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Courting Death

Ending All The Time

E

Ending All The Time

It was dark when he came in. It had often been dark, of late. Of late and longer than that. If Cheshire were to be completely honest, he would be forced to admit that it had been something over a hundred years since he'd last seen Melisane's tower in anything brighter than twilit misery. But this was not twilight. This was not even midnight, where one might still hope to see stars. The dark was absolute, and Cheshire, who might have seen if a candle burned two rooms away, had to rely on his other senses to find her. Melisane was in the tower's only lit room, her frail form bent over a spread of cards that glowed with a pale grayish light.

Weaver

W

Weaver

When Alissa began to lose her mind, she didn't even notice. It was only six days since they'd left Seattle, since they'd turned in the city for the sort of small suffocating town she'd thought only existed on afternoon TV. That in itself felt like insanity. She kept looking around, at the gaping emptiness between each house and the next, and she couldn't quite believe that anything was real. They couldn't have moved. It couldn't be her life, could it? She wasn't living somewhere on the banks of Lake Michigan in a town so small no one had ever bothered to write its name on a map. She couldn't be. It wasn't her life. Someone elses. And then sh

Autumn Mourning Opening

A

Autumn Mourning Opening

Had it not been her wedding day, Leralia would have never discovered the man bleeding in her father's stables. It was early evening and she should have been in a carriage, headed for her husband's estates. She should have been gently drunk on honeyed wine. She should have, at the very least, been married. Instead, unwed and yet to change out of her gown, she had been sent to check on the horses.

Goddess

G

Goddess

 The temple is dark, shadow and silence. She sits in the center, cast in silver, shining. They come, bent kneed, bow headed, song voiced, dancing. Praising and begging, they call her name, call Lady Autumn, Lady Gray, Twilight Maiden, Evening Star, Change. They call her Change, call for change, call up change. Her eyes are emeralds, her tears are pearls, her feet are washed with blood. Her worshipers are desperate. But still, the crops fail, still the rain waits, still the children hunger, still the men grow wan. And still, the invaders will come, their ships cutting water, their feet trampling fields, their swords tearing flesh, their to

Janet

J

Janet

 She'd was the shortest in her family, petite, fae, narrow shouldered, flat-chested, all sharp unsubtle angles, elbows and knees and even chin pointed, like a compass rose she was, with the smile that quirked at the left side of her mouth pointing north. Her eyes were green with a serpents slit, purple and slashed like a goats, gold with the iris spiking out in solar flares, dull washed out blue when she took her contacts out before the mirror each night. She wore the contacts, she wore black velvet and lace, she wore boys' sweatshirts that engulfed her tiny frame and kept the hoods up so only her eyes and the tangle of her hair, which was ne

Blood of Gold

B

Blood of Gold

"You'll never be beautiful, Leralia. There's too much of your blood-mother in you." It was Kasea, her father's first-wife who'd said that, when Leralia was still young and untrained enough to indulge in occasional fits of vanity. Faced, for the first time, with man who was to be her husband, Leralia thought again of those words. Too much of her blood-mother to ever be beautiful: hair too curly, face too square, breasts too small. But there was value to blood beyond beauty, value enough that she now sat in a room with a wealthy man who would take her as his first-wife. As her mother had been, until her death had given that position to Kasea.

On a Beloved Sacrifice

O

On a Beloved Sacrifice

Dearest ebony, And isn't that what you'd like to be called? Isn't that how you see yourself: invisible, unreachable, unworthy of a capital? Oh, but there's arrogance there too. And I know it, even if no one else does. Because ebony is your symbol for power, the power that comes from pain, from losing so much that you move beyond the reach of loss. Oh, ebony. I know in letters such as these it is not uncommon to address an innocent younger self from a place of wisdom. But I can't see us that way. You are so much less innocent than I. You are even wise, ebony, in the way wounded animals are wise. You know the secret paths of pain that I hav

Christmas Drabble

C

Christmas Drabble

Autumn is the sweeter sister. When she walks among the trees, she strokes their trunks and whispers endearments that set their leaves to blushing. The Winter Queen is not so gentle. Her smile is sharp, her beauty brittle. When she lays her lips against the windows, they shiver in delight, don frosty laces to impress her. Once each year the sisters meet. Winter softens only then. Autumn preaches kindness. Winter listens, sends the first snow falling playful, delicate. But hers is a wild court. The snowflakes crowd like eager children; the winds beg for a dance. Each year she forgets.

Of All We Have Missed Out On

O

Of All We Have Missed Out On

Never has your name appeared marginalized in my notes, with desperate repetition. A one word letter to a boy. Notes didn't pass between us nervous in high school hallways. Anyway, I was never good at those careful, complex folds. Where are those midnight battles? Love unfolding to reveal the darker side of passion. But I can't find the hate in us. Are we strange, then? Let's be so. Spend our midnights lost, shopping. Laugh at ferrets or zombies. I'll write you hope, you draw me dreams.
See all

Courting Death

Ending All The Time

E

Ending All The Time

It was dark when he came in. It had often been dark, of late. Of late and longer than that. If Cheshire were to be completely honest, he would be forced to admit that it had been something over a hundred years since he'd last seen Melisane's tower in anything brighter than twilit misery. But this was not twilight. This was not even midnight, where one might still hope to see stars. The dark was absolute, and Cheshire, who might have seen if a candle burned two rooms away, had to rely on his other senses to find her. Melisane was in the tower's only lit room, her frail form bent over a spread of cards that glowed with a pale grayish light.

Weaver

W

Weaver

When Alissa began to lose her mind, she didn't even notice. It was only six days since they'd left Seattle, since they'd turned in the city for the sort of small suffocating town she'd thought only existed on afternoon TV. That in itself felt like insanity. She kept looking around, at the gaping emptiness between each house and the next, and she couldn't quite believe that anything was real. They couldn't have moved. It couldn't be her life, could it? She wasn't living somewhere on the banks of Lake Michigan in a town so small no one had ever bothered to write its name on a map. She couldn't be. It wasn't her life. Someone elses. And then sh

Autumn Mourning Opening

A

Autumn Mourning Opening

Had it not been her wedding day, Leralia would have never discovered the man bleeding in her father's stables. It was early evening and she should have been in a carriage, headed for her husband's estates. She should have been gently drunk on honeyed wine. She should have, at the very least, been married. Instead, unwed and yet to change out of her gown, she had been sent to check on the horses.

Goddess

G

Goddess

 The temple is dark, shadow and silence. She sits in the center, cast in silver, shining. They come, bent kneed, bow headed, song voiced, dancing. Praising and begging, they call her name, call Lady Autumn, Lady Gray, Twilight Maiden, Evening Star, Change. They call her Change, call for change, call up change. Her eyes are emeralds, her tears are pearls, her feet are washed with blood. Her worshipers are desperate. But still, the crops fail, still the rain waits, still the children hunger, still the men grow wan. And still, the invaders will come, their ships cutting water, their feet trampling fields, their swords tearing flesh, their to

Janet

J

Janet

 She'd was the shortest in her family, petite, fae, narrow shouldered, flat-chested, all sharp unsubtle angles, elbows and knees and even chin pointed, like a compass rose she was, with the smile that quirked at the left side of her mouth pointing north. Her eyes were green with a serpents slit, purple and slashed like a goats, gold with the iris spiking out in solar flares, dull washed out blue when she took her contacts out before the mirror each night. She wore the contacts, she wore black velvet and lace, she wore boys' sweatshirts that engulfed her tiny frame and kept the hoods up so only her eyes and the tangle of her hair, which was ne

Blood of Gold

B

Blood of Gold

"You'll never be beautiful, Leralia. There's too much of your blood-mother in you." It was Kasea, her father's first-wife who'd said that, when Leralia was still young and untrained enough to indulge in occasional fits of vanity. Faced, for the first time, with man who was to be her husband, Leralia thought again of those words. Too much of her blood-mother to ever be beautiful: hair too curly, face too square, breasts too small. But there was value to blood beyond beauty, value enough that she now sat in a room with a wealthy man who would take her as his first-wife. As her mother had been, until her death had given that position to Kasea.

On a Beloved Sacrifice

O

On a Beloved Sacrifice

Dearest ebony, And isn't that what you'd like to be called? Isn't that how you see yourself: invisible, unreachable, unworthy of a capital? Oh, but there's arrogance there too. And I know it, even if no one else does. Because ebony is your symbol for power, the power that comes from pain, from losing so much that you move beyond the reach of loss. Oh, ebony. I know in letters such as these it is not uncommon to address an innocent younger self from a place of wisdom. But I can't see us that way. You are so much less innocent than I. You are even wise, ebony, in the way wounded animals are wise. You know the secret paths of pain that I hav

Christmas Drabble

C

Christmas Drabble

Autumn is the sweeter sister. When she walks among the trees, she strokes their trunks and whispers endearments that set their leaves to blushing. The Winter Queen is not so gentle. Her smile is sharp, her beauty brittle. When she lays her lips against the windows, they shiver in delight, don frosty laces to impress her. Once each year the sisters meet. Winter softens only then. Autumn preaches kindness. Winter listens, sends the first snow falling playful, delicate. But hers is a wild court. The snowflakes crowd like eager children; the winds beg for a dance. Each year she forgets.

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Artist
  • July 21
  • United States
  • Deviant for 16 years
  • She / Her
Badges
Super Llama: Llamas are awesome! (14)
My Bio
Current Residence: Arizona
Favourite genre of music: Varies
Favourite cartoon character: Gir, Batman, Freakazoid

Favourite Movies
Girl Interrupted, High Fidelity, But I'm a Cheerleader, (500) Days of Summer
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Ani DiFranco, Gaslight Anthem, Hold Steady
Favourite Writers
Neil Gaiman, Gore Vidal, Michelle West, Dorothy Parker
Favourite Games
Psychonaughts
Favourite Gaming Platform
PS2
Tools of the Trade
Keyboard
Other Interests
Reading, Writing, Roleplaying, Tarot

Mrr...

Mrr...

Look at me, I'm peaceful again. Even happy. Ups and downs I guess. Still, at least my mood is postive. Have a new story to update with soon. More from my writing class. Some of you might find it familiar.

NOW!

NOW!

This is me SCREAMING! Because, I'm lonely. I'm tired of being lonely. Tired of being here. And I just need- need, someone to talk to. But no LJ updates for this. Too many people playing the sad game already. Quota filled. Why Why WHY don't I know how to make meaningful connections. Since August I've been here and I'm so flipping alone. Counting to weekends. Counting, down, up, down. Just so I'll be among friends again.

School

School

So here I am, in Western, and I'm well, I guess I'm getting somewhere. My writing class has been helping a lot, and I've been writing a lot more. Expect me to start updating more soon.

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thanks for the fav. ^^
Very nice writing! ^_^
I'm glad you think so!
Congratulations on your Daily Deviation! :) I've placed a link to it in the sidebar of my journal page.
Thank you. I appreciate it.
Thanks for the :+fav:, I appreciate it very much :lol::bulletyellow::bulletblue::bulletred::peace: