Wild: wish list

• People to not be dishonest, pushy (especially about dating me), or rude
• A new wand (it isn't home without it)
• Tattoo of the moon (it's owed me)
• "I shine, not burn"
• "I am ready"
• Clariel

Hope. 

Wild: Being Brave

Is it something I can manage? Because I sure don't feel brave in preparing to do something that seems insane.

I'm going to be moving across the country to live with three people, one of whom I trust solidly. One of three is an F, after all. I'm going for a big sea of promises that I'm not entirely sure will be delivered on, but am terrified to actually verify which of them were liberally sprinkled with dishonesty.

I'm sure at least a few were.

Can I really handle that environment? It's going to be temperamental, discordant. I may be a relatively seasoned peace-keeper, but is it enough? It wasn't last time I was there. The longer I think on it, the more I want to curl up into a ball and wait for the decision to be made.

I'm not a warrior, not anymore. I don't fight for things, I let them happen and make the best of them. It's what I've done for quite some time, and I'm very pleased with it. I'm pleased with being able to pick up threads and feel them to the end.

I'm not liking any of my threads right now.

I walk through the last of the Indian summer. Leaves are falling and the sun is warm on my face, and even the water sings to me. The sky is never a blue like it is here, the grass isn't as soft, and the cold doesn't embrace me like this, anywhere else.

This is home.





I don't want to go.




When I went the first time, there was no expectation. The offers were casual, and the joy when I accepted was unforced, unfiltered. Now there's judgement and deadlines. There's going to be upheavals and screaming. One wrong move and I'm out on the street.

It's almost what I'm doing now, only with violent upheavals and screaming.


Moving. Good idea?


How do people make decisions like this? Because I can't come to terms with anything but what I know is happening, and what I know is happening is increasingly concerning to me. If I'm riding in your car and you deliver endless promises for support, but start stalking me for little details and pressing me more and more frequently for a decision the minute I get home - is that the sort of "support" I'm leaving for?

Simultaneously, I'm also finding that many of those offers for aid were invalidly offered. Och, aye, a few were granted, but what good is it if it is a grudging gift? I'm going to be depending on that.



Am I brave enough to walk into that huge fucking mess? Am I really?









It's not just me, either. It's Katie, too. I'm bringing Katie into this. She's going to be there. It may be easy enough for an optimistic sort to imagine us laying by the beach and laughing, and indeed it is what I had hoped for - a respite. A small, easy window of comfort before real living resumed.


I don't think it's going to happen now.


She's almost as terrified as I am, but the difference is that she actually is brave. Fearless.


I can keep her safe. I can get us home if the worst should prove true. That's true. It must be normal for people to have second thoughts about huge, life-altering conditions of this sort, mustn't it? Surely, it must. It has to be.





But good God, Finley....














I can't imagine my mother going somewhere without her husband, or Katie going somewhere without me. Hell, me without her. But I'm going to have to leave him. Yes, it's temporary, it is. Until I finish college - that's all. I'm coming home, a few years at the most. Less than five if I can help it.

I don't want to leave him alone here! This is an awful, awful place to live! Isolated, judged for each and every twitch, the whims of the larger groups - how am I to stand leaving him here!

Especially after he cried and basically begged me not go. I told him I had to; at the time, I was sure I did. His first tear cleared up that little problem nicely. I love him. Every bit as much as I love her, and they're even starting to understand the tremendous undertaking of that. Starting to be all right with each other. But Finley isn't going to have anybody to protect him if I go! He won't ask anybody for a goddamn thing. I've asked my mother to look after him, and I honestly think she will, but he's terrified of asking her for anything, though I made him promise. I think in his mind he's lost a right to be liked by people like my family, which is the biggest crock of bullshit I've ever encountered.

Worse. What if I come back, and he's--- he's gotten someone---

I keep thinking about Milo. Obviously, Helen of Troy was pretty awful to him, but when he leaves, her father, the King, tells her it was best for him to grow away from her. That she was really hurting him, no matter how much she loved him, it wasn't really in the "right way" (as if that had anything to do with it!).

But is it? Is it better for Finley to not have me, to lose me for five years or so? I can't bare the thought of hurting him. If he asked me, I'd can this whole thing. Right now.



Of course, let's just top this entire situation off with the huge serving of self-loathing I'll likely have until I die. The one that never sleeps - and will probably be the worse for living off a relative's charity. Was Marty right, when she was talking to Finley? Does it not matter if my life is getting better, because someone handed it to me? Is it wrong to take help?

I'm so confused and hurt about everything. I don't want to go, I really, really, don't, but I can't not go. If I bail on them a second time (the first, admittedly, not my fault, but I doubt it will matter), they'll surely cut me from their lives like they did everybody else and I love them, too.







I don't know what to do. I really don't know what to do.




How will my mother make it, if I just up and flee from the life she's provided. My dad! My dad's shitty car was a huge gesture for him, and now he's got Randi, my nieces and nephews, too, to look after. Taylor notwithstanding. I'm just starting to have a vague sort of relationship with him.

And Craig. And my sisters. And Kamden. My Grandparents, and aunts and uncles. How do I leave them? Even for a little while.


Even for today.























































I keep watching movies and listening to musicals. There's a comfort in that. These people, they are the ones who took their lives and made them fit their big, brave hearts. There's a story for every walk of life, and the ones that haven't one need only to wait.


Maybe one day, this will be my story. Maybe I'll be cast down as fearless, that I did something just do it.






On the extremely rare chance that is so, let me tell you now: It isn't easy.















It isn't easy, and I hope, very much, that it turns out to be worth it. Because I will fall apart if I trade the only hope that's held me up, in return for the life - and the people - that mean everything to me.


































































I hope I can be brave.

Wild: Tumblr

The longer I'm on Tumblr, the more confused I get. I mean, I identify with a pretty big number of these people on certain things. However, they're - to put it blatantly?- rude. If someone is being rude, or judging you, or whatever, shouting and screaming and being violent about them probably isn't going to change that person's mind about whatever the issue is. Just because (that person) is being awful doesn't excuse *you* being awful to *them*. I mean, is it okay to be angry when you're being judged? Absolutely.
Is it okay to react to that anger *by judging the other person?*


I think they're missing the point.

Sexism, for example. Take a joke as a joke, particularly when it comes from a joker. Yes, there are inappropriate jokes. Possibly jokes you disagree with. Get over it. There are people who legitimately disagree with whatever perception you have about what is, and is not, preferable. I'm sorry, but again, all you can do is provide your opinion of the situation. If you're calm and reasonable, dare I say tactful, and their rebuttal is still brutal, well, rally the flag. You've still done the right thing, and that other person has merely underlined your point in most examples. But if they continually disagree with you, and you get incensed, it just looks "unprovoked" to the people who are just coming into the conversation. Seriously, NOBODY WANTS TO LISTEN TO SOMEONE WHO IS PORTRAYED, WHETHER BY THEIR OWN ACTIONS OR SOMEBODY ELSE'S, INTO AN EXTREMIST. It is NEVER a good idea. Sorry for the Capslock fairy but wow.

Rape culture: high amounts of not okay holy shit! BUUUUUT if someone is really that misinformed there's no alternative but to provide the correct information and conduct yourself appropriately. I promise you, if you start screaming at some person who says the victim of this horrible crime "asked for it", they're going to assume you're an extremist. All you've done is increase tension and probably make a scene, maybe even embarrass yourself. You're smarter than that. Think. Chew your words seven times before you spit them out. Consider your action.

You don't have to have been an Alisarian to get that? Really now. 

Group calls: This is what I call it when a Tumblr user assumes that one person's misconduct brands the entire culture/race/sex/religion/whatever as a fraud. "That guy said my skirt was too short! Men are suck fucking pricks they only think of themselves" is ABSOLUTELY NO DIFFERENT from "Wow, that girl is such a fucking bitch! How dare she tell me my music is bad!" or whatever. If you really are interested in getting women to seem equal (newsflash: we are), you have to start being REALISTIC. It's very unfair that women have faced a skewed perspective for a long time, yes, I really agree with that. But it's down to an "extremist" viewpoint again: there is a responsible and mature way to show you are passionate. That means boiling down your arguments to the main points, the part that really gets to the heart of the issue, but is still easy to follow; preferably to somebody without prejudices on said issue. By all means, have a rant with the girls now and again. JUST DON'T BE MAD WHEN (on the internet, for God's sake) SOMEBODY DISAGREES WITH THAT OPINION. You still have a chance to talk it over in a calm and reasonable manner.

If they have rebuttals (the polite and mature ones I'm not-so-subtly trying to drag you guys towards here), great! Even better! Because I KNOW that you've thought through your point of view before presenting it to others, you will have a great learning opportunity for the person you're talking to. Maybe even people who find that conversation afterwards.

If not, if something goes wrong, you have a viable frame of reference to improve how you are presenting your opinion to other people, and the experience to stay calm when your feathers get ruffled if it happens in the future.

I'm really not telling these groups not to stick to their guns. I'm just saying we shouldn't be so fast to draw them out in the first place: If you have a reason to say what YOU'RE saying, they have a reason to say what THEY'RE saying, too. Let's do our best to stay civil, please, guys.


Out.

Wild:

Rotting in our perfect home,
smiling at your rotting thoughts
here to wrap my arms around you.


How long until we leave?

It's old to read the things you wrote,
but they still hurt, still sting
and I remember how it felt
to be lonely.


To have a city full of people
and care about all of them
with two, and a family, to care about me.

I remember what it was to strip my armor,
to be human, afraid, awful,
writhing in the scent of river, and the feel of sun.
Whispering of silent trees,
and the dreams they taught me to have.

My Kingdom.

I left, their throne and crown and jewels,
but so did their quick-silver-smiling king,
and empty court of empty thrones.

Dead Kingdom, now.

No home to go back to.

How long until we leave?

Endless guilt, an ocean to swim through
monsters in the murky depths

Love, my arms are so tired
and my skin is cold.

Human skin.


How long until we leave?


I need hot sun and rolling waves
I need to be irresponsible and young and vicious.
I need magic in my blood again.

I believe, and strongly, that I can get it back
because I should never have lost it for something as puerile
as fitting in.

Never.


An ocean mark of silver moon.

My magic.

A bed that fits my legs, doesn't hurt my back
the friends I left behind; for the translucent diversion of a life I'll never have here.


Poor choice.



I'm bringing you and leaving Finley,
but Finley won't come.

I have to start backing my choices,
or even more people will suffer for me
than that time I killed a kingdom.





















When are we leaving?





When are we coming back?





































Hopefully by then, I'll have learned who I am again.




































I could sure use the help. 

Wild: to you

When you run from faeries,
they will chase you.

Will you chase me?
Have you seen?

I used to trust you, know you
close, and honored
protecting me from drowning in magic.

You vanished, too,
like I had only won a normal life
from the cost of you.

That is not a cost I'd pay.

If I feel too much, if I still look for you,
and listen for you, and watch your heart grow-
with no edits-
I know who you could be.

I knew who you were.

I could know who you are.

























Just because you've crossed a crevasse,
doesn't mean you can't build me a bridge.

































I miss you, Sean.

Wild: Dream Digging

Aaye, Courts!

Hail, the White Council of the Elements and of God. Befoul no heart in this chamber, know it well and hear it justly. Greetings to the Noble, the unjust, the powerful, the unfavored, the wise--by the word of the scared Law, hear this humble voice and know its truth.

Greetings to this council, untainted by the temptations of wickedness; victorious to the thrall-doms of the evil: the heroic. The best and finest of all good creatures and beings alike sit in this chamber. May the time of our existence honor the valor of your every breath...

May the opening of our hearts free us from petty injustice, and clouded Right--Rest forever in the Valor of the Law.

wild: Not a Queen anymore

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to come to terms with being normal. I ruled a kingdom. I spent four years breathing magic and believing in it.
The real world has spent every day since I tried to do the "healthy" thing beating that magic out of me. I look and I look for it, and I find it. Now it doesn't seem to matter. I'm the only person that ever wanted it. The only person that believes in this world the way I do is me.

I lost friends. Good friends.

People who told me they'd fight for me and didn't.
People who were disgusted with me, or disappointed with something I did.
People who only wanted to be my friend when it was easy.

And then there are people that lost me and don't care.

People who will always see me with a stigma attached.
People who don't care that I've grown up, and become social.
People who I feel would rather cross the street to get away from me than say hullo.
People who never liked me, and, no matter how many times I try, never will.

What's the point of that? Why do I even bother?

I lost the big thing I was supposed to do in High School. I made one friend, and I fell in love, but nobody answered my texts or emails, any of that shit. Now, since I had to figure out how to be "normal" on my own, it's too late to make friends. I'll never have any.

Even when I meet up with people I knew, when I was myself, when magic was easy as air, there are long silences. I tell them the truth and they stare. We agree many people our age our idiots, and they leave after an hour, when we do the things I do that they don't like - but they don't have any alternatives for what they'd rather do.

I can't handle the only noises I hear being the ones I create, and I have nothing to show for it. I have no armor left, and that is something that can't be fixed. I lost the most important part of myself, and nobody even noticed. There's not a single person that asks, and I so wanted them to. This is supposed to be the best part of my life, when I laugh and make stupid choices, but there's nobody.

I see Katie almost every day, and that's the only thing that keeps me sane. Finley, too, he keeps me sane. He never questions me, but I feel like he likes me a little less every time I see him. His friends still judge me. When I'm around them - his little posse of cool blokes - he has deliberately snubbed me before. What am I supposed to do with that?

I always told him the truth. I kept him up to date. I was honest. I did this in the best way possible, the way that hurt everyone the least. I was so careful with him, because he was, and is, precious to me.

I can't fix this. I lost a belief that was the core of every thought, decision, sentence I said, and I gave it up.  It broke me and I don't know how to fix it, even though I keep trying. It'll be years before I can forgive myself; I'm pretty sure there's plenty of things I won't forgive myself for.

I lost my kingdom.  Timothi and Slyandrile, Dyrim and Calue, Magnus, Nyx, Brontus, Maria, even quiet Lucy. James. Azrael. Ragfaron, my dearest friend. Michael - my Ignio... so many. So many more.

Part of me recognizes the irony of it; I worked so hard to be normal, succeeded, and hate it.

All I want now is to become disillusioned with this stupid, mean world again. Being hopeful was so much easier before I learned what people were really like. Cruel. Petty. Vengeful.

I can find the good in them, always, but it doesn't matter, does it? The only person who benefits from knowing your heart is a good one is me, if the people I tell won't listen, or don't believe it.






























I am no one now.



























































































and I miss him. Sean. He made me feel like I was magic on my own, and I'll never see him again. At the first chance to prove all of the things he told me about defending me, he instead did the opposite. He loves her, I guess that's how it works.






















































































He's the only friend I lost that I might be able to get back, though.


















































He's the only one who didn't have to call me a Queen to treat me like one. I still get them, you know. Messages. From Knights, and Lords, and the very rare lady. Noble ladies are a very self-sufficient bunch. My good Siragon, for example, there's rare a day when I don't hear from him. I lost it. I lost the magic that I devoted my life to, because, even though I'm happy, I'm broken, too. I broke down my world, all of it, to give myself to her. Alisare is shattered.









But I won't give up on it. I can find new knights, and ladies, and lords. I can rebuild this Kingdom, I can make it guileless and cunning both if I must.


I think it's the  only thing I can do, because getting -- getting out of bed every morning shouldn't hurt this much. Living shouldn't hurt like this. Katie and Finley weren't the only things that made me happy when I had magic in me.





















































































Here's to hoping that, if I am deserving, it returns to me.

Wild: I still have Rose dreams about you, you know - but now they're wrong.

No, really.

Wild: a few memories for my "theraputic" comic book

Maybe, now that the Kingdom is (as far as I know?) ended, and that things are...normal for us, it might be helpful to present them in a venue that will help me accept the things they were in the way that they happened. So, I'm doing a comic book. I can draw, and write, and see them again-even if it's just on paper.

*
"You let him." Brontus’ words were short and clipped. The chamber was near empty; only he, Maria, and my Helen remained. Only three of many who had pledged themselves to my friendship would remain friends, I knew that now. "For a human woman, Payton!"
"Her meaning is not so hard to guess," said Maria slowly, quietly. "She would and has protected any living creature with her own life."
"Even wilting flowers can be saved with Rain," I murmured. "If keeping Katie safe means I surrender myself to him……"
"You must realize this is more than surrender!" Insisted Helen, her pale hand tight around my arm, like a vice. "You must realize that once he has you—that now that you’ve given him the permission to own you beneath the Sedition he’s so mutilated—Payton. You’ll never survive!"
"You think I don’t know that!" I hiss, "you think I’m not afraid of Calue’s son, Helen?”
"Do not be angry at your teachers, as we should not be angry at ourselves," boomed Brontus. "We all knew the danger of the Heir to the family Templeton. We knew how tempted, infatuated he was by the Falling-Wave, and we did nothing."
"You too!" I said, tears running down from my eyes. "I did it for her. I had to. I had to."
"Had to, indeed," muttered Maria, almost imploringly, with a glance at Brontus. "Whatever for, Payton? One human? He would’ve lost interest in her. There isn’t a woman alive who could hold his interest while you rule—"
"It isn’t too late to reconsider this, have her fill the place meant for her by fate—" Helen began at the same time, but I raised my hand.
"No," my voice rang forcefully, the voice of a certain and powerful Queen. "Even one scream, one drop of blood, from her—from any innocent—is too heavy a price for my safety now. I will not have it said that I was a coward in the face of the danger he has imposed upon this Court’s hospitality."
I paused to gather my thoughts.
"You all have heard Lord Azrael’s intentions. The People will believe his passion and his youth, they will trade the warnings in their heart with the reminder that he once kept my company. If he rallies them to Tithes against Mortal flesh, their dull Law will awaken. The White Lion cannot survive a cross against the humans that many here are unintelligent enough to keep in contempt, for though their power may not be as ours is, they out number us by many. Any battle his passion invites them to offer this Kingdom will end in blood, loss, suffering. If keeping my people safe means keeping Kathryn safe also……then that is what I must do."
A long pause filled the chamber. Brontus pulled out a flask and drained it in one mighty swig, the lion on his shoulder swishing quietly with the movement. We waited, lost in our own thoughts.
"I still can’t believe you did that," he said.
"Not for a human girl, at least!" added Helen. Maria only stared.
"Amin caela a’." I had to.
"Ten’er edan’he! Mankoi!?"  For one human girl! Why?
"Amin mela he," I said at last.
Silence. I counted to three four times before Brontus graced us with his wisdom:
"Fuck."

 *

"You mean…. if I die…" my voice trailed off, filled with uncertainty. "They can bring me back?"
"Your White Knight can, yes," explained Tolien patiently, knocking back a shot of Whiskey. A droplet of the liquid ran down his chin. "They can take the Moon into themselves and, by a kiss or by choice, depending on the myth, breathe it back into you. If you have served the Moon well—if it accepts—then you will walk among the living, continue the timeline. The moon will swallow the moment of the action which harmed you so egregiously." He stopped to stare at me, resting his big hand on my shoulder. "Be sure that you deserve to live, mm?"

*

"Humans are mud. Humans are dirt. You need never fear to break Concealment unknowingly, for their eyes will make our world nothing. A sprite will be a flick of dust, to a person looking to clean."

*

"James." I said to him, scooting up so I was sitting with correct posture, my hands folded on my lap, trying to use the voice he was always trying to get me to use (the one that would later become my Eliac voice).
He smiled. “Payton?” My teacher sipped at his tea, flicking his newspaper open to a new page. I was supposed to be reading a long, dry text in front of me on the origin of the Great Four, and only to stop him with questions, but my attention was otherwise diverted.
"How do I know I’m Water?" I asked him. "You chose for me."
James’ cup hit the floor as he rose too quickly for my eyes to follow. “Had you asked anyone else that question, they would have seen it befitting to send you from your position of honor,” he warned me quietly.
"But I didn’t, I asked you," I replied triumphantly. "So, why water?"
In an impressive mastering of the emotions fluttering around the room and his heart, Lord Will seized control of the situation.
"Water is the Superior Element. Why?"
“‘Because it encases all things, and all things are encased in it.’” I quoted obediently. “‘The Spectrum of life was made so that others might abide that rule.’”
"Very good," James said dryly. "Now what does that mean for you, Payton?"
Fuck. I hated pop Quizze—
"Three." He smiled again. "Water is more than quiet and gentle. It is persistent. It can be angry and loud or soft and sweet or poisonous to drink. It can batter strong stone, kill angry fire, capture the essence of wild air. Your Question is if something would suit you better?"
I swallowed, nodding shyly, and he put his hand beneath my chin.
"You are not one thing," James said softly, running his thumbs over the edge of my chin as I stared at him, flush creeping into my face. There was something he wasn’t saying I couldn’t understand, like a blind person reading a language they don’t speak. I knew there were words, a meaning, but I couldn’t grasp at it. "You are many things. You are all. Angry, subtle, teasing, pious….." his voice trailed off. "…..and the world will love you for it."
He leaned over to put his cheek on my cheek and I sat, shocked, not sure what to do. “And so will I,” he whispered. “And so will I.”

*

"Tolien….is she…." Blush crept up my twelve-year-old cheeks. "Naked?"
"Yes," he said boredly, ruffling my hair.
"Who is she? What does she want with James?" I’m unable to stop staring. The woman is plainly beautiful, her long hands clinging to a bow, her thigh-length hair tangled around her in wild braids.
"Her name is Haloc. She is the leader of the Heaven-Calls, but she is also a Fury," murmured Tolien, holding out a glass of cherry juice that was, by some mystical process, blue. His familiar brown eyes ran with longing over the edge of her waist, and I felt a pang of envy. "She is here to inform James that my time as King as over, that your time will soon begin. The Heaven-Calls are supporting your crown, my dove. You should be very proud."
James looked away from the conversation and gestured towards me. I walked towards him with a glance at Tolien, who nodded.
I bowed and kissed the bare feet of the wild-woman, who helped me up, running her hand over the small of my back—I flushed. Furiously.
"May I introduce our future Queen," said James calmly, completely undisturbed by the state of the woman before him. "Payton."
"And what does this girl think of the fact she will be Queen?" The Fury’s voice was thick and rich, like honey and cinnamon, like syrup. A coloratura voice, low. I felt a heat I didn’t understand.
"I will be honored to serve the history of the Crown, and to live for my People," I said, bored already, having had this response to this same question many times that day.
"And what," continued Haloc, "do you think of me, Princess?"
"I—I—I—that….you…." My face flooded with red. "You’re beautiful," I choked out, not able to look at her.
The wild-woman looked at James. “Has she been crossed as yet?” He shook his head. No. “Tumbled?” Again, the shake of the head, though the edge of his mouth curls into a smirk. “I see. The Trial of Sexuality, has it been undertaken?”
He looked surprised. “I’d forgotten,” my teacher admitted, his rich voice thick. “It is completely unnecessary, however.”
"The Trial of Sexuality?" I piped in, confused. "What’s that? Why haven’t I heard of it?"
"Until your time was right, and called upon by Heaven, the Trial would not have aided you, but weighed you down."
"Um, sure. But what is it?"
James kissed me. Hard. In front of everyone. His tongue was in my mouth and I held still, shocked more than anything, not used to the taste of lips or man. His hand curled around my waist, pulled me to him. When we parted his lips were wet and his eyes were dark with desire.
"It is a ceremony of Passing," he explained, "In which the current Eliac must pass their power on to their successor by kiss. As long as it heats your very soul, your body, you are worthy of the Succession. The Kiss will prepare you for all battles to come, and is to be repeated, by name of the Ceremony of Dust, when you wear the Crown before every great battle."
Haloc pulled my arm, that I might step away from James. She said, “Did his kiss heat you?” I found myself staring at the nook of her neck, the scars on her breasts, the perfect toned stomach, the fine-carved bow that bore my Seal.
"Oh. What?" I asked, not paying attention. The adults above me exchanged a knowing look, and James flushed, his eyes suddenly angry and cold as he stared at Haloc.
"My Queen, my little angel," she murmured, "Have you kissed someone like me?"
"Like you?" I asked, confused.
"Girls," she said patiently. "Women."
Wait. Wait. What?!
"No," I said hesitantly, glancing at James, who looked livid. "James doesn’t allow—"
"She’s straight, Haloc." He admonished warningly, his words clipped. "Straight, you hear me? None of your mischief."
"It was your duty to be sure of that, but she isn’t sure at all, I think," said Haloc, examining her fingernails with a perfected contempt. "Look at her, James. Now…Little Ruler," she said, now gently, to me, "his kiss did not heat you. You will do me the honor of accepting my own attempt?"
"Yes," I found myself saying, to my surprise. "Yes."
She sunk to her knees—she was a tall woman—and put her hands beneath my chin, breathing on my lips. She pulled the palm of my hand to her mouth and ran it over her cheek, helping my fingers curl around her neck as she sunk her lips on mine—
and suddenly, I did know what to do. I pushed myself forward, my other hand in the ample, beautiful hair, I kissed her eyes closed, I kissed and I kissed and I forgot everything and her voice was so soft—-
I blinked. How did I end up on the floor?
I was shocked when I saw James’ raised hand, then looked at Haloc, whose eyes were darker than his had been. The stubborn flush had not abated.
"Better?" the older woman asked it mockingly, but she was clearly shaken, staring at me with a want I was too young to understand.
"Yes," I whimpered, "Much." Haloc glanced at James.
"It appears you negated to help her forget tolerance," she said to him. "This is a good thing, for she will need it from what you have seen."
James stormed off, and Haloc smiled, kissing my hand. “It was a pleasure,” she said, still lowly, and followed him out before I could process what had just happened. Murmuring was spreading through the inner circle. Tears ran down my face from James’ fury, the strike to my cheek. He’d never hit me before. He’d certainly never been too angry to explain it. What was it? What had I done wrong?
"Eliac," said Brontus, suddenly at my side, pulling me by the hand to the inside of King Tolien’s Tent. "Sit down, come here, now. It’s all right, Payton. What happened, little Princess?"
I relayed, readily, the details of what had just transpired. I edited nothing, for this was my Brontus. He clucked his tongue in his mouth like a bird. “There’s nothing you did wrong, my once and future Queen,” he promised. “What your heart and soul like is no business of this court, I promise you.”
"So why was James so angry?" I pressed, confused.
"James…. doesn’t like the way your heart works," my warrior admitted after a time. "He’s been trying to stamp it from the Roses for some time now—"
"And of course, there’s the fact he can’t wait to get his hands on you," said Helen dryly, stomping inside, her voice cutting.
"Helen," Brontus said warningly.
"I didn’t like his kiss," I said, confused. "Nothing happened. Not like hers. What happened Helen? Was I enchanted?"
"It’s you that’s done the enchanting, you chit," she growled, and swept from the tent. Brontus had begun to chuckle.
"WHAT?" I asked him, annoyed and tired and confused, running over Haloc’s kiss in my mind. "What!?"
"You’re not enchanted, my Payton," he said in-between guffaws, a proud smile on his face. "You’re gay."

*

"Callis, where’s Lucy tonight?"
"She is with your mother, my Queen."
"Mmm. Was she not with my father the night prior to this one?"
"At that she was, my Queen."
"My brother, the night before that?"
"Forsooth, your memory surpasses your beauty—"
"None of that! You will bring her to me at once."
It was done. Lucy, who has a pixie cut and dark hair, is called Snow by her friends. Of the water family Donovan, she bows before me in typical fashion. Her neck and shoulders are covered with not-yet-healed wounds. Two are bleeding.
I do not say, ‘Is something wrong?’  I say,
"Your heart is empty. It once was in the summer of bloom, it bore the most gracious of fruit, and now it is barren and useless. You are barren and useless." I paused. "You will tell me what ails you, for I am your Queen. I have access to the finest Doctors, the richest suitors, the funniest jesters, but you have denied the use of this connection, even as you are beloved of me. My family has entertained your skin with dull fang and tempting caress, but you will not let them steal your soul from you. You will no longer entertain the idea of an end to life. That is not our way, it is not my way, therefore, it is not your way. My war, is your war, and I will fight until the end for any person who knows the weight of my crown—even you, Lucy, of the Water-family Donovan, who has three sisters and dislikes Sirens."
I swept across the room and took her into my arms, I rubbed my cheek against her cheek, I patted her hair, covering my fine dress with her blood, ignoring the deep hunger that was everywhere in my sight for such a desirable creature.
I said—nothing. I sat, I waited, and she cradled in my arms the entire night.
I did not say a single word, and she said nothing, she did not change her dress; and those who came left when they glimpsed her blood upon my sleeves.
When the Sun Rose, I patted her cheek and she kissed me. Hard. Blood on my tongue, and I shivered.
She thickly said, “I would die, but I will live for you.”

*

"My Queen, my Lord," said Nephamael, striding inside and bowing, kissing on my feet. I beamed when he indicated that my Ward, Ryan, was a Lord—as if that could ever happen! "This man—" he pushed forward a young man, dressed in a tunic, with many empty sheaths where daggers and swords had hung "—had every intention of harming your royal person, and indeed did attack this evening with twenty Battle-magi at his command. Your orders?"
"Kill him," snapped Ryan. "Anyone who attempts to harm the Queen should be punished with true and final Death!" Nephamael bowed again; the guards at his side followed suit.
"It shall be as you command, Ward-of-Queen," he responded, and Ryan looked pleased with himself. The man’s pleas were drowned out as they drug him away.
"Captain!" Nephamael looked up as the man struggled, trying to resist being murdered. "You will cease this disrespect at once. A warrior, even one with an intention you find misguided, deserves respect for his beliefs." I ascended from the dais, walking to the Pirate, who regarded me with wary eyes. "Release him," I said.
"Surely you do not intend to feast and Revel with one who intended to murder you!" Protested Ryan. I glanced at him sharply.
"Any man who fights to achieve my conference has a purpose for it," I said, annoyed, my human slipping through a minute. "Nephamael, release him."
"Payton—" began Ryan (several of the council gasped).
"You are a servant of this crown, are you not?" I said coolly, "It is not you that wears the weight of ruling these people. That weight is mine and will not grace your shoulders. Keep your council with your head: down and silent!"
Nephamael slowly unlocked the man’s shackles.
"Servant of the Crown," I said to the prisoner, as he rubbed his wrists, slowly turning my gaze from Ryan,"It is my wish to be learned in my mistakes, and clearly some offense I have done you. May I have the honor of your confidence?"
The man stared at me. “I thought you would kill me,” he murmured. “I was told, time and again…. but I could never deny my heart, your majesty. I would sooner die by the hands of your warriors than be forsworn to a life without love.”
I regarded him for a moment, silent.
"I will not forswear your love," I said at last. "Nor the love of any creature." I indicated the seat left of my Throne, generally reserved for diplomats. "Sit with me?"
He looked shocked. “Sit? With you?”
I smiled as I walked up the stairs, sinking into my fine throne and patting the seat at my side. “Come. We will talk of lighter things.”
To my surprise (he’d just been trying to kill me after all), he sinks into the chair readily enough, refusing both food and drink. Ryan snorts in contempt.
"What is it that’s happened, please, sir….?" I began, sipping from a Soul-call.
"Nyx," he said slowly. "I fell in love and they forbade me from marriage, despite my service to the Crown. They said it was on your orders." I frowned.
"I gave no such orders," I said, confused. "I will issue the permit at once, naturally. I’m so sorry that this mistake was made."
"Mistake!" Snarled Nyx, "Mistake indeed! Your very nature keeps me from the man I love, that is the measure of your tolerance! Your Ward has been most particular about publishing your feelings on homosexuality, humans, dark-skinned—"
Ryan tackled him, but I pull him off Nyx, shocked.
"My Ward has spoken out of turn," I said, shakily, for this was a piece of information to which I had no knowledge prior, "these reports and rules are to be abolished immediately. Nyx, I will see to it myself, you have my honor."
"My Lady," protested Ryan, "Surely you do not mean to demean the court to such a level of barbaricism as this—"
I wanted to slap him, hard, but I don’t. Instead I raise my hand for Silence, clap twice, and rise from my Throne.
"Amin tathar quendi," I began in my most regal voice, glaring at Ryan with an anger that chilled my heart. I will speak. "I issue this Proclamation as Legal and binding under Favor: Henceforth, no love shall be denied because of sexuality, rank, race or gender. No love shall be judged by so weakly a thing as an intolerant heart. Those that attempt any stature of anti-tolerence shall be banned this company and my Courts. So binding and beneath my whim is bound your service and the merriment of those who would partake these Revels. Does any man stand against this call to Justice? Any man so bold as to question the judgment of Law?"
Nyx is staring at me, fascinated. Three.
"Then mote it be," I finished, sitting again. "Nyx," I said gently, "May I ask of you a favor?"
He stared, still struck silent by my ruling. Three.
"May I please hold your wedding here, at Court? At the inner Circle? Of course your friends and family may also feel the extent of my welcome—it’s your choice, but Lady Henri will see to any and all matters of such excellent parley," I said graciously. He blinked away tears, falling to his knees and taking my hand to his lips.
"My Queen," Nyx said thickly, the words muffled beneath his head. "My Queen."
I took my other hand beneath his chin, tilting it up so he faced me from his knees. “This is not necessary,” I murmured.
"In Will’s court, they would have had me banned," he said, glancing towards James’ chair.
"I am not James," I said slowly. "Perhaps the people are unaware of my….. belief."
"Your belief, my Queen?" he said, confused.
"Oh, do tell us," said Ryan sarcastically, scathingly. I glanced at him in alarm; what manner of brutality was this? What had I done?
"I am not James; I will follow neither his manner of reward or punishment," I said. "Certainly, my throne and chamber is open to the audience of any man, be he Lord or helpless child or lowly human servant. The Ears of the Law does not differentiate; fair is fair for all walks of life. This attack—was not necessary. I would have heard you at the lightest whim of your heart."
He stared. Three.
"Your Service," I said at last. "What was it?"
"I see, I hear, and I relay," he said obediently. I smiled.
"You will report to the eyes and ears," I said. "Keep a wary eye on those who would be unaware of that which you were: I would be known as it is I am, nothing more or less."
He bowed, clearly thrilled, all but running in his haste to report the news. Later, he would be named Chief Seer of the Eyes-and-Ears, and I would be glad of my mercy.
"Under the Right of Truth," I spat to my Ward, "You have defied my orders and made it seem that I was unkind and unloving to my people. What motivated you for such a flaw to service?"
"Why should any man or woman here deserve happiness, when so bitterly you refuse to grant me mine?"
"I will not turn you," I murmured. "We’ve had this discussion before. Many people have suffered and died for your selfishness."
"My selfishness?" threatened Ryan, "Mine?"
He left without a word.

*

When the main ruler is an Eliac, before every Rose battle, the ruling King or Queen (who will, without exception, fight and kill alongside their soldiers; though those who attack them should be wary of cleverness and heavy protection) will hold a White Knight Ceremony (better known as The Dust of Souls ceremony). White Knight and King/Queen will kiss, hand, cheek, lips, full make-out, whatever works best for that couple. In synchronization, the courtiers will also kiss their significant others, the outer circle will kiss strangers, and so on and so forth.

*

"Why should I even care what happens to that whore of yours? That fat, human bitch is not of concern to a Ki—"
Within three seconds I’m on the pedestal; his dagger in my hand and pressed to his throat, and I snarl. “Give me one reason I should let you live after what you tried to do to her. What I just accepted in her stead. One…..reason.”
"Someday you’ll wake up and be nothing, that blameless heart and flawless chest of yours will be scarred by the hands, blades of my men, and you’ll realize: your good thoughts, good traits, were a dream, devised by me. They were devised by me, and they ended with me." He pulled my wrist to him, the dagger nicked his flesh as I stared, shocked, tears running down my face. "At least if you are tortured for her, you can pretend that you were good. You can pretend that you were someone, to anyone but your own, childish imagination. Whore!” He seized the dagger from my hand, kicking me from the pedestal, rising from his throne.
"Guards! Seize her!" It’s done. His eyes are flashing in the torchlight, his voice is beyond fury. "I will not be disturbed again tonight. By any man, woman, or child, even if the Kingdom is burning, even if there is a declaration of war, by the God if Jesus himself descends from Heaven no being shall grace my door again, is that clear?" Three. Well, one-and-a-half, but he counts quickly; I can see him mouthing the words. "Bring me Chains," he said coldly, "bring me an iron, a snake, a cat-of-nine, a pair of scissors…" He lists things, things that make my heart run cold. "She will be bound, in my chambers, waiting for me, and tonight she’ll be unspoiled when she reaches that point. Tonight it is her King alone that will touch that precious skin.”

*

He held his hands to me and I walked to him, wordlessly, wincing whenever a guard so much as twitched, but he said nothing.
Suddenly: “Elea i’dolen he quenat a’amin!”
I ran as fast as I could, but it didn’t do any good: His “reveal” spell had my clothes gone from me. My clothes torn from me, I was dragged to his pedestal as the council snickered.
"They tell me," the King said, conversationally, putting a hand on my bare hip, "That you are thrashing in your sleep at night. Anything I can help with?" He’s baiting me, and I will not tempt him.
Three.
"Ah, but perhaps because you are cold?" He kissed the palm of my hand, his eyes in my eyes, touched my face, and I shuddered in fear, disgust. He suddenly snarled, my hair in his rough hands, pulling me to the ground, forcing me to my knees.
One of his feet found the small of my back, making it clear: I was to remain.
“Putta he cams,” he ordered, and I winced at his poor sentence construction; but the guards understood him and bound my hands to my feet. I was trapped.
“Amin feuya ten’lle,” he whispered, you disgust me. “You could be freed so easily, Payton. So simple to unbind you, to let you sit beside you as my Queen!”
He waved his hand to a small page-boy, one unabashed, it seemed, by my current state. The boy—his brother, I was to learn later, Arclath—bore a tiny pillow with a delicately-crafted silver crown that ran shivers down my spine. I turned my head away from him, defiant to the last, and he shook his head; pulling my hair so I faced him again.
"All this for a human woman?" he asked gently, "I never meant this to last for more than a night, perhaps two. Long enough only to remind them all that you were fit to rule above all others, but this? This? Payton, stop. Whoever she really is, she cannot be worth it. I do not take pleasure in your pain, but I will continue if you insist on defying tradition, on bedding this wilting flower, this poison to life—”
"Keep your tongue still, lest I bite it from your mouth, my liege,” I promised, furious.
Azrael clapped his hands. Twice. “If any and all of you have the flame-summon magic of the two-legged, offer them at once.” About half the council pulled out lighters, and he smiled. “Good!” The smile vanished, a smirk replaced it. “Warm her.”
Silence.
Haloc said, “My King?” For she was Love that night.
"You heard me." No one moved. "What? No one!" He reached into his robe, pulled out a lighter, and flicked it; holding the flame to my hair, stomping out the flame as I screamed.
"Ryan," I gasped, defiance gone, "Ryan please—”
"Shut up, whore," he snarled, "if you will not be my Queen then you will be treated as Substitution has demanded of us all and this will continue. All of you! Warm her!”
They came to me; they burned my face and hair and skin and there was nothing, was no one, no one to stop my screaming, my pleading treated with indifference.
My beloved council laughed at me as they did it; just enough so as not to scar me, just enough to harm me—mercifully, they left my hair alone after Ryan’s attack on it.
Later, she would ask, she playfully hold a lighter to my face and say, “Payton, has someone done this to you before? In a not-nice way?” And I would say, “Yes,” so quietly, still rigid and terrified of the flame.
Later, she would cap it, would put it back in her pocket and stare.
Later, I would say nothing in reply.

*

"Nice tail, Slave." I grit my teeth.Three. "Well? Aren’t you going to thank me for my generosity? Those are diamonds on the waist-line, you know."
"Thank you." I pull nervously at the translucent cloth over my breasts, which is embroidered with seashells, hiding behind my undied hair. I feel wild, and beautiful, but slutty.
"Thank you….?"
"Master," I murmur, barely audibly.
"Excuse me, what was that?" I don’t answer. He lets it go. "And you aren’t going to ask me why you’re wearing this tonight? Why this was my choice?"
"I’m sure you’ll tell me whether I want to hear it or not."
He laughed, pulling out a lighter and spinning it between his fingers. “You know? I don’t think I will tell you. I do not tell my chair I intend to sit in it, nor my dog when I intend to kick it, nor my dishwasher when I’m about to start it; why tell my slave when she’s to entertain?”
I pull out my wand in a flash, eyes flickering, but I’m tased and I drop it in shock. I can’t move in the dress, not fast enough. Men pick me up and tie me to weights, they throw me in a pool. Every three minutes he has me come up for ten so he—
He called it. Fishing.
*

"And what do you feel like, Payton?" It’s the first time John’s asked me a direct question. The first time he’s used my human name at a Revel.
"I feel….. like I live in a tower," I answered him, cautiously, in my human voice, waiting for him to flinch and happy when he doesn’t. "I feel like I’m gripping the edge and can’t reach down. Can’t reach what I’m looking for."
He put his hands under my chin, moving one to run over my cheek bone. “What are you looking for?”
I wrench myself away. “Room to run, I think,” I said softly, “I wish I had run.”

*

"Payton?"
"I don’t know what to do, Helen. I’m not ready. I’ve barely been here a year, I’m not fit—"
"—Payton—"
"What if they hate me?  What if they riot when they realize I’m still human? Helen I can’t—-"
"—Payton!—"
"What if I don’t listen? What if I make mistakes? Can’t someone else do this? Maybe Tolien, his time couldn’t have been done that quickly—"
"PAYTON!"
I finally quiet. I look up, sheepishly. “Helen?”
"You’ll be the best Queen the world has ever known, my little darling, if you care as much as we think you do. You will miss things, you will make mistakes, but you love those people out there enough to fix them….don’t you?"
"Yes. More than anything."
She placed the circlet of white flowers, on my silvered head.
"You’ll be fine, then," she murmured, hugging me from behind; "My Queen."

*

People who I rarely saw, but are super important:
Henri, Marjan, Vervain ("Little Red"), Mort ("Merde").

 *

"Slave. Approach." I walked so I wouldn’t be dragged by my hair, kneeling before him. He took a pin from my hair, one tipped in diamonds, and picked his teeth with it. I clenched my fists in reply. "Your task tonight is simple," he continued, unperturbed by my lack of answer. Azrael drew a dagger, black and wicked, from a sheath of his waist, holding it up so all could see. "Your pretty cuuuurves,” drawled the King, running the dagger along my waist, over my breasts, down to my stomach, to my hips, and up again. “Cut them.”
No one moved. I looked around wildly, waiting for someone—anyone—to say, to do something—they’d never been silent before. Always, a murmur of horror, a gasp of ‘No!’ or, ‘You will not do this!’
That night there was nothing. He pulled at the rope around my neck so I stumbled into his body, so I could smell the Soul-Call on his breath. He repeated, “Cut them.”
I reached for the dagger with trembling hands, wrapping my fingers around it uncertainly. How would I ever get around this? Master’d left me nothing, no nugget of promise, no room for even the slightest of misinterpretation. My hands were trembling.
"Oh, come, it isn’t that hard," the King scoffed, "I’ll help you.” He took my hands in his own and forcefully, though I struggled, scraped the dagger against my waist. Blood seeped from the skin as I howled, falling back to the ground and staring at him. Lord Azrael perched lightly off the throne of the Silver Leopard and came at me again, running the flat edge of the dagger over my face, cutting my breasts, my figure, my thighs…
I was in nearly nothing of course, a long, shimmering, translucent white nightgown. A moonstone broach was over my neck; the cut of the top was low and flattering. My feet were bare, my hair, which did not bare the silver paint but instead a brown one—that I looked human, you see—was curled into ringlets.
Blood swept over the thin, white fabric, pressing it against my skin. I pushed my hand to the wounds, still motionless, tears rushing to my eyes. I opened my mouth to scream, but there was nothing. The King—-he had never—not my skin. Not something that could leave a mark.
God, he could kill me, I realized. Ryan could kill me now and they wouldn’t even flinch…
I’m surprised to feel arms around me, shaking me from my silent revelries. It’s Dyrim. “Shh, Payton,” she murmured in my ear. “You aren’t breathing. You have to breathe, now, Payton. C’mon. C’mon, it’s nothing, you’ll be fine.”  She’s right; I’m hyperventilating. I forced air back into my lungs, forced myself to breathe as my blood covered her arms and dress front.
"You dare to approach my property?" Challenged the King imperiously. "You dare?”
"She does not stand alone, sir," growled Ragfaron, his long, clawed-by-bronze fingers caught on Azrael’s arch of neck and shoulder. "I assure you, your property is already approached. You will now release her to our care, my lord, or she will likely bleed to death."
"Will I at that?" Chuckles Azrael, "Tell me, Ragfaron. What do you know of our dear friend Belladonna?" In lieu of response, Ragfaron forces Azrael to his knees, the bronze cutting into his shirtless body.
There were two sets of blood that the hungry ground tasted that night; and one was not my own. “The Poison, of course,” gasped Azrael, shaking with laughter and pain. “I laced the dagger with it, and a few other….special ingredients. Do as I ask or I’ll be forced to let her die.”
Let her die? Let….her…..die?
The claws were retracted. “Please, Sire,” implored Dyrim, her arms wrapped tightly around me; one of her hands ran through my curls. “Anything. Please, just don’t let her die.”
"I doubt it’s even poisoned," said Ragfaron, but his deep voice lacked Conviction.
"Oh, it’s all the same to me," replied Azrael lightly, boredly. "I’m fine with waiting here to see."
To my shock, they did wait. Ten minutes. Fifteen. One Hour. Hour and a half.
Two.
Then I started screaming. Vampires with Azrael’s face were everywhere, coming for me; one even had me by the neck! I fought, I backed away, screaming—where had Dyrim and John gone? Why weren’t they here? Couldn’t they help me—I was being fucking attacked and oh, God, my Head, it hurt, it hurt so much and why was it so bright in here? Fuck, God, help me, make it stop, the Vampires—
and I blacked out.
"Payton?" I opened my eyes. Slowly; even the dim light hurt them. God, everything hurt. I was sitting on my own bed.
"What’ss the Daaateh," I slurred, blinking slowly.
"It’s only been a few hours," answered Dyrim quietly. "It’s just about Sunrise."
"What happeneddd," I said, the letters clogging in my throat. "You…John…."
"Azrael," she whispered the name in fear, almost reverently. "Payton, he… he let us take you, cure you, before it was too late, but….Oh, God, Payton…..He….he had John and I…..we didn’t…..there wasn’t….." Warm tears landed on my lips as she seized me into her arms.
"Emily," I murmured into her hair, "Emily….."
When Mom kept me home sick that day, she didn’t check on me once. Dyrim and I sat cradled in each other’s arms, waiting for the moon to come.
Waiting for our hearts to slow.
Wishing it would stop.

*

"You’re worried, aren’t you, my dove?"
I looked up from my script for the upcoming coronation, surprised. Maria so rarely spoke, and I valued her council more for its rarity. I nodded, blushing, and she held out her hand.
I took it.
She lead me to the throne room, to the Throne of the Silver Leopard. It was empty but for us breathing creatures and the chair, the chair that loomed over my future, the chair that was so much than a chair.
She said, “Sit.”
I shook my head, backing away, but Maria, more firmly, insisted; “Payton. Sit.”
I did, stepping up onto the dais for the first time and sinking carefully, gingerly, onto the throne, staring at her.
"Does that chair," she murmured softly, her words bouncing off the silence like arrows off an airplane, "seem different to you? Don’t think, just answer."
"No," I answered, surprised at my own reply; as the best of council will do to you.
"It is not for the throne you are a-feared, my child," the nun insisted gently, "it is for the ruling you are frightened, and should be so. To rule a Kingdom is no laughing matter. The people who will be here tomorrow, they will be expecting you to be stern and distant, cold-earthed and callous, as those who came before you."
I looked down, accepting the weight of her true words—and they were true, indeed. I’d heard their like many a time in the past weeks.
"You, my dove," she purred, smiling the smallest of smiles, and I noted the endearment ‘my dove’—I’d use it later, I decided; "are not those things. You are not even one of those things. You are beautiful, polished, but not what they expect. Your beauty is hiding beneath your skin, pulsing with your voice and your blood like a fire. Your polish is a dim one, dimmed by gentleness and compassion. Payton….. you are so rarely told that you are enough on your own, but….. listen."
Silence. I counted: three, six, nine…..
"The only voice you need to hear is the one that feels like this chamber does," she advised at last, staring as I settled onto my throne. "The only voice you need to listen to, that you must heed, is the one you know in your heart is the right one. Tomorrow, when this hall is be-filled with reveling Alisarians, when the Kingdom will bend its knee to croon your name, it is not for them you must accept that crown. Not for James, or Helen, your sweet Mother, Brontus, or even myself. When you take that crown, take it for yourself. Take it for yourself…..and know that by the tears and sweat and patience and efforts of a Lady, the lady I know is in there somewhere, just beyond the ken of your age; that you have earned it."
"What if I haven’t earned it?" I asked, moved incredibly by the words from this simple, gentle-hearted Eliac, so beloved in her own time. "What if I’m not right for this?"
"A magic lives inside your heart, old and soft as tender-bone," she said, in the voice she had ruled in, the voice that chilled my heart for hearing it. "A magic lives inside your heart that no man here would dare contain. A magic that all great Kings and Queens of this Kingdom have had within them, you have." Maria paused, fingering the cross around her neck. "More than we have ever had."
She left me alone with me throne.

*

"With this Gauntlet," she had proclaimed, "I can tell the soul of any person! Any person at all!" I snuck a smile at Ryan, at my right hand, who winked at me and gave a little shrug.
"My Queen," he said in the voice that’s so hard to remember now, "Some people truly are desperate to get into the second circle."
"And?"
"Let her in, but not as she wishes, not as a seer," suggested Ryan. I smiled and he took my hand. Perfect, as usual.
"Good Lady!" I said, rising, my sparkling gold dress swishing behind me. My silver, curled hair was back, a few curls escaping around my neck; I had a huge Victorian Collar. I advanced down the pedestal, and the Gauntlet-wielder looked incredibly pleased. I wonder if she realized I could glimpse the fact that her "ancient artifact" had been Made in China.
I held out my hand and, shaking, she reached for it; uncertain (even fearful, awe-full perhaps) eyes on mine, taking it so gingerly you’d think my hand were as flimsy as paper, and she an open flame.
"I would hear my soul," I said with a smile, taking in (with renewed interest) her flame-red hair and delicate frame. Her blue dress was cut like the frost of a waterfall; her bare feet were painted with old runes. She took it, closed her eyes—and they teared, she fell back, gasping.
“No,” she said, so lowly I don’t think anyone but me heard it, “no!” Concern overruled reason. For—though Ryan seemed amused, I did not.
"Yes?" I said, gently. "What is it?" I was so sure my soul was seated near my throne. So sure….
"Your soul will break you into many pieces," she sobbed, "You soul will make you empty as a desert is of sand. Your soul—"
"Enough!" Said Ryan, rushing down, eager (as always) to protect me from everything. "Guards!" The woman was escorted out before I could stop him; my hand over my neck, my eyes wide with alarm. Refused by my soul? Me?’
It would never happen. It would never happen to me, at least. I would not wander the world, alone for eternity! Not I!
I was wrong.

Wild:

It continues to fascinate me that things that aren't new retain the power to hurt us, sometimes badly.

Like being lonely. Like giving up the Kingdom. We brush it off and move on.




























We keep going.

Wild: If I could pick - If I was there

I'm really thinking about a revel today.

The guard's test, to prove your worth to the secret.
To let the others glimpse your method, calculate, and set it down.

Vampires, in resplendent period,
Watching hard for maidens in white:
the color of sacrifice, color of giving, purity.

They also need her seal on them:
a wave, with a circle around and through. Three lines to mark a human treat.

They'd better be careful:
White isn't just for taking.

Death-Fey, in their bitter white,
walk calmly through the revels here.
They are welcome, they are honored,
so is the fear in-wake they bring.

Suits and dresses, satin, lace
promises and bitter smiles;
gifts of food too good to eat. 

The best kind of distraction has always been simplest. The best type of desire to have is that--


Or so they say.

Werewolves, in whichever color she concedes is best.
For the purposes of this - imaginary - revel, let us go with blood-drop red.

Tunics with leggings, striped with gold.

Sword and dagger, bow and poison, claw and tooth and fang and promise:
all with a moon along their throats.

This renegade group of mismatched warriors, seeking danger to their Queen
will stop trouble, will protect the danger that's so vivid here.


Angels, in a bleak pastel: pink or silver, gold or violet?
Impossible to know; I do not have the peace of heart they need to make their power.

Amazons in shining flesh; no flirting, glances, laughter, warmth:
they have a dagger at their side that's crooked as elfshot.
And to those bold who seek some token, their tongues are more crooked than that.
An Amazon would sooner carve a skin from bones than meet your lips with theirs.

Mostly. 

Khajilt, they have renamed themselves, will dress to match a theme.
Their bright-won king, Timothi, has decided to give freedom tonight:
dizzying colors, fabrics too bright to see, flesh and claw and whiskers, tails
scents so lurid they sear your nose.

But they're too charming, too funny, to mind.
More than one young person here will change their minds about the allure of cats, at least by revel's end.

The service of the elements may have chosen to parley here:
some in beaten, metal flame tunics, others with flowers woven like velvet; still more that smell like lily or rain.
All beautiful, all marked as theirs: Fire, Water, Earth and Air.


If beauty is a promised token, you should see the Succubi
no theme or color to mark them is needed, only eyes and awe and want.  
They will deal in promises if you let them see desire.


Witches wear velvet, soft as moss in blue and green and red and purple. Wands and spells strapped to their jackets, billowing skirts and bare, smooth feet.
Witches are as different each as stars in their Goddess' sky; I will not try to speak for all, but merely remember their power.

Warlocks are different. Half-daemon or half-fey, their promises can beat you into whatever shape they please. They exist only for instinct: desire, anger, fear. Instant gratification is a fact in this occasion:
they are led by Magnus Bane.

The names may change at random, but the people are the same. Shakespeare's scent of roses may apply to danger too: if a rose by any other name may smell as sweet, then a knife of poison, called a poppy, will still kill. Beware unearthly beauty while you dance beneath her seal.

Humans are the only ones who come for food and dancing alone.

They eat the food they know is safe, or have watched another sample: to be tempted by the Queen's table is foolish, not brave. The fare may prove not to your preference, might earn you servitude, or power, or death, or a boon. It is difficult to think through the threats on that table, harder still to earn their liking.

Most mortals take aught but water and crackers: they have been promised to be safe. Some prefer to take their chances with other humans who hawk wares: flesh or food (and sometimes, both).

The other races here don't care. Long cups from icicles, the famed soul-call, are in some hands; the blood of the ancient, in wine glasses, for others. For a Kingdom that sneers at the human world, there's a lot to share: whiskey, vodka, rum, mead, ale, champagne, wine, and more. Around a massive cauldron, there are vials for the daring: some are poison, others cure; some are power, some are pure. On and on this strange list goes: powdered bone, strawberries, honeyed lies, cheesecake, roasted duck with wild onion and pinenuts---whatever has taken her pleasure tonight, and even more than that.

None who have been taught will leave here hungry.

None who have been taught will leave here harmed.

The music, played by human fingers, is mortal, modern, repulsive: perfect. Tonight, they have been taking requests, a daring undertaking from so large and varied an audience. Rachmaninoff follows the Dresden girls, death metal after sweet ballet.

Balance: the Queen will be pleased.

A curtain of splendid blue, that shimmers, beckons. Those few who pay attention will find themselves passing another test: of wit, culture, music, or art, whatever the test-giver pleases. The price for failure is high; the price for victory, higher. To enter the Council's service is to win your place inside the Second Circle, the only place where artistry is allowed to be given to others. It is also one of the only places that will let humans into the folds.

If a noble approaches, as many as can fit will follow him or her through this circle. They want to get to the last, the inner-most, core of this revel: the Third Circle. The Council.

There are very few appropriate things happening here. To start, all the Council seats have a small tent behind them for debauchery galore. Because they can. An opera company is performing the Magic Flute to drown out the sound, now, even that is called to a halt by a clap of the Queen's hand. Business has begun. The opening words, long memorized and cherished, are given.

The Dark King is there, under trial. The Ordainment has sent envoys, and the Elemental masters are to give testament. The Councilmen and Councilwomen watch the processions....


The Queen's velvet tent opens. Out she comes. High green heels with gold, Victorian-style buttons go above her ankles. She's in an old, moss-green dress. Her silver hair is piled elegantly on her head, with long earrings that ring like bells.


The legendary pearls around her neck, she sinks to the throne of the Silver Leopards.




Court has begun.















































I am not there.

Wild: It's easier (Which)

When we went out for Dawn's birthday to a place called Samba
(which sounded like dancing and laughter, actually endless meat and potatoes)
we went to a bar afterwards
(which, being called the Knuckledown, sounded like a fighting joint and was owned by a Warrior)
and a man played his guitar.

It was there, that guitar, for a human problem
(open microphone was cancelled, which was a shame)
and his grittily sweet voice paraded over empty air
(which was silent, except for devoted drunkards, who cheered)
and I missed being Queen again.

I wanted to wave my hand and shower him with riches, as before
and smile and have him awarded gifts, and joke with him.
I wanted his heart, not just his voice and remembered chords
(which, if you heard them and like Texas Rock, you would probably like a lot)
but I could get nothing.

Oh, he eyed me of course, and smiled a southern boy's smile
(which I liked more than gifts)
and spoke to Katie's sister
(which I liked considerably less, and now which makes sense, having looked at her).

I wanted all those people to have my protection, my love, be protected by my law
(which is as close to selfless as this gets).

They won't be again.

My Kingdom is empty now, my Alisare, it's Council-seats unclaimed
and it's revels, bright and full of color, are just as sad.


The Kingdom, broken by a madman's hammer
(which struck a madwoman's heart)
and I an in exile from a home
(which is no more, no more at all).

There is no atonement needed, for doing the right thing
(which makes sense)
But I regret that mercy, and endlessly so
(which is like Gavriel's "endlessly, I regret it - if you didn't catch it).


I want to go home to a home that isn't.
I want to go back to a place that is gone
(which is vanished, like daylight, like comets or snow).
 














And I am a ghost for these haunts, and these wishes:
(which makes me human)
 I will never be the Queen again
(which is to be water, the tide and the time)--









I said thank-you to him, instead, and a drunkard bought him a drink, and I went home--

to no revel--

and slept in my bed, too early

(which, I suppose, is right).