#and for the record yes its based off a bit of myself who is deaf and have a cochlear implant (cant sign tho 😔)

[disastersteps]

dropping this lil doodle of neets wearing a hearing aid ( cochlear implant!) i got enabled shhh so i guess au within au???????

yes they purposely removing their aid not to listen to chen (and have mental wall up so chen cant even lecture via thoughts) while ortega on the other hand would talk AND sign with neets furiously-

themmys there to eat popcorn JKHDSGFHJSDJGH

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 13: Behind the Scenes Part 2

It’s not a booty call. Yet.

First  Previous  Next

Despite the princes’ best efforts, they did not manage to chase Adam off. However, they did give him an excuse not to work for the rest of the day.

Adam has but one hobby, which Lance has facilitated well over their years together. He’s working in the princes’ little garden, carefully digging into the soil to create patches of new plants. Lance chose them after spending most of an afternoon chasing after disgruntled gardeners and interrogating them as to which plants Keith seems to like most. The Crown Prince had then handed Adam and the head groundskeeper a list of new additions to his garden.

Sooner or later, Lance would no doubt be speaking to someone about expanding the tower or some other such manner of extending their garden. Adam is already looking into possible solutions, chiefly a wall around their tower to separate a space for the princes and a greenhouse for during the winter. Knowing Lance, he'll want room for a playground and some kind of small pool for their future children.

Adam feels for the princes. He keeps his feelings hidden deep, where they don't get in the way, but he acknowledges them, takes them into account. Keith doesn't appear to be interested in gardening, but he definitely has an interest in being outside. Having his own special garden might help keep him inside the walls, keep him safe.

As Adam works his hands into the soil, coaxing some harmonic lilies, complete with the crab-hamster family as per Lance's behest, he thinks about the future.

What will the princes require? Aphrodisiacs? Contraceptives? Medicines? Oils? Should he have Hunk contact his family back on the Balmera and request some crystals? What sort of unique needs might their progeny require?

Prince Lotor had not been a healthy infant, though he cuts a striking figure now. He’s the only reference Adam has for what he might expect from the princes’ offspring. Perhaps he should confer with Coran and request Lotor’s records from Daibazaal.

Adam pulls out a comms unit and presses a button. It doesn’t take long. “Hello?”

“I have questions. Are you busy?” Adam stops to stretch his back, turning to glance at the Galra on the holograph.

“And a good day to you, too.” Shiro smiles. His ears are turned toward where Adam's face might be. “No, I’m not busy. What can I do for you?”

“What do you know of Galra hybrids?”

“Ahh… With Alteans, or in general? Not much, to be truthful, but I can put you in touch with someone who does-”

“I’d rather keep this between us.”

“As you wish.” Shiro pauses. “I know a some general information, and a few hybrids. Galra DNA takes very well to that of other species. As far as I’m aware, hybrids are most always capable of reproducing. They tend to have varying skills and characteristics. One of Lotor’s generals can turn invisible-”

“I meant health-wise.” Adam winces. “Sorry. Stress. Didn’t mean to be rude.”

“I think you need an attendant of your own.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice. I could get one, but too many people keeping secrets is… undesirable. So, health problems?”

“Minimal. Occasionally something pops up. Zethrid has some form of gigantism… Narti is blind and deaf, but that’s related to her mother species. A few have turned up with defects, but nothing major...” Shiro trails off.

“What is it?”

“Keith’s mother has his same condition. It is hereditary. That is what your greatest concern should be. Pregnancy is high-risk… Keith doesn’t know, but he’s not an only child. Not technically.”

Adam swallows, considering the implications of that. “How many?”

“Four, that Krolia knows of. There may have been others, not far enough along for her to have even been aware. Keith is her second born. The other was still-born, not even close to term.” Adam sets aside his tools, turning to face the man in the holograph. “That being said, she was isolated, and we were at war at the time, so she did not have access to medical care. We can begin planning now. I will ask if she would agree to some tests. Perhaps she can visit her son, sneak into your medical center. If we work together, all of the princes' children will have a fighting chance.”

“Hm.” Adam sits back. “That seems agreeable. More than agreeable, actually. The boy misses his mother. He seems to have a great deal of trouble sleeping. Lance sits up with him sometimes.”

“Have they started getting along, yet?”

“Yes, actually.” Adam bites his lip. “You didn’t hear this from me.”

“Of course not.”

“But their quintessence is compatible.” His and Shiro’s is too, but he keeps that to himself. “Lance’s base is blue, mostly, but he has a red streak, as well. Keith’s base is red, with a streak of black. They’re not perfectly matched, but do complement each other nicely. They might end up actually working as a couple.”

“That would be nice. Say, what’s my base?”

“Black. Black is compatible with anything.” Adam turns back to the garden, pruning the golden regent orchid Keith stole. He adjusts the twine tethering it to the tree, feeding a bit of his own quintessence, coaxing its roots to take to the trunk. He'd had to dig it up once the soil had begun to cause its health to decline.

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“That’s its nature. Black is a concentration of pigment. It’s made to absorb everything else and spread like ink in water. A great leader has the ability to make everyone part of the same whole.

“For example…” Adam glances to the Galra whose attention never wavers. It’s flattering, after so long being the invisible man. For the first time in his life, Adam caves. “Green quintessence is knowledge, and enthusiasm with knowledge. It’s also a connection with living things. Life moves in cycles, as does knowledge. It ebbs, flows, fades in and out…But it can be unfocused; it can err.

“A leader, like yourself, might offer that drive, that instinct, some goal or direction so that it might better serve a group.”

“You seem relatively focused,” Shiro murmurs.

“Perhaps, but I am pulled in many directions. I’ve simply had practice managing myself. Hence, gardening while thinking about medical concerns at least a decaphoeb in the future.”

“So you put the garden together. I wondered.”

“Lance assisted. He doesn’t have time for this right now, so he asked me to add some new things for Keith. He stole a rare flower and keeps coming out here to look at it, so Lance asked me to work on adding more plants and perhaps a sitting place.”

Adam carefully sets down a basket of other clinging plants, selecting a few to attach to the trunk and branches of the singing tree. Shiro watches as he carefully ties the plants in place, arranging and rearranging before using his alchemy to encourage them to take root to the trunk. “You have an eye for this sort of thing.”

“Aesthetic beauty is something Alteans value, but yes. I’m particularly skilled in achieving it.” Adam steps back to admire his handiwork. “What does your garden look like?”

“Organized rows of plants, carefully labeled and groomed.”

“Sounds ugly.”

“Ugly, but functional. Unlike your tree.”

“This is functional. It’s not a medicinal garden. It’s a garden meant to cultivate something else.” Adam plucks some turning leaves from the tree, listening to the delicate chiming tune back into key under his care. “It’s meant to cultivate happiness and peace.”

“That sounds like medicine to me. Just, you know, not the kind my people take much stock in. It’s unfortunate. I know some people who could benefit.”

“Romelle.”

“She I have an excuse for. She’s Altean. Likes pretty things. Thus, I have a bit more leeway. I can do more for her. But Galra, they appreciate functionality over everything else.”

“So...What purpose do I serve? What’s my functionality?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Well, you desired to keep in contact with me. So I must serve some functionality.” Adam turns, gives Shiro his full and undivided attention. “So… Tell me what it is.”

“Nothing. No functionality whatsoever.” The Galra captain smiles a crooked smile. “Well, there’s a bit of functionality, but that’s only a minor concern. More of a bonus than anything else. What functionality do I serve for you?”

Adam turns back to the garden, furiously pruning the dead leaves from the tree. “Undetermined.”

“I see…Well, do keep me posted, then. I will gather what information I can regarding Keith’s condition. I will also see if we can’t smuggle Krolia over for a day or two… I enjoyed speaking to you.”

“Yes.” Adam pauses. “I enjoyed it too. Thank you for inquiring on my behalf.”

“Of course. Please, contact me again. For anything at all. It doesn’t need to be pertinent.”

“I- I understand.” Adam does not confirm or deny that he will contact the captain again.

The captain smiles all the same, ears turned resolutely toward him through the screen, grey and gold eyes gleaming bright and happy. Once Keith had pointed out how smitten the Galra was, Adam can’t stop thinking about it. The way the Shiro watches his every move with delighted interest. He’s so forward, in his own way. Alteans are so much more subtle, so different in their behavior. They tend to be oblique with their words, but, with the exception of Keith, very direct with body language. The opposite of Alteans.

Still, it’s nice to be the center of someone’s attention. Maybe they can compare physik knowledge or something.

Or something.

[salfordiansiren]

Interview Questions for Ren Harvieu, God is in the TV ‘In Conversation with…’article

We do like to ask some ‘off-the-wall’ questions, also some slightly tongue-in-cheek and left-field ones not connected to the music business at all. There are also a few multiple questions and I’ve mixed them up a bit so that the subjects keep changing. Many of them are open-ended, giving you the opportunity to be as verbose as you wish.  Please ignore any question you do not wish to answer.

Hi Lauren, my name is David Bentley, I write for a UK-based e-zine God is in the TV (GIITTV).

The objective of this interview, which will be published in GIITTV within a week of receiving your responses, is to introduce you to a new audience in the UK and abroad and to promote your forth on ming album.

The interview will also feature some embedded videos and/or audio unless you ask us not to do that.

There will be an ‘introduction’ to the interview but that will be written after its completion.

Thanks for agreeing to take part.

So, here we go…

 

Hi Lauren, thanks for joining us today. How are you?

I’m in a great mood today thanks. I had foot surgery last week and so I cant leave the house or really move for 6 weeks but I feel strangely calm about the whole thing, I dont mind bein

 

For the benefit of readers who may not be familiar with you, how would you describe yourself as an artist, in a paragraph?

 

 

You have released two singles, ‘Teenage Mascara’ and just now ‘Yes, Please’ from your second album, ‘Revel in the Drama’ which is scheduled for next April and the first one was well received by broadcasting ‘tastemakers’. How does the album differ from the first one, ‘Through the Night?’

 

The difference between Revel In The Drama and Through The Night is that this is a much more personal album. I spent the last couple of years honing my songwriting craft and these lyrics have come straight from my gothic salfordian brain. Its darker, more intense, stranger but still has the beauty of Through The Night. I think both albums sit nicely together.

 

 

Since 2015 you’ve been co-writing with Romeo Stodart of the Magic Numbers and he appeared on stage with you at your recent concerts. Will that relationship continue? Do you prefer to control the songwriting process yourself, or are you content to work with other music or lyric writer(s) into the future? If the latter, who has the final say?

I’ll keep writing with romeo till I die if he wants to. He’s the best of the best, and he understands me. I never really felt understood as an artist till I met him. I feel so comfortable in his presence that I let it allllll out, not just the versions of me t

 

You signed with Universal, a huge corporation, as a 17-year old. Is that too young, or are there any benefits in being ‘bloodied’ in the industry at such a tender age?

I think I was too young, although Universal were great that wasn’t the problem. But there was a lot going on behind the scenes that I was dealing with. I wasn’t a show biz kid from a showbiz family and I had real problems that seemed bigger than singing about about being dumped by some boy. I felt too young and overwhelmed but also too streetwise and smart for it all. It was a confusing time.

They say that everything happens for a reason. In 2011 you suffered a life-changing event, just as your debut album was about to be released, and one which set you back several years. Eight years on do you think the dreadful accident in which you broke your back has had any positive repercussions?

I think there had been positive repercussions,I dont think I would have started writing if it wasn’t for the accident. I dont

 

What attracted you to signing with Bella Union for your new album?

Well

 

Do you have any role models in the music business? A hero or heroine? Anyone you would enjoy being “mentioned in the same breath” with? (Dusty Springfield comes to mind, also perhaps Shirley Bassey).

 

I really admire Fiona apple because she does whatever the hell she wants. And her records are stunning, unique and completely un compromising.

You are compared occasionally with Elkie Brooks (I’ve done it myself!), a different kind of singer perhaps but a highly respected one who hails from the same city, and even the same suburb as you. And she’s still performing, in her seventies. Is there anything you feel you can learn from her and, indeed, are you ever in contact with her?

I dont know Elkie personally but I love her shes a legend. Rising Cost Of Love is my jam!

 

 

You left Salford and relocated to London a while ago. Do you miss it? How did the move impact on your creativity?

I really miss the north, everything about it but I needed to leave because I was really sad and I knew if i didnt do something soon I was going to slip down the back alleyof my mind and maybe disappear forever. I have memories on every street, bus stops make me emotional. Corner shops where me and my friend would try and get booze in our school, theres just memories everywhere and I needed a clean break. To create some distance so I could write about it

When you’re writing, how do most of your songs start life? A piano part? A chord? A melody? Does inspiration simply come, or do you have to seek it?

I feel inspired everyday by everything. When writing a song I like to visualise it, like a film, frame by frame. Sometimes I move around, dance, put on voices. Romeo will play something off the cuff that’s so beautiful that I’ll just start shouting and laughing and hugging him. Its the closest I get to spirituality. Writing wise, I want the narrative to have as much depth as possible, I want to feel something and I feel it is my duty to give the emotion and the stories the respect they deserve. I take it very seriously.

 

Do you see yourself as a live artist, or a recording artist, or both?

I see myself as both. I get to appease the introvert in me by being in the studio and attend to the outrovert by playing live.

 

How would you personally measure ‘success’? By ‘breaking’ America? Or something more modest?

Success to me would mean I get to create and perform music for all time and make a living on it. Success to me would mean that people are touched and moved by my music. I would love to be a voice to someone that can comfort them, just as say Rufus Wainwirght was to me when I was a depressed 14 year old. I’m not doing this just to stroke my own fragile ego, I genuinely want to reach o

 

When I saw your show at the Deaf Institute in Manchester recently, in one song (I think it was ‘Cruel Disguise’), you reached and sustained a note that convinced me and those in my company that you could probably tackle opera singing. Do you have any ambitions to perform in that or any other genre?

I would love to learn opera. I think

 

Back in 2012, while you were recovering, you performed several James Bond film theme tunes with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, including ‘You only live twice’ and ‘Nobody does it better’, both of which arguably could be applied to you. Do you picture yourself as a ‘Bond girl’ in the sense of recording the theme to a future movie, or do you even have any acting ambitions to actually play such a role? After all, the new album is constructed so that you can “revel in the drama of my life” as you say. (Incidentally, a female friend of mine – also from Salford – commented that you look like a 1950s Hollywood movie star).

Tell your friend I said thanks a lot! I would love to sing a Bond theme, I feel like it could happe

Acting wise I’m open to it, why not?

 

I saw one of your Christmas Special shows at the Soup Kitchen in Manchester in 2015. During the show you told a story about how a school choirmaster prevented you joining a musical assembly on four occasions for no better reason than that there was something about you that he didn’t like. Your rejoinder to that was “Well, fuck him” and of course you soon went on to release demos on MySpace which were picked up by a local manager and sent on to Amy Winehouse’s producer. The rest is history. A new song, ‘Little Raven’ was written cathartically as one to your younger self when you had no label and didn’t know if it would ever be recorded. What advice would you give to young people who find doors being slammed in their face as that schoolmaster did to you?

If anyone is picking you, school teachers, other kids, parents, anyone i would say to

If schoolmasters are singling you out and picking on you, its probably because your different and they cant stand

 

 

What touring plans do you have to support the release of the new album?

We are organising a tour right now around the UK, quite a big one its really exciting. I also cant wait to tour outside of England, I’ve never done that.

 

If you weren’t a musician what would you be? Do you ever aspire to being ‘something else’ entirely (model, politician, footballer, train driver…?!)

I think I’d try and be a fiction writer. I love books and stories and characters. I heard Donna Tartt say something life ‘as much fun as it is to read a book, writing one is one level deeper’ There’s something about losing myself into another world entirely that really appeals to me.

 

The environment. Whose viewpoint are you closest to? Donald Trump or Greta Thunberg?

 Greta or course.

United or City?

United

 

Coronation Street or EastEnders?

Corrie

 

Thanks again and good luck with the album and your future career.

[thiskryptonite]

Love

I thought for a moment that maybe there was a man beneath the beast, that I could learn to love the thing that haunted my steps and eroded my mind. I thought that I could escape, that I could be free. I thought that I could outrun myself, I thought that maybe, I belonged.

Tagging: August Knight, Cassandra (NPC), Elfain (NPC)

Timeframe: September 2014 - February 2015

Word Count: 3230

Notes: August arranges to fall in league with a coven he believes might have an elusive cipher for his mother’s grimoire. Unexpectedly, August finds himself considering leaving his current life behind and pledging himself to the coven, but things don’t go according to plan.

It was late afternoon by the time August got in from the night before, the stench of his deeds stuck to him now like the matted, blood-soaked hair that stuck to Cassandra’s face as he poured dirt over her still corpse. He didn’t know how it happened. He didn’t know how they’d gone wrong. Nobody was ever supposed to get hurt, especially not her. It had been her idea to break-in, she’d been the one who told him of the collection hoarded by the local coven. Her coven.

He’d never killed anyone before, not directly anyways, not like that. But had he really had any choice?

In the back of his mind, Aunt Lisa whispered: you always had a choice, boy.  

14 hours previously.

“Don’t be such a wanker, Gus,” she had a way of saying his name in a manner that took the edge off, she was carefree, wild, resilient. Her coven had a reputation for old ways, and it was that reputation that had drawn him to her company. Selfishly at first. He’d hoped that she could lead him to knowledge regarding his mother’s grimoire, and she had, but now the young witch was beginning to get cold feet.

They had gotten as far as the vault before August’s stomach had begun to churn, these people had been strangers to him, and truthfully, they weren’t supposed to be anything but another in a series of supernatural that would further him along towards his goal. Finding a coven that would speak to him on blood magic, on the old ways had taken years, and what he’d expected was what his aunt had raised him on.

But the truth was they were kind, normal, functioning people with different views on magic and the dark arts. While corruption had sprung up among them in the past, most recently Cassandra’s mother, but the coven did not succumb to the wild inclinations that the worst of the practitioners had given the practice over the centuries.

And despite what August might have thought would happen, they welcomed him in and after spending the last six months with them there was even talk of being claimed by them.

But then Cassandra told him of the cipher that her family kept locked away with other dangerous artifacts.

“Do it Gus.” He should have told her months ago that he hated that name.

“Do it!”

There was the muffled sound of a minute explosion as red static crackled around and dust filled the chamber, August turned away from it, but Cassandra had caught bits of fragmented dirt in her eyes.

“Fucking – a little warning might have been nice. Dick.” Cassandra dropped the muffled spell she’d placed around them and pushed past as the energy dissipated. August let out a small, exasperated sigh before he followed her, trying still to shake off his hesitation. This is why he was here.

Now she was just in his way.

Except that only a few hours ago she’d whispered across his chest: I love you from between half lidded eyes that needed to just stay for a few moments longer, to delay the falling sun from bringing forth the night. He thought that he should tell her then: I’ve changed my mind, or I love you too. But he said neither, instead he whispered back: we should go soon.

The vault had walls of books with pages older than anything he’d seen, absently they reminded him of the library in his childhood home, except these grimoires did not have anything censored out by his aunt. His fingers grazed the edges of the spine of a book, its bindings seemingly made from the strong white curvature of real bone. His fingers, electrified at the contact, like a current running beneath his skin it was invigorating but before he could seize the rest of the book Cassandra grasped his hand.

“Don’t touch that one.”

Cassandra had said the same thing about some old CDs she’d forgotten to tuck away on another afternoon when he’d snuck into her room. They were sprawled across the top of the stereo as if the idea that someone might see them wasn’t the most offensive thing in the world. But he’d teased her because of the Spice World record that was sitting neatly on the stack, the disk still in the player.

Cassandra had laughed and made fun of August’s freckles before wrestling the plastic case from his hand, and then they kissed, landing on her bed and laughing in unison. Afterwards she’d asked him if he was really planning to stay, and for some reason, August had said yes, because the truth was harder for him to get out. The truth was it didn’t, and his confirmation only seemed to dishearten her.

August asked why. She should be happy he was staying, right? Even if it was a lie.

“That belonged to a witch in the 15th century, our coven betrayed her and turned her over to the humans that were persecuting us at the time.” Cassandra was bothered, but she released his hand and kept looking through the stacks, she had her own reasons for wanting to enter this place. The cipher was to be a boon that they’d both share, none of these treasures were August’s to take. She’d been sure to let him know.

August moved towards some of the artifacts that were arranged nearer the entrance, his senses fully drawn though the overwhelming presence within the chambers was more than he’d ever felt in one location. When August was sure Cassandra was fully preoccupied, he set his sights higher and climbed the stone steps to the upper landing. Silently through hushed breaths he wove a spell to shroud his actions, he was a shadow climbing the wall, he was a specter in the peripherals, should she call to him, August would appear.

“My grandmother had it last,” Cassandra said as she showed him the photo of the diadem that had been in her families’ possession since a time long before the founding of their already ancient coven. “She was supposed to pass it on to my mother, but she never did. It’s in the vault, it has to be.” August asked immediately what made this object so special, but it was said to allow someone of her bloodline to pass through to the Otherworld and confer there as a Seer would, but just as a Seer they would suffer the physical repercussions of the act. It was what had killed her grandmother, though the woman had only used it a small handful of times throughout her life, she’d refused to entrust it to Cassandra’s mom.

“Maybe it’s better off there? Sounds pretty risky.” August said, “you could end up blind, or deaf, or paralyzed if you even tried.” She hated being told what to do.

They sat then in the back of a local haunt, a backroom in a café that they had spelled to keep their secrets contained. She leaned forward, and her knee brushed against his as her eyes went alight, Cassandra had been waiting for someone like him, and August had known from the moment they met that he had found his in. “Fuck that it’s mine. My gran died before she came of age, she wanted me to have it I know that. It’s my stupid dad keeping it from me, if it were up to him I’d have married Jean already and already be on my way to giving him the grandkids he’s always wanted.” She reached forward and grabbed August’s hand as he let out a sigh, pretending that this wasn’t something he wanted any part of.

“Please, will you help me.” She’d asked before August’s thumb moved across her hand and he whispered back, “Of course.”

Then there it was, the diadem. Useless to him, but there was a fae who had an interest in seeing the diadem brought to the Otherworld where witchkind could no longer use it. It looked far grander than the picture allowed, a simple tiara to the untrained eye, it was fixed with gems of a fantastic range of colours, hues of red and gold and silver and blues that shimmered with a light that was almost irreverent.

Then it was in his hands, under his jacket and he was moving down the stairs to see what progress Cassandra had made on the cipher.

“I just feel like I never got the chance to know her, she was this whole other person, and looking back even – it was fucked up.” August was drunk because Cassandra had insisted on taking him out, she’d said it was hazing but really, she just hated being cooped up under her father’s watch. “I don’t know, my dad killed my mom, and now he’s dead too.” He winced at the memory of bones breaking against the kitchen floor, at the sound of heavy boots that landed outside his door, the man he’d later hired to break into his father’s prison cell.

“Did your mom try to imprison you within an urn and channel your life essence to fuel her magic forever?” Cassandra asked pointedly, to which August smirked, why was it easier to compare scars than simply show them? She wasn’t the first person he’d met whose past was like whiteboard waiting to be wiped out, but Cassandra was the first who August felt he could relate to. Or could understand. Or maybe even be understood. It wasn’t a romantic feeling, it was just nice to have someone he could talk to.  “Nah, guess you win.”

August felt something was off from the moment his feet landed from the last step to the base of the stairs, a presence crackled in the air that sent chills up his spine. Cassandra stood in front of the book case, a vacant expression on her face, it was not that she was being spoken through, but that she was spoke with such an ethereal tone that August thought it could not possibly have been her.

“You… are, such a delight.” Came Cassandra said as she began to close the distance between the two of them, her posture had shifted, her facial expressions, even the way her clothes clung to her body had changed in some way. August could sense her magic within her, but it was changed like her very chemistry had shifted. He took a step back and his foot hit the stairs. “What’s wrong, Gus? You seem distressed.” A yowl in the shadows and a black cat shot from the dark between them. A familiar.

“Who are you? What have you done to Cass?” August asked, standing his ground as a static crackled across his body, his eyes fixed as his pupils wavered slightly. He hadn’t recovered fully from entering this tomb and whomever was inhabiting his girlfriend’s body, felt much stronger than him.

“Foolish boy,” She whispered before she was suddenly only a breath away from him, she’d moved through the air as if it was nothing, as if she was air. “My daughter believed me gone, but I was here, and I was also in her, I should really thank you. You were kind enough to reunite us,” Cassandra patted her chest where her heart should have been, “now she can sleep. Forever.”

August felt a strike across his face before he slid across the room, he moved to stand but he was gripped by his neck telekinetically and hoisted off the ground.  “Cass,” August whispered, his hazel eyes almost pleading, but there was nobody there, just dark eyes and a smile that could pull the flesh off his face. She stood across the room with her palm outstretched, grinning as she left him there, fixed and stagnant before she used her other hand to outstretch his limbs, further and then further.

August cried out in pain as he felt the force of her own sick form of medieval torture. He struggled out a few words and the ground where she stood shifted, suddenly Cassandra suck into the floor up to her knees before it quickly solidified. August hit the floor again but scrambled to his feet and ducked behind the nearest book case, flames engulfed the tomes as she roared with laughter. She was toying with him.

His eyes were on the exit when he broke for it, but before he could get through the crumbled opening a field forced him back, again she laughed as he fell for her obvious trap. She would not allow August to leave so easily, and if he was backed into a corner then she wasn’t giving him any other option. He’d have to try and separate them, himself.

You always have a choice, foolish boy.

August had never played the part of hero before, but for Cassandra he was willing to try.

“August Knight, of the Knight Coven?” Efrain asked, his long beard encircled his mouth and though it may have once been a strong, solid colour it had faded in wisps and at its edges. Its frazzled and greyed edges made the man look older still than he was, but the deep circles beneath his eyes, the hunger that lurked behind, it all told him one thing: darkness.

“No sir, I was never claimed.” It was a tired question.

To Efrain’s right stood his eldest child, until the seventh on the end was Cassandra, August could tell immediately she had no interest in attending this – whatever it was. August had been caught trying to enter their library and while it wouldn’t have been out of the question for Efrain to take the hands of an unclaimed witch who dared to try and steal knowledge from his coven. He showed mercy in the light of what August’s aunt had always called charisma.

He was simply a misguided witch, one whose coven had shunned the darkness of their past, a past he wholly embraced. And Efrain decided then to allow the young man to stay, permitted he earn his keep, and proved himself worthy.

The older witch brought forth each of his children, and at last when he called forth Cassandra he said, “and this, my youngest, she’s to be married this spring to Jean,” he gestured towards one of his inner circle, a witch who did not appear to be more than a decade younger than Efrain himself.

“Sorry for the trouble,” August offered, a greeting that apparently caught her off guard, to everyone in the chambers it must have appeared that he’d simply apologized again for the breaking and entering. But to her, he’d seen how miserable she was to be gathered in this place, with all these people, including the man that, in less than a year, she’d be made to marry.

August managed around the room enough times to trace the outline for a binding, though he was now having a hard time keeping the elder witch within Cassandra contained. She was stronger than he, and her familiar was lurking around the bookshelves somewhere, he was little more than an unclaimed witch with power he had stolen from elsewhere, and he was fading.

She stood within a runed circle as chains bound either arm and forced them apart, the chains connected through the now broken floor of the vault, static crackled along the chain and across the woman’s skin, weaving its way through her. He was trying to force the woman within back so Cassandra could come forward, but it wasn’t enough and with a fwoosh as the air was sucked towards the center of the room where Cassandra was bound, the circle vanished and the power he’d put forth vanished, all that remained was a few residual cracks that still clung to the air.

August fell shortly afterwards, his back near resting on his feet as he tried to keep it straight, deep breaths shook him as a thick film of sweat matted his hair and made his clothes cling to him. She closed the distance between them calmly, shushing him as she did, the struggle was over Cassandra told him,

You don’t need to fight anymore. Your mother wanted this life for you, too. I know how hard it must have been for you – growing up the way you did. Half human, half witch. It’s no wonder Lisa hated you when you look just like your father.

“Fuck you!” It was cliché, but it was all he could muster. August kept his eyes trained on the woman. She wanted to see him beg, to break, she wanted to know that she could get to him, here and now, looking like the ghost of Cassandra. But she did not know him, and frankly, he’d been through worse.

He threw the nearest thing he could find and missed the woman by a mile, she smirked before a residual smash as the book collided with a brittle porcelain urn. There was a boom that sounded something like a gunshot that immediately followed, August smiled, expecting to see Cassandra’s face looking back at him, but there was just the vacant ghost of the smirk her mother had left behind before forcefully fleeing her daughter’s cerebellum.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

August had never met this fae before, but word of mouth had brought them together. The fae’s deal had been simple, they would ensure that August made it in front of the court, that August would get the opportunity to join the coven, and August would need to retrieve one simple artifact. A diadem of fae origin, that was all that the witch would be told.

He’d fled the vault with the corpse, August didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t been able to leave it behind, though dawn was fast approaching and Cassandra’s absence from her chambers would be noticed. August told himself that she deserved better than being abandoned in the dark, among the things that had claimed her. The truth was too hard for him to say, but the evidence was in the shallow grave at the bottom of a hill: he’d killed her.

“And what of the diadem?”

The fae asked, having observed the shallow burial from a distance.

“Here. Take it.”

August passed it off, feeling wholly spiteful over the entire exchange. The fae only seemed amused, but elated when their fingers closed around the diadem, naturally, August had to ask what they intended to do with it.

The fae laughed and refused to tell the insolent child anything, August had done his part, and the fae had done theirs. Enraged, August demanded to know, that everything he’d gone through to obtain it, he’d still been left short of what he’d really been after. Mournfully, the fae told him.

“It was mine first to give, and so it was mine by rights to take back.”

For the first time in seven days, August checked his phone. He’d spent the last week in some pit in Vegas, he was in the dark, and then there was light again. There was a witch, one from Cassandra’s coven that had escaped with the cipher from the vault previously, if he could find him, then August could at last unlock the secrets of his mother’s grimoire. Absently, the words of Kassandra echoed in his mind: Your mother wanted this life for you, too