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sister-lucifer · 2 days

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HEY, YOU

Yes, you!

Do YOU like the idea of a gay polyamorous romance taking place in a fantastical medieval setting?

then you might like my upcoming original written series, Royal Courting!

Featuring the following cast of characters:

Lucian Hensley

A fair skinned, pudgy baker standing at about 5’4 with hazel-green eyes and a thatch of dirty blond hair that falls in thick curls around his freckled face. He’s usually wearing his beloved handmade crocheted sweater, the same color as his eyes, despite the wear and tear it’s received over the years. Nothing he wears is particularly fancy, but it’s all very well loved and cared for.

Though he’s not ashamed of the weight he’s gained from the years of sampling his own baked goods, he’s easily flustered by any sort of comments on his physical appearance, regardless of how mild, possibly related to his gender identity as a transgender man. He’s humble and incredibly kind, sometimes to a fault.

King Ambrose Verlice of Divestia

A dark skinned, slim man standing at about 5’7 with sharp brown eyes and a slightly effeminate nature about him. His dark hair is done together in thick locs so impossibly long they nearly brush the floor, decorated with gold cuffs and never less than perfectly maintained. He’s always wrapped in white and gold with jewelry to match. Any one of his outfits is worth more than every house Lucian has ever lived in combined.

He commands respect from all who lay eyes upon him, but knows how to use a gentle hand. It’s easy to get caught up in his flowery language, but beneath the purple prose and irresistible urge to flirt is a genuine heart of gold.

Tobias Silva

A toned man of Colombian descent with tan skin standing at about 5’9, with brown eyes and curly brown hair that’s cut short and shaved underneath, but left longer on top, still allowing a few curly strands to fall over his face. He’s got a foxy way about him and always has a smug, closed-lipped grin on his face that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and dimples form in his warm cheeks.

He tends to keep his armor rather minimal to maximize his speed, but he’s got daggers hidden just about everywhere one can hide daggers on their person. If he’s being quiet, he’s probably busy scheming with his colleague and friendly rival, Rex.

Rex Theroux

Rex is a tall, pale, transgender man standing at about 6’1 with downturned blue eyes and shoulder length, golden-blond hair that curls a bit at the ends and is usually drawn into a loose, low ponytail that often leaves strands hanging around the sides of his head. Contrary to Tobias, he keeps his muscular form clad in armor at all times.

He’s the stoic tank of the duo, and proud of it. He’s completely mute and has never spoken a word to Tobias nor his king, but communicates with both Divestian sign language and his own unique methods. The only time anyone even sees his mouth is when he eats, as it’s usually covered with a neck gaiter. The scars that litter his limbs and body show his impossible resilience, but no one has ever heard the stories behind them.

When Tobias and Rex stop in at Lucian’s humble bakery, they’re completely amazed both by what they taste, and the man they see behind the counter. When a batch of these baked goods reaches king Ambrose, he demands to see the wonderful artisan who created them, and Lucian’s simple life is thrown into a whirlwind when he receives an official summon from his majesty himself.

Are you interested? Stick around! Chapter one of Royal Courting: Summoned By The King is in progress now! You can find the Royal Courting masterlist (among others) in my pinned post!

If you like this idea, please reblog! It’s free, takes two seconds, and helps spread my ideas to more people!

You can find me on AO3 as Sister_Lucifer; everything here is cross posted there!

dividers by @cafekitsune

#royal courting #ocs #oc #original characters #original character #fantasy character #fantasy #mlm #mlm fiction #mlm fantasy #medieval #fantasy fiction #original fiction #trans man #trans masc #t4t #poly ship

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adarkrainbow · 1 day

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I always stood my ground when it comes to the Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking-Glass stories. I am certain and I will defend that they are NOT fairytales, despite a mass-culture effort to consider them as such just because they want to lump together all children fiction as farytale (plus Disney's influence of course).

Thinking about it, I recently realized that I can sum up the situation perfectly by creating a triangle with two others works. The Alice books - Pinocchio - and the Oz books.

The Alice books are not fairytales, "modern" fairytales, fairytale fiction or fairytale fantasy in any way. Pinocchio, on the contrary, is what I will call for this post "fairytale fiction", and as such stands as an oposite of the Alice books. (And Oz stands in the middle between the two, I'll come back to this later). [Note: I want to precise that I am a HUGE fan of both the Oz and Alice books. I love them. So I am not saying that negatively, on the contrary, I want justice for them to be recognized as what they are.]

What makes Pinocchio a "modern fairytale", a "fairytale novel", a "fairytale fiction"? (I do not call it "fairytale fantasy" because I keep this term for fantasy works that are primarily fantasy but rely on fairytales for inspiration or motifs, such as the Narnia books, Tolkien's The Hobbit or movies like Legend or the Last Unicorn) One, the book was intended by its author to be a modern fairytale or a new fairytale. Two, the book reuses fairytale structures and archetypes. As simple as that. The Alice books, on the other hand? They were never intended to be "fairytales" and never refered to as such by their author.

Not only that, but these books lack any type of fairytale structure when it comes to the plot or narrative. In terms of structure, half of these books are to be ranged into the "allegory" genre, the "metaphorical journey" - for example Alice Through the Looking-Glass is actually a chess match, a chess game that has been narrativized and word-built to produce a children book. The other half is simply the genre these books hailed, heralded, symbolized: nonsense. The Alice books are one of the most famous displays of Carroll as the master of "nonsense". Because nonsense is a genre in itself, and the first Alice book for example, the Wonderland one, is a nonsense plot. A dream-like journey through a bizarre otherworld solely guiding by the reversal of human norms (everybody is insane, that's the normal), the twisting of what children are taught at school (Carroll playing around with everything children were given to be "equipped" in life and how it would seem absurd to them when confronted with a child-like pragmatism) and the literal application of the kind of philosophical and metaphysical questions children would be faced with. Alice in Wonderland is a "nonsense philosophical" story - in France we have a genre matching the "fairy tale" (conte de fées) which is the "philosophical tale" (conte philosophique), most famously represented by Voltaire's works. Alice in Wonderland is a nonsense philosophical tale, not a fairytale.

Yes, the world Alice encounters is filled with talking animals, magical royalty, and other monsters... But they are not fairytale archetypes or even "types" at all. And that is where things are interesting. Because too many people forget what the worldbuilding of the Alice books is, what the "rules" for creating the worlds Alice visits are.

Yes there are bizarre creatures - but they are creatures born out of puns. The Alice worlds are words of wordplay - Carroll created half of his characters simply by playing on the several meanings of a same word, or by breaking down in a literal way a common name, or even by applying expressions in a pragmatic way. Remember: the Mad Hatter and the March Hare are simply Carroll deciding to use two common sayings about madness as literal characters.

Yes, there are talking animals - but they're not out of fairytales. They are out of NURSERY RHYMES. And there's a big difference. In fact, while I refuse to call the Alice books "fairytale fiction" I do recognize their nature as "nursery rhyme fiction". The Queen of Hearts, Humpty Dumpty and many more were straight up lifted from nursery rhymes, and the entire books rely on the memorizing, parodies and twisting of the nursery rhyme genre.

Finally yes, there is magical royalty, but they are just caricatures of the real-world. The Alice books are meant to mock and caricature the society they were created into - such as how the Red Queen of Through the Looking-Glass is meant to embody strict rules children had to learn and those harsh nannies obsessed with etiquette and how nonsensical the rigid politeness could be. Quite a handful of the characters Alice meets are simply references to real-life people (starting with the Dodo which is Carroll himself, or even Alice herself who is the fictional version of the girl the story was meant for) - and if people did a bit of research they would find that Carroll wrote quite a bit about the intended personality of the characters (he notably described extensively what kind of "person" the White Rabbit was supposed to be).

So... The Alice books are nonsensical philosophy for children, and a comical caricature of society, and a nursery rhyme fiction. But they are not "fairytale fiction" or "fairytale inspired" in any way. Unlike Pinocchio which does deserve its fairytale status, and is an emblem of what fairytale fiction is.

I promised you some Oz so here's my stand... The Oz books started out as a fairytale fiction comparable to Pinocchio. When Baum wrote his first Oz book, "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz", he explicitely intended it to be a modern American fairytale able to rival with European classics. The novel reinvents several fairytale archetypes (such as the witch, the talking animal, the wizard), and applies a certain fairytale structure to its narrative. When Baum wrote a sequel to this book, when book 2 of Oz came out, "The Marvelous Land of Oz", Baum kept it a fairytale fiction. We still had a fairytale structure, a fairytale motif, and fairytale archetypes. This second novel was much more extravagant and bombastic (because it was actually created as a tie-in with the Oz stage extravaganzas Baum had created, hence the "dramatical" and "theatrical" nature of this second book), but it stayed fairytale fiction. And the same can be said of book 3.

However, by the fourth book (Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz) onward, Baum, who was fed up with Oz and only continued because he needed money+ audience pressure, dropped the "fairytale fiction" and rather turned the Oz series into basically something similar to the Alice books. He didn't do full nonsense like Carroll but he did two things that made these books "American Alices". 1) He dropped fairytale-narratives like (go on the quest to kill the witch, go on the quest to obtain your wish, undergo this journey to free the trapped royals) for an absence of real plot similar to the Alice books. Stories start randomly, characters find themselves in a new place for no real reason, they travel through bizarre lands, encounter excentric characters, return home at the end. And that's it. Baum didn't bother with a plot anymore since he knew what kids wanted was just see more of this world and that was it. 2) Over-reliance on punny worldbuilding. This is one of the greatest feature of the "late" Oz books: to create his world, Baum massively uses (if not excusively) puns and wordplays, from which are born entire lands and people - thus making it very similar to the Alice books where the Wonderland and Looking-Glass lands precisely exist to warp language.

As such, this is why I consider the Oz series to stand perfectly between Pinocchio and Alice - it started out as a fairytale fantasy similar to Pinocchio, and then it drifted to a "nonsensical childhood marvel fantasy" a la Carroll's Alice.

#alice in wonderland #alice through the looking-glass #alice books #lewis carroll #oz books #the wizard of oz #oz series #l. frank baum #frank baum #baum #pinocchio #fairytale fantasy #fantasy fiction #nursery rhyme fiction

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a-kind-of-merry-war · 1 month

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A guy doing marine research into phytoplankton is far out to sea and waiting for the samples to be ready when he spots a fast-moving ripple in the water up ahead.

Fully aware that this spot is home to a migratory orca pod, he assumes he's stumbled across an orca hunting a seal and settles against the railing to watch, because it's not every day you get to see that.

The ripples get closer, the shadows in the water more defined, the water choppier, and suddenly the orca and its unfortunate prey are zooming directly towards the boat and he's waiting, breath held, for them to duck right underneath--

When the water breaks, the ocean sprays, and he's suddenly smacked fully in the face by a very wet, very confused, and very pretty merman, throwing them both down onto the deck while the boat rocks as a confused and now quite hungry orca dives beneath it.

The merman, it turns out, thought that the boat was an ice float and didn't realise his mistake until it was too late. But he's very thankful for the impromptu rescue, and wow don't you have nice arms, and holy shit you've got legs, can I touch them? Is that weird? Can I touch them anyway? And your hair--

So of course they get to talking because they're both utterly fascinated with the other, and soon the sun has set and the samples are long-since ready and the moonlight is making the ocean look black and they part with the knowledge that they'll never meet again, and a kiss, and a lingering look over the shoulder for all the things that can't be...

And the researcher gets back to land, moors his boat, readies his samples. He packs up his things, shoves them into his bags, and prepares to go home. He steps onto the jetty boards and thinks of the merman and the solid wood beneath his feet seems to sway for more than one reason.

There's a splash. He turns, pulled as if by the tide, and there's a ripple in the water. A face. A pair of eyes made black by the moonlight.

And this is how the researcher acquires a merman boyfriend who helps him find samples and the merman acquires a human boyfriend who rescues him from whales.

#short story #i guess?#original fiction #merman #mermaids #queer #fantasy fiction #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writers #guess what suckers this is just a one night in hartswood AU!!!!#mer!penn 4 LIFE #this is NOT a prompt lmao #im happy for you to use it with fanfic or w/e tho #but not original fiction #on account of how its my idea for a book

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chrissy-kaos · 28 days

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Don’t mind me I’m just reading my new spicy book 🥵.

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mayasynth · 4 months

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My beautiful unhinged daughter, Mary Elizabeth Frankenstein <3 I know this was not at all how the scene actually went, but humour me

(Pssssst everyone please read Our Hideous Progeny, pleaseee 🙏)

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arinotfae · 1 year

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I am a writing genius who totally planned this

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ameliathornromance · 3 months

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"I don't know if this is a good idea." Your Orc Boyfriend told you.

"This place is fine!" You smiled at him. Gripped onto his hand, you pointed to the door of the Inn. "I already told you that they're welcoming to everyone. You'll be fine."

All around you, people stalk by, heads shrouded in cloak hoods and clutched tightly around their necks to stop the downpour of rain.

Your Orc Boyfriend grumbled as a gust of wind sent a chill down both of your spines. He looked over his shoulder, pulling the poorly fitting hood further over his face. He sighed. "Okay, let's get out of the cold then."

Beaming, you pushed open the Inn door. The two of you entered and were instantly hit with warmth. Chatter drowned out the bard who played at the very end of the tavern. But no one spared a glance at the two of you, even as your Orc Boyfriend pulled down his hood.

"Right, let's see if we can get something to eat." You mumbled. You pulled him away from the door, desperate to get further away from the cold draft that had followed you inside.

"(Y/N)? No, that's not you,"

Whipping your head around at the mention of your name, you couldn't stop your grin. "Boor? Is that you?"

"Boor?" Your Orc Boyfriend questioned, but there was no time to give an answer.

A human man, twice the size of a regular man, pushed his way through a crowd of Goblins to you. "It's been so long my friend!" He grabbed you and lifted you off the floor.

You let go of your Orc Boyfriend's hand and wrapped your arms around Boor.

Once you were let go, your boyfriend instantly pulled you into a protective grip. Hunching over you and crossing an arm over your chest protectively, your Orc Boyfriend shot a glower at the man.

Boor didn't even glance at your boyfriend, instead bending down to you, "are you well my friend?"

Sensing the tension from your partner, you placed your hand on his forearm and squeezed. "I'm good... Boor, I'd like you to meet my partner: (O/N)."

Boor finally acknowledged your boyfriend and gave him a toothy grin. "An Orc?! Amazing! I haven't seen any of you for a few years! I hope you and your kind are keeping well!"

Your Orc Boyfriend seemingly relaxed at his recognition and grunted in return. "We are well."

"Come, allow me to buy you drinks, we must catch up!"

"Actually," Your Orc cut off. "We should get a room."

"(O/N)'s right, sorry Boor." You smiled apologetically. "Maybe later, we're both freezing from travelling."

"Ah, if you must." Boor sighed, "I will see you later my friends!"

When you and your partner had been settled in a room, you both collapsed onto the bed. A fire crackled in the corner of the room, punctuating the silence.

"Who is this 'Boor' man?" Your Orc Boyfriend asked.

"Boor's a good friend of mine." You explained, "he's part man, part giant. Super friendly and kind, but not very good at reading other people." You snorted, "one time, we nearly got caught in a Drider's web because Boor said he promised to feed us. Little did we know, he was actually trying to fatten us up to eat."

"Sounds like a shit travelling companion." Your partner grumbled.

"He meant well." You rolled your eyes and smiled. Both of you returned to silence for a moment. "...Were you jealous?"

"No." Your Orc Boyfriend said too quickly. He rolled over, back facing towards you.

You could barely suppress a grin from coming over you. "You have nothing to be jealous of, I only have eyes for you." Placing a hand on his bicep, you leaned your head against the square of his back.

"..." Your partner didn't respond for a moment. Then he rolled over and scooped you up in his arms and squeezed you tightly. "Good. If it weren't for the Inn full of people, I would have beat him to death for even touching you."

You rolled your eyes and squeezed him tightly. "I'm glad you didn't. Otherwise we'd be camping outside again and I don't think that you would want to do that."

"It would be worth it if it meant protecting my partner."

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julescarstairs · 9 months

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I think the worst part about writing a book is wanting to tell everyone everything about your characters and your ships and your elaborate fantasy world and the massive plot twist at the end of your novel but you can’t, because if you do, then where is the fun in reading it? What is a good book without its element of surprise?

#writer #my writing #work in progress #wip #high fantasy #fantasy fiction #novel writing #writing #booklr #bookish #ya fantasy

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lyralit · 2 years

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nobility titles (in order of importance) - writing prompts

empress / emperor - rules over an empire, composed of several kingdoms or countries. highest rank

king / queen - rules over a kingdom. could be a part of an empire, but still quite powerful

duchess / duke - rule over a duchy (a part of a kingdom, ex. a province or large territory). second only to the literal king and queen

marquis / marchioness - support dukes and duchesses, don't usually own territory

countess / count/earl - rule over cities. have their own castles. pretty cool guys

viscount / viscountess - rule over smaller lands, like towns or villages. they can also be the children of counts/earls and countesses

baron / baroness - the 'servants' of nobility. usually only people who have their own land + a noble rank.

⚜️.

princess / prince - the descendants of royalty

knight / dame - usually military folk with titles (addressed as "sir")

lady / lord - addressing anyone below the rank of queen / king (unless their title is princess / prince)

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goatsandgangsters · 4 months

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Jack Alston, Lord Hawthorn, from A Power Unbound by Freya Marske @fahye

Alan looked at his hand engulfed in Jack’s. He said, coming to the realisation along the way, like a sentence that only revealed itself word by word as he wrote it down: “You’re still the kind of arse who’ll pick two fights before breakfast, but you’ve been desperate for someone else to look after, haven’t you?”

#a power unbound #the last binding #freya marske #jack alston #lord hawthorn #ft. bonus elsie and bonus alan #lastbindingedit #through SHEER FORCE OF WILL I’ve brought gifsets to the book fandom!#I would like to buy a fruit basket for whoever sat him at the base of a tree #and handed him a newspaper about important votes in the Lords #lit edit #booklr #bookedit #lgbt reads #my edits #sff books #fantasy fiction #fantasy books

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thefugitivesaint · 2 months

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H. R. Smith, ''Fantasy Fiction'', Vol. 1, #2, 1953 Source

#fantasy fiction #Fantasy Fiction Magazine #pulp magazines #monsters #werewolf stories

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ahb-writes · 2 months

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Fantasy Worldbuilding Questions (Clothing and Fashion)

Clothing and Fashion Worldbuilding Questions:

What is considered typical or everyday dress for each region?

What values or status does society confer to clothing (or is it entirely functional, or even non-existent)?

Who is permitted to wear what? Are there taboos, superstitions, or laws governing dress? Why?

Who has access to clothing? Which fabrics are cheaper and which more expensive (and why)?

Where are fabrics and other materials used in clothing sourced, and is their production ethical or problematic in some way?

Where are specific dress codes or uniforms enforced, and what are they?

When do styles or what people typically wear change, are there seasonal, spiritual, customary or other aspects to this?

When have (or will) clothing styles change in the world, and what are the economic, environmental, or other contributing factors?

Why is clothing in this world the way it is, what are the aesthetic beliefs, meanings or symbolism ascribed to colors, and other contributing factors?

Why does gender, class or race impact what people wear (for example, a group may have spiritual or familial meaning attached to the type of jewelry or body modification members embrace).

❯ ❯ ❯ Read other writing masterposts in this series: Worldbuilding Questions for Deeper Settings

#writeblr #worldbuilding #fiction writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing #novel writing #fantasy writing #fwq #fantasy worldbuilding #fantasy fiction #superstitions #color symbolism #character creation #urban fantasy

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insomniac-dot-ink · 1 year

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Wolves at the Door

In a tidy well-built home on the outskirts of a village on the outskirts of the world, lives a doe in homespun skirts. MaryAnne lives in her ancestral home with antlers nailed to the mantle. Aged enough to be an old maid but not old enough for it to be charming, a howling comes for her.

Oh, the Beast Folk of the north know better than to live alone. Lighting candles in the darkest months. Hanging Evil Eye charms in their windows to ward off wickedness. MaryAnne, all the same, cuts her own firewood and pickles her own vegetables. She survives the winter.

That is until that howling comes. Wolves are at her door.

Claws scratch at the wood. A long snout snuffles at the windowsill. A voice croons, as they always do, in a plaintive song. In those long months, the villagers and MaryAnne bury their faces in their arms. Stuff their ears with wax. Cluster together if they can. That is how you made it through a winter in the north.

Yet, a howling comes.

That year, MaryAnne forgot to restock her wax. Too late to go out, she curls into a ball on the hard floor, buries her face, and refuses to look up. A voice floats through the cracks.

“Little doe.” A growl. “Why do you hide inside your nest?”

Mustn’t answer. A female wolf casts a long shadow through the window. Backlit by a yellow moon. She has a voice for turning wine to honey. MaryAnne squeezes her eyes shut tighter.

“You’ll turn to dust within these walls. Nothing left but bones.” The voice laughs, guttural and wind-rough. Heavy steps sound from outside, crunching in the snow. “The breeze is fresh. The snow is young. A night for running.”

Mustn't answer to the night.

“They have marked your door with Juniper. Tell me, what makes you so unlucky?”

A whine escapes from deep within MaryAnne’s chest. There is no escaping rumors it seems– even among wolves. A gentle sun-tanned face flashes through her mind’s eye. He is smiling there. The memory frays at the edges in an instant, like crumpling paper by the fire. He is frozen in that eternal melancholy look. Like he knew what was coming.

MaryAnne lets out a second hiccup of sound.

“There you are.” The voice laughs long and harrowed. A scratch drags down her door, rattling the hinges. “Why don’t you come out?”

“Leave me alone!” Her voice is hoarse from disuse. “Leave before I, before I. . . Leave!"

Oh no. She had answered. What a silly girl she was. The beast outside throws her head back and howls. And howls still.

—--------

Days pass in which MaryAnne doesn't hear the howling. She sweeps and mends and peels peas. Sometimes, the doe wakes in the predawn hours, half-frozen and shivering. She stokes the dead embers and looks out. Faded stars and quilted black look back at her. The night is quiet then, peeled to its barest layers and forgiving. An exhale.

But those aren’t most days. A howling comes at her door. MaryAnne's ears begin to ring with it. She dreams of fangs and rust-colored waters. In the light of day, MaryAnne rubs at her eyes until she sees spots and some curling grin remains. I won’t survive the winter, she thinks. My time has come.

MaryAnne goes to the village Wise Woman.

She trudges through the glittering snow and ducks behind trees when strangers pass. Mother Grace lived near the outskirts of town too. Though unlike MaryAnne, footprints ring her squat home– deep grooves of movement. MaryAnne follows the grooves and creeps forward like she might fade into her own shadow.

The house is dark evergreen and churns enormous plumes of smoke. Charms for luck hang in the window and MaryAnne averts her gaze. Some of them look like pawed feet. She hunches her shoulders, tugs at her sleeves, and lifts a hand to the entrance. A door thick as slabs of good brown bread swings open at her touch.

“Hello?” she calls into the gloom. “I am MaryAnne. Daughter of . . .” She doesn’t finish the thought. If there was one thing to know of Mother Grace, it is that she hates tedious things. “Mother Grace, I have come to ask you of the world. I’ve come to ask you what wolves fear.”

“Questions, questions.” A grumbling answers her. “For yourself, child? Or some grand cougar king. Conquering their enemies.”

“For me. Yes. Myself. I am, I’m a doe.” MaryAnne stumbles forward and eyes adjust to the dimness.

“I can smell that.”

An old woman sits before a stone shelf, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by books. An iron stove dominates the living space and the air shimmers with heat. Mother Grace rocks back and forth in her chair. She is entombed in pillows, waiting to remind the young that the winter is long. And bound to grow longer.

MaryAnne repeats her question. “Do you know how to rid yourself of wolves?” How to escape being hunted? She dare not speak those words into existence though. Hunted. Cursed anew.

The woman grumbles under her breath once more. Grey-haired and petite, her rabbit ears hang long and limp down her shoulders. Her milky eyes were unseeing and body bent forward. Yet, her bearing is steady and unflinching. MaryAnne wishes in some distant way she could embody the same self-assured air. A knowledge of herself, good or bad.

Unable to bear it any longer, she repeats herself. “Please. Wolves are at my door. You are the most learned Folk. What do they fear?”

Mother Grace doesn't look at MaryAnne as she speaks. Her voice creaks. “I cannot say. Fear is a shifting thing. Wolves, too, shifting creatures." The Wise Woman grunts a dry laugh. “Hard to separate the two.”

"Ah,” MaryAnne says like she understands, heart sinking to the bottom of her shoes.

Mother Grace sets her jaw and looks past her. "Go to the mulberry tree at sunset and bow your head. Speak true and earnestly.” The Wise Woman gnashed her gums. “It will show you how to greet a wolf.”

MaryAnne swallows. “Will that save me?”

The wisewoman does not answer.

—-------

The sun sets in in a purpling line, sending the towns folk scurrying behind their locked doors. The Beast Folk know better than to linger alone after dark. But MaryAnne is Juniper-marked and given a task. She approaches the Mulberry tree in the shadow of a hill. Red ribbons tied in its bare branches and framed by twilight.

MaryAnne bows her head and kneels on the snowy earth, her cheeks pinched with cold. The knees of her pants soaking through.

“How do you escape a wolf?”

The Mulberry bush sways in the wind. The ribbons turn a dull navy in the light and MaryAnne shivers.

Two knotted eyes blink and the nymph bows back. Her hair sticks straight in the air– naked branches reaching for sky. She considers MaryAnne for a long moment.

“Your father came to me once. Asking questions.” A pause follows that could suck the marrow out of bones. “He could not deter his fate. You may not be able to either."

“Please.” MaryAnne swallows over and over, suppressing the stinging in her eyes. “There is a wolf at my door. She will not leave. She has my scent.”

“Ah,” the Nymph says, pity trapped in her wispy vowels. “A Stray perhaps of their terrible rituals. The Bone Cities are far and often cruel. Come closer, girl. I may teach you to greet a wolf and thus defer her task a while longer.”

—-------

The wind whips against MaryAnne’s walls, battering the sides of her home. The dark wood was tightly joined and held. A syrupy silver light bathed the snow outside and MaryAnne’s eyelids grew heavy. She had been watching her door since she returned from the Mulberry tree.

And it had not ceased since the moon arose. A long cry mixed with the violent gusts of wind. A howling. MaryAnne’s shoulders set in a hard line, back aching and mood even more dour. Let it be over, she prays to the Great Mother Doe. Though, who knew if the starry mother listened. Let the wolf go home empty-handed.

MaryAnne’s head nods to her chest, jerking upright at the first sound. A scratch peels down her front door. Claws against wood.

“Little doe, why do you hide?” the wolf sings in that beseeching tone.

MaryAnne does not bother to curl into a ball. She straightens to her full height, nubby horns facing the door as if she might charge. Fangs flash in her mind’s eye and she takes deep breaths. MaryAnne forces her legs to work.

"Good evening," she booms. An imitation of how she imagines governesses speak to future kings. MaryAnne bows before the door, taking her time falling to her knees. Her chest tightens-- a thrum of terrible life. “I am pleased to meet you."

“Pleased?” The wolf sounds amused. Perhaps wolves can always afford that.

“Yes.” In slow increments, MaryAnne brings her wrists near the crack under the door. Bile rises in her throat and she pushes closer. “I see you've come to call on me. Perhaps I may have you over for tea. Do you take it with cream or sugar?”

The laugh is thunderous. A long snuffling follows and MaryAnne thinks she imagines whiskers under the crack.

“You smell like fear. Are you afraid?”

“Always,” MaryAnne says bitterly. “Is that not our nature? You, at our doors. Me inside my home. But you could knock.”

“I have a home too, you know,” the voice purrs. “Many leagues away and by the sea. Perhaps you might enjoy running to it.”

“You may have me over for tea,” she keeps her tone even. “Come back in the morning to exchange invitations. I have stationary you might borrow.”

Hot air blows against her wrist. The wolf audibly inhales. “You think yourself clever. Juniper-marked and clever.”

“What else could I be?” Her voice trembled and she didn’t like the way it broke on the last words.

“I can make a few suggestions.” The crunch of heavy paws against the snow. “Open up the door and I will show you.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” MaryAnne grits out despite herself. Run, run, run. her mind says. Her feet say. But the Mother Doe isn’t there to light her way. “My name is MaryAnne. I would like to invite you to tea.”

The door gives a violent shake, a weight thrown against it. Dust rains from the rafters. The hinges shrieks and the wolf lets out a howl to match. The door holds– as it was meant to.

Life spikes in her chest this time and fills her belly with warmth. MaryAnne holds herself perfectly still, wrists shoved to the crack in the door.

“I am Shier of the Northern Pack,” the wolf spit out the words. “You may keep your twice-damned tea.”

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Part 1 of 3

#fantasy fiction #fairy tales #sapphic #short story #part 1 of 3 #my work #anthro

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