Monday, October 31, 2016

Halloween Sweet and Scary Challenge

Happy Halloween! I've already posted one story at the Cauldron at in response to Rian Durant's holiday challenge. To see that challenge, along with her amazing Halloween picture, go to

It's not only All Hallow's Eve, though. It's the Eve of NaNoWriMo, where I return to the Shadow Forest for most of the month. It's where I buckle down and write the next draft of Leiwell, Danyell, and Dayell's adventures in 'A Godling for Your Thoughts?' Leiwell is going to have more of a voice in this novel than he did in 'The Hand and the Eye of the Tower' or 'Stealing Myself From Shadows'. This seemed as good a time as any for him to find that voice. 

He was cold and alone. He'd lost his way. Now, he was a shivering child, standing in the middle of the road. He wasn't sure who he was, or where he belonged. All he had was the path. It wound through the trees, a moonlit river beneath his feet. Only it wasn't the moon that illuminated his way. The light came from him. It glowed through his chest and threadbare clothing, bringing everything around him into focus. 

Now he wanted to see everything. Creatures moved between the branches, drawn to his light. They, too, were given form and purpose by his illumination, for what was a shadow without light? In other places, a shadow couldn't hurt you. It was just a shade, cast by something real. 

Not here. Never here. In this place, they gathered and grew stronger every time they merged with each other. Or devoured each other. They slithered down the trees, dangled from the branches, and called to him. Each dark creature did its best to lure him off the path. 

"Don't be afraid," they'd murmur. They'd reach for his thin face. "Come to us." They'd try to touch his cheek. "Let us hold you in our arms, embrace your light." They'd whisper in his delicate ears, which savoured any welcoming sound. Anything which might need him. "Once you're ours, it won't matter who you were, or where you come from." They beckoned him with sleek, dark fingers. Each digit was as bony as a twig. "You'll be a part of us."

None of the shadows' promises were lies. Oh, but the boy could sense the hungry eagerness, with which they sniffed in his direction. They grew sharper, more real with his attention. He walked resolutely down the path. He tried not to listen. He didn't have much, but he wanted to hold onto what little he had, until he met the right person. The one he'd give all of himself to. 

It was hard figuring out who that was. Especially when every drifting shade carried a little bit of person. None of the shadows were above using that person to lure him off the path.

Sometimes, they succeeded. 

First, there was the man with the silvery white hair. The boy could sense this man was like him in many ways. The man curved his lips in an inviting smile, just for him. It was a challenge to the boy's courage and a promise to protect him at the same time.

The boy let the man pick him up and lift him off the forest path. Perhaps he should have resisted, but the man's arms were so warm. Maybe the warmth was stolen, but the boy didn't care, when the man pressed his cheek against his. 

"I'm going to give you a name, my beauty," the man said. "You are Leiwell, now." He kissed the boy's lips. The sensation sent a shiver through Leiwell's small frame. Ah, but this man wasn't just taking. He'd given Leiwell a kiss and a name. He'd offered the boy a little warmth. Was it so wrong for Leiwell to leave a part of himself with the man in the woods? Even when the rest of him was struggling to find the path again?

The man didn't want to let him go. However, he released Leiwell from his embrace. 

"I'll find you, again," the man vowed. "You'll return to me, for you're mine, now. Always."

Leiwell smiled and shuddered at the same time. He took a deep breath and looked for the path. 

It was right there, waiting beneath his feet. It led away from the man, so he started walking. It was true that the man owned part of him, now. However, he wasn't the one Leiwell was going to give everything to. 

A lady with long, golden hair and luminous eyes waited in the middle of the path. The boy blinked at the sight of her violet blue eyes, shimmering with silver light. Was she the one?

He hesitated long enough for the lady to sweep him into an embrace of mingled softness and sweetness. She carried him away from the path, from everything he'd ever knew, until she reached another woman. 

The second woman opened her arms. They were thick and soft, even though her face was wrinkled and rough. The first woman left Leiwell in the second woman's arms. Never had he felt anything more solid or comforting than her embrace. He held onto her hand, when she released him. He let her lead him to a door. It opened into a world of sunlight, grass, and plants. Everything there was real. 

His companion, Map, told Leiwell he was now her son, although he was not to call her Mother. She taught him to cook, to garden, and to keep her small cottage clean. You had to do things in Map's world. You couldn't just wish them to change. You also had to care for things, or eventually they'd decay. 

Leiwell learned how to pull out an onion, when it was ripe and ready to come out of the ground. He learned how to chop that same onion and add it to a stew. He came to cherish the rough sound of the woman's voice, who taught him these things. She was not the one, though, he was going to give everything to. 

Eventually, Leiwell closed his eyes to a world of real things. He climbed up a hill to find a ruined tower. Inside its crumbling walls, a staircase awaited him. It led not up, but down. He crept down the rough steps, while his desire illuminated his face and hands. The same desire drew him to the Door. It might look like nothing, but a moth eaten tapestry, but Leiwell walked through it. He let go of Map's world. The dark forest awaited him, along with the shining, moonlit path. 

Leiwell started walking it, once more. He walked and walked, until the trees gave way to a clearing. A pool of fire spread across the path, blocking his way. Flames of red, pink, orange, and a strange violet hue leaped above the water. They formed a halo around the egg, resting on the pond's shore. 

Shadows lingered on every side of the banks, but Leiwell paid them no mind. A soft, sweet cry wafted from the egg. It tugged at his heart, drew him closer.

He reached out to lay his hand on the egg. Through its shell, he could sense tiny fingers reaching out for him. Two pairs of tiny fingers. 

Leiwell had finally found the ones he'd give everything. 

Halloween Sweet and Scary Challenge

Well, that's depressing. I don't know what my Halloween post is so dark. :( I'm going to try posting it again. See the later post above to read this story.


Saturday, October 29, 2016

Saturday Snippet

It's Rainbow Snippets time! This blog is being blocked by Facebook, but it still wants to play. :) This Cauldron of Eternal Inspiration will offer its own six sentences of GLBT fiction for anyone who happens to pass by. :)

I'm getting ready for @NaNoWriMo, to emerge myself in the next rough draft of 'Tales of the Navel/The Shadow Forest'. This series is all inspired by Tarot card imagery. 'The Hand and the Eye of the Tower' and 'Stealing Myself From Shadows', my first two books used the Greater Trumps. The next book, 'A Godling for Your Thoughts' uses the pentacles/coins suit. I hope to eventually write books, which use swords/spades, wands/clubs, and cups/hearts as the sources of inspiration for the stories and conflicts within the pages.

Today, I thought I'd offer a teaser from the very first book in the series, 'The Hand and the Eye of the Tower'.

“The tower has eyes,” Dayell muttered, almost under his breath. Danyell snuck a glance back at his brother. Dayell was trembling, his hands clenched into fists. The silver light in his eyes had a threatening glow. “It’s watching us. Something has woken up in the stones.”

Friday, October 28, 2016

Promo Friday

It's Promotional Friday! In honor of the day, I thought I'd share a snippet from my m/m mythical WIP, 'Aissa and Polyxena'.

“The lady seems to have captured herself a lost princeling, while wandering on this island,” Patrocles said. It was hard not to flinch, at the way his narrow eyes examined me. Their hungry jade shifted to a poisonous brightness. 

“He calls himself ‘Polyxena’,” Deidamia said, as she jerked her head in my direction.

This provoked a roar of bawdy laughter from the big brute. Patrocles smiled, but there was no humor in the curl of his lips. The bearded pedlar did not laugh. He simply stared at me, as if I were a riddle he was trying to comprehend. 

“You’re Trojan, aren’t you?” the bearded man asked, frowning. “From your bearing and manner, I’d say a high born Trojan at that.”

I tensed at this, really wishing I had my sword. Whoever this pedlar was, he was the truly dangerous one in the room. 

“What if he is?” Aissa asked. She raised her head, almost challengingly at the beared man. “Scyros has no quarrel with Troy, even if all of Helen’s former suitors do.”

“I see you’ve heard of the suitors’ promise,” Patrocles said, as his eyes roamed over Aissa. I found myself taking a step forward, in front of Aissa, reaching for a sword, which wasn’t there. Again. 

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Paula's Prompt

My second response to the amazing PTWyant's prompt! To see it, go to I decided this one should tie with 'A Godling for Your Thoughts?' ,  my NaNoWriMo project. I'm doing as much advance preparation as I can. :)

Ashleigh faced the dark opening of the tower. Yes, it was a Door, like the many Doors she’d opened to other worlds. 

Only this Door was already open. It waited in hungry anticipation for dreams to offer themselves to the darkness within. 

Ashleigh shivered. The rock Danyell had given her grew warm. It weighed heavy with her bodice. Only it was moving. It slithered between her breasts, only to pop a triangular head out. 

Ashleigh stared at it, feeling a pain well up in her breast, where the rock had bitten her. Only it wasn’t a rock. 

“You bit me, you stupid snake,” she managed to say. Her limbs felt numb, completely devoid of strength. 

The serpent flicked its, no her forked tongue unrepentedly at Ashleigh. She regarded her with violet blue eyes very like Ashleigh’s alone.

Well, that’s odd, Ashleigh thought, before losing consciousness. 

Monday, October 24, 2016

NaNoWriMo Teaser

It's almost time for #NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month! I've got their new notebook, which you can see in the picture above. :)

In anticipation of my project, I thought I'd post a little teaser from 'A Godling for Your Thoughts?', my upcoming NaNoWriMo project. 'A Godling for Your Thoughts?' is the sequel to 'The Hand and the Eye of the Tower' and 'Stealing Myself From Shadows'. ('Stealing Myself From Shadows' was last year's NaNoWriMo project, which is undergoing revision. 'The Hand and the Eye of the Tower' is a novel, which is finished, yet under revision. I really need a National Novel Revisions Month! :))

“A godling for your thoughts?” The question was a low tease, as the man pulled the tiny icon out from behind the boy’s ear. It was a trick, an illusion. Nothing, but a coin laid in the man’s hand. The boy still giggled at the sight of it.

The man smiled, seeming to bask in the boy’s laughter. His multicolored eyes, however, were troubled. “Seriously, Leiwell, what’s the matter?”

“Seriously?” The boy looked up at the sunlight shining through the trees overhead, down at the mossy log he was sitting on, before they settled upon the man, standing over him. “My thoughts don’t matter.”

“If that were true, this place wouldn’t exist.” The man nodded at their surroundings. Trees surrounded the man and the boy, as the breeze tickled and whispered in their ears. “I wouldn’t exist.”

The shadows gathered around the man, but they weren’t threatening. If anything, they emphasized the beauty of his face. 

“I miss this.” The boy sighed, as he drank in the sight of his lord within his domain. “I never wanted to be a part of the real world. It’s a harsh, ugly place, filled with hatred.”

Noises were being carried on the wind. The noise of people moving, talking, of a hammer striking wood. Houses were being built, as a village was being reborn. All the things that were taking place back in the real world. 

“Do you remember when I showed you the world?” The man sat down on the log, beside the boy. “You were wide eyed with wonder at the time.”

“As my brothers are, now.” Leiwell shuddered. “I don’t want them to lose that wonder.”

“And what about you?” The man’s hand reached out for the boy’s. “Where is your wonder, now, Leiwell? Or are you simply afraid?” He leaned a little closer. As always, his presence had a weight and comfort, but Leiwell shivered. It was dangerous. It had always been dangerous.

“Are you afraid of the villagers?” the man whispered in his ear. “Or me?”

“Both,” Leiwell admitted. The shudder ran through his body, threatening to wake him up. For Leiwell knew he was dreaming. There were things he could only admit in a dream. “I don’t know who these people are, but they’re building their homes next to mine.” He turned to face his lord, to look him squarely in the eye. “I don’t know who you are, either.”

“Allow me to offer you a gift, in exchange for your truth,” the lord said. His lips gently brushed Leiwell’s ear. There was a slight weight in Leiwell’s hand, of something small, cool, and hard. “My name is…”

“…Dyvian,” Leiwell gasped, as he woke up, feeling blankets around him. He was sitting in his new bed, the one his mother had build for him. Ashleigh was proving to be surprisingly handy at carpentry. A nook of the living room had become his bedroom. It was directly below the trap door, leading to his brothers’ attic.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Saturday Snippet

This poor little blog can no longer participate in Rainbow Snippets, due to being blocked on Facebook. :) However, it's offering six sentences of GLBT fiction, too, for anyone who's interesting. Here's a little teaser from 'Aissa and Polyxena', my m/m mythical tale of cross-dressing. It picks up right where I left off at

What a strange display of femininity, to wear skirts, unaccompanied by bangles or jewels! Not that he needed them. Not with those eyes. They were framed by the longest golden eyelashes I’d ever seen. His full, pouting mouth were slack with wonder, as he opened his arms to catch me. 

I tumbled into his embrace, knocking both of us to the ground.

Friday, October 21, 2016

'Aissa and Polyxena' Snippet

It's Promotional Friday! I've been working hard on 'Aissa and Polyxena', so I thought I'd share a little snippet here. This picks up exactly where I left off on K.S. Trenten's Author Page, which I can't post the link to here, because of the block. Both links will appear @rhodrymavelyne on Twitter, so look for them there. :)

“Who is he?” The question escaped from me in a muffled gasp, even as I tried to tear myself away from that burning gaze. No one had ever looked at me in such a fashion, not even Cressida. He was so young, though, as young as my brother, Paris. His cheeks bloomed with a super abundance of health. His yellow curls glistened with its lustre, as they clung to the nape as his neck. I stared at that nape, wondering what it would be like to kiss it. 

“Go to Scyros and find out,” the boy said, as he withdrew his cup, along with the vision of the extraordinary young man. The faintest gleam touched one of his tears, like the first gentle ray of the coming dawn. “Perhaps your beauty can save our city, even as Helen’s has doomed it.”

Saturday, October 15, 2016

Saturday Snippets

Here's another taste from 'On the Other Side of the Mask', right where I left off yesterday. :)

“Byron and Shelley,” the judge said, with the repressed disapproval of one who has just heard an obscenity, but is powerless to correct it. “May you live up to the magic contained within those names.”

It was a curse, as much as a blessing. The first boy frowned, as if pondering the dark consequences of their choice of names. However, the gentle smile of his companion urged him out of a brood, as the two walked out of the court into their new lives. 

Friday, October 14, 2016

'On the Other Side of the Mask' Snippet

I submitted a much shorter version of this story to Lethe Press's 'Gents' anthology back in April. I got the sweetest rejection letter I've ever gotten from the anthologist, saying he was really torn about to accepting it or not. He encouraged me to write an expanded version of 'On the Other Side of the Mask' for Lethe Press's general submissions.

I finished a longer version in July, when I realized my story was still too short. I started expanding again, before I got distracted by working on 'Aissa and Polyxena' and 'Seven Tricks'. However, I haven't forgotten this novel. I've got every intention of finishing it. :)

Here's a little teaser from this m/m surreal steampunk WIP, which has more than a touch of gothic horror about it. The fact that I've got characters named Byron, Shelley, Lord Ruthvyn, Olympia, and Nathaniel only adds to this ambience.

Poems can shape the world, just as poets shape it with their thoughts and ideas. Their legacy causes ripples across realities, inspiring the inhabitants of other worlds. Their very names invoke power. 

Which was why two, shivering boys brought before the court, before they were consigned to the church’s grasp called upon them. The court warden looked down upon them from her lofty dais, only to scowl upon her wards. 

“Your bodies and souls belong to the temple,” she said, as she turned her scowl from their small faces to their tiny, clapsed hands. Affection had no place in court, or in church, unless it was given to the Goddess. “The only thing, which belongs to you is your name.” She rose from her seat, the judgment of heaven resting upon her powdered head. “What name will you choose?”

The first boy, a sleek, dark haired lad, with bluish veins standing out from his small hands, raised his head with the pride of an aristocrat.

“Byron, Your Honor,” he said, in a clear, ringing voice, which carried throughout the room. 

Byron. The name send a ripple through the room, particularly through Paradise’s unclaimed children, gathered for their naming. It was the only choice most of them would ever have, deciding on a name. Your name was the essence of your being. It set the path you’d follow in Paradise. 

The second boy shot him a surprised look, which set his strawberry blonde curls to trembling. A tiny smile touched his lips, as he looked, not at the judge, but at his companion.

“Shelley, Your Honor,” the second boy said, as he exchanged a secret glance with Byron, who squeezed his hand tighter.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Published Works

Today, I thought I'd post a couple of snippets, along with a little information about my published works for visitors. This Cauldron is going to to feature the f/f fantasy fairytales. :)

First, there is 'Fairest'. It's a combination of Sleeping Beauty and Snow White, with a little bit of Cinderella thrown in. Only there's no prince. The princess falls in love with the witch who cursed her, who was once a princess herself. Here's a little teaser from its pages.

My first memory was of her dark eyes. They captured all the colors of my infant universe, even as they threatened to swallow me. Her eyes should have been terrifying, but they were not.
Her blood red lips moved, shaping words I could not recall. My parents remembered them only too well, as did everyone else who’d gathered at the castle for my christening.

“I, too, have a gift for this child. She shall grow up, with all the beauty and promise of the dawn, but her sun will never rise.”

Second, there is 'At Her Service', which is all Cinderella with a gender bending twist. Here's an teaser from its pages. 

I’d kneel, right before my mistress’ feet. I didn’t dare look at her face, but I could stare at her ankles as long as I wished. They were bony, but the shape of the protruding bone was exquisite. Every time I looked at it, I wanted to run my fingers over it.

The glass slipper was too small for her foot. I had to work her flesh into the shoe. It’s an art I’ve managed to perfect, over the years. Stroking the arch of her foot, I slide her toes into the slipper. The flesh shivers at my touch, so it wiggles its way into the shoe’s interior. Once it’s there, I tickle her heel, so it quivers its way into the back of the slipper.

It’s a service no other maid can provide. I’m the only one capable of getting those glass slippers on my mistress’ feet. It’s why she keeps me around, even though I’m a terrible servant.

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Paula's Prompts

Here's a response to another prompt from the amazing @PTWyant! To see her actual prompt, go to It's the first sentence of this story. :)

You are alone in the house and you feel something grab your ankle. Her icy fingers weren’t entirely unexpected. After all, you’re one of the few people who can still see with Emma, now that she’s dead. 

“I thought your spirit was bound to the Angry Roast,” you say, referring to what had been Emma Soames’ favorite coffee house, when she was alive. You look down at her pale hand, which has managed to solidify itself around your foot. You can still see your scuffed trainer through it. 

“Esther, you’ve spoken to me,” she whispers. “By acknowledging me, you’ve bound your soul to mine.” Her voice has always been a bit breathy, even when she was alive. It used to send shivers down your spine for an entirely different reason. “Thus, I can leave the Angry Roast and come to you, if only for a few minutes.”

“Why?” you ask. You don’t fool yourself for one moment that Emma has come to see you. All those times you sat in the Angry Roast, trying to capture her long, auburn tresses, which escaped from her mashed back beret, her thin arms reaching out of her baggy sweaters, she’d never noticed you. She’d been too wrapped up in her own notebooks, filled with fictional characters, when she wasn’t reading the battered, abandoned Penguin classics in the Angry Roast. She had always been far more interested in dead poets than you. 

On the other hand, she had started to see you, after her body had been discovered in the alley outside. When she’d tried to catch someone’s eye, anyone eye in the Angry Roast, only to realize you were the only one who could see her. Now, she needed someone to pick up her books of Byron, Shelley, Rosetti, and Baudelaire, to open them, so she could read them. Opening books yourself when you were a ghost was a tricky business. Not to mention the patrons of the Angry Roast tended to be started by the sight of books floating around by themselves. 

“I need your help, Esther,” she says in her breathless manner, which truly is breathless now. All right, maybe it’s not just the cold that makes you tremble, even now that she’s dead. “Soul collectors have appeared in the Angry Roast. They’re after me.”

Someone knocks on your front door, startling Emma into dematerializing. Her hand doesn’t let go of your ankle, it vanishes. 

“It’s them!” she whispered into your ear, chilling your flesh. “Please, Esther, ignore them!”

“We need to get rid of them,” you say. You turn towards the door, wincing inwardly at your use of the word ‘we’. Once more, Emma has managed to make her business your business. 

You walk across your apartment, towards your door. Another knock raps sharply on its wooden surface, demanding your attention. 

You glance through your peephole. Two men and one woman stand outside. All of them are wearing suits. All of them are carrying bibles. 

You grin to yourself. Of course. They’re soul collectors. There’s many ways of collecting. 

You open the door. 

The two men smile at you. The woman looks at you with cold eyes.

You don’t say hello. You don’t ask if you can help them with anything. You don’t offer them anything. You cross your arms and wait for them to make the first move. 

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” one of the man says. He offers his bible to you. “We’d like to talk to you about the Lord.”

He doesn’t waste time, you think with some amusement. Hasn’t he ever heard of foreplay? 

“Why don’t you invite us in, so we can?” the woman asks. The request is more of a command. She pushes her way forward, trying to elbow her way past you, into your home. 

Soul collectors they might be. Good salespeople they are not. 

“No,” you say. You block the woman’s way into your apartment. 

“What was that?” the woman asks. Something glints within her eyes with hungry malice. She raises a hand, but she doesn’t touch you. She can’t. You haven’t given her anything to hold over you. 

“No, you may not come in,” you say. You look from the woman to each of the men. “I don’t want to talk to you. You’re not welcome here. Go away.”

You take a step back and slam the door. 

They’ll return, of course. Soul collectors always do. Plus, they’re hunting Emma. However, you’ve raised a barrier between them and yourself with your will. This is your home, where you’ve drank coffee, painted, and rolled dice with your friends. The soul collectors aren’t getting in here that easily. 

Monday, October 10, 2016

Me Me Me Monday

It's 'Me Me Me Monday, so I thought I'd post a series of teasers from my published works. :)

First, here's my Amazon Author Page at

Next, here's a teaser from 'Fairest'.

My first memory was of her dark eyes. They captured all the colors of my infant universe, even as they threatened to swallow me. Her eyes should have been terrifying, but they were not.

Third, here's a teaser from 'A Symposium in Space'. 

“Phaedra!” Sokrat scolded. She had remarkable presence of mind, considering the Timea was dodging energy blasts. “We’re going to miss Agathea’s symposium, along with her teleportation nexus.”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” I growled. I pulled on the shift stick to avoid another orange beam. They were stun rays, not killing blasts. I didn’t think the pirate queen, Alkibiadea, would blow us to bits. She wanted Sokrat alive. “Why is Alkibiadea firing upon us? I thought she loved you!”

Fourth, here's a teaser from 'At Her Service'.

Ever since I could remember, my life revolved around my mistress. I did my desperate best to serve her, even though I wasn’t very good at it.

“Fetch me my slippers,” she’d say, waving a slender hand idly in the direction of the closet. She’d be busy reading a leather bound book she’d managed to swindle from a stuffy order of monks, or carefully going over the household accounts. My mistress would never entrust her money to any of the servants.

Eager to please, I’d open the closet. A cascade of all kinds of slippers, scarves, and gowns would come pouring out of the wardrobe, knocking me to the ground.

The noise would distract my mistress enough to look up. I knew better than to try and meet her gaze, though the temptation was always there, along with the fear. 

Saturday, October 8, 2016

Saturday Snippet

It was a hard decision, deciding what to post for Rainbow Snippets. I decided to share a sample from 'Seven Tricks', which I've just sent off for submission. However, I'm working on another story, 'Aissa and Polyxena'. It's my m/m mythical tale of cross dressing, a love affair between Troile, a young prince of Troy and Achille, the mightiest of the Achaens. Here's a sample below...

“Careful,” Achille warned. “She doesn’t know you, yet. She can be quite overprotective towards me. She even tried to sink Patrocles’ ship, when he sailed with me away from Scyros.”

“She?” I asked with unease. Was I about to meet another jealous woman, like Deidara? Only I had a feeling this lady, whomever she was, would be more formidable. Who else would brave these rocks, except one with a sure foot and a wild heart? She’d need to be someone very akin to Achille himself

I was more correct in my estimation than I guessed. 

A patch on the water’s surface glowed with an eerie blue green luminescence, which I thought was some strange variety of seaweed. Otherwise, Poseidon was playing some kind of erotic games right beneath the water. 

A woman’s head rose beneath the lapping waves. I realized the bright light came from her luminous tresses, which floated around her. 

“My mother,” Achille half chanted, half sung. I was struck by the musical quality of his voice, its breathy clarity. “The Goddess Thetis."

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Fantasy, fairy tale, and f/f

Did you enjoy 'Fairest'? Because I've got another f/f fantasy fairy tale coming out next year. Look for 'At Her Service' by K.S. Trenten!

Here's a little teaser from its pages...

I’d kneel, right before my mistress’ feet. I didn’t dare look at her face, but I could stare at her ankles as long as I wished. They were bony, but the shape of the protruding bone was exquisite. Every time I looked at it, I wanted to run my fingers over it.

The glass slipper was too small for her foot. I had to work her flesh into the shoe. It’s an art I’ve managed to perfect, over the years. Stroking the arch of her foot, I slide her toes into the slipper. The flesh shivers at my touch, so it wiggles its way into the shoe’s interior. Once it’s there, I tickle her heel, so it quivers its way into the back of the slipper.

It’s a service no other maid can provide. I’m the only one capable of getting those glass slippers on my mistress’ feet. It’s why she keeps me around, even though I’m a terrible servant.


Saturday, October 1, 2016

'Seven Tricks' Snippet

Here's a little six sentence sample from 'Seven Tricks', my Christmas story I submitted to Mischief Corner Books. It's inspired by 'The Nutcracker', as well as my desire to pair up the Mouse King and the Nutcracker. :)

I crept up to this still, defiant beauty. He didn’t move, or acknowlege me, even when I was a paw away from his face. The strange prince, for I refused to admit he was anything less, just stood there and grinned.

This infuriated me. Who was he grinning at, if not myself? Was he mocking me?