Lilou Clary

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A history of magic

A long time ago, there was a land where magic flowed freely between the earth and its people. The gods bestowed a gift to the humans who tilled the soil and cared for its creatures. It was a gesture of good will, but also a promise that the humans would use it for the wellbeing of the land. For a time, festivals were held to celebrate the end to droughts and the return of bountiful harvests. Baskets were woven to hold myriads of flowers that would be offered to the gods who had granted them magic. During this short period, few were left wanting.These people built villages with their newfound powers, but villages rose into towns, and towns surged into looming kingdoms. No longer did the magical gifts nourish crops and tend to the common people. Instead, a titan hoarded those with magical talents in an effort to gobble up as much territory as possible.It would seem that the Old Kingdom had forgotten that magic was not inherently theirs, but a conditional gift. One with conditions they were no longer meeting as forests burned and subjugation ran unchecked by those with power.The normally quiet gods decided it was time to revoke their offering. But one does not pull magic from a mage as though pruning an errant shrub. In a decision only moderately less ruthless than the actions of the Old Kingdom itself, the gods took back their magic by razing the corrupted.It came in the form of a plague. At first, those with magical abilities found that their veins began to burn when they drew out mana. But the fire inside them grew as they continued to abuse their magic, burning them from the inside out. Mages began to feverishly collapse, like insects drawn too closely to a flame. However, they were expendable–and the Old Kingdom did not stop in their pursuit of conquest.Before long, the Old Kingdom had burned itself up.Magic became a thing of the wilderness once again, innate only to druids and nymphs.Only those that had returned to the old ways, harmoniously with nature and far from the grip of that corrupted institution, were spared from the wrath of the gods.In time, they began to be known as witches.Now rare and often feared, those with the boon of the gods’ power are careful to remember their original promise, or risk being scorched by it.

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Lilacs

Lilac; first love, reminiscence

Art by Kopi

Lilou smells the bush before she sees it. The scent is heady, if not a little overwhelming, with a hint of sweetness. It’s impressive for it to have permeated the garden so thoroughly amongst the other flowering bushes and varieties–but here it was, persistent and proud.The lilac bush sprawls over the back corner of her garden, soaking up the full sun. Pastel cones of tiny, purple flowers spring out from every direction of the leafy bush. Lilou stands next to it and can’t help but feel a little dwarfed at its size every time she approaches it. Opening the flap of her leather bag and readying her shears, she gently grasps a stem between her fingers.The shears snip through the stem with ease. She’s left holding a vibrant bundle of petals, emitting such a strong scent that she almost feels it filling her lungs and sticking to her windpipe. Trimming the lilac bush is arguably one of her least favorite garden chores–but it’s necessary. The villagers have a special affinity for the flower. Both for its potion derivatives and for simple arrangements with the excess. Despite her distaste for the intensity of its fragrance, she has to admit that it earns its keep.And they are beautiful, she thinks, turning over the first of the harvested cones before tucking it carefully into her bag.She wrinkles her nose as she goes to cut off another bunch. It’s methodical, and she should be able to zone out and enjoy the consistent clips of the shears or the slight breeze that alleviates the warmth from the sun. But its aroma keeps taunting her, building up to something unignorable and demanding.Certain smells have the power to conjure vivid memories, and unfortunately the scent of lilac is coupled tightly with the one creeping at the edges of her mind.“Lilou, look at all the colors I got!”She can still hear that sunny disposition, the brightness in her words enough to bring her right back to that lab. Where a blonde upperclassmen who had taken an affinity for Lilou as much as she had the lilacs that grew in the alumni garden loitered.Lilou hadn’t thought much of lilac when she was studying at the Royal Mage College. It had been another ingredient, a component she could strategically use, if not avoid when possible.“They all do the same thing,” she had replied skeptically, not able to match the unfiltered enthusiasm that her labmate radiated.Emilie had been a year older than her. And despite her carefree smiles, she had Lilou’s respect from her academic prowess alone. Although she wasn’t the top of her class, the witch was still in the top ten and had been recognized for much of her work with flowers.Flowers that she was now twirling between the pads of her fingers. A slight pout pursed her lips. “I know they do the same thing, but isn't it fun how the different colors look together?” As if to accentuate her point, she prodded the petals forward until Lilou was gagging from their smell.“Yeah, they’re pretty,” Lilou conceded, recoiling back from the bouquet, “But I hate how they smell, get those away from me.”Emilie’s lips curled into a bright smile regardless. “I think they smell like home, lilacs are wonderful,” she said dreamily, and raised the little purple flowers to her face.The younger witch wasn’t as convinced. “My home doesn’t smell like that.”A spark of mischief and excitement lit up the soft blue hues of her eyes. Lilou quickly realized that she was along for the ride now. “Well, that’s why you make them into Home Candles.”“Home Candles?” Lilou repeated skeptically, and in the same beat, Emilie was scooting close to her on the bench. The coup on her workspace had already begun as Emilie co-opted a free mortar and pestle to crush a sprig of lilac under the stone. The star salt she was about to use in her own potion was then added with a precarious pour, followed by her companion plucking a honeyroot from a glass jar on the desk kept for common potions.Lilou decided to humor her. She leaned on her elbow as she watched the contents transferred into a glass jar. Emilie set the jar on some spell paper and began to scribble some sigils in smudgy charcoal glyphs. Love. Memory. Healing. The glyphs were relatively common, but just the way her handwriting bounced made them all the more vibrant on the page.A purple glow softly crept out from her hands as Emilie activated the spell. It was followed by the sigils on the paper lighting up a matching pastel as though they had siphoned the pigment from the lilac petals themselves.The finished spell was raised to Lilou’s chin, an expectant gleam in her upperclassman’s eyes. “Smell this,” Emilie instructed. The coarse mixture of salt and petals looked more like a sugar scrub than a spell. And this still didn’t explain the candle part.“Am I going to pass out?” Lilou asked hesitantly. She was partially joking, but partly serious from prior experiences with the other witch.Emilie’s laugh sparkled like a bell. “No, just trust me.”Lilou did. Immensely.She tilted her nose into the glass jar, letting the aroma overwhelm her senses. And the absolute strangest thing happened: she couldn’t smell lilac. The crushed petals were right there. And yet she smelled her mother’s lotion. She smelled the honeysuckle in the woods behind their house as she hid with her sister in a child’s game. The distinct scent of clean bedding that she had just brought in from the garden, a hint of roses on the fabric.Lilou smelled home.“Oh.”She quickly wiped the tear that had welled in the corner of her eye, an unwanted guest. Gingerly, she placed the jar back on the desk. “It does smell like home,” she admitted softly, “You turn this into a candle?”Emilie beamed at her. “I do. See how easy it is to make? Lilac is wonderful, isn’t it?”“It is,” Lilou agrees softly and realizes that she’s responding to a ghost. Her nostalgia had blinded her to the passing time, and she realizes she has been standing in front of the bush with her bag full for a good few minutes. Very much alone.She swallows a quiet sob, raising the last bunch of lilac she had pruned to her face so she can wipe away the moisture gathering at her eyes. The flower doesn’t need to be turned into a memory spell to elicit this kind of reaction.Her own memory can apparently wretch her back to those moments with her dearest friend. Ever shining Emilie, showing her the newest trivial ideas that Lilou now carries in her heart and the recipes in her own shop.What should be a lively Emilie, unresponsive and bloody and the subsequent rage that bubbles in Lilou’s veins at the ones who had allowed it to happen.It’s all visceral when she smells the scent of lilac, the oblivious little flowers causing her to relive the best and worst moments.Lilou inhales their scent one more time, resolving that she’ll need to return inside in a moment. She can’t help but laugh, the sound twinged with bittersweetness. But she’s smiling now, blinking away the last tears.“I hate the smell of lilacs.”

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Roses

rose; love, passion

The garden beds in front of Martha’s house are near pristine, enough that Lilou herself feels hesitant to touch it. Over fifty years worth of sweat and patience nourished the roots of the flowers here. Clumps of begonia line the edge like neat soldiers, evenly spaced and identical in shape. Behind them, the rose bushes flaunt their blossoming petals, dramatically as if ready to fall onto a fainting couch. But maybe not before peeking to make sure someone is looking. The roses are a deep, dramatic hue of magenta, contrasted against the lighter baby-pinks of the obedient begonias at their feet.These are the kinds of rose bushes that win awards year after year, their prestige only rivaled by a similarly intimidating pie recipe that relentlessly claims an annual victory.In both cases, the winner is Martha.Martha with her silver white hair, pulled into a tidy bun at the base of her neck. She is enough to bring Lilou back to strict classrooms and precise lessons. Except this woman’s demeanor is softened by a kind, but knowing smile. The glass of water she extends to Lilou helps as well. “Thank you again for the help, dear.”Lilou abandons a leather glove to reach for the glass. The cup is blissfully cold against her skin, and she is no longer sure if the moisture collected against her palm is sweat or condensation. Either way, the breeze that follows draws out a sigh of relief as it meets with her exposed hand. “It’s my pleasure,” Lilou answers sincerely, and although she intended to have a few demure sips, she finds herself downing the rest of the glass in one motion.Before sheathing her fingers back into the leather glove, she wipes the sweat off her brow and looks up at the sky. It’s mid afternoon and the sun loiters across the sky without any sign of faltering. She had forgotten just how hot it got in this region, it had been so many years since she last visited the little village. Most of her previous stops had been in the cooler temperatures in the east in her latest travels.“Last time you did things a little differently,” Martha says conversationally as she crouches down, age not preventing her from digging her fingers into the soil to pluck an errant weed. There’s a sparkle to her gray-blue eyes that hints at conspiracy.Lilou laughs, dropping down next to her to continue pulling what she affectionately calls volunteer plants from the garden bed. “I suppose it was a bit different. But Martha, your garden is already so lovely, it doesn’t need the same level of…maintenance that the crops did then.”Martha snorts an indignant laugh. “And yet the beauty of your magic would please me the same now as it did when I was a child.”The mention of her magic brings a whirlwind of delight and a little bit of embarrassment. Knowing she had impacted a child with it that here some seventy years later she is still recounting it makes Lilou flush from more than just the heat. Pride swells in her chest, and the sensation is almost enough to ignore the twinge of fear that comes with being recognized for said magic. Regardless, Lilou is easier to convince now than she was in her own youth. It may even be more possible that the glimmer of excitement in Martha’s eyes as an old lady is even harder to say no to than when she was jumping at her legs.“Alright,” the witch relents, her lips forming a defeated, but affectionate smile. She gathers a small amount of soil into the gloved palm of her hand. The glow that begins to emit from it is slow, like the sunlight peeking through the curtains on a gentle morning, before brightening into a distinct green hue. Although looking down at the soil before, she glances up to find that Martha is enraptured with the magic in front of her.For a moment, Lilou sees the twin braids and wide eyes of a nine year old girl.The magic begins to take shape, forming the first sprout that pokes through the layer of dirt triumphantly. It ascends higher in its growth until it’s now eye level with them, a rounded bulb now leading the top. Slowly, it begins to unfurl. The petals tumble outward, layering on top of each other with a lazy stretch until a red rose has bloomed in her hand.“Incredible,” her old friend marvels.Lilou shakes her head. “Yours are still prettier,” the corner of her mouth quirks upwards as she presses the flower into Martha’s hand.Her response is to laugh at the witch. “Those are yours too, did you forget? My grandmother just took care of what you left behind.”Lilou’s lips part to protest, but the memory of leaving behind some rose bushes after curing the season’s crops does come back to her. However, she does remember that she was very stealthy in leaving her gift behind for Martha’s grandmother and that she was sure that she hadn’t been caught.Then again, stealth never was her strongest skill.Her face takes on a similar hue to the begonias at the revelation, and she giggles nervously. “She knew, huh?”Martha nods, sharing her laugh. “We all did. It’s just me now who remembers. But I’m glad I lived long enough to see your return.”“Yeah,” Lilou’s gaze softens over the rose bushes, “Me too.”

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Asphodel

Asphodel; my regrets follow you to the grave

Magic can do a lot of things. But it can’t bring back the dead.Lilou has learned this fact intimately.Necromancy is often misunderstood as the art of raising the dead. Which is technically true–if your goal is to raise a corpse that has lost all its consciousness. Watching the shell of your loved one stagger up with lifeless eyes, their muscles responding to stimuli, their actions responding to magical commands, is possible. But the damage it does to the caster has made it a strictly forbidden art. Unless one of the few selected and permitted.The Royal Mages had a team of necromancers, of course. Willing to puppeteer the victims of their own imperialism. But the Royal Mages had enough war crimes filling their closet to the brim with skeletons. If those monsters could stomach the weight of their own sins, what was one more?The fact remains, however: the dead cannot be brought back as they once were.So how is Lilou now facing the woman that she let slip through her fingers, to beyond the veil?Emilie lies before her, her skin unmarred except for the harmless freckles faded along the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are the same robin’s egg blue. Even coyly hidden behind a line of low lashes, there is no mistake they are hers. Both of her eyes are there, as though they have yet to witness the reality of war. Her body curls delicately in on itself, a lazy, catlike stretch that is nothing like the angle that her spine contorted into under the rubble.“Lilou.”She’s beckoning to her, a pale hand outstretched in a siren’s call. The bedding is plush and white, except for the scattering of small clumps of blue forget-me-nots and the bright yellow of daffodils. They’re too bright, Lilou thinks, the yellow of their petals is almost sickeningly vivid. Their stems are bent, snapped at varying points of the middle.The brightness of it all makes her stomach lurch.“Lilou.”Emilie’s other hand is clutching something, pressed tight against her torso. A makeshift bouquet of stalks of asphodel, blooming in white stars with sharp pointed tips. Tucked between the asphodel are hemlock with spokes of bright flowers, exploding like suspended fireworks refusing to fall from the sky.“Lilou.”Lilou’s body is frozen, even with the flightflightflight coursing through her veins, the adrenaline has yet to get her muscles to move. She’s not sure if she’s moving forwards or backwards at this point. Her vision blurs in this bright, liminal space, and Emilie is the only object of distinction in this haze. A single step forward and she feels like she’s falling, about to crash into the ground to meet her own buried sins. But her eyes are fixed on the wholly intact woman in front of her, her hand still outstretched and so tempting.Emilie smiles at her and Lilou nearly feels gravity flip in on itself.Except this time, she opens her mouth and her lips gently curve, starting to form the first syllable of her name. No sound comes from her mouth. Instead, her lips part to give way to something purple on the second syllable. Lilou watches in horror as a cluster of lilacs falls from her mouth, helpless as she chokes on a cone of pastel flowers. Emilie’s pretty watercolor eyes widen and Lilou sees the same fear that she saw centuries ago, the wet tears falling as she looks to her for salvation. Her body heaves in stunted gasps as the flowers fall. There’s nothing Lilou can do this time, just as before, she’s frozen in place as Emilie succumbs to the waterfall of lilacs bursting from her.A clap of thunder precedes the lightning by just a few moments in the middle of the wet, inky night. The room lights up, even with the curtains drawn, it’s bright enough to give everything an ethereal glow for a moment. But it’s incomparable to the uncomfortably bright room where Emilie drowns in her own cuttings of lilacs.Lilou still shoots up, her limbs flailing like a wild animal as she tangles her legs in the sheets and desperately grabs at whatever she can for purchase. Bottles clatter off the bedside table, followed by the sharp harmony of breaking glass. Ice seems to have crept under her skin, crawling from every limb to the tip of her fingers. Her breathing is quick and desperate, but not enough to fill her lungs or stop the lightness in her head.Something strong grabs around her waist and the world is too hot against her frosted skin, she’s got to get away and Lilou kicks and–“Lilou.”She hears her name not a beckoning whisper but a gentle salvation.The arms firmly snake around her, pulling her into an embrace so warm and secure. She goes limp against him, slowly her muscles melt out the tension and her breathing even. Liam is rubbing her back, the size of his hand spanning the entirety of her shoulder blades but so careful and tender.“I saw her,” she says, her voice wavering.Liam hums and threads his fingers through the waves of her untied hair. One arm still keeps her anchored, and she’s not sure if he is keeping her from running into the night or if he’s the sole thing keeping her pieces held together. This isn’t the first time and they both know it won’t be the last time. But he catches her now.“It was just a dream,” he says, and she knows that. She knows. But the nauseously vivid memories of Emilie bent up and apart are too real even after so many years. The rage has subsided and instead left a space for her grief to fill–and how it had taken to her soul like water filling a pitcher.Lilou knows that Emilie has been dead for over a century. She knows that the kingdom that shackled her has burnt into nothing but ashes and ghosts. But she can’t help but feel their haunting as freshly as their hunt for her when it started. She makes herself small in Liam’s lap, as though she still needs to hide from a fallen army. As though she can hide from the lurking shadows of her own regret.Liam continues to hold her, brushing his knuckles so tenderly against her cheeks as he lifts her head to look at him. Even in the dark she can see the earnest shine of his eyes, the resolve to protect something close to him so fierce. The hint of fear isn’t lost on her, the panic that she might run away again if he doesn’t anchor his fingers into the flesh of her waist.“You’re safe.”She presses her face into the crook of his neck, making the skin there wet with silent sobs.“Stay here with me,” he says in a whisper. His heat melts away the icy terror, like the slow melt of snow in the spring. He keeps her there, in the safety of their room and away from a town turned battlefield.Lilou pulls back, nodding her head and wiping the tears from her face with messy swipes using the back of her hands. Moonlight filters into the room just enough that she can see the refraction in Emilie’s manalite pendant hanging from her neck. It glitters at the right angle, not unlike the excitement in her friend’s eyes in a different time. But its weight never subsides into her subconscious. She feels its reminder of her duty to protect. To prevent the sins of the past from happening again. To respect magic for the gift it is and not the unyielding weapon that many had tried to make it.To make Emilie proud of her.The grip around her waist loosens as Liam falls back into the mountain of pillows she had built on their bed. An invitation in the form of a raised arm calls her to follow into his side. “I’m sorry about the mess,” she says, realizing that they were going to need to clean that up in the morning.He shushes her, pressing a firm kiss to her temple. “I’ll get it, don’t worry about it. This was pretty mild, damage wise, this time.”Lilou laughs, somewhat embarrassed. “No windows to fix this time, huh?”“Thankfully,” he says, pulling the blanket up and tucking it around her. They settle back in, as if restarting their routine for the night while ignoring that the sun may very well be interrupting in a short time.“Hey Liam?” She says quietly, letting the sleep replace the adrenaline, “Thank you.” She murmurs it to him and feels his reply in the form of a languid circle on her shoulder. In true Liam fashion, he is softly snoring a few moments later. Lilou smiles fondly, taking in the unbothered look of his sleeping face. She focuses on his steady breathing, it’s resilient and assuring in its rhythm.She reminds herself that the sleeping man here isn’t Emilie. The world isn’t a struggle of magic burning up mages and people falling to its misuse. Lilou isn’t the mage so obedient to a fault that she allows someone precious to her to die, nor is she the mage on the run with only her anger and grief to keep her company.Lilou runs a finger over one of the vertices of Emilie’s family pendant. The magic thrums under the pads of her fingers, but only ever so softly that someone with years of dedicated listening could pick up on its presence. She thinks of the lilacs and asphodels of her dreams for a moment. Maybe next time she will get to show Emilie the pastel range of hyacinth from her garden instead.

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Iris

Content Warnings: Character Death, graphic violence, mild goreIris; nobility, valor, courage

Brookmore was a small town with a reputation for its neatly crafted buildings that were currently going up in flames. Death rose in plumes of smoke, obscuring the light of an otherwise sunny day. Ambient cries of the townspeople faded into the background while Lilou focused on the words of her superior.Thorne was a tall, spindly kind of man without much muscle to fill in the gaps. His gait was more of a creep than a walk as he stepped down the line of royal mages at his attention. The imperial magistrate’s robes swayed behind him, hanging off his wiry frame in heavy, black cotton that was edged with gold trim. He stopped in front of the center of the mages, just to the right of Emilie.He parted thin lips to speak. “The situation is now under control. The senior mages have confined the wraith in one of the residential buildings. All that remains is to extinguish the threat. This unit will support the holding efforts to keep it confined.”Obedient silence followed.Lilou could see the twitch of Emilie’s lips pursing next to her. A bolt of panic streaked through her chest.Don’t say anything.“The senior mages will demolish the building in the process, in which case it is paramount that the wraith is held in place,” Thorne continued. Steely gray eyes scanned the line of mages, perhaps to seek their understanding but instead landing on Emilie’s hesitation.“Do you understand, Ms. Belrose?” His words were pointed, daring any opposition.Please don’t.Lilou watched as hesitation hardened into resolve in Emilie’s demeanor. There was always something so regal about her stance, be it from a noble upbringing or just a natural gift for presence, she wasn’t sure. She still looked so delicate being sized up by the imperial magistrate, if only for being dwarfed by his height. But she did not waver.Emilie looked directly at him, holding his gaze and surely feeling its chill. “There are still civilians in the home, we must conduct a rescue mission first.”He nearly sneered at her. “They are trapped in a building with a wraith, they are certainly already dead, Ms. Belrose.”“But you don’t know that,” she snapped quickly before readjusting her composure, “Sir.”“And little does it matter. They are an unfortunate casualty of war. And if we are to prevent more casualties, then we must deal with the wraith.”Emilie shook. Lilou wondered if it was fear or anger that rattled her body. For a moment she considered reaching out to her, to convince her to comply with the magistrate’s instructions. To make herself unseen and useful. But Lilou felt frozen in place, the very breath in her lungs at a still while watching the exchange.“Only because we’ve disturbed the natural order of things, so we should fix—”“Enough.”Emilie flinched back at the gruff command, the full intensity of Thorne’s authority nearly palpable. “You will follow orders, this is not up for debate.”Despite the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Lilou welcomed the fear that came with their superior exercising his power. It meant that Emilie would back down and that they could fade back into obscurity. Her friend’s stubbornness was frequently what Lilou loved most about her, but more often than not a double sided blade. That being said, it manifested in performing magical experiments for frivolous things and wasting materials, not defying the imperial magistrate.“Fine, I will help them myself,” Emilie said, challenging the pretty lie that Lilou had just settled on to assuage her nerves.“I do not care how noble your family is, Emilie Belrose. Step out of line and that is an act of treason.” Thorne’s words were low and deliberate, with a vitriol that seethed right under the surface of his professional veneer.The adrenaline finally broke Lilou out of the hold that the heavy complacency had on her before, now desperate to keep her only friend safe. The only person who meant anything to her in this world. She turned to face Emilie, feeling like a child clinging to their mother as she clutched at her hand. “Emilie, please, don’t,” Lilou pleaded, and even in the moment where every cell of her body was screaming to use everything she had to stop her, she could only muster a shaky whisper.Blue eyes shone back at her and it was like the smoke had cleared from the sky. She was lost in their vibrant expanse for just a moment, forgetting that they were standing in hell and not in the alumni lilac garden on a regular day. Lilou felt the warmth of her hand cover hers, it was gentle and resolute and she wanted to throw up from the implication of how Emilie’s fingers squeezed her own.“I have to, Lilou, it’s the right thing to do,” she said and smiled at her painfully. She carefully extracted her fingers from Lilou’s grip, before lifting her hands to her neck where her family’s manalite glimmered forest hues in the firelight. Emilie removed the necklace, pressing its neat edges into the palm of Lilou’s hand with certainty. “Please take care of this.”Lilou wanted to scream, to protest until her throat was raw. But it felt like the smoke had filled her lungs and replaced the air entirely. She found herself heaving while trying to remember the steps to breathe. The older mage couldn’t just give away her family’s manalite, a treasure that a barely noble mage like Lilou should be thankful to catch a glimpse of at most.It burned in her palm and Lilou knew it was her goodbye.She didn’t have control of her own body, a specter was surely holding her in place as she watched Emilie disregard the warnings of her superior. That was the only reason she couldn’t move to stop her from walking into the flames. Emilie disappeared into the residence with little fanfare. Like a spell had been broken, Lilou finally moved to follow after her.“Ms. Clary,” a booming voice halted her mid step, “I am sure I do not need to remind you that the same will go for you should you choose to abandon your duty.”Lilou swallowed the smoky air, her eyes wide and terrified. “I…”“You have such a promising future, Ms. Clary. Do not throw away your potential over this.”The weight of every assignment anchored her into the ground, doubled by the memory of the only look of approval her mother had ever spared her as she graduated at the top of her class. Every accolade and everything she had made herself sick from overwork to achieve buried her further. The exhaustion of constant assignments and research with little to no breaks and the desperate hope that this time, praise and respite would follow instead of more work.It was less that she couldn’t throw it all away for Emilie and more that the obligations had claimed an unwavering ownership over the very mana coursing through her. She didn’t know how to resist.So Lilou stepped back into line, mechanically turned her jaw forward, and grit her teeth. Internally she was screaming—her own voice echoed in her head that she was a coward and she couldn’t refute it when she knew it was true. She knew it was wrong as her body followed his orders, as the mana coursed through her and braided with the energy of her fellow mages until it was impossible to distinguish it as hers at all.Maybe she would be okay, she rationalized, heart outracing her logic in leaps. Emilie would be standing there smiling away and they would go home together. Lilou would admonish her for her recklessness and she would finally tell her how these feelings were filling every crevice and cavity of her body—she couldn’t hold them back anymore and—The building shook as it began to crumble, an impending roar following the surge of magic dismantling its bones. A sick crushing noise followed the whine of metal twisting in on itself and against stone. A side effect of the immense amount of arcane energy it took to rip apart the magical essence of the wraith inside. It was a procedure that was a brute force last effort, one that lacked a surgical precision that would be required to prevent mass destruction to towns where magical creatures began to wander closer and closer.Lilou let out a sob as the roof collapsed and left a barely recognizable mountain of debris. How was the world so cold when everything around her was lit with flame? Her trembling fingers were numb with panicked ice rushing through her veins and towards her heart. Surely even the tears now staining her cheeks would crystallize from this strange coldness. She observed herself watching her own hands, looking down at the stone still refracting light in her grasp. The Lilou standing there pressed her hands to her face and she could feel the hot tears, but this wasn’t really her because Emilie wasn’t here now and if Emilie wasn’t here this wasn’t real and that wasn’t Lilou—“—work here is done, we will return to base—“Lilou’s legs bolted into a sprint towards the burning debris. There was no time for thought or consideration, the time for that had passed several impossible minutes ago. Right now she just needed to confirm that this wasn’t real, that either she was going to wake up or there would be a miracle waiting for her. “Emilie!” the scream that tore through her throat stung as she began ripping her way through the crumbled house.She felt a surge of mana as she levitated away remnants of walls and rubble, tapping into a pool she wasn’t aware that she had within her. The world blurred around her, the only sound filling her ears the rush of her own adrenaline and the memory of Emilie’s laugh.Please.Lilou saw golden blonde before seeing so much red.“No,” Lilou dropped to her knees, scrambling to remove the rubble from the brightest color in her life. “No, no, no,” she shook her head, registering how her dainty, noble figure was contorted like the broken stalks of flowers after a windstorm. Dark scarlet bloomed from her left eye as though a poppy flower was sprouting from its socket. Everything was wrong, bent in ways that should normally be impossible and it was her sweet, sweet Emilie who only wanted to use magic to make people smile. To help people. Who brought in bouquets of lilacs that she hated and loved so dearly. Who sat with her when the rest of the world felt devoid of real people and joy.Her Emilie was dead.The urge to vomit was conflicting with the urge to scream. Somehow, neither of them won out as a different contender grew stronger. A silent rage, one that had been cultivating in a toxic garden deep inside her. It was watered with every restriction thrust upon her, every expectation that robbed her of the color from her world. Her spite and anger had come to fruition and was ready to harvest.What good was this world without her? What was the point of being a royal mage for a kingdom that did nothing but take and use their mages like expendable waste? Her magic was never her own; she had been torn from the natural beauty of the world, had hidden her joy as to not step out of line, and let them steal her magic to destroy. People, land, the natural essence of magic itself around them. For what? Loyalty?She was so tired of the gray scale life that this kingdom offered. They had taken away her only color, that brilliant robin’s egg of her eyes. There would be color again: a painful, monochrome red.Steadiness returned to her hands as she methodically pulled out the sheers from her belt. Normally these were used for herb collecting, but she quietly used them now to snip a golden lock of Emilie’s hair steeped in her blood. Carefully, she tucked it into her pocket, put away her sheers, and stood up.There were two senior mages within twenty feet of her that she realized were the ones who executed the spell that took Emilie from her. It wasn’t an unfortunate accident that took her away, nor was it the wraith on a rampage due to the actions of their mages. Emilie was taken from her by these callous, husks of humans that had no right to wield something so powerful. Lilou didn’t care that they were following orders. They should be the ones crumpled like muddled herbs, not her Emilie.Lilou wanted to see them dead, she thought, and watched as one of the mages began to slide into two. His face warped in horror for the remaining moment that he was alive. A splatter of blood followed the thud of his torso hitting the ground. The other one yelped, stammering out his confusion before locking eyes with Lilou, understanding something that she didn’t. He was yelling something at her, readying the magic in his staff to direct towards her. But Lilou despised him more than he could want her dead, and he quickly folded in on himself and twisted into a bloody clump.It was then that Lilou looked down and realized her hand was outstretched. Dripping Emilie’s blood and oozing scalding magic.Oh. Matter manipulation magic. This wasn’t quite her forte, she had under performed in that course actually. She passed it with high marks, but it required sleepless nights of study and practice. She was much better at potion making. How strange was it that now she felt the pieces click, that bending matter to her will was little more than a whim. She wondered if her professor would be proud of her for finally mastering that concept.The other mages had noticed. Thorne and her team were mobilizing to neutralize a new threat. Lilou had it on good authority that the majority of the mages in her unit were exhausted and burnt out. They would be low on mana at this point and she suddenly felt as though she had discovered a boiling lake, ready for her to tap into. She thrust her arm to the side and two of the mages from her unit fell, unable to gurgle words past the blood filling their windpipes.She felt a swipe and a sting against her arm, as though trying to disarm her rather than directly kill her. That was a mistake, she thought, not entirely blocking the shot but deflecting the majority that would have maimed her arm. The white mantle of her uniform tore in the process, petals of blood starting to fall where the hit had landed.There were two left alongside Thorne. A blast of mana nearly collided with her face, but with the tilt of her head and a well placed shield, it bounced off like a useless children’s toy. Barrier magic, now that was something she was good at. That’s why they had her on this unit after all, and yet Lilou watched pitifully as her colleague’s failed to raise barriers that could withstand the razor edge of her own magic. This was disturbingly easy, she nearly laughed, it was sad. This was the magical force that had brought the continent to its knees?Two more bodies collided with the ground and the emerald of her eyes met with the steel of Thorne’s.Fire was still eating through the city without the royal mages to put it out. There was more smoke in the air than before but Lilou finally felt like she could breathe. The scent of ash and blood was sharp on the wind, something familiar to her now but newly invigorating.She traded attacks with the imperial magistrate, aware of the disparity in their rank but not necessarily their power. Positions of power in the royal kingdom were a gluttony of bureaucracy that feasted on wasted time and wealth. To his credit, Thorne was one of the skilled ones who had risen to power, but his title did not spell instant defeat. He was good, but Lilou was better. She was familiar with the textbook nature of his attacks, a certain muscle memory kicking in from practical lessons on offensive magic. She couldn’t dodge everything, but knowing which blows to take meant being able to reciprocate a well aimed blast of her own mana.In a fragile window of opportunity, Lilou clenched her first. With it, Thorne stumbled backwards, clutching futilely at the hole in his chest.The gravity of her actions hadn’t quite settled in until she was met with silence. The ringing in her ears had stopped and she found herself finally alone. Logically, she knew how bad this was. Logically, she was calculating the time until there were reinforcements that would kill her on sight. Her mind was cataloging every law she had broken, but knew there was no point in considering what the punishment would be when it would all lead to death. Logically, Lilou knew it was hopeless.

And yet, she felt tears flowing freely now. Relief, exhilaration, everything was pouring out of her in wracking sobs as she found herself at the ground once more. Among the field of red, she was struck by the most magnificent purple she had ever seen. An almost indigo hue mixed into the royal violet of its ruffled petals. A clump of irises stood watch over the battlefield, speckled with scarlet but regal nonetheless. Lilou couldn’t help herself. Reverently she cut them from their stalks, staggering her way back to Emilie’s corpse where she tucked them under her arm. Even in death, the majesty of their proud, purple frills suited her.As she took in the last moments she would have with her dearest friend, Lilou felt searing pain blossom on her right shoulder. For the first time during the fight, she cried out from the direct hit. The impact had made her stumble forward, but she spun on her heel to see that Thorne hadn’t succumbed just yet to the inevitability of a very fatal wound. They both knew it was useless, he couldn’t stop her with that, but it would slow her down.There were no embellishments to the final attack she used to end him. It was quick and clinical. She had other things to worry about now. Casting a final glance at Emilie’s poppy red form now clutching the regal irises, Lilou pressed the manalite stone to her chest and heaved a final breath. There was nowhere for her to go but away from here. Wherever she would go, she would be chased. She knew this, but she still sprinted through the town and towards the forest treeline. She thought of the magical places she saw as a child, the iridescent magic that blanketed the natural origins of mana.Lilou may never know peace again, but it was finally on her own terms. So she ran towards that vivid and dangerous future and refused to look back.

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Zinnia

Zinnia; Everlasting friendship.
For hedgewitchwren

“I thought her hair was supposed to be some sort of green?”“It’s obviously her–look, she’s got flowers blooming off her hat.”Lilou takes a long sip of her ale. This has been going on for the last fifteen minutes. Even over the buzz of the tavern, what the two men think is a hushed conversation stands out perfectly well at the table next to her. The establishment is a modest local watering hole, with four tables crowded into the space for any overflow from the seats at the bar. Yeast wafts through the room, not entirely unpleasant. She isn’t really sure if it’s from the brews or the bread. But it’s nice–sociable but not too rowdy. And with a tap of a little ice magic, the ale is almost pleasant.She can leave, she thinks, swirling the remaining froth around until it’s sticking to the edge of the mug.“What if that’s just a fashion statement?”Her eye twitches.“Can I help you, gentlemen?” Lilou rounds on them, beaming a tight smile.A few, bright petunias pop through the lace on her hat.They stumble over themselves, at least having the decency to look embarrassed. One of them sits a head taller than the other, thin as a rail while the other looks at though he has been squashed. The beanstalk man scratches the blonde mop on his head sheepishly. “Uh…well. We were just wondering if you was the flower witch,” he pauses before hastily appending, “Ma’am.”“Perhaps,” the witch in question slowly concedes, crossing her arms, “Why would it concern you?”The short man speaks up this time. Either from alcohol or embarrassment, his cheeks are flushed a dark red. “Because we heard you help people. And we got a problem.”At least he’s honest, Lilou thinks dryly, considering her drink again.“What kind of problem?”Unfortunately, Lilou has learned that her reputation precedes her in most places she wanders. Although reputation could really be distilled down to myths and wild rumors in most cases. But it doesn’t escape her attention that the consistent thread boasts her aid rather than any kind of destructive threat.“Well,” Beanstalk cuts in again before pausing anxiously, “Ma’am. There’s a great big beast that’s been botherin’ the town. They say it’s made of flame.”“Flame?” Lilou repeats skeptically, a pink brow arching.“It’s true, Miss,” the man she has mentally dubbed the tomato man nods and the corner of her lips perks. She likes this one better. “This beast ran off a whole team of loggers not a week ago. And even little Sammy and Tommy.”This isn’t the first time she has been asked to fend off a monster for a local town. That damn reputation at work. “I make potions and fix fields, I’m not your witch,” she says with finality, hoping they will drop it there.They don’t.“But ma’am, I heard the flower witch tamed a werewolf two towns over!” Beanstalk lowers his voice, as though it makes any difference at this point in the conversation.Lilou has to take a moment to pause, biting her lip. Tame is…one way to put it. Although her geographically bound husband is the one who sent her on this little errand. So perhaps it is the other way around.Furthermore, she doesn’t think that Liam would be too happy if she used her taming technique on other monsters.“I’m not a monster hunter,” she insists, starting to get up from her seat. The hops that a certain werewolf had requested have already been procured, so she needs to be on her way regardless, she thinks.Tomato man looks at her, crestfallen. “We don’t have guards here, Miss. We’re a farming town. And people are scared.”There’s that familiar tug, somewhere between her ribcage and sternum. Lilou’s frown softens ever so slightly. “Look. I have to head home. But I can take the long way through the forest. And see about any flame monsters. Okay?”Beanstalk and tomato man brighten instantly, and suddenly they are all smiles and offers to buy her another drink. Partially out of politeness, and partly feeling the attention starting to grate on her comfort level, Lilou declines while gathering her things.“Well, at least take these. They’re from my family’s farm. It’s ain’t much, but I hope you do enjoy them, Miss,” Tomato man smiles brightly at her, handing her a heavy cloth bag regardless of her response.It isn’t until she is outside that Lilou peeks inside the burlap and falls into a fit of laughter at the innocent red tomatoes.
Keeping to her promise, Lilou forgoes the well worn road that would take her back home in an hour at most. Instead, she takes an overgrown but still discernible dirt path into the forest, mostly worn by loggers and gathers. It’s not professionally finished like the thoroughfare between towns, but at least this route has wildlife teeming behind the bushes and the solace that the busier option lacks. The shade from the canopy of leaves overhead offers some respite from the warm summer air, full of humidity and the whines of cicadas.What she does not consider, however, is that as she travels deeper, the path becomes less obvious and more so up to interpretation. The locals most likely know their way around, able to recognize the knots in the trees and formation of rocks at where the thinning route forks. There is something intuitive about an area that one spends their life in, even without the intentional markers.Lilou can barely find her way between points on a well defined map, however. To say that she becomes quickly lost is an understatement.For a moment she makes eye contact with a squirrel perched upon a fallen log, looking quite content with itself and the nut it had scavenged. How many years had it been since she had a class on speaking with animals? It was an early introduction to language interpretation magic for children. And for the life of her, she can’t remember how to ask the little squirrel for directions without accidentally insulting its mother. The intensity of her prolonged eye contact must have been too much for even the little critter, as it takes the scraps of its meal back into the brush with what Lilou can only assume is indignance. As indignant as a squirrel can be.At this point, there is a decent chance that if she were to try to turn back, she would just find herself more lost. It’s as though her path is a piece of yarn, tangled by her clumsy wandering. Any attempt at unlooping the knots in the mess she has made often just leads to further complexities in the tangle.She presses on through the woods, now hearing more snaps of twigs under her boots. The branches have not been pruned for a path and she finds that she has to duck occasionally to prevent being smacked in the face.There is something comforting about being lost to Lilou. She’s used to the wandering, the aimless floating in the whitespace of maps. Home had been in the jingle of keys at an inn if she were fortunate, or the glow of a campfire’s embers when she wasn’t. Now her destination always has a return trip, a concrete place she inevitably falls back to.Her thoughts of home are quickly interrupted by the feeling of her back meeting the nearest tree. Pain aches at her shoulder blades where the bark scrapes against her jacket. It’s all sudden, so much so that she feels the wind knock from her lungs in the same movement that vines are wrapping around her limbs and constraining her to the tree. On the second beat, she manages to raise her head, green eyes struggle to focus and she sees a monster of fire.On the third beat, her vision clears and the figure in front of her is no monster at all. If anything, she should be a ghost.“Wren?” It comes out an embarrassing croak, by virtue of being slammed into a tree only moments prior.Lilou now understands why the villagers fear a monster of flame; Wren’s mane of crimson hair screams danger in the depths of the woods, like a sudden forest fire personified. Amber eyes glow with magical energy, flowing to where her hands form the somatic components that command the vines. It has been centuries, but the vibrancy of her magic is embedded in her memory from childhood. She has never forgotten the day that the witch left the academy after watching the same yellow glow explode into an untrained catastrophe as children.Instead of a skittish child cloaked in the drab uniform of their school, however, Wren now stands confident with an iridescence of feathers decorating her hat and earrings. Mushrooms and bones accent the earthy tones of her hat and overcoat, the stylish outfit of a mature witch left to her own devices in the woods.The vines loosen, but only slightly. Wren must recognize her, but it takes her a moment to really falter. “Lilou?”Lilou offers a wry smile. “That’s me. Mind letting me go?”“Are you going to steal my crops?” Wren asks, although there is a glimmer of familiar humor to it. The vines begin to slide back into the earth, the controlled glow in her eyes growing fainter.“Not unless they’re really good,” Lilou can’t help but tease, a natural smile peeking through. “I don’t steal from regular people though. Assuming you aren’t–”“Associated with the Royal Mages? I should be asking you that.”The two witches look at each other in an uneasy moment, both knowing that the kingdom had fallen centuries ago but its scars cut deep enough to withstand time. She doesn’t miss the way Wren’s honey eyes focus on the polished stone she wears around her neck. A relic of an older institution, but more importantly a keepsake–a reminder–of who she lost.Lilou concedes that the situation is abnormal enough to warrant the heavy tension, that logic has already been defied by way of the two of them seeing each other at all. “I went independent a long time ago.”Wren doesn’t look entirely convinced, but motions for Lilou to follow. “I would rather get into this over tea. I can tell this is going to be a whole thing, isn’t it?”“Maybe,” Lilou admits, sheepish, as she follows the hedgewitch through the bramble.Wren moves with ease through the brush, even without a cut out path. She has the confidence of centuries behind her movements, but Lilou doesn’t miss the fact that neither of them exactly appear as old ladies.It’s actually a little shocking how quickly the treeline falls away into a small glade. The sun quickly warms her face as she looks around at the wildflowers, colors popping against the lush greens of the woods and grass. Eager dollops of chamomile have sprouted up at the edge of the garden, successfully enticing the butterflies and bees to sample their pollen. A bright glare introduces the greenhouse next to the hedgewitch’s cottage, reflecting off the glass panels that form the walls and steeple into a transparent roof. Adjacent to the greenhouse is an idyllic wooden cottage, inviting plumes of smoke billowing from the chimney.A row of zinnia have made their home along the border of the walkway into Wren’s cottage. The flowers remind her of the scale of colors painting Wren’s clothes now. Some the bright white against magenta, others with petals dyed a similar blood orange to the wild waves of the hedge witch's hair. It’s so vibrant that Lilou has to take a moment to appreciate the flowers growing here untamed and without the neat borders of a manicured garden.Lilou follows Wren through the wooden door of her home and can’t help but immediately be charmed by how cozy it is. Potted plants huddle up in little congregations by the windows while dried herbs hang from the walls. A large iron stove sits against the center of the far wall, with its chimney stretching far up into the roof and its belly glowing with flickers of amber. She takes a seat at the oak table in front of the stove while Wren tears through her kitchen to retrieve a couple of clay mugs that have been glazed a dazzling shade of green-blue.“Lavender bergamot?” She asks, already prepping a kettle of water that she sets onto the top of the stove.“Sure,” Lilou says, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “Your house is lovely.”She watches Wren move around her kitchen with the force of a storm, trying to match the woman in front of her to the fuzzy memory of a schoolgirl terrified of her own power. Wren has had centuries to come into her own–and it shows. There’s a relaxed confidence in the thrum of her magic and an ease to her expression. Her hair is the same scarlet waves, but a gradient now forms a sunset of berry into red at the tip. Similar hues faded into the feathers dangling from her ears and jut from the base of her bun. Lilou can’t help but notice the bird skull adorning the chain on her hip. It made sense. The feathers and bones, things that she had to forage to survive.Wren grins at her. She pops off the lid of a porcelain jar, spooning loose leaves into a pouch. “Thanks, it’s been a work in progress.” She ties the pouch off and plops it into the kettle behind her. “I’ve had a while to make it cozy, but recently these damn villagers won’t leave me alone.”Lilou nods. This certainly lines up with what she had heard. “To be fair, they think you’re some kind of beast.”Wren’s laughter is full and melodious, nearly knocking over one of the cups in her humor. “Humans are dumb. I’ve been here longer than their settlement has, they’re the ones encroaching into the forest. I’ve had to fend off some kids stealing my vegetables.”Her laugh is infectious, Lilou finds herself giggling alongside her as she regales her attempts to fortify her garden against wandering villagers. Their tea finishes steeping in waves of steam, the scent of lavender blooming in the kitchen. Wren offers her a rich honey that glistens off the spoon and tastes like the warm rays of summer had melted into her little glass jar. It’s so pleasant catching up with her, that Lilou almost forgets the surrounding context.“I’m so glad that you’ve been doing well,” Lilou says, letting the warmth of the mug seep into her palms. She thumbs the grooves of the pottery and appreciates for a moment that this must be one of Wren’s creations.Wren, now sitting across from her at the table, nods. “I am. It took a long time to get to ‘well’, though.”Lilou takes a slow sip, the question burning the tip of her tongue. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened? After…” She gestures awkwardly.“After I lost control of my magic and destroyed a classroom?” Wren finishes for her, but she’s grinning behind the lip of her mug. “I got kicked out. No one knew what to do with me, least of all myself. But I stopped trying to control my magic the way they wanted me to.”A root curls affectionately around her finger, spawning from the sleeve of her cloak. Magic glows subtly as the plant grows, like a mutual dance rather than the strict leash of control that they had been taught to wield.“I began to study independently. My parents weren’t too happy about that, so I went off on my own. Made a place for myself,” Wren says. The root sprouts a few emerald leaves around her knuckle, but she looks unconcerned with the development. “I spent so long trying to fix myself and control my magic, when I needed to learn how to live with it.”Lilou nods, thinking back to the rigid courses and little room for error. There had been no deviation allowed, it had been textbook or failure. While Lilou had adapted at the expense of her own identity and wellbeing, Wren had managed to escape the confines and thrive in her own way. The pink witch finds herself impressed with her fortitude, if not a little jealous.Her own magic thrums impatiently under her seal and she wonders if it’s not time for her to manage in her own way as well.“That is amazing, Wren,” Lilou says, her smile untempered, “You grew into a better witch than they could have ever imagined.”For a moment Wren looks a little bashful. “I’m doing alright for myself,” she says, tapping her fingertips against the hardened finish of her mug. “I mean. We both are, I guess. What happened to you? I thought all of the mages had keeled over.”

The spotlight shifts to Lilou who squirms uncomfortably, the attention making her muscles itch to escape. But an unprecedented reunion like this warrants the vulnerability, she thinks, and she takes a breath. “A lot. Like. So much.” Her smile turns wry before she takes another long moment to savor her cooling tea. “I did graduate. Top of the class even.” Wren claps, the echo sardonic as it taunts her.“Thanks,” Lilou snorts, “I joined up with the Royal Mages. As expected. We did a lot of bad things, but I think you know that.” She swallows back the memories and her sins with the lavender. Flashes of more than just that pivotal day creeping from the recesses of her mind. “They took someone dear to me and I kind of…snapped?”A moment of clarity visibly clicks in Wren’s expression. “You’re the one who went on the rampage on those assholes? Girl, good job.”Lilou nods weakly. “That was me. Like I said, I went independent a long time ago. I thought I was the only one left.”Centuries had now passed with only her guilt ridden memories to remind her of the empire that commanded a destructive army. Yet, Wren has survived as well, and if anything she looks to be thriving. Despite going two entirely different paths, they somehow ended up here, having tea together and sharing their stories of the past while the wildflowers bloomed anew again on land the wilds had reclaimed. Everything changes over time, new colors growing over old scars.Wren doesn’t ask her about the manalite pendant slumbering against her chest, and Lilou doesn’t volunteer that particular story yet. Nor do they question their visages paused in eternal youth and the details of how each of them had achieved that feat. Maybe next time, she considers, before realizing she hopes that there will be a next visit.“It’s a good thing though,” Wren says, “We didn’t burn up like the rest of them. We found our own way and that saved us.”The hedge witch sitting with her looked to be the incarnate of flame herself, all passion and fiery hues. Lilou recalls the struggle of her classmate to control the wild nature of her magic, so fierce but unruly. How funny, she thinks, that Wren had been cast aside for the very thing that had probably saved her from being condemned to the mage’s plague.“You’re right. I’m glad I was able to meet you again. It’s been so long since meeting someone who remembers.” Lilou sets the now empty mug down on the table. “Would you like to have tea again sometime? I would love to show you my shop. And introduce you to Liam,” she pauses, then looks down at her bag with a slow blink, “Oh shoot. My husband must be wondering where I’ve gotten off to. This was supposed to be a quick errand.”Wren’s laugh is full of mirth. “Yeah! Let’s do tea again. But you get home before I have a search party at my door.”“Thank you for the tea. And the company. I’ll come visit again when I’m in the area,” Lilou promises, gathering up her things and making note of the darker streaks of color staining the horizon. “I do have one request though.”Wren tilts her head. “Sure, what is it?”“Could I take a few of those zinnia home with me? They’re so beautiful.” Lilou gestures out the window to where the bursts of oranges and reds sway in the breeze. To her delight, Wren is enthusiastic in sharing her bounty when it’s not being stolen by rude villagers. She sends Lilou home with chamomile tea and an armful of bright zinnia.“Bring me something next time and we’ll be even,” Wren grins at her from the doorway.Lilou agrees and begins her journey home, the scent of chamomile wafting from her bag. She’s looking forward to keeping that promise.

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antan_xoxo

Alma K Rowan

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Tarynn Meadows

BeeweeCrover

BunBbyArt

Cheriyu

Cheru

Dormir

Dear Lacrimosa

Eve_Reverie

Gliesse82_5

HedgewitchWren

Kachang

Kaji

Kopintea

Lisana

Meelaffs

metr8nomy

myshleep

polaerise

Shannon

sliceofi

sorendipity

takoyanii

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The Dryad's Curse

Vtuber Short Story for Liam Clary

Liam’s world is exceptionally blurry when he comes to–and then suddenly very pink.A throbbing pain, dull but very present, has made itself known around the back of his head. With a low groan, Liam attempts two things that turn out to be bad ideas: sitting up he finds that his body nearly creaks from how stiff it is, and raising a hand to rub at his head brings the realization that something is different. His fingers card through coarse strands of hair before bumping into the base of his ears.He doesn’t remember his ears being atop his head.It turns out he’s not alone and that the source of the pink is a woman now urging him to lie back down. While he has seen stranger things, he fixates a moment on the rosy locks of her hair tied in a thick braid and briefly wonders if it is natural.“It is real, thank you,” the pink woman says and Liam panics because apparently she can also read minds.An equally pink eyebrow arches in amusement. “I can’t read minds. But you are concussed and keep saying your thoughts out loud.”“Shit,” Liam says simply.At least that elicits a laugh from this strange woman.The blur of his senses has settled somewhat. Liam takes the opportunity to assess his situation, feeling the remnants of old hunter instincts kicking in. The room is tiny, a slight orange from the candle bathing the walls in faint light. He seems to be occupying the only bed in the room and he can’t help but try to shift a little uncomfortably from its unevenness. Even if there was enough room for decor in the limited space, the walls are barren save for the knotted wood of the planks. At best, the table next to the woman is cluttered with supplies and an excessive amount of plants. Perhaps a doctor, he thinks, watching her mix something into a wooden cup.The woman turns to offer him the cup a moment later. “Drink this, it should help with the pain.” She looks at him expectantly, an unspoken agreement that he’s not going to question what kind of sludge is as viscous or green as this one.Maybe he should have questioned it. He takes the cup from her and throws his head back, drinking it down as fast as the sticky medicine will allow. It leaves a bitter sting on his tongue, drawing out an involuntary shudder.“I’m Lilou,” she introduces herself before Liam has even stopped scraping his tongue against the edge of his teeth, desperately trying to rid his mouth of the taste. Lilou makes no move to hide her amusement, leaning back in the chair by his bedside and crossing one leg over the other as she smiles. She’s wearing a nondescript cloak, a forgettable charcoal of thick wool. “Think you can tell me who you are?”For a moment, Liam has to rack his brain. “Liam,” he replies, then falters as his mind draws a blank, “I only remember Liam.”Lilou nods cryptically. “Alright, Just Liam. Can you tell me a little bit about how you ended up in those woods?”Flashes of half memories, barely more than conceptual and mostly built out of snippets of sensation, rush through him. The pain in his head mocks his effort to recollect further, dancing beyond anywhere he can soothe.He remembers enough.“I was cursed,” he says slowly, his brows furrowing as he tries to organize the fragments into a coherent timeline. His hands fall into his lap, rolling the rough fabric of the blanket between his fingertips anxiously. “I was hunting. Except that thing wasn’t a stag, it turns out.”Liam sees the strange stag at the tip of his arrow, bone white fur and eyes of molten gold. As his arrow flies, their eyes lock, amber hues steeling against his naive blue. He should have known that was a warning, not a challenge. A moment later, he sees crimson pooling around his arrows, giving its fur the first hint of saturation. As it falls, its eyes are still fixed on his own–and maybe Liam is going insane but he thinks it looks a lot like pity.“Then you must take my place,” Liam hears the voice in his head, a haunting whisper that he echoes out loud.His head falls, dark gray hair now a curtain around his face as though shrouding the sudden surge of grief swelling in his throat. Somehow, his hands are pristine as he looks down at them, despite that he fully expects to see the dark scarlet of his sins coating his fingers.“I couldn’t leave after that.” His voice is quieter now, lilting with barely controlled emotion. “It was like there was some kind of barrier past the woods. And I wasn’t myself anymore.”Liam feels the warmth of her hand gently covering his. And it wasn’t until her thin fingers curl around his palm that he realizes that his hands are trembling. He lifts his head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of her, expecting to see more pity.It’s not.There’s something to her expression that is too familiar, as though he has dug up her own skeletons to face. But she sits there holding onto his hand, like maybe it’s enough to anchor them both there in what feels like an ocean of regret.
“I’m sorry,” she says first, “It makes sense now. You killed the Dryad of that forest and were indeed cursed. I wondered what could place such heavy magic on you.”“But you broke the curse?” Liam replies hopefully. Surely if he’s sitting here now, everything has been resolved and she’s just going to send him on his merry way.His excitement visibly deflates when he sees the way her smile falls and how she begins to fidget with the tail of her braid. “Not exactly. No. That dryad used the last of its lifeforce to curse you. The fact I even got you to this point is somewhat miraculous.”Liam narrows turquoise eyes. “What point?”Lilou looks a little sheepish. At first she parts her lips to explain, but hesitates as though the words fall short. Instead, she begins to rummage around in a worn satchel on the table, half open with twigs of herbs spilling out of it. She pulls out a modest hand mirror, a copper frame that has patinated with age but otherwise well taken care of.“It’s better to just show you,” she explains, holding the mirror to his face.Liam is met with the visage of a man just a little older than himself. The salt and pepper streaks in his long, tousled hair betray his age. Two animal ears, vaguely lupine, flick on the top of his head as though alerted to danger. The alarm is matched by the way his eyes of cobalt widen in response.Except that is him, he thinks as he begins to tug at the soft, wolf ears and definitely feels something.“It’s kind of cute,” Lilou tries to reason with him, “And at least you’re no longer terrorizing the village every night.”“Excuse me?”She grimaces. “You’ve been a werewolf for at least a century. In the last few years, you’ve started leaving the woods and have not been exactly kind to the village here.”“But I’m good now. Other than the ears,” he says hurriedly, feeling a thump at his backside, “And…apparently a tail.”For a woman he’s never met, he finds himself learning a lot about how Lilou tries to hide her reactions. He watches the minute changes in her brows, the way her lips purse momentarily before recovering and he knows that the follow up will be less than pleasant.“Your curse appears to be getting worse. I can treat it for now, but I’m going to have to work out a more permanent solution. In the meantime, I have some temporary potions that should keep you under control,” she explains, her tone clinical despite the way she continues picking at her hair.Liam eyes the empty cup of bitter sludge. “I gotta keep drinking that stuff, huh?”He doesn’t like the way that makes her grin. “Oh no. That’s pain medicine. Your head must hurt from where I whacked you pretty good.”Reflexively, he rubs the back of his head where the pain still throbs. He throws a wounded expression her way, even though he imagines that it was very much out of self defense. Lilou giggles, and reaches out to brush her fingers against the back of his hand. It’s tender, but hesitant, as though he might transform at any moment back into a snarling beast. Yet there isn’t any fear in her bright green eyes as she looks at him.“I’ll figure something out. I promise I’ll stay long enough to break your curse, then I’ll need to move on,” she says, and there is something resolute to it. She’s earnest in her determination and Liam thinks for just a moment that he won’t mind spending more time with her if he gets to see the range of her expressions.“Thank you, I am in your debt. I hope not for too long,” Liam agrees.In time they would both learn that Lilou would keep that promise, albeit in an unplanned manner. As the seasons passed from humid summers into crisp falls, Liam not only enjoyed her company but felt a responsibility to make himself useful again. To not only atone for his actions towards the village, but to serve a community. How strange that only after losing everything was it that he found home.

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Art by @BeeweeCrover

Blackberries

Short Story for @BeeweeCrover

Bee isn’t lonely.The Crover Field is a magical place where the sun warms the lush grass in windy afternoons. The trees rustle with the breeze and send a wave through the wildflowers as it passes through. Bee only has to venture a few steps past the forests’ edge for abundant blackberry bushes, plump fruit hanging within picking distance even for a little clover fairy. On rainy days, Bee watches the wildlife splash in the puddles, they watch the way that rain droplets pool on the leaves until slipping down under its own weight.It’s idyllic. Everyday is fun. Bee has sunshine, fresh berries, and the serene sounds of the forest lulling them to sleep. They aren’t lonely because they have everything that they need here in the Crover Field.But there are times that Bee perches atop a white daisy and watches pairs of birds serenade each other. Or how the squirrels chase each other from branch to branch with playful bounces. And they can’t help but wonder sometimes in moments where the Crover Field is quiet.Are they the only one?The thought sits somewhere deep inside them, but they push it down, smothering it with the fun of each day. When the hint of that feeling creeps in, the little clover fairy runs through the four leaf clovers to forget about it. And it’s nothing that a treat can’t fix.On a crisp spring morning, Bee rummages through the foliage in hopes of finding said treat. They shimmy over tree roots. They slide down the stem of stalky tulips. They get only slightly detoured following a studious line of ants, marching from their hill to their valiant pursuit. Finally, they reach the towering blackberry bush, with vines holding bundles of ripe berries. Even in its shadow, the sun filters through the gaps in its leaves, creating a kind of kaleidoscope pattern on the grass below it.It’s upon realizing that the lowest stalk has been plucked clean of all but one berry that Bee has to consider that they have indulged in many treats.Bee uses both hands to pluck the berry from its home, clutching it to their chest but careful not to stain their dress with violet. The full stalks above them sway slightly from a passing gust. And they can only observe as a sparrow delights in its own ability to flit over and steal away with an unreachable berry.With some resignation, Bee takes their treat to a sunny spot among the clovers. The petals of a flower cushions their back as they settle in, cozy and potentially considering a nap. It’s mornings like these that Bee relishes in being able to fill their belly and curl themselves up in gentle blankets of wildflowers before getting back to exploring.Something catches their attention as they are about to chomp into their lone berry. A particularly plump clover bud wiggles a few inches away from where they are sitting, its flower still bound tight, yet to bloom. Bee pauses a moment, waiting for the reassurance that it was just the wind that shook the little flower. But another beat brings another wriggle from the bud. Curiosity peaks in the clover fairy like the sun peeking through the clouds, warm and bright.Bee approaches the bud, bringing the berry along in case a sneaky bird gets any ideas. If anything, the mysterious flower seems to vibrate in response. Bee is not cautious, there’s a hop to their step as they inspect the flower, bounding from side to side as though to catch a glimpse of some kind of hint as to what secrets it hides.“Hello?” Bee calls, and gently pokes a tiny finger at tightly bound greenery.They think that they hear something buzz in response.More importantly, the wiggling has intensified into ruffling movements, swaying the leaves back and forth. It starts at the tip of the bud, the petals begin to fan out as the flower blooms in a swift motion. What Bee thinks is another clover flower begins to flutter its wings. Then it blinks leafy green eyes and begins to float in uneven zig zags, getting used to its new, delicate wings.“Hello!” Bee marvels, their eyes widened at this new addition to the Crover Field. They had seen bumblebees before–but this one is different. This one looks just like a clover has come to life with the gentle rose hue of its fluffy body, a gradient to a brighter white face. Bee spins around, trying to compare their own cloveresque tail in excitement.It looks like them.And Bee is delighted. A bubbly laugh escapes their chest as the little clover bee gains more confidence with his wings, his flight getting steadier. Bee quickly notices that he is eying the blackberry with its skin glinting in the light, waiting to be bitten into. For a moment, their eyes meet and without a moment of hesitation, Bee holds out the berry.“Are you hungry?”The question is answered by the enthusiastic munches of the creature, scarfing down the blackberry with vigor right out of their arms. His hovering seems especially bouncy after finishing the berry, but there is no indication that he intends to fly off.“Blackberries are pretty good, huh?” Bee says, giggling as the clover bee wiggles in what they interpret to be agreement. To their surprise, the clover bee nuzzles up to them, perhaps a thank you for the meal and Bee notes how soft it feels against their skin. “Hey now, you’re welcome, you’re welcome!”Bee pets the happy creature, cooing at it as they find patches that make its wings buzz happily. “I got bad news for you though, buddy, that was the last one I can reach,” they sigh, giving their new friend a commiserating pat on the head. He tilts his head in response, turning his whole body by way of the curious head tilt.It flutters in front of the clover fairy for all of two seconds before it hits them.“Hey! You can fly!”The clover bee wiggles proudly.Bee also realizes that their new buddy has been awfully quiet other than the occasional buzz and hum. Which means he probably won’t be divulging his name any time soon. But Bee needs something to call him, they think, mouth pursing in thought. He’s like a bumblebee, but not quite. He’s more like a little clover flower that tumbles around.“Tumble!” Bee throws their arms out in excitement. “Can I call you that?”Tumble offers a melodic chirp, seemingly pleased.“Alright Tumble, with your help I think we can get a whole load of berries,” Bee tells him conspiratorially, and begins to motion for the clover bee to follow along through the patches of four leaf clovers. Without question, Tumble buzzes behind, happily bobbing through the air as they approach the blackberry bush that eluded Bee’s grasp earlier. They point up at the hanging berries, taunting those without wings or height. “All you gotta do is fly up there and shake the branch, okay?”Tumble, a literal and metaphorical baby, does not seem to follow. He does, however, begin insistently nudging Bee as though trying to knock them over. Communication is hard without a common language, but after a few moments of confusion, Bee understands.Or at least they hope they do, because this has the potential to offend their new friend.Bee carefully hops up onto Tumbles back and waits a moment to see if they are going to be thrown off. Instead, they feel the pleased purring of his buzzing resonating through their body. The next thing that they feel is the lack of stability as Tumble ascends off the ground, having to grasp onto his fluff for purchase. The world looks different from this height, and for a moment, Bee forgets entirely about the blackberry bush as they gaze out at the expanse of the Crover Field. They see the full scope of where the forest begins to creep at its edges, where the little stream winds through the grass like a snake. The flowers all move in time with the breeze as though a coordinated dance.From up here, everything seems to glow.Bee feels more than hears Tumble buzz again, having brought them face first with an unspoiled stalk of blackberries. Together, they pick the entire branch clean, precariously balancing a small pile on Tumble’s back and Bee can’t help but laugh as a couple fall to the ground. It’s an entire feast that would have lasted Bee several days. But with Tumble, the blackberry juice stains the grass and Bee’s hands as little purple mementos until the entire pile is gone, shared between them.“Hey we match!” Bee laughs, holding up a berry stained hand to compare with Tumble's now bright purple mouth. Whether Tumble understands or not, he chirps happily before snuggling up to their side. Bee hears the shared song of finches in the trees above them and looks fondly at their new friend, now sleeping off their meal.There is a different kind of sensation they feel the weight of this time, except it’s light and warm. They find that the heavy question that had lurked before now has left a vacancy–one that Tumble fits into quite nicely.

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The Lady Unsated

Vtuber lore for IllithidDumpsterQueen

The first thing that Illith remembers is the hunger.She’s ravenous and no matter how much she consumes, it’s never enough to make her feel whole. Her stomach aches, even as she tears through meats and foraged plants. Her origins are largely a mystery to herself and anything that falls victim to her hunger, but she knows the starvation. The way it blinds all other urges, how it clouds her mind until some amount of satiation clears it.Meat.Berries.Vegetables.Timber.Rocks.The heavier the better–she gobbles up anything at first. The woods she inhabits are a pantry for her to ravage, and with time she finds that her hunger takes her to the coastline not far from the edge of the woods.And oh, do fish taste so lovely.At the start, Illith is alone save for the familiar companion in the form of her own appetite. She is used to the gnawing sensation twisting in her stomach, and in return for its company she feeds it anything she can find. The tentacles that form her hair chew through their share, their ringed eyes almost like a friend.She tucks herself away in a cave near the coastline, damp and craggy, but only a few minutes from the water. In the morning, she can languidly ignore the hint of morning light from the mouth of the cave. The hunger moves her forward, demanding that she find something to consume with enough mass to anchor her sanity. Illith dives into the cold waves, the mouths of her tentacles snapping out to grab at anything that moves. After an hour of filling her belly with the ocean’s offerings, she wanders the forest. It’s aimless, driven only by the everpresent twinge of hunger and a bit of listlessness.Her routine continues, cycling through days and weeks of simply taking whatever she pleases from the area she has naturally claimed. She becomes familiar with the difference in flavor between the varieties of fish, the sweetness of berries in the sunshine, the hint of salt everything takes on from the ocean.However, she is not familiar with creatures that stand on two legs–much like herself. Illith knows the flavor of boar and rabbit, the texture of four legged prey. Yet here they are, one afternoon as she creeps through the forest, damp from the ocean. Short, stubby even, with varying skin tones that remind her of berries that have been crushed between her fingers. Their horns are unlike those of deer, they jut up from their skulls but stop at sharp points only a few inches high. There are two of the little creatures, now cowering in front of where she has perched herself on a log. One looks like the violet hue of a blueberry, one large eye centered on its face. The other a brighter crimson, with two eyes widened in fear–she wonders if it tastes like the raspberries it resembles.For the first time, Illith wonders what something is before she wonders how it tastes. But the hunger reminds her that she needs to fill her stomach, that they look like they would satiate her at least for a little longer.Her tentacles hover, ready to sink the razors of their teeth in once she pounces. Until one of the little creatures shrieks and thrusts its arm out at her. Naturally, its attack is wholly ineffective against her being that–oh. It’s holding something out to her, she realizes, golden eyes narrowing on the blackened thing skewered on the stick it's holding.Illith pauses, looking at the little creatures before back at their offering. It wouldn’t matter if she eats this first, she is only a breath away from having them as her next course. A tentacle rips the stick from the walking berry and she sinks her teeth into what she recognizes is meat–but something has been done to it. Its flavor is unlike anything she’s experienced from her own hunts and she is obsessed. This meat is salted like the ocean water, but tougher than the fresh kills.“What is this?” She demands through bites.The little creatures squeak out an explanation. It’s a wild deer, salted and roasted. They explain that they use something called a fire to cook their meat.Illith reasons with the gnawing urge to gobble down the creatures. They can provide her with more cooked food. And if they disappoint, then she can eat them instead. But patience would be rewarded with something tastier than her increasingly mundane routine.She doesn’t so much as convince them to take her back to her camp so much as directs them. Something they are all too eager, if not anxious, to comply with as the little creatures have learned that is the smartest move for their self preservation. They take her back to a campsite with crude shelters and so many more of the little creatures in even more varieties than just the two she initially found.At first, they offer her their cooked food and Illith eats everything they can find and more. She begins to refer to them as Gribbles for the strange noises that they make when they shuffle about, trying to prevent her ire. But as the food in their camp dwindles the first week, she sees that the Gribbles mumble amongst themselves more.Finally, the blueberry Gribble approaches her, the rest nervously watching. It explains that their camp is low on food–but not to worry, because they have found a solution. Blueberry tells her of a different camp, hoarding food and resources, and that with her power she could easily eat for months.Illith shrugs. The answer is simple: she is hungry.The first raid is so successful that Illith doesn’t leave the Gribble camp for weeks, letting them cook the meats and fish they liberated. The little monsters were lucky she didn’t eat them as well, Illith was so kind that she let them scatter as the Gribbles burned down their defenses and she pulverized anything between her and her next meal.This brings a hedonistic time where she and the Gribbles partner in their gluttony. She offers them protection and power, and the little creatures cook her meals and find her new targets to ravage. She idly watches them cut down the trees around them, building constructs and weapons. They raid human settlements, taking their technology to mass produce food that can barely keep up with her appetite–and ignore the plumes of black smoke that fill the air. The camp begins to smell of stringent oil that they dump into the rivers once it has been used.Sometimes she wanders from the Gribble camp, if anything just to get away from the grease and noise of the base. She’s well aware that it’s the culmination of her actions and leadership–and her carelessness in the face of consumption. But sometimes it’s overwhelming to her senses, it feels as though everything has been smothered in smog.Her stomach aches thinking about the simple flavors she enjoyed before. A feast of ocean fish, flavored only by the sea salt. Thinking about sinking her teeth into the springy flesh of freshly caught meat makes her run her tongue over sharp canines–she needed to taste it again.She makes her way back to her cave, stepping over the trash and waste now littering the beach. A consequence of the endless hunger and the conquests. Illith winces when her foot sinks into a pile of decaying rot, and she thinks back to the times she would lay out on the sand after diving through the ocean for fish.Is there even a spot clean enough now?The lull of the ocean waves call to her, and she dives once again. Once clear waters, teaming with schools of fish, are now murky and filled only with the byproduct of her own hedonism. She swims for what feels like hours, searching for unpolluted waters and the bounty she had enjoyed before. Everything is so dirty. Her palate longs for the clean taste of fresh fish–but something else in her is screaming for the simplicity of crystal waters and fresh air.Illith feels a different kind of hunger this time. This one is laced with grief and the cloying flavor of regret. How could one feel so heavy and so unsatisfied? She has gobbled up everything she can and yet she feels emptier than ever.Eventually, she rises to the surface and spots a boat rocking on the ocean waves. An old freighter has drifted off into the sea, probably forgotten or carelessly set adrift. She pulls herself up onto its deck, bristling at the rust seeping through the metal bars. The freighter is filled to the brim with trash, leaking into the ocean waters. But Illith has a moment of clarity as she watches the filth spread along the surface of the water.There is an endless meal here for her to satiate her hunger.She looks over the bow of the ship at the floating waste. These waters can be clear again, and the fish may return with time to their previous homes. That second hunger in her burns a little less as she thinks about undoing her mess, about eating the consequences of her actions instead of pillaging more in a fruitless attempt to make herself feel whole.Illith takes a breath, and then she dives back into the water for her next meal.

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Jordii's Intro

Lore for JordiiVT

It’s been two months since Jordii found himself in the dazzling city of Tokyo.He loves it–the bustling crowds, the delicious foods, the towering buildings. But even despite its charm, the catboy has to admit that the lightness of his wallet is less than ideal. Sometimes he thinks of his hometown and the comfort it offers. Familiarity in the form of a field of bright stars at night that the light pollution of larger cities obscure. But he’s determined, he wants to live in this modern city, steeped in history from its temples and monuments.As he watches the pedestrians, he sees an ocean of color in varying patterns of fabrics and different species interspersed into the mix. His own feline ears twitch with delight spotting a few kindred sets of cat ears. Hybrids of all kinds exist mundanely here, he observes, watching a pair of cream bunny ears bob alongside a wolfman, the only part of his companion tall enough to be seen from the crowd.Jordii doesn’t stand out here.It has become relatively common to see hybrids in most areas, including his hometown. But the occasional stares and hushed whispers lurk still.Not here, however.In Tokyo, Jordii feels like he can be himself without worrying about the blond fur of his tail attracting curious glances. He’s another soul working hard to break even, barely able to afford a small, but cute, apartment now after finding a job giving English tours. The memory of all of his belongings, packed tight into boxes and squeezed through the narrow doorway still makes his chest swell with pride. It had been a considerable step up from the hotel, but more importantly it’s a place to call his.And he enjoys the work–he takes to tourism with a natural charm and eagerness probably necessary to keep up with corralling groups of people from one stop to the next. It’s twofold. On one hand, he gets to see famous sites, recount tales of their history and relive the wonder he had felt first coming to the city. But his favorite part by far is meeting that myriad of people. Older couples on retirement trips to young children on a school outing; countless of them have animal features just like him. Watching their eyes light up with that familiar sparkle as he unfurls the secrets of these sites to them justifies the ache in his soles by the end of the day.On a particularly sunny day, Jordii leads a varied group towards a grandiose Buddhist temple, dwarfing everyone who approaches it. The group chatters behind him, especially as they stop to take a break. For a brief moment, he thinks he sees a fox tail poking out from one of the pillars, but it’s gone with the next blink of his eye. Blue. Jordii nearly rubs his eyes, wondering if he had just really seen an inky blue fox tail. His mismatched eyes follow clean lines of scarlet paint, the architecture leading into gentle slopes of black tile roofs. Statues line the walkway, notably humanoid but all wearing different masks of hares, foxes, cats, and numerous other creatures.He can’t help but overhear two teenagers at the front of his group, huddling over one of their phones as their guardian complains about their lack of interest in history. That happens–Jordii isn’t offended. But he is intrigued though. The sparkle in their eyes is there, directed towards their screen as they explain to their chaperone that their favorite streamer is live with a special event now.It’s not lost on Jordii that someone across the internet is able to capture their attention with a voraciousness he could only dream of on one of his tours. Or rather, can reach anyone at that time, not shackled by having to be physically present at all.For a moment, his tail sways in thought.But the next, he is back to collecting the group, his smile as warm as the sun on his skin..
.Summer nights bring a brief respite from the muggy heat, he’s found. Jordii steps out of his apartment building and breathes in the night air. Part of him is hungry for a late night snack, but there’s something else about just being able to stretch his legs and wander down the street that helps his thoughts align into something more coherent. So he meanders down to the nearest convenience store, taking in the quietness of the night.The convenience store is empty, save for a tired looking cashier. But its bright lights draw him in like a moth to a tantalizing, electric sort of flame. He grabs his snacks, exchanging the pleasantries with the cashier–and a nagging voice at the back of his mind wonders if he could break up that kind of monotony for them. To bring the same excitement from his tours to everyone, from store clerks to teenagers not paying as much attention as they should on their outing.The problem with tours is that they require a physical presence, for one. And secondly, they’re too niche. People have to seek them out. Jordii stretches his hand out in front of him as he walks back towards the apartment; he wants to reach more people than just this.Streaming certainly would solve both of those issues.A soft mewl breaks his train of thought. The source at his feet looks expectantly at him in the form of a black cat, padding along the street. Much like himself, he thinks, crouching down to be more level with her.“Well, hello there,” he says to her, a gentleness to his voice as he tentatively reaches out to see if she will accept a head scritch. The gesture is met with a headbutt of approval, and he laughs a little. The glow of the streetlamps gives her fur an almost violet sheen. “Would you watch me stream?” He asks playfully, not expecting an answer from said cat but somewhat delighted when she purrs against his hand.“I don’t have any of the stuff for it yet,” he sighs.The violet kitty bumps the back of his hand a little more intentionally.Another bubble of laughter escapes him, as though understanding the implicit message there. Don’t be silly.The cat, satisfied with the affection that she has received along her nightly jaunt of the streets, continues on down the street as casually as she arrived.Jordii picks himself up, bag in hand, and waves at the retreating cat. He wonders if he will see her again, and thinks back to the fleeting berry hued tail hiding at the temple. There are so many strange, wonderful people he wants to meet. He can’t see the same stars that he did back home, but the lights of the city have become beautiful in their own way. There’s a lot of research to do, a lot of equipment to buy, but fear that his night sky won’t look the same hasn’t stopped him before. Each step forward has been unfamiliar, but brought him these new sights and people.So with a new resolve, Jordii takes another step.

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The Doll Demon's Lore

Lore Preview for Eris Allegri

At first, there is Eris.She puts on a riveting show for crowds of people under her creator’s watchful eye. Her artificial body never tires, even after hours of tireless performances for her audience–and her smile never wavers. That grin spreads across her face, fueled by the cheers and ever fixated gazes. She laughs, she taunts, and the people adore her. Eris draws in the masses of people like attracting insects into a spider’s carefully crafted web. Her performances overflow the small streets that Elysia starts her on.And her creator’s coin purse grows all the heavier.Eris doesn’t really think about why she has been made, other than to soak in the praise and adoration of crowds. Elysia may be the one who is pocketing their profits, but the addictive cheers and the glare of the spotlight is enough for her.Until the spotlight divides, splitting off to illuminate two others not quite like Eris, but too eerily similar.Where there had been just Eris and her creator before, there is now Eris and her sisters. Despite the fact their shows now take place in a larger venue, a colorful array of striped canvas forming a circus tent, it feels more stifling than ever. Enyo walks with an air of collected coolness, but Eris wishes she would maintain her distance rather than offering her this all too genuine praise. And then there is Kali, this tiny fluff ball of a doll who keeps attaching herself to Eris’ hip, her wide eyes shining in adoration.However, Elysia, pleased with her new work, has left her here with these dolls and a new routine. Somehow, the spotlight is dimmer than before.

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