Z is for Zoe

The Players Are the Thing, even if Beatrix has gotten too drawn into the game and her dice to see that. One player in particular is my thing, even if she isn’t mine. The first time I caught a glimpse of Rhane’s honey-wheaten hair tumbling like a cloud around her face and gazed into her crystal-blue eyes, I would have done anything to get to know her better.

Anything included following her, spying upon her talking to her girlfriend, and offering to join their roleplaying campaign. I’ll admit, I’ve gotten distracted with Rhiannon, my character; the way she spies for Amberwyne and Isolde, and spies upon them. I can understand why Rhane is so smitten with her own Amberwyne.

The game isn’t as much fun of late. Beatrix is getting more and more short-tempered as she fingers her black, purple, and dark blue dice. Something about those dice sends a shiver up my spine. Even Mona is noticing Beatrix’s attitude and she puts up with almost anything from our Game Master.

I’ve started to dream about Rhiannon fighting a black smoke coming from Beatrix’s dice. In those dreams, Rhiannon is trying to warn me the dice are cursed.

It’s just a dream. All this talk of cursed dice is just my imagination or a gamer’s superstition. It’s not as if my character is real. None of it is, is it?

Y is for Yuri

A Portrait Is Worth a Thousand Words, a thousand screams, a thousand silent warnings. None express all of these more than Elizabeth Hartford’s portrait.

Oh, I can understand the glamour, the mystique, the force of personality emitting from that painting. My ancestor, Judith Cross, captured all of these in this portrait she labored over of Elizabeth, her lover, her muse.

Westerleigh has conveyed these qualities often enough in his writing, his poems, and the way his blue-green eyes light up whenever he talks about Elizabeth. The topic of Elizabeth makes ‘Leigh even more beautiful, even more bewitched, and utterly untouchable. After all, he’s devoted to his Elizabeth, as devoted as any mortal lured away by faeries.

I fear Westerleigh will suffer as bitter a fate as any of these enchanted victims. I can’t explain the fear I feel when I listen to Elizabeth’s poems, her letters, when I look at reproductions of her painted eyes. Something has been captured in all of these, something with a menacing life of its own.

How can I speak of these things when Elizabeth makes ‘Leigh radiant with joy, when she inspires him like nothing else? His obsession is captivating. He is captivating. He has certainly captivated me. I want to draw Westerleigh in graphite, charcoal, colors, try to reproduce his every expression as he speaks of his enchantment. I listen to his voice, lost in the timbre, unaware of what he’s saying.

Such a guilty pleasure I got out of dressing Westerleigh up as a Gothic heroine to fool his cousin. If I hadn’t fallen for ‘Leigh before, I certainly fell for him when he turned to me, skirts swirling about his legs while the blue in his eyes washed out to green.

Of course Westerleigh’s obsession is contagious. Of course I cannot help but wonder about the woman who’s the object of obsession of the man whom maddens me. At the same time I cannot help resenting the haughty noblewoman who looks down at her admirer from the canvas.

If ‘Leigh looked at me the way he does at Elizabeth, I don’t think I could bear it. What a relief, what a grief that he doesn’t.

X is for Xylanthe

Once I was one of Thirteen guardians for an angry princess who allowed gender to divide her from her twin. The other twelve maidens took it amiss when I fed upon that princess, leaving nothing, but a statue behind.

They wanted to be stone, eternal guardians. They wanted a symbol to inspire them all. Aethyria didn’t want to live without Graeca. I granted my sisters’s wishes along with my princess’s. Were they grateful?

No, they drove me out of the land we guarded, the land named for our princess. They accused me of being less than undead, a monster who preyed upon the living. They said I’d made a pact with the Spider, the Owl’s accursed rival, far worse than any Serpent or Unicorn.

True, I cannot deny any of this was true. Who were they to stand in judgment upon me? They’d been women, the same as me; warriors, weavers, scholars, hunters, poets, and healers. We all gave up our humanity for immortality. A life sealed in stone, watching over future generations in Aethyria wasn’t enough for me.

I traveled north, to a land where the Serpent once walked and the Spider hid. I formed a Dark Circle between Rowenda, Aethyria, and Graeca. Each land was named for a spoiled little hero, doomed to hang from my web, feeding my hunger.

I’ve lost track of the number of heroes I’ve feasted upon. They came to me in packs, known as adventurers. They sought the treasures I’d taken from fallen heroes and princesses. Every once in a while, I’d let one go to tell the tale, to show off the riches he’d won in the Dark Circle. It encouraged more adventurers to brave my web.

Now adventuring is reviled as wicked along with winning treasure by killing monsters. I grow hungrier and hungrier as a result. I have to be more subtle to draw my prey to me, letting my strands reach out far north, to cause Trouble at Caerac Keep.

If my servants serve me as well as they should, I should feast as never before on the choicest victims. Alas, good servants are difficult to come by, especially in that wretched walled city far north of here.

All the while, I grow hungrier.

W is for Westerleigh

A Portrait Is Worth a Thousand Words and Elizabeth Hartford’s portrait spoke volumes to me; even before I saw it in person. Poet, philosopher, storyteller, and sorceress who set her own style, she left behind reams of writing I poured through as a child. Her words and image inspired me, yet she remained a mystery. Nothing evokes that mystery, that sense of her more than the portrait her lover, Judith Cross, left behind. The portrait hangs in Hartford Hall and now my cousin, Fiona Hartford; heiress to all that Elizabeth left behind, is inviting me, another heiress to share in that fortune. There’s just one problem. I’m not an heiress, I’m not even a girl. Yuri, Judith Cross’s descendent and an artist in their own right, can make me look like an heiress, a heroine out of a Gothic novel, if I’m willing to deceive my cousin. I want this so badly, to go to Hartford Hall, to live where Elizabeth once lived; breathe in the same air Elizabeth once breathed. Yuri fears my fate will be like a Gothic heroine if I go, that danger and disappointment await me, but it’s a chance to get closer to my idol. I would risk everything to get closer, no matter what sinster secrets Fiona may be hiding.

V is for Varwyth

I came to Caerac Keep, cloaked my mystery, shrouded in secrets. I offer my hand in friendship to the children William has chosen to chase down Trouble at Caerac Keep. He regards my hand with suspicion of one’s who’s ruled from the shadows for too long, prickly that his power may be taken from him. As if I had an interest in his toy walled city. I do have an interest in whom is circulating rumours that the Vampire Corwyth has risen. This is why I put up with little cleric’s tantrums and the Aethyrian maiden’s influence. They should be more grateful that I’m aiding them to find their lost ones, even if it’s only because Daeric is lost. I’m as anxious as Rhodry is to find him. I’m as concerned as Wiliam is about what could have made the Serpent-Born sorcerer disappear. All of this is an opportunity to get closer to Rhodry, my Rhodry, even though I haven’t revealed he’s mine yet. I tell myself this, even though there’s a part of me agreeing with Daeric’s choice to lock him away in a tower, away from hot-headed clerics and smiling barmen who might take him from me. I relish a chance to watch him, to find out what’s capable of, even if our other companions continue to get under foot. I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for far too long. They’d better not spoil it. Enough. I am trying to be discreet, even if my temper is sorely tried at times.

U is Undine

I cry out in my captivity. I sing to sympathetic souls in their dreams, hoping they’ll come to me, hoping they’ll free me. I’m part of the Trouble at Caerac Keep, but I’m in trouble too. I may have seen A Suitor’s Challenge in my prouder days, but where is my pride now? Bound within this shell, I do wicked deeds, but I cry out for mercy. I sing for freedom. Please, Alyx. Please, Rhodry. Please, Faith. Please, Ariadne. Come and find me. I beg you all. Come and find me.

T is for Troile

The home is doomed. My selfish brother angered gods and Achaens alike with his choices.

Troy isn’t without allies among the gods. I’m not without allies. If only Ganymede’s voice carried as much weight as Hera, but he’s decided to champion me by sending to the side of an Achaen whom might also be an ally.

Achille delights in battle. He might well delight in Troy’s destruction along with my own. His friends and loved ones are our enemies.

Everyone and everything dear to me is in danger from him. As Troile and Achille, we’re fated to fight each other.

As Aissa and Polyxena, can we challenge that fate? I pray we can, but how can we succeed in skirts when our swords are destined to clash?

The gods only know how we’ll free ourselves from the tangle of tragedy the Fates have waiting for us.

S is for Shelley

The only power I had in Paradise was to choose my name. Byron and I took those of rebel poets from a lost world remembered only in book and tales. Our names gave us the courage to raise A Rebel Song in Paradise. Cast from the church choir, we were given to one of the Pale Lords of our holy city who dwell in great estates apart from simpler folk. Byron and I were separated, tended by Lord Ruthvyn’s doll-like servants, and struggling to find our way through the labyrinthe of living art which is our master’s estate. We’re starting to see what’s On the Other Side of the Mask Lord Ruthvyn and his servants show to the outside world. Byron and I are losing ourselves and each other as we become part of our master’s world. Our only hope is to hold on, to find Lord Ruthvyn’s lost humanity with our songs. If we don’t, we’ll lose ourselves, our mind, and become part of our master’s collection of statues, paintings, and other furnishings whom were once like us. Caught between Paradise and mad decadence, it’s all we can do, not to slip away.

R is for Rhodry

I was born in a roleplaying campaign, only to be changed for different one-shot convention games, changed in the campaign its. I struggled for a new existence in The Keep, formed true bonds there as Rhodry Mavelyne.

The scribbler must have loved Rhodry Mavelyne as much as I loved being Rhodry Mavelyne. Why else would she use the name rhodrymavelyne for her identity on Twitter, Archive of Our Own, Wordpress, NaNoWriMo, her Facebook Author Page, and one of her livejournals?

Rhodry Mavelyne had deep ties of blood and love to other characters belonging to other authors. When I was him, I was truly entrenched in The Keep.

As Rhodry Nevalyn, I’m descended from a dangerous evil called the Serpent. Nevalyn was the other name She used. Daeric is proud of the name, yet fears to use it. Daeric came with me from The Keep along the gargoyles Imp and Smirk. They guard the top of Daeric’s tower now. Daeric himself has a touch of the sinister which my father/uncle in the original campaign possessed. I don’t think he plans on sacrificing me, but if I’m the key to the Vampire Corwyth or worse Nevalyn herself returning to the World of Ouroborous, I fear he would.

Look at what he did to Kyra Nevalyn, whom was also his kin. She was a tiny dragon imprisoned in a box in his study for at least a hundred years. Kyra assures me her own actions had as much to with this as anything. I thought she was the hero who stopped the Serpent from returning to the world a hundred years ago. She seems to think she’s responsible for the fall of an empire and the rise of vampires.

Vampires are returning to the world. They’re causing Trouble at Caerac Keep, according to Faith, a Unicorn acolyte fate has been rude enough to link my destiny to. She’s not happy about it either. She blames me for everything since I’m Serpent-Born. To make matters worse, I’ve started to get visions of her hate, her fear.

I know vampires aren’t behind the disappearances, nor the strange sickness striking down many people of Caerac Keep, including Faith’s own sister. A vampire has been visiting me nightly, feeding upon me.

Daeric knew nothing of this. He would definitely disapprove. He already disapproves of my visits to the Tipsy Hedgehog, to hear the owner’s stories of being an adventurer, and to see Kevin, who works at the bar. The strange visions I get of an Aethyrian sorceress in peril, the strange song I hear of someone crying for help have him ready to lock me up in his tower.

Only Daeric isn’t going to be locking anyone up. He’s disappeared, along with one of Faith’s sister clerics.

Lord William of Caerac Keep has ordered Faith and myself to help the lost sorceress’s sister find our missing people, to solve the mystery of Caerac Keep. As if working with Faith and a stranger wasn’t hard enough, a seductively sinister sorcerer has decided to join us in our quest.

We had enough Trouble at Caerac Keep. Now it’s going to get worse.

Q is for Quartz

No, I’m not the dead dwarf among seven brothers who once lived with the Fairest of them all in the Forest of Tears! I’m just sleeping off the nasty backlash of a curse which struck down my poor Fairest and was absorbed by the poor crystal trying to heal her. I guess I took a blow for both of them. I’d tell you more Of Cuckoo Clocks and Crystal Coffins, a yellow-stockinged sprite named Nimmie Not, and the deal I made with a dragon if that blasted scribbler ever finishes my story! Secondary Characters Speak Out once a month at inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com, getting their long overdue, thanks to me. Right, the other Cauldron of Eternal Inspiration. Trust that scribbler to confuse us with two Cauldrons, eh? Go on and read my Fairest’s tale if you can follow the links. She deserves a little love in her life. Just don’t believe that I’m dead, you hear?

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P is for Phaedra

I lived with my lover, Pausania, almost losing myself in her. I need to find myself. Perhaps I will at A Symposium in Space which Agathea, the most powerful citizen in the Intergalactic Democracy has invited us to. Some of the finest minds in Democracy have been invited, not all of which are in Agathea’s thrall. Pausania insists it’s a trap. I don’t know what’s between Agathea and Pausania, why she’s determined not to go. Sometimes I feel like she wants to keep me locked in a gilded cage on a planet where she can have me all to herself. Why can’t she understand? I need to roam the stars, allow my body and spirit to take flight. I need to find myself in order to love myself. I don’t think I can love anyone else until I do. Come with me on my journey, visit our Symposium, and see what lies in wait for us.

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O is for Opal

Someone has got to keep their feet on the ground in this family. That someone is me. No way can I trust any of my brothers to do it. The five of them are quivering in their boots after all that’s happened. Aye, just five of them, not six. I’m the oldest because Quartz is a pebble-brained fool who followed a kobold, made a deal with a dragon, and let trouble into the home. Not that I blame our Fairest, the human girl who came to live with us. I can’t help thinking life would have been simpler if Quartz hadn’t taken her in.

Right. Aye, I did the same. I opened the door to that witch Oriana, because I pitied the princess with her. I got to be careful about that. I know nothing Of Cuckoo Clocks and Crystal Coffins, save the cuckoo clock is always watching and I’ve got a brother in a crystal coffin where a human maiden slept off a cursed sleep.

You want to know all about that? This is all I’ll tell you, for now…

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N is for Nathalie

Wind Me Up, One More Time, for I need the laughter, the creative energy. I fear the gears of industry may have caught my beloved Maia within their relentless grind. She is no Iama the Terrible, for all she jokes about being that evil enchantress, turning her victims into gold. I fear what she may become in her attempts to provide for my sister, Grace, and me. I fear I’m not half the mother Grace needs, but what choice do I have? Mama Morisot and Mama Bebe left us. Why does it fall to me to be responsible when our mothers leave us behind? I can’t leave Grace behind the way they left us. I just can’t. I have to make my sister laugh. I have to keep her spirits up along with my own. Grace has her Theodora Bear. I have my stories. We both have our mother’s stories where we can be princesses, a stuffed animal will always save us, and an evil enchantress’s heart can return to her. If only life could be like those stories or can it? Follow the links and find out…

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M is for Map

Once Upon a Time, I was the thunder. Once Upon a Time, I served Seraphix as a monster. Somehow I allowed the thunder, the monster, and Once Upon a Time to get away from me. Careless. Now I protect The Hand and the Eye of the Tower even though I’ve destroyed many towers. I don’t give A Godling for Your Thoughts? My Tool, My Treasure was none of these things. I’ve sliced through a Web of Inspiration to free the victims dreaming within. It’s all been a bloody nuisance. The woman I love keeps wandering off, compelled to open Doors while the sons she left me willingly offer themselves to the shadows. My Cusps Overfloweth with too much pain, too much loss. I’m not about to lose anything else, including more of myself.

L is for Leiwell

I live for others. I exist for the ones I love. My master breathed life into me, fed me another’s to make me real. Other lives born, shaped by the beloved of the man I took became my little brothers. I’ve tried so hard to protect Danyel and Tayel from becoming The Hand and the Eye of the Tower, but I’ve always been one to give A Godling for Your Thoughts? I’ve been called My Tool, My Treasure, caught in a Web of Inspiration not my own. My Cusps Overfloweth as everyone else pours their passion into my stolen existence. I cannot give up this precious gift of life, of identity; even if it was stolen. I try to give it back, even as I struggle with own identity and the one I absorbed, constantly threatening to eclipse me as I eclipsed him. Perhaps it’s Damian Ashelocke’s right to do, but I cannot let go of who and what I am. I just can’t.

K is for Kyra

I am Serpent-Born, marked by my golden hair and eyes as a trouble maker, a vessel for evil from birth. I have been hunted, enslaved, and manipulated for what lies within me, even as everyone shivers at my potential power. Forced to make A Suitor’s Choice to save a beloved friend who’s become a possessed prince, I must battle for his hand in marriage in the magical arena to even speak to him. Something happened in that battle, that struggle to save Stephen Jasior, something which changed both of us. I find myself awakening centuries later as a tiny dragon in keeping of the Serpent’s Son in his tower, trying to help his lost charge through Trouble at Caerac Keep. Too much of myself was lost, even though I recall gods being born in innocent hunger to become terrible monsters. I’ve lost friends to the ravages and mysteries of time; my mentor, Questioning as well as Stephen. I’m part of something far greater than myself, perhaps even greater the Serpent Herself. I fear what that may be.

J is for Juno

Oh, my dears, the print is rather small in this Cauldron, isn’t it? My husband will be cross, too, at my being chosen to be here instead of him, tee hee! He really shouldn’t expect everyone to worship him any more, but he was a god, master of the lightning and the thunder, as he’ll tell you if he gives a chance, never stopping for breath, poor lamb. I might not have as been as mighty, but I was refined, stable, bringing the bond of marriage into chaotic lives. My many eyes looked back at you from the feathers of a peacock, my cunning cut through strength, and my jealousy was a bit of legend. Oh, my, that was a while ago, wasn’t it? Listen to me talk like my former self! It’s no good to dwell on the past as my husband does, expecting everything to go your way. There are ways to ensure things go my way, if I do say so. I’ve had to keep up a level of cunning with my husband to look to after, to see that he doesn’t stray. He can be such a naughty thing. I’ve had to be somewhat severe with his, shall we say distractions? I suppose I can be a naughty thing as well. This is why Jupitre and I suit each other, even if we have our differences. It is just the two of us and Hebe now, or are there other children? Oh, dear, I hope I won’t have to start Stealing Myself From Shadows like poor Christopher does, just to remember who I am! Jupitre and I did adopt Melyssa and Thomas as our own, even we ended up giving A Godling for Your Thoughts? What a silly question! Where did that come from? I do think of Duessa Ashelocke as my own. You might even say she’s My Tool, My Treasure; even if she’s found her own path to Power in a Web of Inspiration. Oh, if only I’d inspired a bit more ambition in her! Duessa’s gardens might have choked every tower, not just her husband’s. Husbands, I do keep coming back to them, don’t I? So much time wasted upon them, so much invested within them, truly, My Cusps Overfloweth with the regrets which haunt me as well as the sorrows. You’d just never know from the way I go on, would you, dear?

I is for Iama

I am alone, even though I am never alone, surrounded by the shining statues of anyone who ever dared to come too close. All I touch turns to gold, everyone and everything. I’ve been named Iama the Terrible by the ignorant, including mocking girls who use my name as a joke to impress other girls. It’s not as if Maia knew what it meant to be me. Her princess welcomed her into her home, made her part of her family. I had to steal my princess away from hers.

Take care, Maia. You could become more like me, if you don’t hold onto what’s truly precious.

Whatever do I mean? Follow the buy links. See if they’ll take you to Wind Me Up, One More Time; our story…

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H is for Harold

No one appreciates the vexations I endure, no one! Do you think it’s easy, being fashionably handsome? Carrying around the weight of my adorments I do, to show true style and sparkle? I have to sit forever as my servants dress me. It’s only too easy for me to lose an ornament. Everyone wants mine. You can be sure if something falls from my sleeve or leg, it shall be snatched up by some greedy commoner. Everyone is so common. No one has any style. No one appreciates mine. Jealous, petty, souls; every one! Why, I was going to offer my hand to a princess in marriage? Did she swoon as she should have over the Fairest of them all? No! In her perversion, she chose the enchantress who cursed her over me! Oh, you want to know that sordid little tale, do you? You would. If that wretched story is still available, here it is…

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G is for Grace

Growing up and away is hard. I didn’t want to do it. It just makes people sad and terrible.

Look at Maia. She used to joke about being Iama the Terrible, the evil enchantress whose touch turned everyone to gold in Magic and Mishaps. It was a joke. She wasn’t really terrible. Not until she got too serious about making money, so serious she no longer had time for anyone.

Growing up and away means you disappear. Maia disappeared as much as Nathalie did, leaving me alone.

No. I still have Theodora Bear, Heidi, and Heather. I miss Nathalie and Maia, miss them so much it hurts. I miss them so much, I feel alone, even though I’m not. Maia and Nathalie used to be so much fun. I didn’t really miss my moms, not with them around.

In a way, Maia did become Iama the Terrible, living in her factory tower as Iama did in her palace of gold. She didn’t lure Princess Nathalie into her tower, to keep her company. She lost the princess as much as I do.

In Mischief and Magic, Princess Grace found the enchantress’s heart with Theodora Bear’s help. Wind Me Up, One More Time, Theodora, the way I wind you up so you can growl. I need to growl.

You know what the worst thing is about growing up and away? I no longer believe stories can come true, no matter how much I want them to. This is why I need you to Wind Me Up, One More Time, Theodora. We need to find enough storytelling magic for all of us. Maybe you’ll find it, too, if you go to…

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F is for Fidessa

A curse is a reaction to just how ungrateful, unappreciative, and inconsiderate you are. You create your own curse. I, Fidessa, simply give it a voice, a force, a power. I give your curse the strength to chase and catch you, not allowing you to escape the consequences of what you’ve created.

No one understands the poetic justice of this, the perfection. Not even my beloved beauty, my Amberwyne. The one I’d hoped would understand, that I could share my secrets with. She betrayed me, left me for a muscle-bound sculptor. Now she wanders about, trying to undo my curses.

I can only hope one day she’ll understand, the way she’s come to understand the truth of our world.

Not that I expect our creators to understand the truth. Idle wenches, playing with our world and life as if they were toys, making a game out of it. The tart whom created me dismisses me as a mere villain in that game, a non-player character to oppose Amberwyne and the others.

Beatrix thinks she can control me with a roll of the dice, that The Players Are the Thing. If that’s what she believes, so be it. Her dice are an instrument of fate. She’s a fool if she thinks she’s immune to them.

This Game Master and her so-called players are going to discover just how cruel the dice can be. We’ll see who ends up controlling who.

E is for Emma

You were only created because your scribbler wanted to try out writing in second person. Your Name is Emma is perhaps the most neglected of all her Works in Progress. You haunt an independent coffee house, aware that too many of these are disappearing. You were murdered, perhaps by a vampire who didn’t bother to romance you before draining you dry. The only one who can see or speak to you is your ex-girlfriend, Esther. Or you like to think of her as your ex-girlfriend. She might disagree. She’s still angry at the way you treated her. The only ones aware of you are the Soul Collectors whom are hunting you; monsters whom have the worst qualities of door to door saiesmen. They keep coming for you. They won’t stop until they’ve collected your soul, whatever is left of it. You can’t even smell the coffee you loved in life, let alone taste it, even though you’re haunted by the memory of it. Not unless you possess a living person, a tricky process. As afterlives go, you’re hating yours. Your only hope of changing yours is doing something about those lingering regrets which keep you hanging on, but how can you do that, when you can do so little?

D is for Duessa

There’s no need to be Stealing Myself From Shadows. I belong to the Spider, body and soul, even since she slipped into my dreams, saved me from my lord’s tower, my lord’s domination, and my lord’s love. Arachne and I offer a monstrous magnificence to women, to triumph over such domination and worse. We allow the boys in our Gardens to blossom in something far more beautiful than man. Why does Damian reject such a fate? Why does Christopher keep slipping from my web? Why has Dyvian become my adversary? What drives my daughter to accept A Godling for Your Thoughts? My Tool, My Treasure; I thought of every one of them thus, yet we are at odds. I should have passed my Web of Inspiration onto Melyssa, yet she has no desire to sit at the center.

I became Arachne’s, so her Gardens might grow, wrapping their thorns around the Tower, piercing its crown. I became the Garden’s Guardian, so women might be strong enough to be magnificent monsters, capable of stopping the Tower’s lord, saving our blossoms from its shadow. Tainted blooms may yet poison the flowers, allowing the Tower to trap them.

My own efforts are so unappreciated, even by the very arachnocrats who reap the fruit of our Gardens. Why do they plot against me? Why do the fairest flowers have so little enthusiasm for their destiny? Why do I myself have so many questions and so little faith?

I fear the answers. I truly do.

C is for Christopher

Damian called me from the shadows, calling me Christopher before he disappeared into them himself. He left me with a life I love, yet with an aching void where he used to be.

Sometimes I still feel like a shadow. It seems like I’m always Stealing Myself From Shadows. I’m unsure how many of my memories, passions, or feelings are truly mine. Which ones are sensations left behind from other people’s dreams, carelessly dropped by those who forgot their value? I try to remind others of that value. I manifest most weeks at the Cauldron of Eternal Inspiration at inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com to talk to various charactes belonging the same scribbler, characters in need of conversation. This is what Conversations with Christopher is all about; giving other characters with a need to speak a chance to. Perhaps I’m also acting as Happily Ever After, bringing other characters happiness, or getting them to appreciate their happiness. I created and breathed life into The Hand and the Eye of the Tower, even though I remember only the Gardens which overwhelmed the Tower. Fragments of myself become tokens of desire, offered with the question: A Godling for Your Thoughts? I once again find My Tool, My Treasure, or does that treasure find me? It feels like we’re always losing each other. As always, My Cusps Overfloweth with color and memory, too much to bear at times.

Does any of this make sense to you? It often perplexes me. Perhaps I will understand more as my scribbler writes more. Perhaps I won’t.

B is for Briar

Named for a briar, I prickle those whom might come between myself and precious Rose.

Skin white as snow cursed with the name of Blanche, a gift from a mother I lost too early to death to remember.

Years later, I received a real curse from a woman I loved, a woman who abandoned me for power, a throne, and my father. She reduced me to rags, driving me away from her.

I tried to create a life away with seven dwarfs, not as a princess, but a person. My treacherous love hunted me down once, revealing the sour jealousy in the hard little green apple of her heart. She tricked me into taking a bite of it, making me believe she’d forgiven me.

No amount of remorse could remove the enchantment upon me. It was one of the dwarfs, a better father to me than my own who released me, only to fall at my feet, dead, at seeing what he’d released.

More ghost or vampire than witch, I haunted my former home, stalking the innocence blooming within it, ready to pluck her when she ripened.

What a surprise, to transform into a Briar after being Blanche for far too long, the Fairest of Them All. It’s quite a tale, brought about by the very flower I intended to pluck.

What tale is this I tease you with? See if you can follow the links back to my story…

Nine Star Press: https://ninestarpress.com/product/fairest/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Fairest-K-S-Trenten-ebook/dp/B0CNSL28YR/ref=sr_1_1?crid=26Q4LNG7UIVW2&keywords=Fairest+by+K.S.Trenten&qid=1701720288&s=books&sprefix=fairest+by+k.s.trenten,stripbooks,143&sr=1-1

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fairest-ks-trenten/1123806892?ean=2940179155874

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/fairest-19

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1483368

Apple Book: https://books.apple.com/us/book/fairest/id6472735190

A is for Amberwyne

Most characters are imaginary. I’m an imaginary character’s character.

Here I am, trying to undo the curses my former mentor and lover Fidessa cast upon various people in the land. I’m about to save Isolde from her own angry work of art when I start getting visions of this circle of women, rolling dice.

Were they witches? No, they were gamers, playing a roleplaying game. I caught a glimpse of reality, their reality. Isolde and I, our entire world was imaginary, made up for their fun. The Players Are the Thing.

Needless to say, Fidessa was not amused when she found out. She put a curse upon their Game Master, Beatrix’s dice.

Beatrix is the lover of my player, Rhane. Their relationship is growing worse because of the curse.

To make things even more complicated, I think I’m falling a bit for my player. I know she’s more than a little in love with me.

I can’t let Fidessa’s curse ruin Rhane’s life. I have to help her, but how can an imaginary character help her player?

If Fidessa can curse their Game Master; Isolde, Rhiannon, and I should be able to save our players, even if we don’t know how.

We’ve got quite a task ahead, figuring that out.