predators?”

            “I do take precautions to protect her,” the Queen answered.

            “Of course. I never meant to imply you didn’t.” The delegate took the rabbit and returned her to her cage. He and the Queen left the garden, leaving the four animals on their own.

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Milady; or The Rejection of Sir Guillaume de Boucey: A Play in One Act

I was reading Shakespeare the other day, and started thinking about "nice guys." This is the result: a Shakespearean "nice guy" getting rejected, then getting pissy about it.

 GUILLAUME: Oh, what I would do for her affections, the fair lady of my heart. For a glance from her bright eye, I would travel the world around, though it take me many a year. For a touch of her gentle hand, I would die a thousand times over. And for a kiss – one soft kiss – from her sweet rosebud mouth, I would move the Earth itself; yea, and Heaven above and Hell below, too. Alas, that she does not know of my feelings. (He looks to the right) Ah, here she comes now, whom I so dote upon.

(Enter LADY MARIE CAPET with one of her Maids)

GUILLAUME: (Bowing elaborately) Ah, good morrow, my lady, my pearl, my fairest dove.

MARIE: Good morrow, my lord. But what cause have you to be calling me such names?

GUILLAUME: Names, good lady? Nay, not names. Say rather, endearments, for thou art dear to me.

MARIE: I am dear to you? I, who have never once wished for thy company in any way but that of a friend, and hardly even as that?

GUILLAUME: Yes, dear to me. Thine eyes haunt my sleep, thy voice rings in my ears. If you would have me, lady, I am thy devoted slave.

MARIE: I have no need of a slave, sir.

GUILLAUME: Then I’ll be thy constant companion, ever at thy side to do thy bidding.

MARIE: No, I have no need of that, either.

GUILLAUME: There must be some place for me in thy life. What wouldst thou have me as?

MARIE: As a friend, and nothing more.

GUILLAUME: A friend and nothing more? Nay, fairest jewel. I do not deserve to be so rashly treated. Have I not been always kind to you? Do I not offer you the best of food and drinks? Did not I joust in thine honor at My Lord’s last tourney?

MARIE: Aye, good sir. All that you say is true. But do such kindnesses mean I must submit myself to an intolerable man? I like thee not, Sir Guillaume. Thou hast ever been far too forward with me for my liking. To this point, I have borne your injuries quietly for my father’s sake, as he loves you dearly. From this point, I shall bear them no longer. I no longer desire thine acquaintance, even as a friend. Come, Sarah, let us away from this man’s presence.

(Exit LADY MARIE and her Maid)

GUILLAUME: Oh, fie. I curse thee, fickle fate; thou whom dost promise to young men all their desires, then take away such prizes in the same breath! (He throws down the rose) But it is all right. The lady Marie was never good enough for me. In troth, I believe I loved her out of pity, for what other man should ever love a woman so ugly as she? Indeed, she, whose face is as lumpy and misshapen as badly kneaded bread. Her eyes are duller than a stone; her skin is pitted and pockmarked. And furthermore, she cannot hold intelligent conversation to save her life! No sooner does she open her mouth than the most awful noises come out. ‘Ahhh,’ she says. Or sometimes it is ‘Duuuhh.’ One cannot even hear oneself think in her ghastly presence. Yes, I say, it is true. It is well that she rejected my suit, for I could never be happy with her. Truly, it is no matter. I shall go into the world, and find a lady more worthy and appreciative of my noble attentions.

(Exit SIR GUILLAUME)

FIN

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

The Red Poppies Danced

This one is loosely based off the song "No Man's Land" as sung by Ryan Kelly.

The happy white poppies were her favorite.

She played in the field of poppies every day.

The sun shone down, laughing at her antics.

And the white poppies danced.

  When she was twenty, she brought her True Love to the field.

He loved the poppies as much as she did.

They spent all spring there, laying the in field.

They laughed and kissed until the sun went down each day.

And the white poppies danced happily.

  In the fall, she stood in the field, alone.

He had left the day before, headed for the front.

She didn’t know if she would see him again.

The cold sun shone down on the dying flowers.

But still the white poppies danced.

  A month later, she stood in the field, feeling the new life inside her.

He was born in August when she was twenty-one.

He was a beautiful child.

She buried him a week later in her poppy field.

And the white poppies continued to dance.

  In winter, she got a letter from the war.

It said the writer was very sorry to deliver the news.

Her True Love was never coming home.

Don’t worry, the letter said, he had a nice grave away from the battlefield.

On his grave in no man’s land, a single white poppy danced.

  She went to her poppy field the next day.

A thin layer of snow covered the dead flowers.

White, she thought.

White for innocence.

A breeze made the dead white poppies dance.

  She sat among the flowers

She made the fatal cuts, not feeling the pain.

Her blood was as red as a storybook rose.

It rushed out, leaving her as cold and white as the snow she lay in.

And the red poppies danced.

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Ryker's Game

This one I just finished tonight,

            Every funeral I’ve been to since I’m old enough to remember, I’ve been a pallbearer. But not this time. This time, instead of carrying the casket, I’m the one in it.

            I watch through a peephole in the wood as my funeral proceeds. My parents are sitting in the front row. My mom is sobbing. My dad has an arm around her shoulders. He’s crying, too, which makes me feel bad, because I’ve never seen him cry before. My two little sisters sit further down the row. Lily is crying as hard as my mom. Tabby just holds Lily and stares straight ahead.

            In the row behind them sits my almost-fiancé. Technically, he’s still my boyfriend. But I heard from a reliable inside source that he had bought the ring and was going to propose soon. My whole family approves of him. They already started referring to me as “Mrs. Ryker.”

            The funeral finishes. I feel the coffin being wheeled out of the church. It’s set down hard in the back of the hearse. The door slams. A humming noise and a slight bouncing indicate the hearse has started moving. My coffin is opened.

            “Remember,” the funeral director, Mrs. Cox, tells me, “stay below the windows.” I nod and get out of the cramped space, lying next to the coffin and spreading my arms and legs. I am very careful to stay below the windows, so the cars in the funeral procession don’t see me. When we arrive at the cemetery, I lay back down in the coffin. Mrs. Cox closes and locks the lid again.

            I feel myself being carried. Through my peephole, I can only see someone’s black-clad legs, and I wonder idly who my pallbearers are. I imagine the people I carried are now carrying me. I can hear the muffled voice of the priest who gives the final blessing. Sobbing. The door creaks, and the voices fade. Mrs. Cox opens my coffin, but as I start to get up, I hear a voice from the entryway.

            “Ma’am?” my fiancé asks. I hold back a shudder and lie as still as I can. Mrs. Cox turns around, her body blocking Scott’s view of me. Bless her heart.

            “I’m sorry, sir,” she says coolly. “You can’t be here. The family requested a private burial.” She pauses. “I think they’re holding a luncheon at the restaurant down the street to celebrate her life, if you want to go,” she offers kindly.

            “Oh,” Scott stammers. “I will. Go, I mean. I will go. But first, well, Laura was my girlfriend. I was going to ask her to marry me this weekend. Can I – can I put the ring on her finger? Please? It would make me feel a lot better.” I start to panic. No! Scott can’t touch me! He’ll realize my skin is still warm and he’ll immediately know I’m trying to trick him.

            “Well…” Mrs. Cox falters. She glances at me and sees my rigid posture. “I can take the ring and put it on her before she’s buried. Is that acceptable?”

            “You mean I can’t do it myself?” Scott asks. He sounds so sad, like he’s about to cry. I almost want to leap out of the casket and hold him like I used to.

            “You can watch me do it. But,” Mrs. Cox’s voice hardens, “after that, sir, you really need to leave so we can permanently close the coffin.” Apparently Scott accepts this arrangement, because Mrs. Cox turns to me, a shiny gold circle held between two fingers. It’s hard, but I manage to keep myself from flinching as the hard, cold weight of the ring settles on my finger.

            “Thank you,” Scott breathes. I can hear his voice catch.

            “You’re welcome, sir.” Mrs. Cox is all business again. “Now, go to the luncheon. Remember her life and the good times you had with her.” The door creaks. Mrs. Cox turns back to me and nods.

            I sit up and immediately take off the ring, throwing it across the room. It hits against the stone wall with a dull clink and falls to the floor.

            “Now, now, child!” Mrs. Cox scolds. “There’s no call for all that.” She retrieves the ring and holds it in the palm of her hand, where I can see it. “At least the man has good taste.”

            I look at the ring. It’s a thin band, much too thin to be as heavy as it felt on my hand. The band is embellished with a tiny, etched pattern of flower blossoms. At the front of the ring is a medium-sized diamond. On either side of the diamond is a small amethyst, my birthstone.

            “I guess,” I agree halfheartedly. Mrs. Cox tries to hand me the ring. “Oh, no,” I say, pulling my hands back. “I don’t want it. You keep it. Sell it. It looks like it’s worth a lot of money.” She shrugs and puts the ring in her pocket.

            Night falls. When the cemetery closes, Mrs. Cox walks me to the side gates. She gives me a plane ticket and my travel bag, packed with clothes, money, and a whole new identity. I hug her, feeling the tears start, but I push them back. It’s better this way. I turn and walk out of the cemetery. I start down the road towards the airport. I only look back once.

              Maggie strode confidently down the street. She felt strong, powerful, important. She slammed open the door to her house with more force than she had intended, causing it to crash hard into the wall behind it.

            “Oops,” she laughed sheepishly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

            Her husband laughed. “My destructive little Maggie. What am I going to do with you?”

            Maggie shrugged and put her briefcase down. She hummed to herself as she walked into the living room and plopped unprofessionally on the couch. Her husband followed her and sat much more decorously on the matching chair.

            “Good day at the firm?”

            “I got the promotion! I’m a partner!” Maggie couldn’t keep her hands from flapping excitedly as she announced her big news.

            “That’s great, honey!” her husband smiled. He walked over to the couch and kissed her. His lips moved down to her neck. “And I think I know a great way to celebrate it,” he mumbled against her skin. Maggie laughed and allowed herself to be led to the bedroom.

              Scott sat in front of his computer, staring at the Google homepage. After a long internal battle, he sighed and typed her name into the search bar again. Laura Skinner. Enter.

            The same frustratingly unhelpful links popped up, all of them purple from his previous attempts to find her. He didn’t want to torture himself, but he couldn’t help it. He clicked on the top link again.

            “Local Girl Dies of Drug Overdose” the headline read. Scott shook his head. No. That was wrong. Laura never did drugs. He would have known about it. He knew all her secrets. He re-read the article, even though he had it memorized and could have recited it by heart. He turned off the computer, fuming.

            “You can’t hide forever, Laura. I know you’re out there somewhere, and I’m going to find you.”

              Getting to work the next day was hard for Maggie. She laughed as she walked into the large, glass-and-steel building, dodging local reporters and gossipmongers.

            “Mrs. Venn! Mrs. Venn! Do you have time to answer a few questions?”

            “Maggie! Would you care to comment on your promotion?”

            “I’m here at the Peterson and Guilds Law Firm, where Mrs. Maggie Venn was confirmed yesterday as the first female partner…” Maggie shook her head and entered the building, feeling the cool air conditioning wash over her.

            “Maggie!” Roger Guilds, a bent, aging man, greeted her. “Having fun in the circus?” A vague gesture of his hand indicated the crowd of reporters outside.

            “Yes, Roger,” Maggie smiled. “Because my only goal in life has been to get in the papers and be seen.” She posed coquettishly and batted her eyelashes at him.

            “Is that our newest partner I hear?” asked a voice from the office down the hall. A few seconds later, Jeffry Peterson emerged. “Ah, I thought so. Hello, Maggie.” He greeted her with a hug and a kiss on each cheek, as he always did.

            “Hello, Jeffry,” Maggie answered, returning the gesture. She pulled away and straightened her skirt. “What’s my first case?”

            Roger laughed. “An impatient little lass.”

            “I always was,” Maggie smiled proudly. Jeffry smiled and pointed her in the direction of her new office, where an unopened case file sat on the desk. Maggie closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of having own office for a moment. Then she opened the case file and got to work.

              It was a happy coincidence that finally led Scott to his runaway fiancée. There was a little blurb in the local newspaper about woman in the workplace, or something equally stupid. Women should stay at home, in his opinion. Everyone knew they were too dumb to function in the real world. He read the article, just to see what silly reasoning was used to justify something so unnatural.

            One of the women identified as “powerful enough to change the country” was a woman named Maggie Venn, from Des Moines, Iowa. In the interest of knowing his opponents, Scott decided to look up the woman. He typed the name into Google. And froze.

            The first link was to an article in Des Moines’ largest newspaper. Accompanying the writing was a picture of a brown-haired woman entering a large glass building.

            It wasn’t possible. Besides, she had been a blond, and this woman was clearly brunette. Hair dye exists, he reminded himself, staring at the picture. The jaw line wasn’t quite right. She must have had plastic surgery.

            He clicked the “images” link at the top of the page. Several images of the lawyer popped up, some formal portraits and some obviously amateur candids. He studied her face closely. It was just different enough to make him doubt his first impression, but the longer he looked, the more sure he became.

            He booked the first flight to Des Moines and packed hurriedly.

              A week later, Maggie was sitting in her office reviewing the facts of her case when her secretary – it was so weird to have a secretary – brought in the mail.

            “Thank you, Izzie,” Maggie smiled. She gestured at the right side of her desk. “Just put the pile there. I’ll look at it after lunch.” Izzie did as she was told, placing the mail, meticulously sorted by size, carefully on the edge of the desk and quietly leaving the room. The door clicked shut behind her. Maggie continued working.

            True to her word, when Maggie returned to her desk after lunch, she cleared away all the case files and pulled the stack of mail to the middle of her desk. On the very top were a few shiny, plastic ads for various electronic companies. Those went in recycling without a second glance.

            Beneath the ads was a small, folded piece of paper. There was no address on it. Huh, Maggie thought, staring at the small square. Someone must have come in and delivered it in person. Curious, she unfolded the paper.

            “Dear Laura,” the first line read. Maggie sat back in her chair, suddenly worried. No one in Des Moines knew about that. She continued reading. “I always knew you were trying to trick me. I know you’ve become so successful by sleeping with other men. I’m coming for you, Laura. And I’m going to bring you back home with me, where you belong.” It was signed, “All my love, Scott.”

            Scott. Maggie’s blood ran cold. How had Scott found her? She had been so careful choosing her new city. Des Moines was an average city in an average state. She had never mentioned wanting to go there while she was with Scott. She had changed her name, her birthday, her hair color, everything. She had been so sure Scott would never find her.

            Another thought struck her. The paper, as she’d noted earlier, hadn’t been sent through the mail. It had been delivered in person. That meant Scott was near. It got hard to breathe or swallow. Maggie’s vision narrowed and her blood pounded in her ears. She sat back in her chair and took deep, calming breaths until she could think clearly again.

            The logical thing to do would be to tell the police. But she remembered all too well what had happened when she’d tried to tell the police in her hometown.

            “Scott? Abusive?” Captain Montarrey had asked incredulously. “Never. He adores you, Laura. He’d never hurt you.” Maggie had tried showing him the bruises, but no matter what she said, he remained insistent that Scott would never hurt the woman he loved.

            Loved, Maggie thought with a mental snort. Scott never loved me. I was just a homemaker to him. He wanted a woman who would bend easily to his will. I was that poor girl, until I grew a spine and stood up for myself. Against her will, Maggie’s mind replayed the first time she’d stood up to Scott.

            “…And furthermore, if you don’t treat me with the respect I deserve, I’m leaving!” She’d shouted angrily.

            Scott had only smiled lazily from the couch. “You leave me, babe, and I’ll kill one of your sisters.”

            Maggie froze. He’d said it so casually, like he talked about killing innocent little girls every day. She turned to him, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t.”

            “Try me and find out.”

            It was then that she’d started thinking of faking her own death to escape him and save her family from his clearly messed-up mind.

            But now, he’d found her. He knew she’d tricked him. She chest tightened as the questions ran through her mind.

            If he knew she’d run away, were her sisters okay? How had he found her? Where was he? What was he going to do?

              Matt heard the doorbell ring. He sighed, put his coffee down and walked to the door. Through the peephole, he saw an unfamiliar man. His brown hair was mostly smooth, except for a few tufts on top of his head. His beard was a little unkempt, and it looked like he’d slept in his clothes. After a moment of hesitation, Matt opened the door.

            “Hello?”

            “Hi. Matthew Venn?” the man asked. He seemed nervous.

            “That’s me.” Matt stepped out onto the patio, closing the door behind him.

            “Is Laura around?” the man asked.

            “Laura? I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong house–”

            The man interrupted him. “Maggie! I mean Maggie. Is Maggie Venn here?”

            Matt paused, scrutinizing the man carefully. “Why?”

        ��   “I – uh. I’m an old friend of hers.” He twisted his hands together and avoided Matt’s eyes.

            Matt crossed his arms. “From where?”

            “School. We went to the same high school.”

            “She’s not here,” Matt said firmly.

            “Okay. Thank you.” The man turned and walked away, getting into an old, tan car and driving away. Matt watched him until the car turned a corner. Then he went back inside and went back to work.

              “Izzie,” Maggie called. The young woman appeared in the doorway. “Wait a sec for me, won’t you? We can walk to our cars together.”

            “Oh, sure,” Izzie smiled. “I’ll wait.” Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to be alone, not with Scott around somewhere. A few minutes later, the two women left the building. Izzie talked about her new niece, but Maggie couldn’t make herself pay attention. She kept searching the surrounding area, looking for Scott’s face. But, despite her paranoia, they made it to the parking deck without incident.

            “Oh, there’s my car!” Izzie bubbled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Venn!”

            “See you tomorrow, Izzie,” Maggie answered. She watched the younger women get into her car. She regretted parking on the third level. Izzie pulled out, waving as she passed by. Maggie forced a smile and waved back.

            The parking deck was dark and quiet. Taking a deep breath, Maggie forced herself to move. She walked quickly, trying not to make any noise that could attract attention to herself.

            She made it to the third level without incident. Her little blue Toyota was parked between a sporty silver Mercedes on the passenger side and… Maggie gulped. Next to her car on the driver side was a black pickup truck. With tinted windows, she realized as she got closer. Moving quickly, she ducked around to the passenger side of her car, ducking so she couldn’t be seen by anyone in the truck. Her hands shook so badly that she dropped her keys. They bounced to the floor, making far too much noise for Maggie’s comfort. She managed to retrieve the keys and unlock the door. No one emerged from the truck to abduct her.

            She slid inside, quickly closing the door behind her. Maneuvering to the driver’s seat proved to be a bit tricky, but she managed. As soon as she was settled, she stuck the key in the ignition and took off. She held her breath until she was entirely out of the parking deck.

              Matt glanced at the clock when he heard Maggie’s car pull into the garage. The red numbers switched to 5:14.

            “You’re late,” he teased as she walked in. Then he saw her face. “Baby, are you okay?” He scooted over on the couch and patted the cushion beside him. She sat down. He put his arm around her and felt her whole body trembling.

            “He – he’s here. He found me.” Maggie was looking at the china cabinet without really seeing it.

            “Who’s here?” Matt asked gently. Maggie turned to him.

            “I wasn’t entirely honest with you when we got married,” she started. She told him everything, from her first encounter with Scott to his threats against her family to faking her death to protect them.

            “But I got a letter today,” she finished. She fished in her purse for a second and pulled out a little piece of paper, unfolding it so Matt could read the message.

            “Scott,” he said, getting bad feeling in his stomach. “What does he look like?”

            “Well, I don’t know anymore. It’s been ten years. The last time I saw him, he had brown hair. He was always kind of skinny. And he had no sense of fashion.”

            “He was here,” Matt said softly. Maggie – Laura – faced him, fear in her eyes.

            “When?”

            “While you were at work. He called you Laura. He said he was a friend from high school.”

            “Technically, that’s true,” Maggie mused quietly.

            “Have you called the police?” Matt asked. Maggie shook her head. “Ok. That’s the first thing we’re going to do then.” He got up and grabbed the phone, coming back to sit beside his wife, putting an arm around her waist. “Everything will be okay.”

            “Sure,” she muttered. “You’re right. It will be okay.” But she didn’t really seem to believe it.

              The sudden ringing of the doorbell caused Maggie to shoot out of her chair, knocking it over. Trembling, she picked up the chair while Matt peered through the peephole.

            “It’s the police, Mags,” he reassured her. “I’m letting them in now, okay?” Maggie just nodded.

            The two policemen, both women, Maggie noted thankfully, entered the house and stood slightly uncertainly in the entryway until Matt motioned for them to sit in the living room.

            Maggie explained her story again, trying not to leave out any details. When she finished her part, Matt reported Scott’s visit to the house earlier that day.

            “Do you have a restraining order on this man?” one of the officers asked.

            Maggie shook her head. “It wouldn’t have done any good. And then I didn’t think I’d need one.”

            “Then that’s the first thing you need to do,” the officer said firmly. “File a restraining order tomorrow morning.”

            “You said he threatened your family?” the other officer asked, frowning. “Why didn’t you ever report him to the police then?”

            “I tried,” Maggie explained. “The head policeman was Scott’s best friend. He didn’t believe me. Or at least, he didn’t do anything to stop it.”

            “Have you checked in with your family now that he’s found you?”

            Maggie looked at her hands, clasped in her lap. “Not directly. They think I’m dead. But I checked all the local news and no one reported them dead.”

            “We’ll look into that for you,” the first officer said reassuringly. “For now, we’ll stay here with you if that’s okay. Just for the night. Tomorrow, we’ll go with you to get that restraining order. Sound good?”

            Matt looked at Maggie. She stared blankly at the wall for a few seconds, then nodded. The two officers surveyed the house and the medium sized yard. One officer slept downstairs on the couch, while the other took the bed in the spare room upstairs. The night passed without incident.

              In the morning, true to their word, the officers escorted Maggie and Matt to the police station to file a restraining order. It took all morning. When they arrived back home, Maggie lay wearily on the couch and buried her face in the pillow.

            “I can’t believe this is happening,” she moaned, voice muffled by the fabric.

            Matt patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Everything will be fine, Mags. There are policemen out there guarding us right now. If he tries to come after you, they’ll take care of it.”

            “At least it’s Saturday,” Maggie answered, turning to her face to her husband. “I don’t have to worry about him showing up at work today.”

            They spent the afternoon moving restlessly around the house. Maggie cleaned the entire living room, their bedroom, and the kitchen just to keep herself busy and her mind off her problems. Matt tried to get some work done, but ended up sitting in the living room staring blankly at the TV, unaware of what he was watching.

            At dinnertime, they invited the officers inside for supper, but the men politely declined, saying they had food in their car. Maggie and Matt settled into their bed uneasily. Maggie curled into a tiny ball. Matt wrapped himself around her.

            “You’ll be okay, Mags. I’ll protect you. I promise,” he whispered.

              The weekend was simultaneously too long and too short. The officers drove Maggie to work on Monday, dropping her off at the building, then settling across the street for the day.

            Maggie tried to focus on her cases, but she couldn’t. Even with the security in the building, and the extra policemen watching out for her, she was afraid. Scott was clever. Maggie had no doubt he could get past her defenses if he really wanted to. But he didn’t show up.

            When she got home, she dashed from the police car to the front door as quickly as she could. Matt opened the door as she reached the porch stairs, letting her scurry inside without stopping. She went upstairs to put her briefcase away.

            On the bed was a little white square. With shaking fingers, Maggie picked it up and carried it downstairs. She handed it to Matt, who unfolded it and read it out loud.

            “Oh, dear Laura. Your precautions are adorable. But policemen can only help you if they can find you. Remember, you’re still mine. Love, Scott.”

            “He was here. He was inside our house,” Maggie couldn’t stop trembling. Matt immediately called the policemen inside, where they could guard his wife better. This time, they slept on the floor next to Maggie’s bed.

              Maggie woke up the next morning and immediately shielded her eyes from the sunlight coming in the window. Wait a minute, she thought. Sunlight. There shouldn’t be any sunlight. She bolted upright, looking wildly around the room.

            “Whoa, Mags,” Matt said, putting his hand on her shoulder to calm her down. “You’re okay.”

            “What time is it?” Maggie asked, turning to the clock by their bed. The numbers glowed happily, showing 9:43. “I’m late!” Maggie threw off the covers and tried to get up, but Matt pushed her back to a sitting position.

            “No, you’re not. The police thought it was too dangerous for you to go to work. They called the office, and your assistant brought your files here. You’re not to leave the house unless it’s absolutely necessary until they catch Scott.”

            Maggie nodded, slightly mollified. “Where are the policemen?” she asked.

            “Downstairs getting breakfast. I told them I’d stay here with you until you woke up.”

            “Breakfast. Now that you mention it, I am kind of hungry.”

            “Well, let’s get you something to eat.” Matt helped her up and walked with her to the top of the stairs. He let her go down first, keeping a hand on her arm to reassure her she was safe.

            They entered the kitchen, and the illusion shattered. One policeman was unconscious, tied up in the corner, blood flowing sluggishly from a wound on his shoulder. The other man was sitting in one of the chairs, his wrists bound behind his back and his ankles tied together.

            “No…” Maggie whispered, instinctively backing up, bumping into Matt. He put his arms around her.

            “Maggie,” he said in a low voice. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to turn. Slowly. As soon as you’re facing the door, run. Get out of the house and don’t look back. I’ll be right behind you. Get the police here as fast as you can. Okay?” Maggie nodded. Matt started turning.

            Maggie screamed.

            Scott, standing in front of the door, smiled. “Laura.”

            “Scott.” She fought the urge to throw up.

            Scott scowled. “Laura, who’s this?” he asked, gesturing at Matt. “I told you not to sleep with other men.”

            “I’m her husband,” Matt answered, glowering at the intruder.

            “Her husband?” Scott looked genuinely hurt. “You promised I was your one and only!”

            Maggie opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out.

            “Step away from him, Laura,” Scott ordered. Some long-forgotten habit kicked in, and Maggie stepped obediently away from her husband. Matt, not expecting her to listen, let her go.

            “Good.” Scott’s smile was back. He pulled a small handgun from behind his back and pointed it at Matt.

            “Don’t hurt him!” Maggie cried, finally finding her voice. Scott paused and turned to her.

            “Don’t hurt him?” he asked, mimicking her voice. “Why not? That’s what happens to men you cheat with. They get what they deserve.”

            “It wasn’t cheating. I broke up with you!”

            “No,” Scott disagreed, smiling cruelly. “You pretended you died. You never told me we broke up.” His voice changed to a plaintive, pleading tone. “I was faithful to you, Laura. For eleven years. I stayed true. Why didn’t you? Don’t you love me? Did you ever love me?” He looked at her with big, puppy dog eyes.

            “I did love you, Scott,” Maggie said softly. “Until you threatened my family.”

            “You’re family,” he snarled, anger suddenly back full force. “They didn’t like me.”

            “They were right not to like you.”

            “They were going to split us apart! They didn’t love you like I did. Like I do.”

            “No, Scott,” Maggie answered, shaking her head. “You never loved me. You just wanted someone who would obey your every wish.”

            “Come back with me, Laura.”

            “No.”

            His gaze turned back to Matt, frozen where Maggie had left him. “Come back to me, or I shoot him.”

            “Maggie,” Matt said calmly, eyes never leaving Scott. “I love you.”

            “I love you, too,” Maggie choked out, tears rolling down her face.

            “No!” Scott shouted. “You don’t love anyone but me!”

            Maggie saw his finger squeeze the trigger.

            “Matt!” She shrieked, shoving her husband out of the way. She was smaller than him, so the bullet that was intended for Matt hit her head. She was dead when she hit the floor. For a moment, both men stared at her lifeless body.

            “No,” Scott whispered, tears spilling from his eyes. He dropped to his knees, staring at Maggie’s unmoving form. “Laura. I love you, Laura.” In a swift, desperate motion, he shoved the gun in his own mouth and pulled the trigger.

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Long Live the King

The longest piece I've ever finished. (But still not that long). Rather proud of myself.

            Once upon a time…

              Ah, such good words, aren’t they? They’re usually used to start off fairy tales. Oh, but what I’m about to tell you is no fairy tale. At least, not the modern, Disney idea of a fairy tale. So, now that you know what to expect, let’s start over.

              Once upon a time…

              Our story takes place in the far away kingdom of Andria. The rulers of Andria were the benevolent King Cedric and his wife, the lovely Queen Adina. They had two sons, twin boys named Caleb and Christopher.

            The royal family was loved by the people. They were known as kind and generous rulers who truly cared about their subjects. Thus, the people were as overjoyed as the King and Queen when another child was born.

            Malloreon was born in the early evening on the eve of the winter solstice. The day was clear, in the way the ocean is calm before a storm. Malloreon was a beautiful little girl, with her father’s soft, grey-blue eyes and her mother’s full lips. Everyone adored the new princess, especially her brothers. Sometimes they got jealous of all the attention she got, but secretly, they loved her more than anyone else.

            Of course, the King and Queen had a kingdom to run. They couldn’t take care of little Malloreon all the time, much as they wanted to. Caleb and Christopher tried to help, but, being four-year-old boys, they often got distracted and caused trouble. In order to make sure Malloreon was cared for, the King and Queen hired a nanny.

            The nanny was a perfectly acceptable woman of thirty-four. But, like everyone, she had a deep, dark secret that she guarded jealously.

            Her name was September Wellgarde. She was unusually tall, towering above even the king. Her smooth brown hair was always pinned back in a neat chignon. She wore long-sleeved, ankle-length dresses and usually carried a book under her arm. She never told anyone what was in the book.

            While she had been hired to take care of little Malloreon, she often watched over the twins as well. Caleb and Christopher adored her. Malloreon was too young to voice her feelings, but she cried whenever September was gone for too long.

            Despite the devotion of her young charges, September left when Malloreon was only three.

            “I’m truly sorry, your majesties,” she said, kneeling before the king and queen. “But my mother has fallen quite ill. I am the only one left to take care of her.” Reluctantly, the king and queen let her go. Caleb and Christopher cried and clung to her skirts, begging her to stay and become their tutor. She gently detached them from her legs, hugged them both, and sent them inside to play.

            She held Malloreon for the last time. The little girl giggled, not understanding what was going on. September kissed the princess’ forehead and handed her back to the queen. She curtsied, then turned and walked away. The king and queen watched until she was out of sight. She never looked back once.

              The next year, King Cedric decided to get a tutor for the twins. They began to learn the things princes should know. Gradually, the family forgot about September. The twins learned to love their new tutor. Malloreon slept through the night again. Years passed, and the young royals grew up beloved by the people.

            The tragedy happened when Malloreon was ten. A passing wizard stopped to watch Caleb and Christopher, now fourteen, practice their sword fighting. Christopher neatly blocked Caleb’s blow and deftly disarmed his brother.

            “Give,” Christopher laughed, holding his sword point at his brother’s throat.

            Caleb spit on the ground. “Give,” he muttered resentfully. Christopher removed his sword and helped Caleb up.

            “You know,” the wizard remarked when the boys finished their bout, “I know a better way to tell which one of you is more fit for the throne.”

            “Hold your insolent tongue,” Caleb snapped. “What would you know about fitness for thrones?”

            “I would be more respectful of those whose power is unknown to you,” the wizard responded. Caleb glared at him and took a threatening step forward, but Christopher restrained him.

            “I beg you to forgive my brother, good sir,” Christopher said, inclining his head towards the wizard. “He is in a bad mood.”

            The wizard waved a hand airily. “All is well, young prince.”

            “All the same, there must be something we can do to make up for my brother’s rudeness to you,” Christopher persisted.

            “If you insist,” the wizard said. “If it’s not too much trouble, a meal and a warm bed for the night would be much appreciated.”

            “Of course! I’ll go tell the cook to prepare for a visitor.” Christopher ran off towards the palace. Caleb, after another sullen glare at the wizard, followed his brother.

              At dinnertime, a servant boy was dispatched to find the wizard and bring him to the palace. He arrived just as the king and queen were sitting down at the table.

            “Your most esteemed majesties,” he said, executing an elaborate, theatrical bow. “I thank you for the meal you will share with me, and the bed you offer for the night.”

            Queen Adina laughed. “You’re welcome, wizard. I apologize for my son’s rudeness earlier today.”

            “Ah. As I told the boy, all is well.” He looked around the room suddenly. “Speaking of your son, where is he? And his brother?”

            “The children are finishing getting ready. They should be here in a moment,” King Cedric explained. A few seconds later, the doors to the dining room opened.

            “Their royal highnesses, the Princes Caleb and Christopher,” the page announced. The boys walked in, dressed in their fine clothes. Christopher smiled at the wizard and nodded politely. Caleb avoided his eyes and mumbled an apology.

            “Her royal highness, the Princess Malloreon,” the page announced, opening the door again. Malloreon walked into the room, as stately as a ten-year-old could be. She stopped when she saw the wizard, her eyes widening.

            “Mama,” she said, turning her head to look at the queen. “Who’s he?” She seemed unduly alarmed by the presence of a stranger in her household.

            “He’s our guest, dearest,” the queen answered.

            “Who are you?” the wizard asked Malloreon.

            She puffed up her chest. “I am Malloreon, Princess of the Realm of Andria.”

            “No,” the wizard said slowly, shaking his head. “I know who you are, Princess. I was talking to the one looking through your eyes.” Malloreon froze, staring at the wizard in alarm.

            “What do you mean?” King Cedric demanded, staring intently at the wizard. “Who is looking through her eyes?”

            “That’s what I want to know,” the wizard said, his eyes never leaving Malloreon’s. He got out of his seat and moved around the table to kneel in front of the girl. He held out his hand to her. “Princess. Let me help you. Let me see who is invading your mind.” Malloreon hesitated, then put her hand in the wizard’s. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Malloreon jerked her hand away without warning.

            “Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, backing away from the wizard. He stood up and turned to face the king and queen.

            “Your majesties,” he said gravely. “I hate to be the bearer of such news, especially since I am an unexpected guest. Your daughter has someone looking through her eyes. I was unable to tell who they are, but they can see and hear everything your daughter sees and hears. I suspect they also speak to her sometimes.”

          �� “Can you get this person out of my daughter’s head?” King Cedric demanded.

            The wizard shook his head sadly. “I cannot. This kind of spell is dark magic, a thing which I have been careful to stay far away from.”

            “Do you know anyone who can help us?” Queen Adina asked, putting a hand comfortingly on Malloreon’s shoulder.

            Again, the wizard shook his head. “I don’t, your highness. The best suggestion I have for you is to get rid of the girl. Send her to a country estate, perhaps. There, she can enjoy the privileges of her position without endangering court secrets.”

            “Let’s discuss this later,” the king said, casting a nervous glance at Malloreon, who had pressed herself close against Adina’s skirts. “For now, let’s eat.”

            The meal was uncomfortable and awkwardly silent. The wizard went to bed immediately after dessert and left early the next morning, before the family woke up.

              The next morning, the first thing Cedric did was call the family physician. He quietly explained the situation and stressed how tightly this secret must be kept.

            “If I hear a word of this outside you, my wife, and I, I’ll know you talked. Then we’ll see how well you can talk with no tongue. Do you understand?” The physician nodded vigorously. He entered Malloreon’s room. She was sitting on her bed like a frightened little girl, knees drawn up to her chest.

            “Papa?” she asked quietly. “What’s wrong with me?” Cedric didn’t answer, looking at the physician instead.

            “I’m sure it’s nothing, your highness,” the physician said soothingly. “Let me examine you, and I’ll give you something to make it all better. Okay?” The princess nodded. The physician examined her thoroughly. When he was done, he called Adina in to comfort her daughter. He left the room to talk to the king.

            “Well?” Cedric asked anxiously. The physician finished closing the door behind him.

            “I can’t see anything wrong, your majesty. Whatever is inside her head, it doesn’t seem to be affecting her physically. I’m afraid I can’t help you in this matter.”

            “Do you know who can?” Adina asked, quietly closing the door behind her.

            “Not directly, your majesty,” the physician answered. “This seems to be a problem inside her mind. You said a wizard noticed it. My guess would be that you need another wizard to investigate further. Good day, your majesties.” He bowed and left.

            “We could call…” Adina suggested haltingly.

            “No.” Cedric said immediately.

            “Cedric, we don’t have a choice. She’s the only one we can really trust.”

            Cedric sighed. “You’re right. I’ll send for her immediately.”

              She arrived three days later.

            “Adina, my dear! I’ve missed you! I came as soon as I got your summons.” She greeted both Adina and Cedric with kisses on each cheek. “Where are my darling nephews? And my sweet little niece? Children?”

            “Children,” Adina sighed, gesturing for them to come forward. “This is my sister, your Aunt Megeara.”

            “Come, come,” Megeara crowed, bending down to the twins’ height. “Give your Auntie a kiss.” Both boys did as they were told.

            “Malloreon, dear. Go greet your aunt.” Adina pushed the girl out from behind her. Malloreon stood shyly in front of the sturdy, copper-haired woman.

            “Oh, my,” Megeara sighed. She grabbed Malloreon’s chin with one hand and turned her face left, then right, tilting it up and down as she did so. She turned to Cedric. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

            Cedric made a helpless gesture. “We didn’t know until a few days ago!” he protested.

            Megeara waved her hand. “Never mind. What matters is that I’m here now. Malloreon, follow me.” She turned and walked away, apparently expecting Malloreon to follow. The girl looked at her parents uncertainly. Adina made a shooing gesture. Reluctantly, Malloreon followed her aunt.

            Megeara spent the whole day closeted with Malloreon. After Adina put the girl to bed, the three adults gathered in Cedric and Adina’s bedroom.

            “Well?” Cedric asked.

            Megeara shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s black magic. There’s nothing I can do.”

            “Thank you anyway,” Adina said after a moment, hugging Megeara briefly.

            “Of course, sister. I hope to see you again soon on a happier occasion,” Megeara answered. “I must go now. I am the only healer in my village. Goodbye, sister. Goodbye, Cedric.” She took her leave. The king and queen argued for hours over what to do about Malloreon.

            “I know she’s our daughter, Adina!” Cedric stormed furiously. “She’s my daughter, too. But she’s also a threat to the kingdom! We don’t know who’s in her head. It could be a spy from one of our enemies. We can’t have her hanging around court, learning secrets and giving them to her ‘friend.’”

            “But death? Cedric, she’s just a little girl. She didn’t do anything wrong!”

            “Unless we can get the intruder out of her head, I don’t want her anywhere around court. And that includes country palaces. The servants speak, Adina. She would still find out our secrets.”

            “Why don’t we send her to another country, then?” Adina suggested desperately. “As a… a peace offering, of sorts, perhaps. She can go live in another court, learn their ways, and come back to us when she’s older.”

            “And what if the other king finds out about the person in her head? He’d accuse us of spying. And we’d have no good defense. It would start a war, Adina. I hate it as much as you do, but we can’t keep her here. For the good of our kingdom.”

            “Well you can’t have her executed, either,” Adina pointed out sharply. “And she can’t just ‘go missing.’ The people love her.”

            “An accident!” Cedric boomed suddenly, standing up from the hard backed chair he’d been sitting on. “We go out on a family horseback ride. Something spooks her horse, and she falls and breaks her neck. We have a closed-coffin state funeral, and there’s an end of it.”

            “I can’t believe you’re plotting your own daughter’s death, Cedric!”

            The king looked at her soberly. “I know, Adina. It’s a terrible thing to do. But I have to look at this as a king first, and a father second. It’s the good of everyone in the kingdom against… the life of my daughter. But I won’t kill her, Adina, I promise I won’t!”

            The queen snorted and crossed her arms. “Then how do you plan to do it? Send one of your loyal guardsmen?”

            “No,” Cedric said, not meeting Adina’s eyes. “We’ll go off on our ride. While the boys are doing their lessons. As a treat for Malloreon. Once we’re out of sight of the palace, we tie a cloth around her eyes. We leave her in the forest.”

            “Cedric, are we terrible people for even considering this?” Adina asked, her eyes tearing up.

            Cedric gathered his wife to his chest, burying his face in her hair. “Yes. But I hope the higher powers understand why we’re doing it.” Adina cried herself to sleep. Cedric tossed and turned for hours, unable to swallow the unspeakable act he was about to commit.

              “Malloreon! Come on, darling. You’re going on a horseback ride!” Adina watched as her daughter ran across the lawn, bright sunshine curls bouncing behind her.

            “I’m coming, Mama!” She skidded to a stop, almost toppling over. She surveyed her mother critically. “You’re not dressed for riding,” she observed.

            Adina shook her head. “I’m not going, dear. I have business to attend to. This ride will be just you and Papa.”

            Malloreon jumped up and down and clapped her hands gleefully. “Do I get to ride on Papa’s horse?” she demanded.

            “You’ll have to ask Papa,” Adina answered. “Look, here he comes now. I must get to work. I’ll see you…” she swallowed and tried to banish the tears forming in her eyes “…I’ll see you when you get back. I love you, Malloreon.” She hugged the girl tightly, then walked away quickly, before she changed her mind and refused to let the fatal ride take place. For the good of the kingdom, she told her self firmly, trying her hardest not to cry.

              Cedric let Malloreon ride on his old warhorse, sitting in front of him in the saddle. She was delighted to be up so high on such a powerful beast. Cedric felt the unease growing in his stomach as the palace dwindled, then vanished from sight.

            “Papa?” Malloreon asked. “Are you okay?”

            He forced a weary smile. “Yes, dear one. I’m fine.” Malloreon looked closely at him for a second, then looked quickly away. The ride to the small clearing seemed to be simultaneously too long and too short. Cedric stopped the horse, dismounted, and helped Malloreon down.

            “You know I love you, right?” he asked.

            Malloreon looked puzzled. “Of course. I love you, too, Papa.”

            “I’m so sorry, Malloreon,” Cedric whispered, letting the tears start to fall. “It’s for the good of the kingdom.” He clamped one arm around her and held the other hand over her nose and mouth until she passed out. Once she was unconscious, he tied a thick strip of cloth over her eyes, one around her head blocking her ears, and a third keeping her hands behind her back. Leading his horse, he carried his daughter further into the woods. He left her on the edge of a different clearing. He stood over her unconscious body and prayed that he might one day be forgiven. Then, he turned and went back to the palace, leaving her in the woods to die.

              The next few days were kind of a blur to the king and queen. The public swallowed their story about a horse riding accident. It only made them feel worse. Queen Adina stayed in her rooms most of the time, only allowing her husband and her sons to see her.

            They held an elaborate, closed-coffin funeral for their little girl, knowing the whole time that they were burying an empty casket. The people of the kingdom saw their grief and mourned with them. They never guessed the terrible secret their beloved rulers were keeping.

            Time passed, slowly at first, then faster and faster, and in the blink of an eye, the twins were twenty-one.

            That was when the second disaster happened.

              “Malloreon,” a voice whispered. The little girl squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore it. “Malloreon,” the voice repeated, harsher this time. “Wake up.” Something poked insistently at her shoulder.

            She opened her eyes. And saw nothing. Full awareness came in a rush. She was lying on her back on a hard, lumpy surface. There was a cloth around here eyes, one across her ears, and one binding her wrists together underneath her.

            “Hello?” she asked. “Who’s there?”

            “My name is September Wellgarde,” the voice answered. Beneath the gentle tone, Malloreon could hear the rushing of water. “You don’t remember me, but I was your nanny when you were little.”

            “Where am I?” Malloreon asked, voice bordering on panic. “Why am I tied up?”

            “Your father left you to die here in the woods,” September answered, her voice soft and apologetic.

            “Papa left me here?” Against her will, Malloreon remembered the tense ride to the forest. “Why?”

            “Let me untie you. Then I’ll explain everything.” Gentle hands helped Malloreon sit up. Her hands were untied first. She untied the bands around her head herself.

            September was sitting in front of her, watching with concern. She had smooth brown hair, falling in soft waves down past her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and pale. Her eyes were dark green. Flecks of gold sparkled in them when she turned her head.

            “I remember you!” Malloreon blurted out. “You always wore long dresses and you carried around a book!”

            September laughed, a sound like the world coming back to life after a long winter. “Yes. That’s right.”

            “Why did Papa leave me here?” Malloreon asked, suddenly remembering where she was.

            “It’s my fault, really,” September said. She looked at the ground. “I was worried about you. Your brothers were always jealous of you. I had to leave the palace, but I was afraid they’d hurt you. So I cast a spell to let me see the world through your eyes. That way, if your brothers tried to hurt you, I would know, and I could return and help you.”

            “You… cast a spell on me?”

            “A minor magic, really. But your father, he was livid when he found out. He’s convinced I’m an evil sorceress. He thinks I want to overthrow his kingdom, but all I want to do is protect you.”

            “He left me here just because you tried to protect me?”

            “Yes. I’m sorry, Malloreon. I’m so, so sorry. If I’d known how he was going to react, I never would have cast the spell. I thought he’d put his own daughter’s life above his irrational mistrust of magic. Apparently, I was wrong.”

            “What do I do now?  Papa left me to die.” Malloreon stood up and paced in a small circle, swiping a hand across her face to get rid of the tears.

            “Well… you could live with me,” September offered. “I have a small cottage near here. My mother lived there until…” she looked down. “Until she died a few months ago. I’d love to have the company.”

            “I wouldn’t want to be a burden,” Malloreon protested. “I just want to go home.”

            “Malloreon, dear. Your parents left you here. What makes you think they want you back?” Malloreon stopped pacing. Her face turned white. She stopped trying to wipe away her tears, letting them flow freely instead. She sat down with her back against the nearest tree and curled into a ball, putting her head on her knees.

            “Why…”she sobbed. “Why would they do this to me? Don’t they love me anymore?”

            “Oh, child.” September gathered the crying girl into her arms, resting Malloreon’s head against her shoulder and stroking the girl’s hair. “They still love you. Of course they do. It’s just that they love their kingdom more than their own flesh and blood.”

            After half an hour, Malloreon stopped crying. “September?” she asked. “Can I really come and live with you?”

            “Of course. I always loved you like you were my own child. It broke my heart to leave you.”

            Malloreon stood up and brushed off her dirty riding gear. “Let’s go home,” she said. September stood up too, brushing the stray leaves off her light blue dress. As she led Malloreon to the small cottage, she smiled. Everything was going according to the plan.

              For seven years, September and Malloreon lived together happily. Each morning, Malloreon would take care of their small garden while September did indoor chores like mending and cleaning. In the afternoon, September taught Malloreon magic.

            “You have one of the strongest undeveloped gifts I’ve ever seen. You should have been taught to control it much earlier, but the king doesn’t trust magic,” September explained one day. “But I’ll train you now, if you want to learn.”

            “Yes!” Malloreon crowed, bouncing up and down. “I want to learn!” So each day, September showed Malloreon a new use for magic. She showed the girl all sorts of spells, from creating balls of light to killing a living creature from miles away.

            “Why do I have to learn to kill things?” Malloreon asked one day.

            “Because you’re like me,” September explained. “You have a soft heart. If you had to see the animals die, you’d never be able to kill them. But we’re humans. We need the meat to live. This spell lets us get our meat without seeing the animal.” Malloreon didn’t like that spell much, but she used it when September told her to.

              “September,” Malloreon asked one day. “Do you have any siblings?”

            September sighed. “I had a brother once. His name was Thackery. He was three years older than me, and I adored him.”

            “What happened to him?” Malloreon asked.

            “It was years ago,” September answered, turning away. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

            “Please?” Malloreon asked, giving her mentor her best puppy dog eyes.

            “Okay.” September put down her mending. Malloreon sat on the floor in front of her chair. “When Thackery was nineteen, he met Adina. It was love at first sight on both sides.”

            “Adina… my mother?” Malloreon asked. September nodded.

            “She went to live at court. A few months later, Thackery followed. They planned on getting married. But then Cedric saw Adina. He wanted her for himself, but she refused because of my brother. Cedric immediately accused Thackery of bewitching Adina and had him executed for witchcraft. That’s why he doesn’t trust witches or wizards today.”

            “But was it true?”

            “No. I got all the power in our family. Cedric was just looking for an excuse to get rid of a romantic rival. He forced Adina to marry him month after the execution.”

              Without realizing it, Malloreon dived deeper and deeper into dark magic. She began to see “new” ways to use the spells September taught her. One day, September came back to the cottage to find Malloreon playing with her dolls on the cottage floor.

            “You haven’t played with your dolls since you were fourteen!” she exclaimed, smiling.

            Malloreon just looked at her. “That was three years ago. Besides, I’m not playing.”

            “Then what are you doing?”             “I’m killing the king.”

            “You’re doing what?” September asked, horrified. “That’s treason! They could execute you for that!”

            “Good,” Malloreon smiled. “Let them. In order to execute me, they have to admit I’m still alive first.”

              Once Malloreon admitted her evil plans, September gave up the act of innocence. Together, the two women plotted the best way to bring down the king.

            “I need a way into the palace,” Malloreon complained. “I can’t just march up to the doors and demand they let me in. And they wouldn’t believe it if I claimed to be myself.”

            “You have magic, Malloreon,” September snorted. “I taught you those spells for a reason. Use them.”

            “I don’t want to kill the king from far away!” Malloreon snapped. “I want to be there. I want to see his face as he realizes who I am.”

            “Use Caleb,” September suggested suddenly.

            Malloreon looked at her funny. “What?”

            “Caleb goes to the brothels regularly. He thinks it’s a secret, but the whole kingdom knows it. Cedric doesn’t care anymore, as long as his son is discreet about it.”

            “So?”

            “So you disguise yourself and hide in the brothel. He comes around, you have his child. Then, you go to the palace to demand money to raise said child.”

            “He’s my brother! That’s disgusting!”

            “Anything to get to the king. Unless you have a better idea?”

            Malloreon’s forehead wrinkled as she thought hard. Finally, she shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

            “I thought not,” September smiled, patting Malloreon’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. It will be over faster than you think.”

              Seven years had passed since Malloreon’s supposed death. Cedric had aged rapidly. He rarely left the palace anymore, and only held open audiences for his people once a month. No matter how much sleep he got, he was always tired.

            Adina was now gaunt and pale. She became more and more hermit-like. Even the palace servants were no longer allowed in her rooms. She let her husband and her sons visit her, but she wasn’t very good company. She tended to sit by the fire, which was always blazing no matter the season, and say nothing. It unnerved the princes. They visited her as little as possible.

            As their father got older, Caleb and Christopher took over more of his duties. They knew only one of them could be king, but for the moment, they split the duties. Caleb took care of the military side of things, including most dealings with the neighboring countries. Despite his gruff demeanor, he was a surprisingly good diplomat. Christopher dealt with the internal business of the kingdom. He held open audiences more often than his father did, and genuinely cared about his people.

            One day, Caleb went to visit the barracks. The inspection went quicker than planned. The soldiers passed with flying colors. Thus, Caleb was in a good mood when he started back to the palace.

            He paused at an intersection. Straight ahead was the palace. He looked to his right, where red lanterns hung invitingly outside the doors. He looked back at the palace for a second, then turned toward the lanterns.

            “They don’t expect me back for an hour, at least,” he chuckled to himself. “And what they don’t know certainly won’t hurt them.” In no time, he was at the door of his favorite brothel.

            “Your Highness,” the woman in the front room said, executing an elaborate bow. “How good to see you again. We weren’t expecting you.”

            “I had some extra time today,” Caleb shrugged, flipping her a gold coin from his pocket. “Anyone new since my last visit?”

            “As a matter of fact, yes,” the brothel keeper answered. She led Caleb up the stairs at the back of the house and down a narrow hallway. “Her name is Ashlyn.” She opened the door, bowed again, and walked back down the stairs. Caleb entered the room.

            Sitting on the bed was a gorgeous woman. Not the prettiest he’d ever seen, but far from the ugliest. She had long black hair, tied in fancy knots and decorated with jeweled hairthings. She wore a lavender silk robe and no shoes. She rose and bowed when he entered.

            “Your highness,” she said in a smooth voice. “Milady the keeper said you might visit.” Caleb smiled and closed the door.

              Nine months later, Adina was sitting in her room. She was alone, as usual, sitting by the fire and wrapped in blankets. She was still shivering.

            “Why is it so cold today?” she asked herself. “Usually two blankets are enough.”

            “Mama,” a voice from the fire whispered. Adina blinked and shook her head. No. Fire didn’t talk. As she watched, the flames grew and twisted, shaping themselves into the form of a human girl.

            “Mama?” the voice said again. The flames created Malloreon, as she had been before the ride. But now she was confused and scared. “Mama!” she cried. She was running, looking for something, her hair flying behind her. “Mama, help me!” Adina stared, horrified. A sudden wind whipped through the room, banging the shutters open and blowing the fire out.

            “Mama,” the voice said again. Adina turned slowly. The light of the setting sun shone in her window, casting an orangey glow around the room, and clearly silhouetting the figure in front of the window.

            Two cloths were tied around the little girl’s head, one across her eyes and one blocking her ears. Her hands were clasped behind her. Her blonde hair was dirty and tangled, no longer shining like it used to. Her face, arms, and legs were scratched up. One cut, just beneath her eye, still bled sluggishly. Her skin was white as milk.

            “Mama.”

            “No…” Adina whispered, horrified. The girl took a step forward. And another, and another. Slowly, she stumbled closer to the terrified queen. Another breeze blew through the room. The girl dried up, skin cracking and crumbling. She stared at the queen as she withered. Soon, there was nothing left but her torn riding gear. The queen screamed.

              Cedric was in the middle of an audience when the doors burst open, slamming against the stone walls on either side.

            “Your Majesty!” the page cried. “The queen…” he stopped, panting for breath.

            “Adina?” Cedric asked, alarmed. “What about her?”

            “She’s hysterical, your highness. She won’t speak, just scream. We’ve sent for her sister the healer.”

            “You sent for Megeara without consulting me first?” Cedric thundered, slamming his fist on the arm of his throne. The page seemed dumbfounded.

            “It seemed the best thing to do!” he stammered. Cedric sighed and left the room as quickly as he could, leaving the page and all his subjects without a second thought. He arrived in Adina’s rooms out of breath from running the whole way.

            “Where is she?” he demanded, throwing open the door and entering the sitting room. Two of her maids were sitting on the couch. One was tending to a cut on the other’s check. The injured one looked up.

            “In her bedroom, your majesty. She won’t calm down.” Cedric strode past them and opened the door to Adina’s room. His wife was crumpled in the middle of the floor. Her shoulders moved up and down jerkily. The curtains at the open window had been torn and pieces of pottery lay in an untidy heap across the room. A manservant stood by the bed, staring uncertainly at his queen. Cedric dismissed the man with a nod of his head. The man left the room as quickly as humanly possible, closing the door behind him.

            “Adina?” Cedric asked, standing over his wife. “Darling?”

            “You killed her!” Adina shouted, looking up at him suddenly. “It’s your fault! Yours!” She turned to her vanity and knocked everything off with a sweep of her hand. The cosmetics shattered on the floor.

            “Adina. Please calm down.” Cedric moved to stand behind her, locking eyes with her in the mirror.

            “Calm down,” she spit acidly. “Calm down! Don’t tell me to calm down!” Her voice rose hysterically and she slammed her fist into the mirror. The pieces made a discordant, tinkling noise as they fell. In the back of his mind, Cedric thought he heard laughter like the sound of spring, but he immediately dismissed it.

            Adina put her hands on the vanity and hung her head, crying again. Cedric put his arms around her waist, holding her against his body. She turned around, put her face against his shoulder, and cried.

            “What happened?” Cedric asked gently, after his wife had stopped sobbing uncontrollably.

            Adina looked up at him with frightened eyes. “I… ” She swallowed and tried again. “I saw her.”

            “Her?” Cedric asked, confused.

            Adina sniffed. “You killed her,” she said softly, not meeting his eyes.

            “I didn’t, Dearest,” Cedric protested. “She was alive when I saw her last.”

            “She was scared, Cedric,” Adina murmured. “She was calling for me. She trusted me to the very end. Oh, Cedric.” She dissolved into sobbing again. “And,” she managed after a moment “she came here. I saw her. It was horrible. She was still bound. A breeze came and… and she just… she collapsed, withered away. It’s been seven years, Cedric. Why now?”

            “Shh,” Cedric soothed her, choosing to ignore the question. “It will be alright. The servants already sent for your sister. She’ll be here soon to make you well.”

              Megeara arrived the next day. She went immediately into her sister’s room and didn’t come out for two days. At first, she let the king stay, but it was soon clear that he wasn’t going to be any help.

            “Your anxiousness isn’t helping,” Megeara explained. “You need to leave and take your negative energies with you. It will help her get better.” Reluctantly, Cedric left.

            After two days, Megeara emerged from the queen’s rooms. Her clothes were wrinkled, her hair was unbound and messy, and she looked tired. She pulled the king aside to talk privately.

            “She keeps saying she saw Malloreon,” she began. “She described it to me in detail.”

            “But is she okay?” Cedric interrupted.

            Megeara looked affronted at being interrupted. “Yes. She’s fine. She’s my sister, Cedric. I wouldn’t leave her unless I knew she was okay.”

            Cedric looked properly sorry for doubting her.

            “Her description of what she saw puzzles me. It almost sounds like a haunting. But all the haunting I’ve ever known have involved spirits and ghosts, not physical bodies.”

            “So… it’s some new type of haunting that you’ve never seen before?” Cedric asked, trying his hardest to understand.

            Megeara shook her head. “No. From what Adina said, it sounded like a very realistic illusion. And illusions must be cast by real people.”

            Cedric looked like someone had punched him in the gut. He pushed Megeara aside and entered his wife’s room. She was laying on her bed, pale and drawn, but no longer screaming bloody murder every time she was left alone. She forced a small smile upon seeing her husband.

            “Megeara says what happened was an illusion,” Cedric said quietly.

            Adina nodded. “Yes, she told me.”

            “Did you tell her… what we did?”

            “No. She would never forgive if she knew what I’d been party to. I’ve never forgiven myself.”

            “So, who knew about… M – her death?” the king continued, stumbling over his daughter’s name. “You. But you wouldn’t do this to yourself. Me. But I would never cause you pain. That leaves… her.”

            “It’s not her, Cedric,” Adina said, with a certainty she did not feel. “She’s dead. But we still don’t know who was looking through her eyes. That person would know what happened.”

            “But why now?” Cedric asked, echoing Adina’s question from earlier. “Why wait seven years to do this? What do they want?”

              A month went by with no more strange illusions. Megeara, to the king’s chagrin, insisted on staying with her sister. She set herself up in Adina’s sitting room and simply refused to leave. Cedric avoided her as much as possible. It was almost a relief when a page came in and said one of his sons had a problem.

            He entered the throne room to see a very beautiful young woman, holding a small bundle of cloth. Caleb was standing across from her, his face a blank mask.

            “Is there a problem, son?” Cedric asked mildly.

            “She says the child is mine,” Caleb answered, still staring straight ahead.

            “It’s not just his child, your majesty,” the woman said, smiling almost cruelly. “It’s also mine.” She set the child gently on the floor, and began to change.

            Her floor-length black hair shortened, reaching only to her mid-back, and turned the golden color of sunshine. Her eyes lightened, going from near-black to a light, dreamy blue-gray. Her skin darkened, changing from pale to tan, like someone who worked in the sun a lot. She shrunk slightly so she was no longer the same height as the king. When all the changes were done, the woman in front of them was older, but still recognizable.

            “Malloreon,” the king breathed, eyes wide. Caleb just stood, mouth open, unable to move.

            Her eyes narrowed and she smiled. “Hello, Father.”

            “Sister?” Caleb asked, shocked. Malloreon picked up her child and turned to him.

            “Hello, brother dearest.” She smiled and held the baby out towards him. “Don’t you want to meet our son? I’ve named him Gavin.”

            Caleb shook his head violently and backed up a step. “He’s not my son.”

            “He is.”

            “Father,” Caleb appealed, turning to Cedric, shoulders tight. “I didn’t know. She looked like the woman that entered the palace. She can change the way she looks. I didn’t know!”

            “It’s all right,” Cedric murmured distractedly. He was still staring in shock at his lost daughter. He addressed her directly. “You can change your form. Where did you learn magic?”

            “September taught me,” Malloreon answered. “She’s the one who saved me when you left me in the woods to die.”

            Caleb’s head snapped to face his father. “You did what? Father, you told us she fell off the horse!”

            “Is that what they told you?”

            “Son,” Cedric started “It was the only choice… she was a threat to the kingdom.”

            “She was your daughter. And my sister.” Caleb looked angrier than Cedric had ever seen him.

            “Ahem,” she cleared her throat. Both men looked at her, Caleb still slightly angry, Cedric afraid. “I’m afraid your argument will have to wait. There are more important things that must be dealt with. Papa, please get Mama and Christopher.”

            “Why?” Cedric asked. “What do you want with them?”

            “A little family reunion, that’s all,” Malloreon answered, eyes narrowing at her father. “Now, go,” She flicked her hand. Cedric walked across the room, opened the door, and sent the guards to fetch his wife and son.

            Christopher arrived almost immediately. “Father,” he panted, pushing the door open, “they said it was urgent. Is something –” he stopped abruptly as he saw his sister. “How?”

            “I’ll tell you everything in a moment, brother dearest,” Malloreon answered. “We must wait for Mama.” They stood in uncomfortable silence until the door opened again, admitting Adina and Megeara to the room. Adina was so focused on just walking across the room that she didn’t notice her daughter at first. Her eyes widened when they found the young woman. Her jaw worked silently.

            “My family,” Malloreon began. “I’m going to tell you a story. A story which some of you –” she glanced at her parents “– already know. It’s about a young, innocent princess, who trusted her parents with her life. But one day, they betrayed her, cruelly leaving her to die in the woods. But she survived. And she learned. And she returned to carry out the law. Those who attempt to kill a royal… must die.”

            Caleb lunged for his father, a dagger in his hand. Christopher grabbed his brother’s arm, stopping his forward momentum. Caleb turned to face his twin. As he was struggling to get free, his knife swiped down Christopher’s right cheek, leaving a bloody line behind. Caleb’s eyes widened. He abruptly stopped fighting, the dagger falling from his hand to clatter loudly on the cold floor.

            “You don’t understand,” Cedric explained in a soothing voice. “I didn’t have a choice. It was the best thing to do for the kingdom! I still regret it to this day, but I had to put the lives of everyone else over your life!”

            “There were easier ways to do that. You could have sent me to a country palace. Or to live with the peasants. I wouldn’t have complained. But no… you tied me up and left me in the woods to die! You never loved me, did you?” Ignoring the tears rolling down her face, Malloreon opened her hand. A tiny, delicate flower grew from her palm, blooming and bobbing its head at the gathered assembly.

            In a sudden convulsion, the princess closed her hand, crushing the flower. Cedric dropped to the floor, dead.

            “No!” Adina shrieked, collapsing onto her husband’s corpse. She turned her face to her daughter. “How could you? He was your own father!”

            Malloreon stared passively at the crumpled, sobbing queen and said nothing.

            “Adina –!” Megeara cried suddenly, but it was too late. The queen grabbed Caleb’s dagger from where it had fallen and slit her own throat.

            The stone doors to the throne room opened. A tall, brown-haired woman entered.

            “Malloreon,” she said. “The people have been gathered. They are awaiting your speech.”

            “You!” Christopher murmured. “I know you! You used to watch us when we were little!”

            “Very good, little prince,” September answered. “I’m pleased you remember me.” She swept past him, pausing a moment before stepping out onto the large stone balcony.

            “Subjects of Andria,” she announced in a strong voice. “I regret to inform you: your king and queen are dead.” A murmur went through the crowd. “I stand before you now to bear witness to their legal execution.”

            “Execution?” someone demanded from below. “What did they do?”

            September smiled. “Together, they conspired to kill a member of the royal family, her highness, the Princess Malloreon.” September gestured, and Malloreon, holding her son, strode forward into the light.

            “My parents tried to kill me,” she announced loudly. “That is treason. I have executed them, as the law demands.” She handed her child to September and leaned against the railing, looking over the assembled crowd. “The child I held. He is my son. He is also Prince Caleb’s son. My brother forced himself on me when he discovered I was still alive.”

            The crowd murmured again, uncertain and suspicious.

            “Prince Christopher was injured while I carried out the law. It was a regrettable mistake. However, he is in no condition to take over the kingdom right now. One prince is injured, and the other has slept with his own sister. Neither is fit to rule. As such, I declare myself the Queen of Andria.”

            “You killed the king and queen. By the laws, you deserve to die!” said a voice from behind her. She whirled, but Caleb was faster, He caught her around the waist, pinning one arm to her side. Though she clawed viciously at him with the other hand, he hung on grimly until an opening presented itself.

            Malloreon stopped moving as she felt the thin blade slide between her ribs.

            “I don’t like doing this,” Caleb whispered in her ear. “But it’s better this way.”

            His sister glared at him. “You’re just like your father.” She spit venomously. The light in her eyes faded and her body went limp. Caleb held her for a moment, hiding his face in her hair. Then, he gently laid her body down and faced the people of Andria.

            “What I have done is inexcusable,” he stated. “But I will not put my brother through the ordeal of losing another family member today. As my last act as a Prince of Andria, I strip myself of my title and banish myself from this land, on pain of the same death I bestowed on my sister. I will leave at sunset.” He reentered the throne room, where his parents’ bodies still lay. He kneeled beside them for a moment, offering a quiet prayer for their souls, then stood and walked to his brother’s side.

            Christopher, with Megeara’s help, had managed to stop the bleeding from his face, but he still looked like he was in a lot of pain. He looked up when Caleb put a hand on his shoulder.

            “I heard everything,” he acknowledged quietly. “You don’t have to go. I’ll pardon you. You can still live here.”

            Caleb shook his head. “You always were the more optimistic of us. No, brother. The people won’t let me stay. I murdered their lost princess right in front of them. I’ll be fine.” Christopher stood and embraced his brother for the last time. Caleb slowly left the room, his footsteps sounding overly loud on the marble floor. With each step, he felt his dagger sliding home in his sister’s body again. He left Andria that evening, and never returned.

            Christopher reluctantly walked out to the balcony, leaning slightly on his aunt. He noted absently that September had vanished during the chaos, taking Malloreon’s son with her. He stood and faced his people.

            “Subjects of Andria,” he announced, feeling like he was going to throw up. “I proclaim myself King Christopher, the King of the Realm of Andria.”

  Epilogue

            I don’t live in Andria anymore. I live in Landelle, a neighboring kingdom ruled by King Calum and Queen Kayren.

            From what I’ve heard of Andria, Christopher is a good king. He’s more tolerant of magic than his father was. I think I saw Caleb once, wandering through the local market, but I’m not sure.

            Since Malloreon’s tragic death, I have raised her son, Gavin. He has the same eyes his mother had. He has her magic, too. He’s two now. When he’s old enough, I’ll teach him to control and use the magic. What he does with it after that is up to him.

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Ink Poisoning

The first tattoo was the song lyrics that helped me survive college

They extend down my arm proudly, permanently, marking where I used to write them in fragile washable ink every day

The second tattoo was angel wings

Because who doesn’t want to be an angel

  More and more tattoos

The ink stained my skin, adding permanent reminders of events in my life

  College, graduation, my best friend’s suicide

  Words, angel wings, dragons

Faces with accusing eyes

Flowers and hearts and drops of blood

  They move

They writhe and twist and talk to me

  The poisonous ink seeps into my skin, into my bloodstream

I take a deep breath and close my eyes as the needle sinks in again

  I am the images on my skin, and I am more than them

They make me powerful, unstoppable

They hurt me and reduce me to nothing

  People ask what they mean

I say they mean nothing

And everything

  Words that will last longer than I will

  When they bury me

My arm will still tell me to live

My back will still declare me an angel

  Long after my spirit is gone

The ink will stay, old and faded

Telling the story of who I was

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Children of the Demon

This one probably isn't going to be finished. I just wanted to practice writing different characters.

            My name is Sabrina O’Brien. My name is Sabrina O’Brien. My name is Sabrina O’Brien. I’m writing it down here so I have something to remind me when Mother makes me forget. I know she will. It’s already starting to work. That’s why I started writing now, before I forget any more details. So I’ll say it one more time: my name is Sabrina O’Brien. And I’ve been outside the House.

              I suppose I have to explain about the House now if I want my story to make sense. The House is where I live with my siblings. There are thirteen of us in all. I guess I’ll write a paragraph about each of them so you know who I’m talking about later. I’m sorry in advance for the names. I’ll explain about those when I talk about Mother.

            Beaver is the oldest child. That makes her the unofficial leader. I’m glad it’s not me – Maniac and the Twins can be a handful sometimes. Beaver has thick, slightly wavy brown hair that falls to her shoulders. Her eyes are brown like chocolate. Sorry, I know that’s cliché, but in this case, it’s true. She’s medium height (about 5’6”, I think) and slightly pudgy. She prefers to wear T-shirts and jeans and no shoes.

            Lukey is the next oldest. He’s 6 feet 4 inches tall, and real proud of it. He’s pretty skinny, but he’s got more muscle than it looks like. He’s Beaver’s second-in-command and he’s kind of like a father to the younger kids. He has naturally spiky dark blond hair and light gray eyes. He’s the only sibling with glasses. Sometimes when we go out as a group, he pretends to be Beaver’s husband so no one lectures her about being a slut.

            Third is Clippy. She’s the most organized and efficient of us all. She’s also the prettiest. Her long, straight hair is that perfect blonde that everyone wants but almost no one has. She has warm brown eyes that sparkle when she’s happy. She usually wears pink lip gloss and black mascara and she’s almost always smiling. She chews bubble gum, a habit that sometimes annoys Beaver. Even though Beaver is the oldest and the leader, most of the younger children think of Clippy as their mother figure.

            After Clippy is Maniac. She’s… well, she’s crazy. She’s bald by choice. I think her hair is blonde, but I don’t know for sure, because the one time she grew it out, she dyed it neon rainbow colors. She’s the most openly rebellious of us. She doesn’t like being cooped up in the House all the time. One time, she slipped out in the middle of the night. When she came back the next morning, she had a nose piercing and a tattoo on her neck. Mother hit the ceiling when she saw that, but Maniac claims she’s not scared of Mother. Despite her tough act, Maniac really loves us and would never do anything to put us in danger.

            Ray-Ray is next. He’s a big guy. By big, I don’t mean fat or tall. I mean he’s got muscles. Lots of them. He’s got dirty blonde hair that he wears kind of longish and the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen on a boy. He looks really scary, but he’s actually a huge teddy bear. He usually watches the little children when Beaver and Lukey go out on errands. He acts as our bodyguard when we go out in public.

            The Twins are next. I’ll put them in the same paragraph. Psycho and Flower Girl. Psycho has short black hair and vibrant green eyes. He’s the more dominant twin. Flower Girl has the same glossy black hair. She wears hers down to her waist in a thick braid. Her eyes are a slightly lighter shade of emerald than Psycho’s. The Twins are the closest to actual evil in the House. They enjoy it when other people get in trouble. Sometimes they actively try goad Ray-Ray into hitting them. But however wild they get, they listen to Beaver and Lukey. They might grumble and test the bounds, but ultimately, they won’t hurt any of the siblings. Maniac says they sleep together sometimes. Beaver doesn’t like that kind of talk and grounds Maniac whenever she says it.

            Trouble is the next child. Despite her name, she’s actually the quietest girl in the House. She has shoulder-length black hair and eyes the color of pale jade. We like to joke that she’s actually Psycho and Flower Girl’s triplet, but everyone knows that’s not true. She has a quiet little voice that tends to get overpowered by everyone else, but she has good ideas when she can make us pay attention to her.

            Then, there’s me. My name is Sabrina, but my siblings call me Bunny. That’s what Mother named me, after all. I have brown hair that I usually wear in a ponytail. It just gets in the way if I leave it down. My eyes are kind of a non-descript brown. I’m one of the shortest siblings in the House, at only 5’4”. Only Clary, Trouble, Rodent, and Moon Boy are shorter than me. And the boys are still growing. I’m the only one who’s been out of the House for any significant amount of time. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Oh, I’m seventeen, by the way.

            Clary is fifteen. The two years between us is the biggest gap between any of the siblings. In fact, some of the siblings have less than nine months between them. I’ll explain that when I get to Mother. Clary is my favorite sibling, but I try my hardest not to show it. She has bleach blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She gets scared really easily, something the Twins take advantage of a lot. When Clary gets scared, her voice gets really high. She’s five feet even and really skinny, but she eats the most of any girl in the House. She eats more than some of the boys, too. She has a strange little laugh that sounds like a hiccup.

            The last three children are boys. Tubby is next. His name is another misleading one. He’s almost as skinny as Clary is, though he’s already taller than me. He’s the quietest person in the House. He and Trouble like to sit at the edges of whatever room we’ve gathered in and talk to each other. They have their own secret code that none of the rest of us have been able to crack, but not for lack of trying. Tubby can blend into the background really well. His hair and his eyes are a nondescript shade of brown and his face is so ordinary it’s easy to forget. Beaver did forget him once. She left him at the doctor’s office for almost an hour.

            Rodent is a sneaky little boy. He has brown hair and lighter brown eyes and his face is kind of pinched. He’s a pretty small boy. Lukey thinks he’ll never be taller than me. Rodent hates to be reminded, so of course I remind him every chance I get. He likes to keep secrets. Most of the time, they’re harmless little things like how much food he’s eaten or what stuffed animal is his favorite. One time, he hid a snake in his room for a week before we found it. But he won’t hurt the siblings. He’s never hidden anything dangerous from us. He hangs out with the Twins a lot, and it makes Beaver uncomfortable.

            Moon Boy is the youngest child. He’s only twelve. He has white hair and black eyes. When I say that, I mean his hair is as white as snow and his eyes are as black as coal. He’s really shy around people he doesn’t know, but around the House he’s just an obnoxious little boy. When he grows up, he claims he wants to be just like Lukey. He’s probably the only one of us who doesn’t know the truth about Mother. Beaver is careful around him. She wants to “preserve his innocence for as long as possible,” whatever that means. Personally, I’m surprised he doesn’t know yet, considering what we have to do to summon Mother.

            I guess I should tell you about Mother now, shouldn’t I? Since I’ve been mentioning her a lot. Mother is a Succubus. In case you don’t know, a Succubus is a female demon who likes to seduce and sleep with human men. That’s where my siblings and I came from. I don’t understand how it works, but my siblings and I are all fully human, despite having a demon Mother. Mother comes to visit us every full moon, but she can’t just show up. We have to summon her.

            To summon her, we sit in a circle in the back yard. It has to be a circle, and we all have to be there or it won’t work. We pass around this golden goblet filled with wine and we all take a sip. When it gets back to the first person, they prick their left thumb and squeeze a drop of blood into the wine. The goblet gets passed counterclockwise around the circle and we all do the same. When it reaches the starting point, that person splashes the wine in the middle of the circle and calls for Mother. Then she appears and talks to us.

            Another fact about Mother that I promised to explain: our ages. Some of the siblings are less than nine months apart. Because Mother is a demon, she isn’t pregnant for as long as human women are. At least, that’s how Beaver explained it when I asked.

            And finally, about our names. I know, they’re very strange names. Mother says names have power. She gave us strange names so no one could guess them and gain power over us. We don’t know Mother’s name. She won’t tell us, no matter how many times we beg her to.

            When I left the House, I chose my own name. Names chosen for oneself are supposed to be especially powerful. I think Mother must be a really strong demon, because each day, I forget more of my adventures. I’m sure that soon, I won’t even remember my real name. Sabrina. Sorry, it’s just really important to me that I remember my name.

            Now that I’ve explained all the background stuff, I’ll tell you about my adventure.

[decembers-sunshine-dancer]

Angel Errant

A retelling of how Lucifer fell from Heaven 

            “Rafe. Good to see you. How have things been while I’ve been gone?” He waved absently at a nearby group of female angels. “Hello, girls.”

            “It’s been quiet. And boring. But boring is good, right?”

            “Very right,” Lucifer laughed. One female angel squished herself in between the two men.

            “Lucifer!” she bubbled. “We’re so glad you’re back! We missed you!” He turned to face the adoring crowds, raising his glass to them in acknowledgement. They giggled.             “Come dance with us!” Two very pretty seraphim girls pulled him out of his chair and led him to the dance floor. He held out his hand, and Saralia, a lovely blonde, took it. He led her around the floor in a sweeping waltz, his wings beating slightly in time with the music.

            His beautiful wings were one of the reasons the girls loved him. They were taller than he was, the tops rising a few feet above his head while the tips brushed the floor. At the top, they were a brighter, cleaner white than anyone else’s wings, except Michael’s. The middle faded into gray, becoming almost black where the tips touched the floor.

            The dance ended. Lucifer pulled away from Saralia and bowed to her, tossing his head to get his black hair out of his eyes. She laughed and curtsied to him, letting her dark brown hair fall over half her face, hiding one sparkling blue eye. Lucifer’s eyes, a lighter shade of blue than hers, twinkled back at her. Then he straightened up.

            “That’s enough for now, ladies,” he announced. “Let me rest a while, then I’ll join you again.” The ladies complained, but allowed him to sit back down with Raphael.

            “You’re quite the lady-killer,” he observed, shaking his head mournfully. “And here I am, with no female company whatsoever.”

            Lucifer made a face. “It’s not always everything you think it is.”

            Raphael raised an eyebrow. “Oh, silly me. Of course not. Being surrounded by the loveliest angels is a much worse fate than being alone. You’re right, oh mighty Lucifer. I bow to your infallible logic.” Lucifer smacked him playfully on the shoulder.

            “I’m glad you acknowledge my superiority,” he said jokingly. He turned serious again. “But I’m being serious. They’re always around me. It gets tiresome, sometimes. I don’t really get time for myself, because there’s always one or the other of them wanting to do something with me. And besides, I don’t have all the girls.” The last sentence was said with a sad glance towards a table in the corner, where Gabrielle sat.

             Gabrielle was the only angel who did not seem the least bit interested in him. Oh, she was polite to him, unfailingly courteous, and even friendly sometimes. But sometimes he got the feeling she went out of her way to avoid him. It saddened him because, deep in his soul, Lucifer felt he and Gabrielle were meat to be. She was the only angel he truly loved. She had been his once. But she had rejected him more than once when he started suggesting marriage, and she had left him when he wouldn’t stop pushing for it.

            Raphael followed Lucifer’s gaze to the lovely, black-haired angel.

            “Go talk to her,” he said quietly. Lucifer jumped, broken out of his thoughts.

            “What? Are you crazy? I can’t talk to her! She doesn’t like me!”

            “Of course she does!”

            “No she doesn’t! She avoids me! She only talks to me when she’s forced to! She rejected me!”

            “I didn’t say try to woo her,” Raphael frowned. “I said go talk to her. There is a difference.” Lucifer froze.

            “Yeah,” he said slowly. “There is a difference. I can talk to her without trying to woo her.”

            “Then go. Good luck and God go with you.” With a nod, Raphael sent his friend off to talk to Gabrielle.

            Lucifer approached her cautiously. He admired her wings, smaller than his and almost glowing with a silvery light. He wanted to run his fingers through her short, wavy black hair again.  He must have made a sound, because she turned her head, her clear green eyes meeting his ice blue ones. He smiled shyly.

            “Good evening, Lucifer,” she said formally, her voice polite but distant.

            “Good evening, Gabrielle,” he answered. “Can I join you?”

            She shrugged. “You have free will.” She turned back around and took a drink from her glass. He sat down next to her. They sat in silence for a little while.

            “How are you?” he asked.

            “I am fine, thank you. How are you?”

            He took a deep breath. “I’d be better if you agreed to be mine forever. I love you, Gabrielle. Will you marry me?” He snapped his mouth shut, appalled that he had let the words out.

            Gabrielle sighed. “No, Lucifer. I have told you before, marriage does not exist here. I love you, too, as I love all the other angels. But I do not love you more than the others. But even beyond that, there is another reason I cannot be yours. I have chosen Michael, and he has chosen me. We are One now.”

            Lucifer felt his heart break, leaving a ragged, gaping hole behind.

            “But, Gabrielle…” He put his hand on her arm. “Please?”

            She shrugged off his hand. “No, Lucifer.”

            “But…”

            “She said no, Lucifer!” a new voice boomed. The music and talking stopped, and everyone turned to watch as Michael grabbed Lucifer’s arm and dragged him roughly to his feet. “Respect her decision!”

            Lucifer turned to Gabrielle. “What does he have that I don’t?” he demanded.

            “He loves God as much as I do,” Gabrielle answered. “We love each other, but we love God more, and He shall remain the center of our lives. By repeatedly asking me to marry you, you show that God is not as important to you as I am, and that is wrong.” Michael and Gabrielle turned as one and, holding hands, left the room. Lucifer stayed, frozen by his anger. He was vaguely aware of the whispers starting up around him and the sideways glances he was getting, but he didn’t pay attention to them as he strode out of the room, silently swearing swift revenge on Michael.

  *   *   *   *   *

  “Lucifer!” The wooden double doors to Lucifer’s bedroom slammed open, leaving dents in the walls. A wind whipped throughout the room, throwing things around. Lucifer shot up from his chair and turned to face the wide-open doors.

“God,” he said, bowing respectfully. “What is Thy will?”

“You must stop trying to force human institutions on a non-human society! If Gabrielle does not wish to choose you, there is nothing you can do about it. This is your last warning!” Abruptly, the wind died away, leaving a total mess behind. Grumbling, Lucifer got up and closed his doors. He straightened up the important parts of his room, then went to find Michael.

He found the head angel with Gabrielle, their arms around each other, talking, fair head close to dark. Michael’s wings, the purest white in Heaven shot through with silver sparkles, opened and closed slightly. The space where Lucifer’s heart should have been ached emptily. He stormed up to Heaven’s ruling couple.

He grabbed Michael’s arm and pulled him away from Gabrielle.

“What are you doing here?” Michael demanded frostily, his blond, highlighted hair falling in his face.

“You told God what I did!” Lucifer accused unthinkingly.

Michael snorted. “Of course I did not! I did not have to! God sees all; you know that.” Michael’s calmness only enraged Lucifer further.

“You stole Gabrielle from me! I won’t let you also steal my goodness in God’s eyes!”

“Lucifer,” Gabrielle said from the side. Her voice crackled with power. Lucifer thought she looked more beautiful than ever with anger-brightened eyes. “Be reasonable. Michael did not steal me away from you. What was never yours cannot be stolen. Michael is also not stealing your goodness in the eyes of God. You are giving your own goodness away.”

“Gabrielle,” Lucifer gasped. “Forgive me!” He rushed at Michael, fully prepared to kill him, but Michael had been ready. He threw Lucifer aside with almost no effort. Lucifer stumbled back, trying to regain his balance. Michael nudged him gently, but that was all it took. Lucifer felt himself lose his footing. He fell backwards.

He hit the ground hard. He stood up, brushing dirt and dust off his clothes, and looked around. He was just outside a medium-sized city. Thankfully, no one had been around to see him fall from Heaven.

“Lucifer,” God called, voice gentle and calming. “You have been Cast Out. You are now Fallen. If you wish to reenter Heaven, you must accept and complete your penance. What is your wish, Once-An-Angel?”

Lucifer knelt on the ground and bowed his head. “I wish to reenter Heaven, Father. I was foolish to attempt to control one Fellow and kill another. Give me my penance, and I will do it.”

“First, in becoming Fallen, you have lost both name and title in Heaven. You shall be renamed Lucca. Second, you must live on Earth for one full year, avoiding sin as often as possible, and living by the Commandments and the Laws. Do you accept this sentence, Once-An-Angel?”

“I do accept this sentence, Lord.”

“So it is done!”

Then God spoke no more. Lucca, once Lucifer, remained on his knees, praying. Tears ran down his cheeks.

“Are you okay?” someone asked.

Lucca jumped. “Who are you?” he demanded.

The shepherd boy put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “My name is Blake. I saw a star fall from the sky, and I came to see if anything fell with it.” Blake looked at Lucca curiously. “Where are you from?”

Lucca shook his head. “You wouldn’t know it if I told you.”

“Do you have a place to stay?” Blake asked. Lucca shook his head again.

“Come stay with my family and I,” Blake offered.

“I don’t want to impose myself on strangers,” Lucca protested.

“No, don’t worry!” Blake laughed. “They won’t mind! Mother said we need more help around the place anyway!” Numbly, Lucca got up and followed Blake to his home. It was a small, comfortable little house set on a smallish piece of land. As they approached, they could see a girl with long, wavy black hair in the window. The empty space in Lucca’s chest tightened.

“That’s my sister, Eliora,” Blake explained, oblivious to Lucca’s pain. “She helps Mother around the house. I watch the sheep, and Father cares for the fields. But he’s getting old, and Mother can’t help him. I’m sure Mother will let you stay if you help Father in the fields.”

Lucca did stay with Blake and his family. Every day, he helped Blake’s father in the fields. Every night, he ate with the family, then went to his bedroom to spend the evening in prayer. He went to Confession once a week and to Mass twice a week. He often went to town on his days off to help those who needed it. He lived according to God’s Laws.

Though Blake’s family was incredibly nice and adopted Lucca as their own almost immediately, Lucca tried to avoid spending time with them if he could. Eliora reminded him painfully of Gabrielle, in her looks, in her stubborn but kind personality, and in her piety. She was almost as devoted to God as Lucca himself was. Over time, despite Lucca’s efforts to distance himself, he and Eliora became friends. Against his wishes, he found himself falling for her.

One night, after ten months on Earth, Lucca returned to the house and found “his” family gathered there… along with one unknown young man. He was tall and gangly, with sandy brown hair and clear brown eyes. He was sitting next to Eliora. Though they weren’t touching, Lucca sensed something between them.

“Lucca!” Mother greeted him. “You’re home! I’d like to introduce you to Arthur, Eliora’s boyfriend!”

“How do you do?” Lucca mumbled before quickly leaving the room. He lay on his bed and felt the world spinning around him. Another girl, stolen from him!

He waited until Arthur had gone home, then found Eliora. She was in her flowery, pretty, feminine room, brushing her gorgeous hair.

“Lucca?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

“Your boyfriend, huh?” he asked.

She nodded. “He says we’ll get engaged as soon as he has the money!” Her face lit up when she talked about her scrawny almost-fiancé. “He says we’ll have a big, proper, Catholic wedding. He wants lots of kids, and we’ll raise them to love and fear God like we do. It will be wonderful!”

“What about me?” Lucca demanded suddenly. The words came tumbling out of his mouth. “I love you, Eliora. I’ve loved you since the first day I saw you. Eliora, will you marry me?” He snapped his mouth shut, embarrassed. She stared at him.

“Oh, Lucca. Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would have given you a chance! But I can’t anymore – not when I’m practically engaged already!”

Lucca snapped. He was aware of what he was doing without really being in control. Or, at least, that was what he would tell himself later. He shut the door to Eliora’s room and walked towards her. He placed his hand over her mouth. He took her roughly. When he was finished, he stood over her.

“Now you’re mine,” he breathed. “You can’t marry that silly little fish anymore. If you try, I’ll tell everyone about this. I’ll say you wanted it. You. Are. Mine.”

Eliora’s room and her frightened face faded away, leaving only whiteness. He floated in the endless blankness for an unknown period of time. Then, God spoke.

“Once-an-Angel. You were Cast Out and became Fallen. To remedy the situation, you were given an option to redeem yourself and return to Heaven. You were told to live on Earth according to the Laws and Commandments for one year. You have broken your agreement.” Two figures appeared before Lucca. Michael and Gabrielle, holding hands.

“For your crimes, you are banned from Heaven and from Earth, to live in torment below until you come to properly repent for your actions,” Michael said, his eyes sad and compassionate.

“You shall be stripped of name and title in Heaven and on Earth. You shall become a Nameless One, to live in torment below until you come to properly repent for your actions,” Gabrielle said. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She stepped towards the Nameless One and laid her hand gently on his shoulder. “We will truly miss you, Once-An-Angel,” she said softly. Then, she pushed him backwards. The Nameless One, who decided he would still call himself Lucifer in defiance of God, fell from Heaven. The last image he saw of Heaven was Gabrielle’s sad green eyes, watching him as he fell.

“We will truly miss you, Once-An-Angel.”