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.

At Her Service

I knelt at my mistress’s knee and reached out to touch the jutting nob of ankle, allowing my fingers to run over the soft flesh that covered the hardness. I drew her foot toward the waiting glass slipper.

Prepare to be enchanted...

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It's Coming: Blogging From AZ April Project 2025

The time is coming once again. Time for the waters of the Formerly Forbidden Cauldron to flow, in anticipation of Blogging From AZ: April Project 2025.

The theme for this year is: Who Am I?

Once again, it will be about my characters. They won’t always be the same who’ve visited, although some are. Once again, each character’s name will begin with a corresponding letter, going through the alphabet.

Every day one will appear; every day except Sunday. Every day a character appears; they will answer the question: Who am I?

This will be easier for some characters than others. Some of my creations have more focus, a more solid sense of self. Others will struggle to find out the answer.

It will be a journey of self-discovery for my characters; both here and at the Cauldron of Eternal Inspiration at inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com.

I welcome you to join us on this journey.

Farewell, Paula

I’m getting out a special cup

A mythic cup painted with imagery of artists

A work of art inscriped on a cup

A cup my husband bought in 2016

The very year I met you

I drink from my cup, thinking of you

How you came to Fairest’s release party

The first release party I ever had

You encouraged dead characters to live again

Cheering them on in demanding their own novel

Quartz is his uppity self with a monthly blog

All due to your influence

Nor was Quartz the only one you influenced

You gave so many characters a voice

Encouraging them with your Wednesday Words

You persuaded my inner poet to stretch her wings

She made your midweek ritual mine

I’m getting punched in the gut

Every time I remember you’re gone

I’ve got stories and poems set up

All the way to the end of 2024

Inspired by your prompts and words

I’m going to keep on responding

Until I run out of your prompts

I’ll keep sharing stories and poems

Your Wednesday legacy to me

R.I.P. P.T. Wyant

I cry, thinking of the snow that will fall

Snow that you’ll never see

I cry, thinking of the dogs searching for you

Sniffing for someone they’ll never find

There’s a void that will bleed without you

I’ll carry on writing as I bleed

Thinking of all the projects you were juggling

Right until you couldn’t juggle

There’s never enough time

I cry for all you couldn’t finish

I’ll still carry on, finishing what I can

Juggling my many projects

You saw inspiration everywhere

Even if you didn’t call it by that name

You were brave enough to share

Casting out ideas to inspire us all

Thank you for the precious gift

Thank you for celebrating our snippets

We are richer for having known you

We shall carry you in our hearts and minds

As we carry on.

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?