G is for Grace

Two little girls stand facing each other. Both have tousled coppery curls, although one’s are frizzier than the other and solemn faces with earnest hazel eyes. One wears a red cape, the one a red sweater. Each carries a teddy bear in her arms. 

Grace: (with a shy smile) Hello. It’s good to see you again. 

Princess Grace: (smiling just as shyly back) You, too. I was hoping we’d meet again. 

Grace: (turning to face the reader) We don’t really meet in Wind Me Up, One More Time. Even though our stories happen at the same time.

Princess Grace: I’m having an adventure in the story within the story; Grace and Theodora: Magic and Mishaps. I’m trying to save my sister, Princess Nathalie from the clutches of a dangerous, yet charming enchantress, Iama the Terrible. Her touch turns everything to gold.

Theodora: (the one in Princess Grace’s arms) *I’m trying to help her. I’m actually Princess Nathalie’s bear.*

Theodora: (the one in Grace’s arms) Growwr.

Grace: My Theodora is actually my Theodora, but I have a sister called Nathalie, too. We live in a town called Verity. 

Princess Grace: What a pretty name. (sounds wistful) I wish I could live there.

Grace: Why would you? Your life is full of adventure and magic!

Princess Grace: Yours is full of school, lessons, tea, and friends. I can’t help wondering what that’s like. 

Grace: You don’t wonder about it in the story. 

Princess Grace: I don’t have time to wonder about anything. Theodora and I are too busy trying to save my sister. We’re up against magic.

Grace: While I have to take magic where I can find it, facing all the loneliness and sadness reality throws at me. 

Princess Grace: I have to face loneliness and sadness, too, even if there’s lots of magic.

Grace: That’s true. I guess we’re alike, aren’t we? We both have to find a way out. 

Princess Grace: Good thing Theodora was with us. (She gives her bear a squeeze.)

Grace: Yes, that was a good thing. She led us to a little magic and our sister when we’d thought we’d lost her. 

Princess Grace: Me, too. Our destinies are linked, even if we never meet in Wind Me Up, One More Time. 

Theodora: (the one in Grace’s arms) Growwr.

Theodora: (the one in Princess Grace’s arms) *I wonder why you can hear me and not the other Theodora? Maybe because I’m a bear in a fairytale and not restricted by all the rules she is? It’s a mystery…anyway if you’d like to read our story, here are some buy links below…*

Mischief Corner Books/Shenanigans Press: https://www.mischiefcornerbooks.com/wind-me-up-one-more-time.html#/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B081LPX2WH/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Wind+Me+Up%2C+One+More+Time&qid=1573974211&s=books&sr=1-1

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/wind-me-up-one-more-time

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wind-me-up-one-more-time-ks-trenten/1134959345

Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/id1488235515?fbclid=IwAR1_ox2T5jIHibPFBHUqTck0SNaP3pcZIgNM4DS3VAjU47mn3o5iu260bMA

F is for Faith

As one of the Chosen Points of the Unicorn, I must stay alert in any changes bringing corruption and undeath. I must never doubt the Unicorn. My faith in her isn’t just a duty, it’s what I am. IT became my name, infusing every part of me. With all the Trouble at Caerac Keep brewing, Hope missing, and Charity falling prey to a strange illness, I’m not longer complete. It’s too early to doubt. Especially when my companions are a foreign heretic (a maddeningly attractive one at that), a Serpent-Born (I’m not sure he’s sensible or strange), and a practioner of forbidden arts (just plain disturbing). I find myself longing to hide in the Unicorn Temple, fleeeing from the changes and doubts brought by these outsiders. Only the temple is no shelter. Not any more. Not with Charity lying in a dream, unsure who or where she is.. The Unicorn doesn’t appear to be comforting her or protecting her in a time of great need. 

I remind myself of the words of Lady Ylynessa, one of our patron’s wisest patrons. Doubt can be fatal. It can make you stumble. I must not doubt. I must adapt. Centuries ago, my Order regarded all nonhumans as abominations, a terrible mistake. We may be making another mistake now. I’ve got to calm down and spot the true abominations, not allowing myself to be deceived, to question everything I believe in. 

I need faith, to be Faith more than ever, now when the other Points of the Unicorn are sick or missing. Especially if the undead are involved. I’m going to need to call on all that I am to face them. 

I simply hope I’m up to the task. 

E is for Emma

One of the hard things about being a ghost is that no one notices you’re there, including your own creator. I would have thought she’d remember me, the girl in baggy sweaters and felt-squashed hats who sat around in coffee houses, reading and writing stuff she never had the guts to share with anyone except Esther, until I died. Not that I remember much of what happened. I found myself insubstantial, unseen, haunting a coffee house I’d spent entirely too much time in when I was alive, being hunted by a mysterious group of sharp-toothed wraits called the Soul Collectors. I was originally a World of Darkness character for Wraith: The Oblivion until my creator decided she wanted to experiment with writing in second person. She started a Work in Progress called Your Name is Emma. There I was in my own story, only the story never got finished, and here I am, talking in first person because I’m part of this #BloggingFromAZAprilProject: Character Change. I’ve showed up in Cauldron Tales (freebie stories) which appear here. I’d like my story to continue. I just keep getting pushed to the side for other characters. Maybe I ought to push back, only my hands tend to pass through things. Being insubstantial is the dregs of existence, clinging to an empty coffe mug that you stare at a lot, wondering where the contents went, why you didn’t notice or appreciate them more when you were drinking them. Huh, that’s not too bad. Maybe I should write that down, only my ghostly hands can’t lift a pencil or touch a keyboard. Maybe I ought to possess someone and get them to write it down for me. I could always possess Esther. Only Esther gets really mad when I do it without permission. I don’t always have time to ask. Not if I want to write something down before it fades away. This was true when I was alive as well as now that I’m dead. Dead I sometimes fade away along with the ideas. Here’s hoping Esther understands that. She says one of the things I never did in life was be considerate of other people. I’m trying, I’m trying. You’d think I’d have all the time in the word, seeing as I’m dead now. I don’t. Between Soul Collectors and fading away with greater frequency, I get the feeling my time in the afterlife is running out. If I want to know how I died, do some of things I failed to do while I lived, I’d better hurry before even this afterimage of me flickers out. 

D is for Danyel and Dyvian (but not Tayel)

Once more, a tall, imposing man wearing midnight robes of green shadows stands, his own shadow looming over a pair of slight, androgynous twins with golden hair, barely boys. 

Dyvian: Look at you. (He gives one of the twins, whom look exactly alike, save one has bright, silver triangles in his violet-blue eyes. Those triangles flash with an angry light.) Your name no longer begins with D, yet here you are. How precious. 

Tayel: (the twin with the triangles in his eyes) Letters may shift and change over time, leaving me no longer Dayel. The heart, the will, and the intentions I possessed cannot be ripped away. One of them is never leaving my brother alone with you.

Danyel: (He squeezes his twin’s hand.) You don’t have to protect me, but I’m glad you’re here. 

Dyvian: As am I. Little Danyel is entirely too easy to torment. You’re a bit more of a challenge. Or are you?

Tayel: (His eyes glitter all the more.) Hungry darkenss only sees what it wishes to consume. 

Danyel: (He glowers at Dyvian.) Which was Tayel’s way of saying you have entirely too much fun tormenting us, no, not just us. Everyone.

Dyvian: Come, come. I’m not nearly as sadistic as I once was. When I was first conceived as a half-elven cult leader, I ritualized torturing and killing humans. (He lifts a finger to run across a stone altar which materializes beside him.) Not to mention what I was planning to do to the two of you. 

The twins back away from Dyvian and the altat several steps. 

Danyel: You called yourself the Vampire whenever you killed and tortured humans on that altar. 

Tayel: Satisfying a personal hunger behind a mask and a ritual. 

Dyvian: Ah, but that was only the first version of me, created for a very specific roleplaying universe, shared by many players and authors. My personality has evolved since then. Perhaps not in The Keep, the second setting I played a part in. I was still a cult leader for those of mixed nonhuman blood rather than half-elves, but my intentions were the same. As the Voice of Seraphix in Tales of the Navel: The Shadow Forest, I have grown far more complex. 

Danyel: You’re still a cult leader, preying upon the wishes of the vulnerable to swell your ranks.

Tayel: Your hunger remains, waiting in the darkness to prey upon victims as you were once preyed upon. 

Dyvian: Only there’s more to me than this, isn’t there? You can see it all reflected in Leiwell’s lovely emerald eyes, eyes that would exist if I hadn’t opened them to reality. At least one version of reality. 

Danyel: It wasn’t just you! Christopher and Damian had a hand in that!

Tayel: More than one will, one moment of pain and joy went into the shaping of Leiwell, not the least his own. 

Danyel: That’s right! Stop talking about our brother as if you own him!

Dyvian: Ah, but he’s not really your brother, is he? The three of you are simply light and shadow given shape and form, clinging to each other in your delusion of what a family should be, dictated by Map. 

Danyel: What if we are? How are we any worse than other families?

Tayel: Whatever brought us together holds us together. 

Dyvian: Yes, perhaps we should talk about how the two of you have changed. You’ve come so far from the innocent half-elven twins I once intended to sacrifice, twins you still similar to in The Keep. Now in Tales of the Navel: The Shadow Forest you’re proper little monsters, aren’t you?

Danyel: We’re not monsters!

Tayel: We are what we choose to be.

Dyvian: Yes. I’m looking forward to those choices. Born of shadow, dream, and flame, your decisions have been quite exciting. You’ve not only opened Doors, you’ve cracked souls in two, allowing all of their false hopes to pour out. 

Danyel: Just what are you accusing us of?

Tayel: Accusations reflect the nature of the accuser more than the accused.

Dyvian: All I’m saying is that the two of you may be more like me than any of us have come to fully comprehend. I wonder how Leiwell will look at any of us by the time we’ve made all of our choices, hmm?

Danyel: Leiwell loves us, all of us, even you. His love is the one thing we can count on. 

Dyvian: Only if he remains Leiwell. Can we count on that?

Tayel: Count on nothing. Simply choose and cling to what’s precious. 

Dyvian: I couldn’t agree more. Isn’t it curious how much we agree, if though neither of us love or trust me? While we all love Leiwell, yet none of us trust him, not completely. Particularly with his own welfare.

Neither twin replies. 

(Danyel, Tayel, and Dyvian are all characters in Tales of the Navel: The Shadow Forest, an ambient fantasy series of novels inspired by Tarot imagery which I’m trying to finish and figure out how to self-publish. I’ve written rough drafts of Stealing Myself From Shadows, The Hand and the Eye of the Tower, and A Godling for Your Thoughts?, the first three books. I’m writing a rough draft of the fourth, My Tool, My Treasure. I’m planning a fifth and sixth book, Web of Inspiration and My Cusps Runneth Over. I frequently post freebie stories from Tales of the Navel: The Shadow Forest here (when I’m not BloggingFromAZ) and Christopher often does Monday blogs at inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com, Conversations with Christopher (not now, they’re BloggingFromAZ, doing Character Change over there this April as well.) 

C is for Caerac

I’ve been dead and buried for so long, yet my name, my legacy lives on in this very Keep’s walls. When I lived, it was a time of change. The Jasior Empire had been battered to pieces from without, while crumbling from within. The Order of the Unicorn was doing its best to gore and drag the Order of the Dragon through the mud, trampling them with their accusations of heresy, of using the very tools the Serpent delighted in while slithering Her way across every land She found something delicious. Fear of the Serpent was what united those lands under Serena Jasior, the Imperatrix’s rule. Once the Serpent had been cast in chains into the darkness, once the Imperatrix died, there was nothing to hold those lands together. The Imperatrix left her legend behind to inspire all of those fighting to build a legacy of their own in a world which had shattered. 

I was one of those fighters. I took my sword and battled across the monster-infested chaos of Rowenda. Orcs, trolls, kobolds, goblins, shapeshifters, not the mention the various undead some fool of a necromancer raised, they poured out of the north in my helpless country, no longer protected by the Dragons or the Empire. Only one Dragon continued to fight, even though his own order abandoned him. 

His name was Corwyth. His courage was only slightly less than his beauty. He was one of the brighter aspects in my life and I admired his ideals, even if I didn’t share them. 

Mine might have been a time of chaos, but it was also a time of opportunity. While Corwyth was obsessed with hunting down the undead, discovering their connection to the Serpent, I was obsessed with obtaining enough treasure to build a home for myself. Not just any home. I recalled tales of the opulence and wealth of the Empire. I wanted to recreate some of that, even if it was just a little piece. 

First I established a fort, which became a castle. The castle became a walled city, a Keep. My Keep, Caerac Keep. Nor was I the only Rowendian adventurer whom accomplished this. My rival and companion, Gwyneth was even more obsessed with legends of the lost Empire, of recreating it than I was. She built an even bigger Keep than I did with more guilds, traders, and a lot more trouble. Still our Keeps became not only our Legacies, but bastions of hope in Rowenda. They were the closest things our poor lost land had to civilization and a link to the past. 

I died an old man, reaping the rewards of my life of fighting. A far better fate than what happened to Gwyneth. Better still than what happened to Corwyth. That boy was entirely too brave and too beautiful for his own good, not to mention too fixated upon going after the undead. His fate shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, all things considered, even if it’s one that makes any cleric shudder. 

Does such a fate still make a cleric shudder? Times have changed, from what I saw of the younglings fool enough to resurrect me. Don’t they know better than to play around with such powers? Things may be more civilized, but with civilization comes forgetfulness. There’s Trouble at Caerac Keep and the young have forgotten to be afraid. They forgotten that monsters are monsters. Sympathize with them too much and you’ll get eaten. They’re forgotten that resurrecting the dead is a terrible power with a terrible price. I doubt any of these young fools are capable of paying it. 

I’d weep if I had any tears left. 

(Caerac is a background character in my Work in Progress, Trouble at Caerac Keep. He’s the founder of the Keep, dead and buried until he’s resurrected. He’s not happy about that.)

B is for Briar

I didn’t always have this name. It found me, along with my princess in Fairest. Actually, I’m the one who found her, cursed her, intending to take her for myself. Instead Rose found me in the darkness of my own loneliness and led me out. I became her Briar after that. How badly I needed that change after all the changes previous. I detested my birth name, Blanche. Quartz, my beloved surrogate father gave me a nickname when I stayed with him and his six brothers, Fairest. One of the reaons I spiralled into the darkness was fear that I had filled him. Happily Quartz has his own story to tell in Of Cuckoo Clocks and Crystal Coffins, a story I appear in, dragging the name of Blanche behind me. There were a lot of painful memories attached to that name. Meeting Quartz and the other six dwarves, living with them in their cottage, I hoped to let go of that pain, to change. Only the pain came looking for me and I got trapped in it as always. My existence seems to have been a series of changes, some good, some bad. One thing I’ve learned is I can’t hide from them. I have to face the changes when they come, cope with whatever they bring me. Sometimes that whatever is wonderful. Sometimes it shatters me, shaking me to the core. Sometimes both. 

Something wondrous may be about to happen, something I didn’t dream possible. I was too lost in my own guilt to anticipate it, but I must be ready. I can’t ignore all the little changes happening, the dreams, the call I’m hearing in my dreams. I could miss that moment of wonder if I do. I don’t want to miss it when it comes. 

(To read more about Briar, you can find Fairest along with other LGBTQIA+ fairytales in Once Upon a Rainbow available at…

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Once-Upon-Rainbow-Mickie-Ashling-ebook/dp/B0774WM688/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1509900824&sr=8-1&keywords=once+upon+a+rainbow%2C+by+k.s.+trenten

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/once-upon-a-rainbow-volume-one-mickie-b-ashling/1127395428?ean=2940155023067

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/once-upon-a-rainbow

Quartz isn’t happy about what happened to him in Fairest. He’s demanded that I change his fate in his own story, Of Cuckoo Clocks and Crystal Coffins. I’m working on it right now. :))

A is for Amberwyne

(Amberwyne is a character in a Work in Progress called The Players Are the Thing, a story about a Game Master and a group of female roleplayers whom lose some of their enthusiasm for the game and life itself. Due to all the time and energy they’ve put into their characters, their characters come to life and try to figure out ways to help their players.)

I’m not real, even less real than many of the scribbler’s characters are. I took on life in the imagination of Rhane Soames, the main character in The Players Are the Thing. Rhane is a girl who shirks from conflict and problems in real life, spending most of her time dreaming. She poured all of her passion into me, a character she’s created for Beatrix’s roleplaying campaign. This gives me exceptional vitality and strength, which I appreciate, I truly do. Only I’ve come to truly care about my player, all the problems she’s hiding from. I think making me is part of her wish to cope with them. 

Why can’t I cope with them? I’m not real, you see, no real enough to solve Rhane’s problems for her. Not directly. Maybe there are other things I can do to help, to influence Rhane from within her imagination. I want to help her, to do what I can for her. 

The irony of this is if I succeed, if Rhane learns how to cope, she’ll need me less. That’s a dilemma, but not much of one. I can’t let my creatrix suffer. Besides all living things die. Perhaps imaginary things are destined to fade away in a similar fashon. I’ve just got to deal with what I can in the time I’ve got. Besides, there’s still the campaign story of the roleplaying game I’ve got to deal with. I’ve only recently become aware that is a roleplaying game for our creators. For a long time, it’s been my life, my peril. Fidessa, my former mistress and mentor seeks to enchant or enslave me as she’s enchanting and enslaving much of the word, bit by bit. Rhiannon (formerly a non-player character, now run by Zoe Parks, matters she and I are only just becoming aware of) is in Fidessa’s thrall, acting as her agent. I’ve been slowly luring Rhiannon away from Fidessa, not that my companion, Isolde, trusts in this plan or Rhiannon’s changing alleigence.

Oddly enough, our bonds within the story, mine and Rhiannon’s, parallels the one Rhane has with the ‘Game Master’, Beatrix. Beatrix appears to be sapping Rhane’s vitality and is more than willing to drain Zoe of hers, although she appears unaware of this. It’s curious that Beatrix set up such a bond between myself and Fidessa, myself and Rhiannon in our world. Does she wish for us to resolve her situation by resolving ours? It’s also curious that Beatrix sneers at any tender moments between Isolde and myself (courtesy of Rhane and Mona Talbot, Isolde’s player). Much of Rhane’s conflict is centered around Beatrix, just as Fidessa and the little traps she leaves behind are the source of many of our problems; Rhiannon’s, Isolde’s, and mine. This parallel leaks between realities, one we may be able to work with, if I can persuade Isolde and Rhiannon to. I’m not sure if they care about their players as much as I do about mine. Nor am I sure if they’re as aware of not being real. I must do what I can to get their help, but this may mean making them more aware of their situation. What will such awareness do to them?

Change is coming. It’s inevitable and I’m instigating it. Nothing will be the same once it comes. I can only hope that things will be better.