There is a tale I’ve heard told about an ancient king. Glendower, the Raven King. He sleeps in the forest somewhere, or so I’ve heard. Waiting for the waker—waiting to join us, the living, once again. Somewhere, Glendower sleeps, dreaming of the day he will be woken. Eager to walk through his lands once again.
Eager to grant the waker a wish.
That’s the tale I’ve heard told.
The tale of The Raven King.
A magical king. A wish-granter. A sleeper whose quiet breaths are full of life.
I’ve heard the tale of that king. Heard it several times, actually.
There’s more to the story than what there appears.
You see, I believe that something isn’t adding up.
There are… things… that can’t be explained by that tale.
Things that we, the listeners, have screwed up.
Things that we got wrong. Continue reading “King of Crows”
Fog coated the ground, oozing from some unseen place. Skirting along our feet as it snaked its way over the dead, dry ground. Souring the earth further with its muggy breath, leaving a chill to nip at my spine as leisurely as it pleased.
I hated it.
Honestly, I did.
You could hear something in the air. Whispering to you. Or maybe it was something yelling. Screaming. I couldn’t be sure. It was just a whimper of a sound, nothing more. Skating by my ear so quickly, so quietly, that I couldn’t be sure what it was.
It sounded pained.
The trees here were decrepit. Creepy. All gnarled, knobby branches. Naked and lifeless. Dragging their twigs across the air like tiny, desperate, old hands. Clawing their way out of the bark—
It was eerie.
Very eerie, indeed.
At my remark, The Master scoffed. His glowing purple eyes were hard to decipher usually, but, in that moment, I saw something clearly within them.
“If you find this eerie, you’re going to want to stop now. There isn’t a single thing about what I do that isn’t eerie, creepy, or grotesque. You might as well quit while you’re ahead.”
Instead, I straightened my shoulders. Ignored the voices. Got a firmer grip on the bag I carried.
And followed The Master into The Grave. Continue reading “Faint of Heart”
When the night waned, and the moon was full, I heard it calling on the wind.
I heard the wolf song.
Old and enchanted. Lilting and intoning. Bidding me to run, to hide, to go forth. Bidding that I get up, that I not be still, that I look.
That I find.
Follow the hollow in the forest’s mound,
Follow it deep, deep underground.
Wolves tell the tales of the things hiding in the dark,
Wolves tell because others cannot, death to the lark.
Death to the lark.
Continue reading “Wolf Song”
It was a leaf.
One singular leaf.
And it fell.
Speaking only in a whisper as it went. Its last cry carried on the wind that took it from its place, its home. It was just the one leaf, falling through the breeze. Calling to me, warning me, as it did.
He is not the same.
That’s what the leaf said.
He is not who you think him to be.
Was the echo the wind gave. Words that spoke of fall, of seasons changing. Words that carried truth to them. A resounding, hollow ring.
I will tell you something that few know:
A forest on the verge of death can only speak truth. It has been that way since always. Since forever. An ancient law, as old and bright as the sun. Which is how I knew:
He was not who I thought he was. Continue reading “Cold Comes the Lie”
They didn’t speak of him. Not at all.
The king with the white mane.
A notch hanging off his ear.
Ridges gouged around his eyes.
He sat in the corner, silently. Watchfully. His tail swishing mindfully as the others ignored him. Steering clear of him, because of his odd color. His strange scars. Or, maybe, because of the way he seemed quiet. Daunting.
He was an anomaly, honestly. Something to marvel. To ponder. Something to observe, take in, and marvel.
And yet, there he was.
There, in the corner—away from all the others—he sat. Just the tiniest bit of sunlight shrinking in his eye.
The white lion. Continue reading “Waiting For Lions”
I was on a ship.
And it wasn’t mine.
I was on a ship, stuck in a pond, forced to watch the sun dip behind the ocean, all while stuck on this ship that wasn’t mine, in a pond that was unfamiliar to me, in a land that I only knew from a dream long ago.
I was stuck on this ship.
In this pond.
Watching the sun set over the horizon. Promising stars and guidance on the other side of the skyline. Out there, in the wild of the ocean, I could sail. Guided by thousands of burning lights.
I was stuck.
On this ship that wasn’t mine.
In this infinitesimally small pond.
Int his land that was completely foreign to me.
No, this ship, and this pond, and this land… it definitely wasn’t mine.
It was his. Continue reading “Breaking From The Pond”
Curses are never easy to bear.
I hope you know that.
Continue reading “A Stray”
The thing I liked about snow was:
It was tricky.
Very, very tricky.
It cascades over the landscapes. Washes it to look clean. Gives it a sparkling, new feeling those first few days that it sits. For as long as it remains untainted by dirt, it looks pure. White.
Like the world has been given a fresh start.
If you step in the snow, you find that that’s not true.
It’s not true at all. Continue reading “Beneath the Snow”
It was on fire.
In an instant, the smoke alarm was protesting. Yelling at me from above. Judging, like a tiny, angry, petty god. Screeching before I could fix my mistake. Refusing me a chance to right my wrong.
Waking my mentor.
Disheveled, he burst through the door—his bluish white hair all askew, and his beard half-smushed from sleep—his eyes going wide when he saw the scene before him. When he saw the flames, and smoke, and chagrined look on my face.
“Damnit Beatrice, I told you: no summoning fire-sprits! And definitely not in the house!”
“Yes sir,” I intoned, saddened as he grabbed the fire extinguisher.
And, with one blast of continuous white fog, he put the fire out.
Dispelling the spirit. Continue reading “Ghost Fire”
I cleave the building.
Split it in two.
It crumbles, the giant skyscraper. Creaking like an ancient door, cracking like lightning. All of its stories falling, echoing thunder. The building roars as it falls, and people run from it. Completely terrified.
But I don’t stop.
I don’t stop.
I throw another bolt of lightning. Shake the earth with a kick. Yell, and the foundations all shake.
I am not done destroying, not yet.
I won’t be done for quite some time.
This must all come crashing down, you see. These terrors and raging beasts. The creatures that carve out destruction, that lay waste to each other and the beasts of this earth.
I won’t stop until they’re all gone.
Until all this ends.
Until there is nothing but a clean slate left.
This all must end. Continue reading “Beginning”