kanwriteseverything

[kanwriteseverything]

iBL Inspiration Board 1: Sitara

Happy to introduce the first inspiration board for Iron Bullet Legacy, featuring Sitara, the faerie mage!

This collage is a fraction of a larger inspiration board straight from my pinterest!

Sitara is the female lead in my story series, Iron Bullet Legacy. She is what’s called a “mage of the eight,” as she is accredited in all areas of magick study. Such mages are a rarity, and are often shunned, because the only way to master every school is to train independently. Each academy specializes in one of the eight subjects, and a mage is only permitted to attend one in their lifetime from the age of 18 to 94, which equates to 5 to 25 in human years. Fae live approximately three to four times longer than humans. 

Sitara’s magick deficiency often prevented her from tackling loftier lessons at the academy she attended. She began studying all eight areas on her own at a young age, and eventually dropped out of school. She adapted to her disease’s limitations and her parents found new ways to maintain her energy for longer periods of time, allowing her to rapidly excel in her training. Her learning continued when she was recruited for the war. The experience ultimately propelled her skill to new heights. She was able to flourish in both combat, healing, and recreational magick. After the war, she became a certified mage of the eight by passing examinations at eight academies on the enchanted side of the veil. Her only motivation was to allow her to take on an official apprentice, who could train under her and officially test in an area of study at an academy.

One of the most fun aspects of writing Sitara is that her hair and eye color are influenced by her magick. Healing removes or purifies pigments, often bleaching her hair, and even clothing, to a stark white, as described in chapter 2. Evocation of fire often results in contact fires, singeing fabric and the ends of her hair. In a state of equilibrium, her eyes are purple and her hair is black.

Inspiration for Sitara’s bedroom resembles somewhat of a sanctuary and somewhat of a mess. Most of her time here is spent meditating to calibrate her energy and regenerate her magick, so I envision a small fountain of sorts as a focal point. Water promotes the circulation of energy throughout the body. The pedestal in the center of this particular fountain is perfect for meditating on rainy days when she can’t take to the balcony to do so amidst the branches of the sakura.  

It was important to me to capture Sitara’s emotional suffering in her environment and how she interacts with it. Surfaces in her room are either empty or covered in scattered herbs, tools, and candles. What isn’t immaculate is occupied by magick, or a means to relieve the effects of her disease. Although the war has been over for some time, she struggles to invest in her peacetime life because of anxiety and the struggle with her identity. The only sentimental possessions in her room are outdated human comic books and twenty years’ worth of old journals, kept on a small bookshelf beside her bed. This reflects how her life was consumed by the war, and how trapped she is in her past.

 I can’t wait to share more inspiration and background for characters! This is such a fun way to talk about the story in a more intimate way. You can find the full boards on pinterest here @ Kan Writes Everything.

[kanwriteseverything]

Iron Bullet Legacy: Chapter 4

Drunk and Stupid

Torryn’s POV 

Day two on the wrong side of the veil, venturing around the fay streets alone. I thought about putting my mask on, but I try to avoid doing so unless I’m pursuing a target. There are plenty of humans on the enchanted side anyway, so I don’t think I stand out in particular. 

The sun is on its way to set. I’ve passed a few portals labeled with outposts I recognize, but I’m hoping to find a waypoint that puts me near Yaling, which is where I was heading before the ambush. Travel on the enchanted side equates to double the distance beyond the veil, since this side is multiplanar, connected largely by portals and tears. As I travel further into North Haven, I should be heading South on the other side.

That’s what Lennox told me, anyway.

The younger fairy woke me up by accident yesterday morning, stubbing her toe on the door. She yelped something about rosemary in her distress, and I groggily breached consciousness, calling her the wrong name by mistake. 

“Can I ask who Fiona is?” she later asked as we shared morning coffee. 

I tore my hair out of its ponytail to comb my fingers through it. “My younger sister. When I lived at home, she came into my room a lot in the middle of the night.” She’s plagued by this recurring nightmare that often used to keep her from sleeping. I’d take her for a walk by the river to calm her down. “Sometimes she’d bump into my nightstand on accident and wake me up.” 

“Is that where you were headed on your journey? Home?”

“No, I was looking for a city I’ve never been before. Yaling.” 

That’s when she gave me a hybrid map for both sides of the veil, and showed me how the cardinal directions exist opposite one another. According to it now, I won’t make it to the right waypoint by nightfall. I should probably post up somewhere until morning. There’s an inn marked a few streets away. I can make my way there.

I hate being in places I don’t know. Well, I love it and I hate it. I hate having to watch my own six, mainly because I get so distracted and end up lost, but I love seeing all the places and people different from home. Fay tend to collapse their wings on the other side to blend in with humans, but here, there are so many fairies in one spot, sparkling in a way they only do beyond the veil, using their wings to hover above the ground. It all looks magical… which makes sense, since their bodies rely on magick to function.

Magick…

“You there!” a street merchant calls out to me. “Would it be you’re lost?”

What was my tell? The map, or me walking by his stand three times now? I guess I’m an open book. “Looking for somewhere to spend the night, actually. Headed to outpost 37 south.”

“37 south? That's a ways more to go. Aye, you’d best take up a room at the inn the ‘round the corner there, on your left.”

I was this close... Well, I’d surely have found it eventually.  

“There’s a cracking bar next door there, too, if you fancy yourself a bevvy.”

It’d do me no good to get tanked in a city I’ve never been, on the wrong side of the veil, but a little alcohol sounds like a good means of taking the edge of the last week’s chaos.  

The inn has a bright, lit-up sign even a foolish mortal could spot if he’d walked down the right street. The receptionist is a young fay by the name of Quillan, so says his name plate. He sets me up with a room for the night before I even get the chance to tell him that it’s Torryn with a y, not an i.  

Quillan also recommends the bar next door. It’s bustling with less-than-passionate older couples, more-than-passionate en-sports fans, and moderately-passionate drunkards, humans and fay alike. I order some roast beast sliders and a half pint of ale, able to secure a seat at a little table near the door I came in. The TVs are covering competitions for exerwing and celerwing, which are almost comparable to human gymnastics and cross country... but with flying. I guess it’s a bit like the pub back home, in that they both serve alcohol.

I don’t know that I’ll be back in these parts anytime soon.  

“Oh, come on! Tell him he can visit,” Lennox urged Sitara when I left. 

Her mouth twisted to the side. “I’d prefer not to. Human doctors are much more equipped to manage human wounds.” 

She wasn’t wrong, but I had to laugh. Doctors on my side always badger me about my profession when I need to be seen. I try to avoid it, if possible. With injuries notably fay related, some have refused to me entirely. Sitara though? She wouldn’t even accept payment from me after everything, since I was technically… well, entirely… brought in against my will. I still left behind some mortal and enchanted kroner, because I wasn’t too sure what they’d prefer. One of them has probably found the sachets I hid beneath a bunch of herbs.

The mage looked at me with a small smile. The roots  of her hair were starting to turn black when I last saw her.

Will I see her again?

No. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back in these parts.

A wine-soaked voice cuts through my personal space as a woman takes the seat in front of me. “Hey there, cowboy!” Co… cowboy? Oh, right. Fay use that as a term of endearment for human men, don’t they? “Haven’t seen yous ‘round here before!” Her slender hand walks onto my thigh.

She's bold, that’s for sure, but her makeup is quite nice. Much better than Fiona’s has ever been, though she is sixteen and half blind. Last time I was home, she used me as a practice mannequin. 

“I’m just passing through.” I put as much space between us as the tight corner allows. “Got a name, stranger?”

“I’m Torryn. What about yo—”

“Torry! Hi there!” My mom’s the only one who still calls me that at twenty-five. Unless you count Willem, who calls me Dowwy, since he’s not yet three and doesn’t exactly grasp how letters work. “My, we don’t get too many handsome fella around here!” She draws her syllables out twofold, playing with the ends of her blonde hair. 

This is one of those encounters, isn’t it? Where a man is sitting by himself, and it makes him vulnerable, an easy target, and a kind lady seduces him, because she has such a charitable soft spot for lonely men, only to wake up next to him at dawn and make off with whatever he has that’ll turn a quick kroner. Totally haven’t been kicked by that pony before. 

It’s either that, or this fay is just… remarkably way off the mark. 

“Do you live in New Haven?” I prepare a swift retreat to my room.

“Just a bit west, actually.” She nods, pointing east. “I’ve got a little place of my own.”

“Ah, well, this is my first time here. I just rented a room next door.”

“Oooh, neats!” She leans in close enough to lodge her noxious perfume between my sinuses. “Well then, what do you say, cowboy? Why don’t we hurry up and take this some place private?”  

“Sorry, miss...” She traces my hand. “I’ve got to head out early tomorrow. Best to get some rest. Nice talking with you. Enjoy your evening.”

My room back at the inn is peaceful. The bed is a bed, and the room is a room, but it’s peaceful. What in the fiddle was that fairy on about? She didn’t even tell me her name! I pull the pillow over my face as I collapse onto the mattress and shake off the lingering exchange. How exhausting. If I were five years younger, I probably would’ve stayed to talk. Maybe we would’ve gotten drunk and stupid together, but that’s just not fun for me anymore.

It used to be my scene, when I was young, and just getting used to new legs, as I’d recently joined the Enchanted Forces Unit. Bounty hunting has never been naturally conducive to long term commitments and, between my shiny new soldier status and prior experience traveling solo, I wasn’t a stranger to one-night stands. An EFU assignment I got a few months into the gig brought me to the east side of a rural town called Caphia. I met a girl at a tavern, which is where I would meet most girls. Her name was Ananke. She was gorgeous, and witty, and good at cards. Very good at cards. Maybe I should’ve taken the five lost games in a row as a red flag. 

Even though I wasn’t a stranger to one-night stands, that’s not what we were. I let her call me Torry, and “I was the only one” who called her Nan. She wore my shirts, and spent every night with me in my hotel room in Caphia… and Itagus, and so on. A number of our evenings were spent getting drunk and stupid, and it was fun.

Then I was tasked with taking down a trio of rogue fay in a big city. It was a case of human children trafficking that required I set up in Acadon for a month. I used most of my monthly EFU allowance to rent us an apartment from a sweet old man who ran a pharmacy down the street, throwing in extra kroner for the inconvenience, since we weren’t staying long. It was tough job, because it reminded me of Fiona’s accident.

Ananke was the type of girl who liked taverns and cards and drinking games so much she hardly ever left. She always seemed to be between jobs. When she needed money, she could find it, but we always gambled with mine. 

I quickly discovered I wasn’t built for her lifestyle. I didn’t take kindly to being hungover, and I liked remembering the night before in the morning. More than that, though, I felt guilty about the example I was setting for my siblings, even if they weren’t around to see it. That’s when it started, I guess. The beginning of the end, for me, anyway. She’d get drunk on her own more often, while I ate three trays too many of nachos or mozzarella sticks or fried pickles.

The closer I got to taking out the trio, the faster they started working. The disappearance rate was climbing, and I was losing my sanity. Fiona. This could’ve been Fiona, I kept thinking. This could’ve been my family. But Ananke didn’t get along with her family, who lived in whatever town she never told me the name of. She gave advice about my stress as good as a brick wall, though I bet the wall wouldn’t have told me that family is just a toxic, patriarchal construct, and I should go AWOL, and just have a beer already, Torry… but I wasn’t talking to many brick walls back then.

I killed the traffickers, and found a dozen terrified kids with them. After desperate mothers and fathers hugged me, thanking me for bringing back their children, I threw up outside the Caphia sheriff’s department. Missing posters with photos of tiny faces had to remain around town still. Too many for me to stomach.

That night? I wanted to drink.

So I sauntered into the tavern with a bit of pocket kroner, travelling light because of the mission, and the girl who liked taverns and cards and drinking games wasn’t there. I took a bottle back to my room, found the note, and got drunk. I was already stupid... had been the whole time.

All’s fair in love and war, she wrote.

She took a military issued blaster I was reamed for losing, a watch my parents had gifted me, and all the money from my bag, not to mention the cast iron skillet Fiona saved her chore money up to get me for my birthday the year before. Strange child, asking me to carry around a whole pan when I traveled, but I’d have said yes even if it were a whole trunk of them.

Would Ananke have taken it if she was sober enough to hear me that time I told her it was from my little sister?

I try not to wonder.

There aren’t too many people I’d share a drink with now. Hmm... maybe… no. Best bet is Fiona when she turns twenty-one, though she insists she doesn’t care about “that kind of stuff.”

Although, maybe Sitara.

Sitara…?

Fiddle, where’s that coming from?

Can I ask what happened? 

I’m sure the explanation you come up with will be better than the truth.

The fairy mage… 

Something about her isn’t adding up. 

I’ve never heard of a fairy getting sick from a lack of magick. Why so many candles, then? Why the cherry blossom tree? 

She said she was fine. The tree is magickal enough to sustain fay without the candles. Well, their magick is regenerative! A normal fay wouldn’t need to rely heavily on either! Let alone a fairy mage...

I don’t understand.

I mean, her hand has a bunch of rods attached to it, and wires leading beneath her skin. She somehow recognized the F3. Tons of fairy mages fought in the war… just… not many fought on our side.

I only knew her for two days.

But there’s something about her laugh… Maybe…

Makes me want to get drunk with her.

Someday. 

[kanwriteseverything]

NaPoWriMo Day 4: Sharp

[kanwriteseverything]

NaPoWriMo Day 3: Hope

[kanwriteseverything]

NaPoWriMo Day 2: Collect

[kanwriteseverything]

NaPoWriMo Day 1: Underwater

[kanwriteseverything]

Happy National Poetry Writing Month :) NaPoWriMo 2020! Join me in posting a poem a day, every day, for the month of April! 

[kanwriteseverything]

Iron Bullet Legacy: Chapter 3

Heartsick

Sitara’s POV

               I log my patient care notes about the tea Lenny prepared, Torryn’s audible sighs of pain when he laughs, and the lack of apparent complications in treatment thus far. Using a cloth, I pick up the iron bullets I’d scattered on the counter and place them in his bag beside his weapon. It’s getting late, or becoming early, rather. 

I don’t want to tell him why my hand looks robotic.

“Drink that, and rest.” I’m halfway out the door before I even organize my thoughts. “If you need anything, press the button on the wall.”

The outside handle of the ward locks, only answering to my touch and Lenny’s. I lean against the closed door, staring out onto the desolate floor of the practice engulfed in the pre-sunrise haze. My prosthetic nerves throb, deprived of magick. I’m tired.

Human man, what are you, really?

                 By some miracle, I do fall asleep upon returning to bed. More of a coma than anything else. My magick is all out of whack. I haven’t had to heal wound’s like Torryn’s since the war. Ailments, minor injuries, and the occasional hex, but not so many severe lacerations, let alone on a human. I don’t work on humans nearly as much as I did. Peacetime has been pretty good to the health of all people.

The practice should’ve opened over an hour ago. I pull myself together and hop down the stairs two at a time, only to find Lennox calmly juggling a.m. routines and restocking.

“Mornin,” she hums, identifying my presence without so much as a glance. “I tagged and shelved the tablets you crafted yesterday.”

“Sorry I slept so late. I meant to tag those myself.” I scan her work, straightening a few stray products on the salesfloor. The pricing and arrangements are perfect. She always has this place running flawlessly. How could I forget? There’s no reason for me to rush these days.

My hair has yet to regain its pigment and my hand still aches.

“Oh, and Torryn responded well to the brew, so I gave him solids earlier. Don’t eat the leftovers. It’s a human recipe and you won’t like it.”

Not really hungry anyway. “Did you check the wounds on his torso yet?”

“That’s next on list after exchanging a few of these candles.” The candles. Her life will be easier when she doesn’t have to keep so many lit.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him today.”

“Are you sure you feel up to it?”

“Just focus on the practice, Lenny. You’re doing a great job.”

               Torryn is hastily flipping through a grimoire in the back room. He has too much energy for me this early. It’s like he isn’t even injured. I guess some people just bounce back that quick.

I need to meditate.

“Ah, Sitara!” He turns the book towards me. “What do all these symbols mean?”

Good morning to you, too. “You wouldn’t be able to read them even if you were holding it the right way.” I flip the text around and define a few of the scripts on the page. “Fire. Storm water. Counter clockwise.”

“Lennox said it was a spell book, sort of.”

I prepare new gauze as he continues to scour the pages. “Well, we are mages, after all.”

“It’s normal to you,” he squints at the symbols, “but we don’t have many on our side of the veil.”

“It’s harder for humans to use magick.” Their bodies aren’t built for it. Neither is mine, realistically. “I want to check on your wounds and change the dressing.”

He gently lays the open book beside him. “By all means, doc. Work your magic.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t think he even realized the pun.

In the daylight, I’m able to take a better look at Torryn. His black hair is tightly nestled up in knot, with strays framing his face. He’s much livelier, smiling despite sitting before me in bandages. The old gauze absorbed residual bleeding in the night. His face is much less marred, thanks to the vervian salve, but I’m more concerned about making sure that gash on his stomach closes.

Torryn straightens up when he sees it. “That looks way better than it did at first.”

No wonder the first wrap job was a wreck, then. He was probably only half conscious when he did it. “I circulated a lot of magick through you so your wounds would heal.” I wasn’t sure he’d make it otherwise. The cut was deeper than I’d thought, and managed to destroy a vein that would’ve required surgery. Luckily, I was able to come up with the energy to repair it using the circulation. It’s almost all closed up now.

“Sounds painful.”

It’s magick, not electricity. “Well, you were out cold and couldn’t have felt a thing, so I guess you’ll never know.” I apply the last of the vervian salve around the laceration and secure a linen wrap around his waist, abandoning the gauze since he’s no longer bleeding.

He picks up the grim as soon as I turn away. “Oh, hey, what about this one, what does this one mean?” He points at the bottom corner of a page. “I’ve seen it before, and it’s all throughout this book.”

It’s a rune… my rune, rather. The one I use as my magick signature. Back when I was studying, I’d practice drawing it in all my books so it would look perfect. “Where have you seen it?”

“On the bullets for my gun, and a few documents I’ve come across on assignments.”

He is military then? A freelancer for the military? “There are runes on your bullets?” I can’t believe I hadn’t thought to check. I mean, he’s carrying an F3, for fae’s sake.

He digs one out of his bag at the foot of the bed. “It’s the same one that’s in the book.”

There it is. My rune stamped on the bottom of his bullets, his iron bullets, for his fae hunting gun… both of which I helped create.

I jump to change the subject. “Oh, Lennox said she made you breakfast. Do you feel okay?” It’s rare to have non-fae in overnight care, so we don’t usually need to prepare human cuisine. Torryn’s plate is empty, though.

“I feel fine. I guess I’m a little sore, but she made the best meal I’ve had in weeks.”

Looks like her time living with humans has come in handy again. Honestly, I might help with replenishing our stock and overseeing most patient treatment, but she’s more than capable of taking over this place now. I’m just waiting for the right time…

“Speaking of Lennox,” Torryn interrupts. “She was rushing around lighting candles this morning like her life depended on it.”

It doesn’t, but she thinks mine does. “The candles help stabilize and recalibrate energy.”

“She seemed really worried. What happens if too many blow out?”

“Nothing. We live in a sakura that’s naturally one of the best magick generators for fae.” The candles are only a supplement in case my disease flares up.

His eyes widen. “You live in a tree?” He sweeps his arms out and raises his furrowed eyebrows at me. “With this much of a fire hazard?”

I can’t help but smile, shaking my head. It’s hard not to find his brightness a bit charming. Brightness. That’s what I’d call it. A combination of his smile and vivacity and humor. “They’ve never caught even a bay leaf on fire.”

“Still, it seems overkill. Smells nice, but overkill.”

“They’re unscented. You’re probably just smelling the herbs and supplies.”

He dramatically feigns devastation, flopping back on the bed. “All these candles and they don’t even smell good?”

I break into laughter, taking his plate to return to the kitchenette. I think he’ll be safe to discharge as soon as nightfall, but I’ll give him honey and keep monitoring him until then.

“Sitara.” He stops me before I go, still sprawled out, staring at the ceiling. “Lennox said you’d get sick without the candles.”

What?

“I don’t think she meant to. It kind of slipped out.” He turns to me, his eyes soft. “But she didn’t explain why.”

I suck in a breath, debating my response. Why did she tell him that? “I already told you. The tree is magickal enough to sustain fae without the candles.” His expression doesn’t change. “Try not to jump around. I’ll be right back.”

 Lennox is back at the front service desk documenting a new shipment of sorts. I rest my elbows on the side across from her.

“What’s up? How’s Torryn?”

“Fine, fine. Good, actually.”

She blinks up at me. “Why are talking to me in that I-know-what-you-did voice?”

“I don’t know. Why’d you tell Torryn I’d get sick if you didn’t light enough candles?”

Her face scrunches up. “Well…” she trails off. “You know, I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I was tired. It was supposed to be an internal thought, but I verbalized it, making it a verbal thought, and he was right there. I’m used to being alone in the mornings, and a bunch more had blown out overnight than usual…”

“Lenny,” I cut her off, “It’s not that. I just don’t want you to worry so much about me.”

“But you entirely depleted your magick yesterday when you were healing. You couldn’t even move your hand!”

I wasn’t confident I had the time to spare for meditation during the process. It was important to catalyze the tissue growth as much as possible before working topically. “I understand your concern, but…” I can’t bring myself to say it. The candles aren’t going to keep me from getting sick.

“I know, I know. Don’t worry about you,” she breathes. “I’m sorry I said that to him. I didn’t tell him anything else.”

I squeeze her shoulder before heading back to the treatment ward. “Forget about that. He doesn’t seem like a threat.” I think it’s okay to trust him.

I think I want to know more about him.

[kanwriteseverything]

Rose Colored Glasses

[kanwriteseverything]

Iron Bullet Legacy: Chapter 2

Accidentally Lost

Torryn’s POV

Bright light. Overwhelming heat. Burning. My whole body is on fire... No, that can’t be right. It smells much more like firewood than flesh.

I blink into reality, careful not to make any sudden movements. Why the fiddle are there so many candles lit in here?

Where is here?

A mound of logs floats in the air by the far wall that isn’t very far at all. My whole body feels like it’s on fire. The brawl I got into with that fairy and its minions earlier must be the reason for it. Earlier… how long ago was that? How much time has passed?

When was the last time I asked myself so many questions I couldn’t answer?

There’s no one else in here, but someone, clearly out of their mind, had to have created this fire hazard. I sit up slowly, clutching the pain in my gut. The pain… it’s not nearly as bad as I remember. It’s coming back to me in pieces. I was on the trail to Westvale when that rogue fay ambushed me. It took a bullet through the wing, but one of the minions slashed my stomach before I got away. I bandaged it before passing out, but the gauze covering my injury feels more secure now than when I did it. Did that fairy come after me again? Fiddles, I don’t know. I need to find my bag before I look around.

The door creaks open as I scan the room, preparing to stand.

“Oh, wait, please, you shouldn’t move.” It’s a young girl’s voice, just above a whisper. “You’re badly wounded.” The candlelight distorts her features until she turns on the lamp in the corner. “You should continue to rest. How are you feeling?”

I clear my throat. “Did I...” There’s a sugary syrup on my lips. Honey?

She seems relieved as I form words, a small smile taking to her face. That’s when I see the dust, glistening in the light as it scatters from her chestnut hair.

This girl is a fairy.

“Did I have a bag with me?”

She glides over to a chair housing the things I recognize as mine. “Nothing appeared to be disturbed when we brought you in, but you’ve been unconscious for at least ten hours.”

We? There’s more of them, then... Alright, alright, calm down. Not all fairies are hostile. I’ve met plenty. This one doesn’t seem like a threat. Have I actually been in this place for hours?

How did I get myself into this situation?

She hands me my bag. I feel around for my weapon, maintaining eye contact.

“Do you have a name?” she asks.

I do. “Do you?” I capitalize on her turning away to tuck my gun into the back of my waistband, careful to keep it concealed. It’s loaded with iron bullets. designed for fay hunting, but I leave the safety on.

“I’m Lennox. I work here, and live here.” Lennox. Well, she seems harmless, but I shouldn’t let my guard down. A figure moves beyond in the darkness of the doorway as I toss my bag next to me on the bed. Glitter sparkles from the shadow as it breaches the lit room. It’s another girl.

Another fairy.

“How long has he been awake?” She talks to her companion, though her eyes remain fixed on me.

“I’ve only been here for a few minutes. I was just going to wake you.”

“No need. Couldn’t sleep,” she yawns. “Let’s try a lemon balm and mint brew. He seems to have responded a bit to the honey.” Honey. I was right.

Lennox reminds me of Fiona, right down to the soft, closed-eyed smile she gives me before whisking off to complete her task. “Please, don’t be afraid. We mean you no harm.”

The second girl looks closer to my age. Her hair is bleached to the color of snowfall, blending with the heavy fabrics of her robe and dress. “We mean you no harm.” She repeats the words of her junior with a harp like voice, not only gentle but bold. “I’ll explain everything we know.”

We. Just the two of them, or are there more? “Where am I, and who are you working for?”

“We aren’t working for anyone.” She takes a seat on the counter, legs crossed. There are rods on her fingers. Some kind of brace, maybe? “This is my home and my clinic.”

Her home and her clinic. In the middle of that forest I’d wandered into? Odd place to have a business. Wait. This is her practice... She’s the candle maniac, then?

“Lennox is my apprentice.”

Apprentice of what?

“How do I know I can trust you?”

She shrugs. “I’ve had seven hours to snap your unconscious neck.” It’s a fact, coming out of her mouth, not a theory. “If I wanted to kill you, or loot you, or harvest your organs, I would’ve taken the opportunity while you were unable to fight back, hmm?”

That’s quite specific. She makes me laugh a bit, provoking the pain in my stomach.

“You know, that gun you’ve got there isn’t going to do you any good,” she adds, hopping down to light a few of the unlit white candles. “After all, I took these.” She empties out the contents of her pocket onto the counter. The sound is all too familiar.

Iron bullets.

“So how do I know I can trust you?”

I lean back against the wall, pulling the empty gun from my waistband. “How did you know…?” How could she have seen it?

She rubs exhaustion from her eyes. “I found it in your bag earlier. Had to make sure you weren’t a salt smuggler, or anything. I replaced the ammo with some sage so I could divine it.”

Biscuits. I should’ve been able to tell the gun was empty. I would’ve been able to, but everything aches. My adrenaline is wearing off. I pull the magazine to find the plant she mentioned. How is she able to divine things? Is she a seer?

“What’s your name?” the faerie asks, resting her head on a closed fist, propped up on cabinetry.

“Torryn. You?”

“Sitara.” Sitara. “So, are you a radical? An insurgent, maybe?”

Ouch. Neither. “I’m just a freelancer.” Well, if you were to define freelancer and bounty hunter the same way, that is. “What about you? Some sort of healer, or do you just like the challenge of keeping white clean?”

She blinks at me, then down at her clothes. “Oh, right. I forgot. Cleansing magick tends to strip the pigment out of anything the user comes in contact with.” She pinches one of the gypsy sleeves. “These were blue when I put them on, and my hair is naturally black.”

Even her irises are crystal clear, like the lake back home. What color are they supposed to be? “So, you are a healer, then?”

“Sort of... Well, not exactly. I’m a mage.”

A mage? “Is that supposed to justify the number of candles you have burning right now?”

She raises her eyebrows, gesturing around the room. “These? These are essential in creating the best possible conditions for magick.”

“And the best possible conditions for setting your house on fire.” I get a laugh out of her. “You really are a mage, then?” Which means Lennox is her apprentice in magick.

Following a sudden and aggressive amount of sparkles, a staff almost as tall as her appears in in the hand with rods and wires attached to it. It looks like tree roots and vines woven together, with a few vibrant flowers growing on it. Conjuration is an area of study in magick, I think, so I suppose she proves her point. It levitates once she lets go.

Sitara jumps in front of me as Lennox returns, tucking my gun into her pocket and winking at me. Lennox doesn’t notice, preoccupied with the steaming coffee mugs. She extends one to me. It smells quite nice. Earthy, but sweet. I don’t often have the pleasure of settling down with tea. Lennox sits in a chair sipping the other cup, while Sitara busies herself with the candles again.

“So, do you travel across the veil often?”

My first gulp of the brew lodges in my throat. First of all, why is this so sweet? Second— me? Across the veil? “What do you mean?”

“Do you come to the enchanted side often, for work or something?” Sitara slows down her words to accommodate my confusion.

I haven’t been to the other side in years. How did I cross over? I don’t remember seeing a tear in the veil. “This is the first time in a while.”

The younger fairy perks up. “North Haven is quite nice this time of year with all the festivities we celebrate.” North Haven? Geography has never been my strong suit, and I don’t even remember the last time I saw an enchanted map. “Are you a merchant?”

“His name is Torryn, by the way,” Sitara murmurs, “He’s a freelancer.” She cuts her off before the younger fay can ask the question queued in her open mouth. “You should get a few more hours of rest so you can open the practice in the morning. I’ll record everything in his care log.”

“You need to rest, too,” she protests, ultimately retreating, mug in hand, when she’s brushed off. “Goodnight Torryn!”

Sitara collapses against the door once she closes it. “Sorry, I just didn’t want her to see it. She doesn’t like being around guns.”

I understand. That’s why I usually stash it in my bag.

“This is the F3, right?” she asks, pulling it back out of her robe. How does she recognize it? “Is this the new A6?” She traces down the barrel to the trigger.

“No, that’s the F3A5. I haven’t picked up the 6 yet.”

She nods turning it over, inspecting it. “It’s much more refined than the 3. I’m surprised.” Her eyes blink a few times, as if to pull her back to reality. She nestles the gun back in my bag and points to my tea. “Drink all of that. Don’t slack. Healing wounds from the inside is important.”

It tastes like a literal cavity, though… but never mind that. How does she know about the F3’s? Fay do age slower than humans… but is she old enough to have lived during the war these were created for? “Can I ask what happened to your hand?”

A small smile takes to her face. “You can, but I won’t tell you.” She scribbles a few lines into a journal nearby before heading towards the door. “I’m sure the explanation you come up with will be better than the truth, anyway.”

Sitara.

“Drink that, and rest.”

I’m sure the explanation you come up with will be better than the truth…

Now I want to know even more.

[kanwriteseverything]

Zest for Life

[kanwriteseverything]

It’s All Well and Right: The Whole Story

For a long time, I’ve been scared... of everything. 

What if no one likes my writing? 

What if my ideas are washed up and flat? 

What if people think I’m fake for using my non anglicized name? 

What if I’m oversharing?

What if it doesn’t work out? 

What if it does, and it's not enough?

I became scared of what I love because I gave it the power to dismantle me. It’s true. I’ve made a pretty hard time for myself, all these years, because I always want to do things well and do things right. I think I became a starving artist out of fear, in the sense that I’ve programmed myself to settle for starvation of the art I so desperately need to create to survive. 

But I’ve decided the “everything” I’m scared of is less important to me than the “everything” I want to do. Because art isn’t done well or right, whether it’s forged from sunshine or blood or alcohol, spat out during a fit of rage, or unearthed with tangled roots. I don’t want to spend my life overcompensating for whatever atrocious flaws I think I have, or standards I think I need to exceed in order to do things well and right, when I could be doing things. 

So I’m going to write my stories, and use whatever ideas make me excited to sit at the page, and whatever name I want to sign my work with. I’m going to share and create and just do things. That’s it. I just want to do things, as crude or inspired as the outcomes are, despite everything I am and everything I ever want to be, everything I will be.

Maybe it won't work out. 

Maybe it will. 

Maybe it won't be enough. 

If that’s the case? I’ll just do more. 

Because life isn’t lived well or right. It’s either lived or it’s not. 

I’ve decided I want to live.

I think that’s well and right enough. 

[kanwriteseverything]

It’s All Well and Right

[kanwriteseverything]

Losing Myself

[kanwriteseverything]

Unrest

[kanwriteseverything]

All or Nothing

[kanwriteseverything]

Earth by Jon Hrubesch

I stumbled across this on pinterest, and it inspired the concept of Sitara’s home on the enchanted side of the veil. Located in a tall cherry blossom tree, the fairy mage’s house has three levels. 

*Includes spoilers for Chapter 1 of Iron Bullet Legacy*

Chapter 1 takes place only on the first floor, where the service area, medical ward, and prep room can be found. Along with a kitchenette and bathroom, there is a bedroom where Lennox sleeps, so she can tend to any late night patrons. This room belonged to Sitara years ago, however, in a gesture of trust, the girls traded spaces to assign more responsibility to Lennox regarding the practice. A wrap around porch extends around the floor’s perimeter. 

The second level is the largest, housing an extensive library full of Sitara’s grimoires, magick guides, tools, and spare ingredients. Though she successfully completed years of study in all eight schools of magick, Sitara still spends time doing research and tuning her methods here. With Sitara’s guidance, Lennox also studies magick. However, because she became a mage later than the average fae, she completes much of her learning at home, as opposed to attending an academy. 

The third floor is a small living space fit with a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, and parlor area leading out to a balcony. Meditating amidst the branches is Sitara’s preferred means of relaxation, and, more importantly, recalibrating her energy. 

On the enchanted side of the veil, cherry blossom trees bloom monthly and emit a unique magick energy widely preferred by mages. Sitara chose a large sakura for her home because they represent the importance of renewal and the fleeting nature of life. These notions were, and are, ever present in her mind after the war’s end.

*Note: these posts are supplements to the main story series, allowing further insight to the characters, scenes, and my creative process. Not necessary for understanding or consumption of the stand alone series.*