G is for Grace

I’m growing up and away from who I was. I’m not sure if I want to. I want to continue to have adventures with Theodora Bear, like Princess Grace in Mother Morisot’s stories. I want to stop my sister, Nathalie, from being taken away. I don’t want Maia, Nathalie’s fiancee, to turn into Iama the Terrible. She’s stopped enjoying things. I don’t want to stop, but sometimes it feels like I have to. Maybe I need a holiday miracle, a little magic. See if one isn’t waiting for me in Wind Me Up, One More Time…

Mischief Corner Books/Shenanigans Press: https://www.mischiefcornerbooks.com/store/p161/Wind_Me_Up%2C_One_More_Time.html#/

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F is for Fidessa

Enchantress, sorceress, weaver of fate, crafter of dreams and nightmares; I may claim to be all of these things. The magic of Lumiere flows through me; enabling to touch them, shaping the objects which defy its flow.

Others aren’t worthy of this land, something they prove in so many ways.

I try to show this to my beloved Amberwyne, my charge and student. She is mine to protect, to keep from unsuitable company. Alas, she found unsuitable company entirely too alluring. She chose it over mine.

I’ve been striving to show her the error of her ways in various forms, yet I learned the truth of Lumiere and the curses I’ve inflicted upon those who do not love her as I do.

Lumiere doesn’t exist. It’s nothing but a fictional location, created by a creature more diabolical than any enchantress. She’s known as a Game Master. She and her circle, known as players; created me as well, along with Amberwyne and every other living being in this land.

If this Game Master, this Beatrix thinks she can play with our lives with the roll of some dice, she’s going to learn that I can play with her as well.

This game is about to become much more interesting.

E is for Emma

I sought for who I was in writing. All that mattered were the hours writing in my favorite coffee house, trying to get away from the world, strugging to create the perfect story.

Was that truly all? Esther Sinclair is the only person who can see me. It can’t be a coincidence that she’s also the girl I never dared to love in life.

Leaving the coffee house I haunt is dangerous. Soul Takers wait for me, whenever I apparate elsewhere. They’ve caught my scent. Judging from their monstrous visages behind their claims of offering salvation, the last thing I want is for them to catch me.

My time as a ghost is running out. If only I could figure out what to do with that time, how to move forward. It’s a lot harder to do, once you’re dead.

D is for Danyel

Who am I? Who is Danyel. Twin. Brother. Son. We live in a cottage with Leiwell and Map, Tayel and I. No one visits the empty field and forest, the neighboring garden with the ruined tower overlooking us all. Why are we here alone? Map says she’s protecting us. Leiwell says the same thing, every night he slips out to serve his lord. Where does he go? Up to the tower? No one can possibly live there, yet it feels like it’s watching us. Why do we have this garden, yet my brothers and I eat so little, sustaining each other with our company? Map warns us to eat more, so we’ll be more solid and real, connected to the world. She can eat more than any of us. What is this world she speaks of? I only know of it in stories, the few books Map brings to us. One of them is about Ashleigh, Ashleigh Beyond the Door, our other mother. We’ve never met her, yet we look like her. We’ve known no mother, except Map. Sometimes the air whispers to us. Sometimes I dream of other people, in other places. What does it all mean? Tayel warns me not to ask questions. Every question opens a Door. Something might come through that Door we don’t like. Isn’t possible for us to walk through that Door? It seems like I’ve been waiting for the right Door to walk through. Tayel is terrified it’ll take me away. I’m terrified, too, but I’m also curious. I can’t help being curious, even if it isn’t wise.

C is for Cinders

There’s one too many Ariellas in our family estate, even if it’s the name my mother gave me. I’d rather be Cinders while sitting in those very cinders, leaving the drafty chateau to my angry, ambitious stepmother. She claims the only true Ariellas are herself and her daughter. Her daughter can have my name, along with anything else she wants of me. Ever since she stood up to her mother for my sake, I’ve been willing to give her anything. I live for the days I tickle her feet into their glass slippers, stroking her ankles.

How can my mistress, my Ariella think I’d prefer a prince to her? The prince is not my reason for wanting to go to his ball. If only I had an opportunity to show her my true motivation for wishing to attend. If only I could show her.

B is for Byron

All I can claim is the name of poet from a lost world outside Paradise, as does Shelley. Those names shape us, giving our voices strength. For we cannot keep ourselves or each other. Our songs belong to the grim city of Paradise. Our voices are but part of a heavenly choir, raised for the glory of Goddess.

We cannot help trying to claim our voices, allowing them to become one. The forbidding face of Paradise will not allow it.

We are cast out into the arms of Ruthvyn, one of the pale lords. In his labyrinth, his palace; we lose sight of each other. We lose ourselves again and again.

We may become nothing but dolls and toys, as his other songbirds and pets have.

I must reforge myself into something stronger, something I can use. I must become someone who find a way out of the maze of our lord’s estate, which is as much a part of our minds.

He’s already shaping us into what he wills. If he does, all we ever could have been will be his.

Paradise and Lord Ruthvyn have claimed so much of Shelley and I. I sense with all my being this claim is theft, no matter what powers sternly chastise me with the gospel that we belong to ourselves.

I will not let them steal the future, or our dream of freedom. I will cling onto them with every shred of the self I fight to maintain.

No matter what madness tries to warp me, I will hold on.

A is for Amberwyne

I used to know who I was. Beloved student of a powerful sorceress. Eager to serve. Eager to learn.

A taste of her jealousy and anger directed at an artist whom I did no more than smile at drew me away.

Her curses pursued me, lying in wait upon a journey I felt compelled to take.

I was compelled. Compelled by my creator. Compelled by the dice.

For my companions and I are nothing more than the creations in a game, an opportunity to roleplay and express the passions lurking in their hearts.

I’ve tasted the passion in my creatrix’s heart. I exist, because of her.

I want to help her express this passion. I want to help her live her dreams.

Perhaps I should resent being part of her game, as Fidessa does. She’s determined to strike out at these girls who created us, particularly the Game Master who designed her.

I feel that the players are the thing, what makes us important. I want to use my connection to my player, Rhane, to help her. To save her from the curse my sorceress has put upon her dice.

She’s not the only one who can use the dice’s rolls to their advantage in this game. She’s not the only one who can reach out of our imaginary world to touch our creators.

I just hope Rhane listens when I do.