6 October 2022

Here is the first of a three-part rewrite of the events depicted in this post. I would say that it is here that Hanako’s story really felt like it was starting to grow into its own.

I was thinking about it recently; why have I fixated so much on this particular story compared to others? One of my main theories is that I just find Hanako that engaging as a character. Hopefully I get that across. But there’s something about the cheerful front she puts up and her desire for connection that resonates with me.

The other theory is feedback; I was really proud of my introductory scene for her, posted here, and I showed that to a few people, who proactively wanted to read more. That lit a fire and increased my willingness to invest, I think. I’m not saying all feedback needs to be positive; that would actually be really bad. Constructive criticism is important to identify weaknesses so I can improve. But little touches of affirmation go a long way, at least for me.

The town wasn’t especially welcoming to outsiders, but Hanako didn’t care; after the horrors she’d seen in Wakayama, Gifu, and others, she was just happy to have arrived ahead of the army for once.

She headed to the inn and paid for a room. She stayed out in the common area for dinner, though, in the hopes to get a feel for the atmosphere of the town. What she saw confirmed her suspicions; the innkeeper’s smile was tense, and the woman kept shooting furtive looks toward the door. The serving girl, who looked to be the innkeeper’s daughter, couldn’t keep her hands from shaking.

“Hey,” Hanako called out to the girl. “I’m Hanako. What’s your name?”

The girl hesitated for a bit. “Chiaki.”

“Mm. Nice to meet you, Chiaki!” Hanako beamed at her, which seemed to calm Chiaki down a bit. “Say, everyone in town seems really on-edge. Is something going on?”

Chiaki blinked. “Haven’t you heard?”

Hanako shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve only been in town for about half an hour. And before that, it’s been two or three days since I saw anyone else on the road.”

“The shogun’s army has camped near here. A whole battalion, they say.”

Hanako’s breath caught. “A whole battalion?” She’d thought - or hoped, rather - it would just be a squadron or two; she wasn’t sure she could take an entire battalion by herself.

“No sense in worrying. We’ll just give them what they want, and they’ll leave us alone.” The white knuckles on the innkeeper’s hand as she polished the tables betrayed her worry, despite her words.

Hanako knew a lot of people in the villages she’d just passed through that would disagree with her statement, but there wasn’t anything to be gained from worrying them with the things she’d seen. She continued her meal, but before she got up out of her seat, three Imperial soldiers entered the room. Hanako’s expression brightened when she recognized them as the trio who’d attacked the  old merchant.

The leader scanned the room, but focused on Chiaki so quickly Hanako wasn’t sure he’d even seen her. He gestured the soldiers towards Chiaki and said, “Take the girl, and anything else that looks valuable.” 

The faces of both the innkeeper and her daughter turned white, and the innkeeper wailed, “No! Please! Don’t take my daughter!”

The leader backhanded her across the face and roared, “Do you intend to interfere with an officer of the shogun’s army!?”

His two men moved to grab Chiaki, but they froze as soon as they saw Hanako. She gave them a feral grin and stood up. “Hey, robber-san, robber-san! It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

The leader creaked his head toward Hanako. “You! How…” Hanako almost burst out laughing when his face first turned pale white, and then a deep, deep purple.

She continued, “I see you got new armor! How’s it holding up?”

At that, the leader snapped and lunged at her, drawing his sword. Hanako just stepped in and diverted his sword hand, and punched him in the solar plexus. Right as the punch landed, she brought up the memories of Wakayama, Gifu, and all the other ruined towns she’d witnessed, and let a sliver of the anger she felt creep into the punch, launching him a few inches into the air.

The leader wheezed for breath as he collapsed to the floor and lost consciousness. The other two backed up and turned to run. However, Hanako wasn’t willing to let them warn the rest of the army just yet, so she jumped past them, chopping one in the temple and knocking the other in the back of the head. Both dropped.

Once she wrestled her rage back under complete control, she turned to look back and realized her jump had broken the floorboards. She smiled apologetically to the innkeeper. “Sorry about that. Let me know how much it costs to fix that, and I’ll do what I can to repay you.”

Both the innkeeper and Chiaki stared at her in shock. “You’re… an oni.”

Oh, right. She’d used her powers. Hanako slowly reached up and touched her horn. “Erm, yeah. I’m not with the youkai army or anything, though; I hear they’re just as bad as these guys.”

For a long moment, no one said anything. Hanako turned toward the door. “These guys shouldn’t be dead; do whatever you want with them. A friend told me their armor sells for good money.”

She started to leave, but Chiaki called out, “Th-thank you! For saving me.”

When Hanako turned back, the smile on her face was the warmest it had been in a long time. “You’re welcome.”

<-Hanako First

<-Hanako Previous

Hanako Next->

Current Draft of Hanako’s story (including unposted content)

5 October 2022

I think in addition to the slump I mentioned in the previous post, I also was really exhausted this day. Barely wrote 20 minutes. I also had no idea what to write about, so I pulled a random prompt from online; it talked about walking Cerberus. I thought it was fun. I didn’t finish, and I’m not sure I ever will, but it was a fun one to write.

After getting the letter, Rachel had half-expected to wind up just off the island at som massive, hidden mansion in the Jersey woods, but the address actually brought her to a very sleek, modern high-rise. The security guard let her in, and she was not surprised to see her client lived on the top floor. Most of these types tended to; Rachel wondered if they enjoyed looking down on the masses below them.

Soon enough, the elevator arrived and Rachel knocked on the door to the penthouse. “Hello? It’s Rachel Durmont, for Ms. Hecate le Fay. You asked me to walk your dog?”

“Oh, thank the Fates,” a woman’s voice cried out. The door opened to reveal a thirty-something woman with short, dark hair. Based on the bags under her eyes, it’d been ages since she’d gotten any sleep.

And it wasn’t hard to see why; behind her, a dog was tearing into a very expensive-looking throw pillow. That, Rachel could handle; she’d seen worse since she started this business. No, the problem she had was the two extra heads the dog had, all fighting for the pillow. She peered in, half awe-struck and half terrified. “Is that…”

“A puppy Cerberus? Yes, yes it is. And it’s just as horrible as that sounds.”

Rachel absently felt for the gloves in her coat pocket. She had a feeling they weren’t going to be enough this time.

Ms. le Fay continued, “Yeah… The big girl downstairs finally settled down and had a litter. Perse loves the lot, but even she has limits, so they foisted one off onto me. What gives? Anyway, I don’t really care what you do with it, just give me two – no, even one hour would be heavenly, where I don’t have to worry about it. That’d be a huge help.”

The gears in Rachel’s head struggled to click into place. “You want me to take that,” she pointed at the puppy, “and go out in public for an hour or two. Is that right?”

4 October 2022

It was hard to write over the 4th and the 5th. I think I was in a slump because of how frustrated I was with the last chapter of Ella and Kal’s story. I still had Cinderella on my mind, though, so I wrote up a quick one shot detailing another way I thought to break it. Why is Cinderella one of the easiest fairy tales to twist, I wonder? Or does it just seem that way because it’s the most common one to get twisted?

“Hm? But I don’t want to marry the prince.”

Marge, freshly-minted fairy godmother, couldn’t believe her ears. “You don’t want the prince?” She didn’t know what to do; the manual hadn’t covered something like this!

“No way. I’ve never met the man; why would I want to marry him? No, I’m after Thomas, the baker’s son from two streets over.”

Marge knew that bakery. Their jelly tarts were divine. But this wasn’t the time for that. “I… I… I don’t know what to do about that.”

Cinderella cocked her head to the side. “You’re my fairy godmother, right?”

“Of course!” Marge squared her shoulders.

“Then, it’s your job to help me find happiness, right?”

“Yes…”

“So if my happiness is going to be with a baker’s son instead of a prince, you should help me achieve that, right?”

That made sense. “So how do I do that? The manual focused almost exclusively on princes.”

Cinderella rubbed her chin. “Well, the baker’s son isn’t the problem; I’ve got that covered.” She beamed in joy, then glared in the direction of her step-mother’s room. “No, if there’s a problem… Could you get me away from the witch and her two daughters?”

“Witch!?” Marge had heard about those; nasty business. Sleeping curses, transforming into dragons… Marge might need to get help if there was a witch involved.

Cinderella rolled her eyes. “I just mean my step-mom.” Under her breath, she added, “At least, I don’t think she’s actually a witch. Wouldn’t surprise me, though…”

Fortunately, Marge hadn’t heard that, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then she thought for a moment. “Erm, maybe I could make you a carriage? I noticed a lovely pumpkin I could use growing out in the garden. The two of you could elope. That’d be so romantic!”

Cinderella wavered a bit, then finally said, “It’s an option. I’d like to leave it as a last resort, though; I don’t want to take him away from his family and his bakery if I don’t have to.”

“Oh.” Marge hemmed and hawed for a bit, but she couldn’t come up with anything. “I’m sorry. In most cases, once Cinderella marries the prince, he takes care of the step-mother for her.”

“Say, there’s an idea,” Cinderella said. “What if I got the prince to just owe me, instead? Then he can cut my ties with the old hag, and I’m good to go!”

“What kind of favor?” Marge asked.

Cinderella pondered for a moment. “Is the prince in love with anyone?”

Marge cocked her head. “Isn’t he in love with you?”

Cinderella groaned and facepalmed. “Like I said, we’ve never even met, so I certainly hope not.” She eyed the glass slippers. “You said they change size so they won’t fit anyone but me?”

“That’s right.”

“Go take them to the prince and find out if he’s fallen in love with someone. If he has, make the shoes fit that person instead, and offer them to the prince in exchange for his help with my step-mother. Sound good?”

Marge didn’t think it sounded good at all. It sounded like a lot of trouble, and who knows what could happen? But she didn’t have any better ideas, so she took the shoes and headed for the prince.

3 October 2022

So much of this bothered me, and I’m still figuring out all the different reasons why. Part of it was that this was supposed to be a light-hearted story, and it turned really heavy really fast. Part of it, though, is the way it sheds light on a couple major issues I’d overlooked at first. They’re closely tied together, but it still helps me to look at them separately.

First, Kal seems shallow. Why is he doing this? How is he helping make the world better? I’ve had a lot of thoughts on that and what he could be doing behind the scenes, which has been great. I feel like it’s fleshed him out better as a character, and that happened at all because I recognized the issue here.

Second, no good relationship can survive if it’s built on a lie. That’s obvious when I say it like that, but it does mean I need to rethink how Kal presents himself, who he really is, and what that means for him, for Ella, and for their relationship. The truth will always come out. So the question is, is the “Kal” persona a front? Or the real him? The way it’s written, it’s who he wants to be - not who he is. Which means it’s as much of a front as Aladdin’s “Ali Ababwa” persona, in some ways.

As soon as Caspir made it off the palace grounds, the tension bled out of his shoulders. No more eyes watching his every move, no more judgemental looks hiding behind friendly smiles. He was free to just be Kal.

Kal’s trademark, carefree smile naturally blossomed on his face, and he jauntily strode down the street while he tried to guess where Ella might have been sent today. He kept an eye out for any tempting marks, too; he favored the ones that despite their obvious riches, still somehow managed to spend their life looking like they’d just bitten into a lemon. 

Whenever he saw such a person, he would slip by, fingers light as feathers, and relieve them of their wallet or purse. The owners would usually then find them a few hundred feet down the street, divested of coin. After all, it clearly wasn’t making them happy, so it may as well go to someone who would appreciate it, right?

Not that Kal kept any of it. Most of the coin he would plant in the pockets of those who looked like they needed it. Any leftovers he’d give to Ella and the other orphanage children.

Soon, Kal had arrived in the square he’d met Ella in the other day. It seemed as good a place as any to wait for her; if it got late enough, he could just sneak directly into the orphanage instead. He leaned against one of the shopfronts and began flipping one of the coins he’d nicked across his knuckles, back and forth. He thought he saw a flash of red down one of the side streets, but before he could investigate, a familiar, soot-stained girl waved eagerly at him. He was happy to see she was wearing the pin he’d given her.

His grin widened and he pushed off the wall to head towards Ella. Just as he reached her, however, an all-too-familiar voice shouted from behind him, “Ah-ha! There you are!”

Caspir’s – Kal’s – face blanched, and Ella gave him a curious look. “Kal, who’s that?”

“Nobody. Let’s go.” He grabbed Ella’s hand and began pulling her in the general direction of the orphanage, trying in vain to pretend he hadn’t heard his sister.

“Hold it right there!” Serafina rushed forward and grabbed onto his collar,. Kal let out a choked gasp, and Serafina wheezed out, “I finally… caught up to you!... No way I’m letting you go that easily!”

Reluctantly, Kal turned to face his sister. She was wearing a bright red, hooded cloak over a surprisingly simple dress. She still didn’t look like a commoner, but at least she was trying.

“Fine, fine. Hello, dear sister.”

Ella’s eyes nearly bugged out. Sister? She looked at the girl, who was clearly some kind of nobility, then over at Kal, and back to the the girl. The resemblance was undeniable.

A part of Ella was relieved this wasn’t some lover past or present come to accuse Kal of two-timing, but most of her was still in shock. This girl was rich. Kal was her brother. Ergo, Kal was rich. And rich men didn’t marry poor orphans like her.

She reached up and brushed the pin he’d given her, the one that meant so much to her, and wondered if it had actually meant anything to him. She wondered if any of this had meant anything.

Ella looked up at Kal. Was that even his name? “Was any of it real? Or was it all just a game to you?”

Shock and hurt crossed Kal’s face, and Ella fled.

Serafina watched the girl leave, and then caught Caspir’s expression. Well, s***, she thought.

Caspir sank to the ground, and stared less at the cobblestones and more through them into nothingness.

“Aren’t you going to go after her?” Serafina asked.

“What would be the point?” He tipped his head back. “I mean, what if she’s right? These kids, they scrimp and work and save just to get barely enough to eat, while me? Anything I could want at the snap of my fingers. 

“And I just couldn’t be happy with that, could I? So I come and pretend I’m one of them. When it’s convenient. I don’t have to live their life, Sera; I can leave whenever I feel like it.”

For a long moment Sera just stared at him. “We’ll get to that later. For now, where did she go?”

“If she didn’t head straight for the orphanage, she’s probably outside the bakery on 9th and Fairhaven. Why?”

“Stay here. Don’t move.” Serafina strode off a few steps, then realized she didn’t know where either of those streets were from here. “Which direction is that?”

Caspir pointed, and Serafina stalked off, the right way this time.

<-Ella and Kal Previous

Ella and Kal Next->

2 October 2022

One of the writing skills I want to improve includes the ability to write fluid and engaging action sequences. I lack confidence in that, and I want to get better. It’s not the only skill I’m trying to improve, of course, but it’s one that’s been in the back of my head for a long time.

So I had a thought; what if I had a playground of sorts - the Arena - that could change to match whatever setting I wanted, just for me to practice envisioning and writing action sequences? No overarching plot, no deeper meaning, just a place a bunch of fights can happen. It’s a lot of fun, and I definitely want to do more with it at some point. There’s little to no fourth wall between me and the characters; death is only relevant in that it takes people out of the action, or potentially motivates them to do and try different things so they don’t die.

Kali crouched on the beam. She was fairly high up; of the eleven beams crossing the Arena, she was on the sixth, with each roughly five feet above or below the next. Each was at a different angle, too; perhaps the Author was exploring verticality with this fight?

She checked to make sure she had all her gear; swords, knives, ball bearings, all good. She had one explosive; no guns this time, though. She also had her grappling hook, which was a relief; even parkour had its limits when the Arena was set up like this.

The gate opened, and a great black thing covered in feathers rushed into the Arena. Its head was a small white thing, maybe a mask, but the body was massive, taking up half the floor, and seemed to have roughly the consistency of a slime monster, if she ignored the feathers. It prowled around on the ground and then sniffed at the air. It homed in on Kali and roared, revealing rows upon rows of sharp teeth.

“Yeesh. That looks painful,” Kali muttered.

It raced toward her, using the first beam as leverage to reach the second before its tail end had even left the ground. Kali raced along her beam, and once she was close enough, she flung the grappling hook to swing to the beam above her.

As she landed, she flung two of her knives at the beast. The first sunk into its black slimy flesh and vanished, but the other nicked its mask, causing the beast to bellow.

It bunched up a part of its body right behind its head and launched a barrage of feathers at Kali. She evaded with a front flip, and noted how easily the feathers had embedded themselves into the beams and walls.

She shook her head at the sight. “Still, at least I’ve figured out its weak spot.”

The beast was only a couple beams below her now, so Kali raced to the end of her beam, taking a couple steps up the wall before she jumped for the next beam up. She eyed the beast and briefly considered fighting it here, but any protracted fight in close quarters would likely end with it pinning her down using its sheer mass. Kali threw another dagger at its head and looked for a good place to grapple up. 

She did notice, out of the corner of her eye, that the knife she threw had just bounced off. “Seriously?” She flung the grapple and jumped, narrowly avoiding another barrage of feathers, and used her momentum to skip the next beam entirely and reach the tenth.

The beast roared once more and slithered along the beams toward her, barely slowing down as it climbed from one to the next. Kali threw another knife, leaving her with only one left, before she pulled out a sword and leapt for the top beam.

The beast surged forward and opened its mouth wide, but Kali grinned and swung her sword. It cut into the thing’s mouth, but got caught between its teeth. The beast reared back, taking Kali’s sword with it.

She cursed under her breath and flung out the hook, landing just under its tail, on the same beam she’d started from. It turned to look at her and screeched, then bit down just hard enough to break the sword caught in its mouth. It swept down, moving faster than Kali had seen yet.

She managed to jump down the next couple beams just before it, and even threw her ball bearings behind her as it landed on the fourth. To her surprise, that actually worked; its front half slid off before it was able to catch itself with its tail end.

For a moment, the two watched each other warily. Kali drew her other sword, but right as she jumped down to the beam below her the beast rushed forward and pinned her to the wall. Her sword arm couldn’t move, but her other hand was free, and she reached for one of the pouches in her belt.

The beast’s head slowly drew closer, as if savoring its catch, and then it roared. Kali grinned and chucked her explosive into its mouth, then took her sword in her free hand and cut herself loose.

She managed to slow her fall just enough with the grappling hook, and she landed hard on the ground right as the beast exploded into a rain of black goop and feathers. Kali collapsed onto her back, looked to the sky and muttered, “You freakin’ owe me for that one.”

1 October 2022

And here is part 2 of my Iphigenia story! Mostly just setting up pieces. Not that I know yet how it’ll go from here. I do feel sorry for that priestess…

I think I need to read/watch more zombie movies to get an idea of where to go next.

At the meeting of the Senate, nearly everyone present wore smiles that oozed with greed.

“How long before they submit?” asked the Minister of Finance, a tall, spindly man with a meticulous mustache.

“It won’t be much longer,” the Minister of the Esteemed answered. He was a fat, balding man, and even within the Senate few took his opinion seriously.

“I’ve heard they’re actually considering war.” The Minister of the Commonwealth was the youngest man in the room; he hadn’t yet reached 40, but had still been able to afford to buy a seat on the council.

The Minister of Defense, a robust woman with a few scars from her time in the military, scoffed. “More the fools that makes them, then. Even without considering the Children of Iphigenia, our force is so much greater than theirs, any battle would be like a stroll in a park.”

“Speaking of which,” the Minister of the Commonwealth asked. “Where is Horenza?”

“No doubt gorging herself on foreign delicacies,” the Minister of the Esteemed snorted. “You know how she is.”

“Well, you’re here, so someone has to keep them in business,” the Minister of Finance retorted. The Minister of the Esteemed shot him a glare.

At that point, the door to the council chambers opened, and a young woman stepped inside, dressed in the robes of Iphigenia’s clergy. “My apologies. High Priestess Horenza is currently indisposed; I have been sent to represent the Lady in her stead.”

The senators all looked amongst each other, until finally the Minister of Defense urged her, “Very well, child. What does Iphigenia have to say about the current situation?”

The priestess bowed her head, but when she opened her eyes, they’d gone entirely white. The lights in the council room dimmed, and when the priestess spoke, the voice that came out was not the same as the one she’d used before.

“Be wary, fools of the Senate, for I am not deceived. Long have you glutted yourselves on the sufferings of your neighbors, and how easily do you condemn those beyond your sight to starvation and slavery!

“No more will I watch silently. If you do not repent, retract your sanctions and your desires for conquest, war will not wreck some distant land while you cower here, safe in your capital. No; my Children shall rise from these graves, and deliver it to your very doorsteps. So repent, O fools, and hunger no more for power.”

She closed her eyes, and for several seconds no one spoke. Then the priestess bowed, the lights returned to normal, and she left. For the next several minutes, not one one of the Senators could muster up the courage to speak.

And yet, within the week, that priestess was executed for treason.

<- Iphigenia Previous

30 September 2022

This is probably where I started taking Elsenaia's story more seriously. All that backstory made me recognize her as a character more, or something? Anyway, still plenty comedic, but there's a lot more serious moments.

I also wanted to hurry up and get past the “reading each other's minds" bit, so I probably rushed to the end scene there. Also, I am not a therapist, and there are probably a thousand reasons why this is the wrong way to approach handling someone's trauma were you to wind up literally inside their head. But it was fun to write. And I'm looking forward to writing what I mean by “stop being a princess"!

After I heard Elsenaia’s scream, I appeared back in my own head to find her fleeing a large man in sleek black armor. He didn’t wear a helmet, but his face had a ghostly cast to it, and from the right angle it looked like nothing more than a skull.

“What is this thing!?” Elsenaia cried as she headed for me.

“Death. Or, a personification of it, anyway. For a story I’m writing.”

Elsenaia skidded past me, then turned around in shock. “Death!?”

I ignored her for a second and stepped up to Death. He raised his scythe, but I just flicked him in the forehead. “Oi. Knock it off. We have a guest.”

When he looked like he was going to be stubborn, I folded my arms and glared at him. “Do you want me to call Life over, instead?”

He flinched and sulked away. Elsenaia’s jaw gaped open as she watched him go.

I turned to her and asked, “You alright?”

“I… you… How…?”

I wasn’t 100% sure what she was asking, but I said, “Well, they’re in my head, aren’t they? So I can exert a bit of control over them, especially as characters I created.”

“Death isn’t even a person! It’s just a thing that happens! How can it be walking around in your head!?”

Is that what the issue is? “I said it already, didn’t I? That’s a personification of death.”

She still looked confused, so I said, “Okay, it’s like… Take some sort of abstract concept. Maybe an emotion of some kind. Can you think of a person, or an object, or anything, that represents that concept?”

Elsenaia nodded slowly. “Like a really happy person to represent happiness?”

“Exactly. Personification is like that. You take something that isn’t human–” I pause, then reconsider my words. “Rather, something that isn’t a person, and give it person-like traits. You can even take the concept and imagine what it would be like as a person.” I look at her askance. “Do elves really not have a concept like that?”

Elsenaia started to shake her head, then paused. “I… I actually don’t know.”

Eh? “You don’t know?”

“I… didn’t have much chance to choose my own reading material.”

Okay, that is straight up weird. I went back to Elsenaia’s head and started prodding a little more forcefully. I heard her ask, “Wait, what are you–”, but I kept pushing forward.

I found myself in front of a thick stone wall, sealing… something off. I could hear the faint sounds of someone crying on the other side.

I hit the wall once, just to see if it would react, and then looked around for something I could use to force my way in. “Oh, wait. This is all in our heads, right?” I concentrate for a second, and manage to materialize the Giant Crusher Hammer from Elden Ring.

“Oof, that’s heavy.” Fortunately, I was able to lift it still. I swung once, and the impact shook the whole building.

Elsenaia materialized and grabbed one of my arms. “Wait! Please!”

I turned to look at her. “That’s you, crying on the other side, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer, but her eyes still pleaded with me to stop. I put one hand on her head and said softly, “If I stop now, who is ever going to let you free?”

Her eyes went wide, but after a second or two, she let go of my arm and took a few steps back. I nod to her once, and then hoist the hammer again. I called out to the other side, “Watch out, I’m coming in!”

The crying paused, and I swung the hammer two, three times. A small hole formed in the wall, and I could see a small elven girl on the other side. “Wait just a bit; we’ll have you out soon.”

I kept at it with the hammer, and soon the rest of the wall had collapsed. The little girl rushed out and hugged me. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s alright. You’re free now.”

A flood of Elsenaia’s memories washed over me, as everything she’d been keeping repressed or locked away burst out at once. I saw the day Tairsi’s family had been sent away, and how she’d told Elsenaia, “I guess princesses aren’t supposed to have friends.”

I saw the cold looks her father often gave her, and the countless hours of studying. I saw the harsh training Darrett, the angry guard, put her through. I saw her joy as she discovered magic, and the jealous looks from her brother at how quickly she picked it up. Countless other memories surfaced, all panting the sheer loneliness Elsenaia lived with day to day.

I hugged the little Elsie close and whispered, “I’ll be your friend.”

The little girl pulled away and said, “But princesses aren’t allowed to have friends.”

“Then it’s simple.” I turned and grinned at the real Elsenaia behind me. “Just stop being a princess.”

<-Elsenaia First

<-Elsenaia Previous

Elsenaia Next->

29 September 2022

I got the idea for this setting from two locations. The first is a post my brother showed me a while back off of Tumblr; it described Iphigenia (one of Agamemnon’s daughters who was sacrificed to the gods for victory in the era of the Illiad) as a potential goddess of war - not of victory, or glory, or combat, but the brutality and horrors of war, and the curses she’d cause anyone who made the mistake of calling on her to further their own wars.

The second is the song “Zombie” by Bad Wolves. It has similar anti-war themes, and then I got the idea… What if zombies were a way Iphigenia punished the people who sought out war? So now I have a setting where zombies are called the Children of Iphigenia, and torment the nations that start wars. And from their I came up with ways people might try to abuse that, and how Iphigenia would respond. I only have a couple bits written so far, but I do want to continue this one.

Abe Lincoln as a god of freedom was a kind of spur of the moment thing; I may change it.

King Ferris sent everyone away, leaving him alone before the altars of Iphigenia and Lincoln. He kneeled, and with the deepest anguish of soul he plead to the gods.

“Please, I don’t know what to do. The Imperials have cut off trade, and now for fear of them, no other nation will trade with us, either. They say the will only reopen their borders if we submit to them; if I allow my people to become their slaves.

“My people are starving, and the only ways out I can see are war or slavery. You have taught us the horrors of war, Lady Iphigenia, and I would not wish that on my people or theirs; but you, Lord Lincoln, have taught us the pains of slavery, and I will not submit my people to that. So please, if there is another way, open my eyes that I may see it.”

For many long moments, the king knelt there in silence. Finally, he rose and turned around, to find two figures standing amidst the pews. On his right, a veiled blonde woman wearing a toga held a ceremonial dagger. The left side of her chest was stained with blood. When she spoke, her voice reverberated through King Ferris’s soul, despite its low volume. 

“I have peered into your soul, O king, and in this instance, I have found it pure. Spare the people, and my children shall not turn on yours.”

To his left, a bearded man in a strange black suit towered, made even taller by his top hat. In his hands he held two halves of a rusted chain. “I have seen the brightness of your hope, O king, and it shall guide you. Go with my blessing, and the secret roads shall open before you and yours.”

The king immediately bowed. “On behalf of my people, thank you. Thank you both.”

They both tipped their heads then vanished, once more leaving King Ferris alone in the temple. He turned his gaze westward, towards the Empire, and murmured to himself, “May the gods have mercy on your souls.”

Far away, in Paulus, the capital of the Empire, Horenza, the high priestess of Iphigenia, dreamt. In her dream, she stood alone beneath a scarlet sky amidst a field of corpses. Her stomach heaved, and she turned to run, but anywhere she went, more corpses, and that same blood-stained sky.

Horenza paused to catch her breath when something clutched at her ankle. She screamed, and found one of the corpses had grabbed one of her many gold anklets. Empty sockets looked up at her, and a voice echoed in her ears. “Are these the riches you earned selling our lives to the Empire, High Priestess Horenza?”

Horenza screamed again and tore her foot away, leaving her anklet in the corpse’s grasp. Soon, though, more and more corpses grabbed at her, taking jewelry and ripping at her fine clothes, pulling on her hair, leaving her ragged.

All the while, their voices mocked her. “She’s so fat! How much did you get to eat while we starved?”

“Her clothes are so pretty! Did she steal them from our homelands, like her people stole our freedom?”

“What good are your riches now, High Priestess?”

“Nothing to say? None of the honeyed words you gave your Senate, assuring them the goddess favored them?”

Then the voices stopped, and in front of Horenza appeared a raven-winged woman with golden hair, floating in the air. She held a bloody scythe in her hand, and where her heart should be there was a gaping hole. Her voice was quiet, but it shook Horenza to her core. “Did you really think you could lie to me, Horenza?”

She raised her scythe, and Horenza screamed.

Iphigenia Next->

28 September 2022

While I was mulling over the problems I had with the previous day’s short on Hanako, one of the ones that kept coming back to mind was how can Hanako freely enter towns if everyone fears and hates oni and other yokai like her? Then I decided to give her a charm that lets her appear human… so long as she isn’t channeling her strength or using any of her more supernatural abilities. I might play with that more later; we’ll see.

The old merchant is loosely based off the titular character from The Seven Faces of Dr. Lau, a really old movie about a Chinese circus man. The merchant himself may or may not be human. :)

Hanako hummed to herself as she strolled down the road. No one else was around, so she kept her hood down, and let the breeze rustle her hair. Overall, it was just a pleasant day.

Her daydream ended, however, when she heard shouts from just up the road. “Didn’t you hear me, old man? I said everything in the cart is now the property of the shogun’s army!”

Hanako hurried ahead, and found three of the shogun’s soldiers surrounding an old man on a cart. One of them was up in the old man’s face, hand on his sword.

As for the old man, he had a long, pointed white beard and wore a straw hat. Somehow, he looked utterly unperturbed. “But I can’t do that, young man. If you take everything, what can I sell to make my living as a merchant?”

The soldier snarled and grabbed the old man by the lapel. “The shogun’s armies are all that stand between citizens like you and the youkai army. As such, it is your duty–”

“Hey, hey.” Hanako cut into the man’s rant.

All three soldiers turned to look at her. The two on the ground immediately reached for their swords once they saw her horn.

Hanako ignored them and instead focused on the leader, tilting her head to the side quizzically. “You said you’re supposed to protect people from youkai and bandits and things, right? So why are you the ones robbing an old man?”

The leader’s face turned a curious shade of purple. “Get her!”

The two men rushed at her, but she didn’t even feel like she needed to harness her rage to avoid them. “Hey. Weren’t the shogun’s soldiers supposed to be good with swords?”

The men roared and started flailing at her. Hanako remembered the lesson her master had taught her, how untempered rage made you weak and left you open.

“I think I get it now, master,” she muttered to herself. She wove between their swords and chopped the two on the back of their necks, knocking them unconscious.

The leader growled and shoved the old man back. He drew his own sword and settled into his own stance, sword overhead. He watched Hanako carefully, gauging her movements.

“Oh!” Hanako exclaimed. She hadn’t had a chance to test her skill against a real swordsman since she’d left her home. With a fearless grin, she threw off her coat and drew her sword. They circled around each other for a while, and then with a shout, the leader attacked.

Hanako danced just outside the blade’s tip, then pivoted in and drove her hilt into the man’s jaw. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he slumped to the ground.

Hanako looked first at her sword, then the unconscious man, and finally the old man she’d just rescued. “Hey, hey, oji-san. Do you think all the shogun’s army are this weak?”

The old man roared with laughter. “You’re a fun one, young lady. I’m sure there’s bound to be a few of them that would give you a run for your money.” He glanced down to the scabbard at her belt. “That’s quite the sword you have, there.”

“Oh? Yeah.” Hanako smiled shyly. “It belonged to my master, before… Well.” She shrugged. “I do my best to be worthy of it.”

“Is that so?” The old man nodded to himself, but didn’t elaborate.

Hanako looked around at the unconscious soldiers. “What should we do with them?”

The old man shrugged. “Eh. tie them up and leave them by the road. Their comrades will be along soon enough to look for them, I’m sure.” Then he got a glint in his eye. “Oh, but let me have their armor! I’m sure I can sell it for a pretty penny.”

“Alright.” Hanako helped the old man load all the armor into his cart. “Which way are you going, by the way?”

The old man gestured back the way she’d come from, and her expression dropped. “Ah, okay. Have a safe trip, then, and watch out for more soldiers!”

She turned to leave, but the old man called out to her. “Wait just a second, young lady!” He rummaged through the things in his cart as he said, “It wouldn’t do to let you going without repaying your kindness, now would it? Ah, here it is.” He pulled out a gold filigree necklace, with a small pearl at the center.

Hanako’s eyes grew wide. “That, that’s too much! Besides, it’s so pretty; it wouldn’t really suit someone like me.”

“Nonsense!” The old man shoved the necklace onto her. “Besides, it’ll do you good. That pearl’s enchanted; as long as you don’t use your powers, it’ll make you look just like a human.”

Hanako’s breath caught in her throat, and she stared at the necklace for a moment befoe she gingerly tried it on. “D-do you have a mirror or something?”

“Right here.” The old man held out a hand mirror, and Hanako looked herself over. She still thought the necklace looked out of place, but it worked; she couldn’t see her horn at all. She beamed and hugged the old man, catching him by surprise.

“Thank you! Thank you thank you!” Hanako let the old man go and wiped her eyes. “You don’t know how much this means to me!”

“Ha ha.” The old man patted her on the shoulder. “You’re welcome, young lady.”

She bounced a couple time, gave him one more quick hug, and then raced off. “This is the best day ever!”

The old man watched her go, a wry smile on his lips. Once she was out of sight, he whispered to himself, “Your daughter seems to be growing quite well, old friend.” And with that, he turned his cart and headed off.

<-Hanako Previous

<-Hanako Previous Canonical (also the first Hanako chapter)

Hanako Next->

Current Draft of Hanako’s story (including unposted content)

27 September 2022

This immediately felt off as soon as I wrote it. It wasn’t until I was in the middle of work the next day that I figured out why, though; I wasn’t staying true to my image of Hanako. This Hanako is all “lone samurai” angst and sorrow and the world is terrible. The Hanako I originally established? She was willing and able to find the positive in almost any situation. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t have angst or angsty moments, but I try to remember to add her cheerful, almost cavalier attitude.

As a result, I actually rewrote the scene here, and expanded it. We’ll get to it once we reach October 6th and 8th entries for this year.

The town made no effort to welcome outsiders, but still, Hanako was able to get a room at the inn with little trouble. After she was certain she was alone, she finally pulled back her hood and heaved a sigh of relief. She ate a simple meal and went to sleep.

The next morning, however, she woke to find a battalion of the shogun’s army had camped nearby during the night. A squadron of them marched straight into the center of town; the commander ordered his men to take food and supplies, along with anything else they fancied, all while spouting some rhetoric about the glorious fight against youkai.

In her travels, Hanako had sometimes run into towns ransacked like this; destitute, heartbroken, and usually starving. The army were like locusts, devouring everything in their path.

Despite that, she knew better than to get involved; she couldn’t take on an entire army, no matter her strength and skill. Especially not one designed to hunt oni like her.

But when the commander moved to grab a young woman, Hanako caught him by the wrist. “You leave her - and the other members of the village - alone.”

The commander yanked his hand back and reached for his sword, sneering at her. “It is their duty, as citizens under the shogun, to serve our needs!! We defend them from the army of monsters, so this is only right!”

“Protect them?” Hanako asked quietly. “Like you protected Naha, where the people are so starved they’re boiling leather? Like you protected Tokushima, where the march of you feet turned their fields into wastelands? Or Gifu? Wakayama? Makuhari?” Hanako spat on the ground. “If you want to hunt monsters, commander, perhaps start with the rapists and thieves in your own army.”

The commander’s face burned red, and he barked an order to the rest of the squad. The five men all drew their swords and circled around Hanako.

The girl she’d saved had fled with the rest of the villagers, thankfully leaving the area clear. Hanako was grateful for that; less chance the soldiers would try to use someone as leverage. Hanako inhaled deeply, and drew her sword out only the first inch. Her rage snarled, eager for the fight.

As in on cue, all five soldiers jumped toward her at the same time, only to swing at empty air. Hanako danced between them, her sword flashing here and there, almost unseen in the dawn light. Only seconds had passed, but Hanako stood with her sword to the commander’s throat, while behind her his men’s armor clattered to the ground.

The sweat beading on the commander’s pale face took the bite out of his glare. “You will regret this!”

Hanako pushed the blade just a little harder against his skin. “Oh? Are you saying it would be better if I killed you and saved myself the trouble?”

The commander’s face turned bone white, and Hanako whispered, “As of this moment, this village is under my protection. If you don’t want to me to bleed you like the animals you are, you will take your men and never return. Am I clear?”

With a nod, the commander backed away, then turned and ran. His men followed after him, struggling to carry all their armor with them.

Hanako sighed, then sank to the ground against a wall. A few of the villagers gingerly stepped out onto the street. One, an elderly man Hanako assumed was the chief, stomped over to her. “What have you done!?”

“I saved a young woman,” Hanako replied tiredly.

“At the cost of the village! When they return, it will be a while battalion, bringing torches! Mark my words, there won’t be a building left standing!”

Of course. What else had she expected? Even without revealing her horn, she got the same reactions. “I’ll protect your village, don’t worry, old man. And you haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Once the army’s gone through… Well, let’s just say I don’t even call that surviving.”

The old man tried to rant at her some more, but Hanako tuned him out. Instead, she stood up, and began heading for her room in the inn.

On the way, the woman she’d saved stopped her. “Thank you.”

Hanako smiled back. “You’re welcome. You okay?”

The woman nodded.

<-Hanako Previous

Hanako Next->

Current Draft of Hanako’s story (including unposted content)

26 September 2022

This one is pretty self explanatory; rather that write prose, I took the hour to brainstorm what Elsenaia’s past might have been like. Most of the time I do this sort of thing in the 10-15minute prep time before I write, but this seemed big and complicated enough I went ahead and took the whole block, and used it for my writing for the day.

This is pretty much just backstory ramblings, so quality and coherency may not be super high.

Elsenaia was a lot happier as a child. She and Tairsi were thick as thieves, and Tairsi would drag the princess all over the place for little “adventures”. Nothing too serious; they never left the palace, and they never caused any real trouble. That would be rude to the servants.

However, it was considered unseemly for Elsenaia to express her emotions so strongly, and to be running around like that in general. So they were separated. The king found a prestigious promotion for Tairsi’s parents out near the borders of the kingdom, and it would be years before they saw each other again. By that point, both had changed.

What made it worse was the last day before they parted. Tairsi ad been heavily scolded by her parents, and so when she went to say goodbye, she told Elsenaia, “I guess we can’t be friends anymore.”

“What!? Why?” Little Elsenaia had tears in her eyes.

Tairsi wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Princesses aren’t supposed to have friends.”

For a long time, Elsenaia didn’t move. Then her tears overflowed, and she ran. Even she’s not sure if she’s ever truly smiled after that.

Tairsi, for her part, was literally parroting what her parents told her word for word. By the time she realized how much that must have hurt the princess several years later, it was too late. The damage had been done, and she had no way to apologize.

There is now an awkward dichotomy, where the only thing Tairsi could think of to do was serve Elsenaia whole-heartedly to make up for her mistake. However, on the contrary, every bow, every term of respect, every servile action only drove it home to Elsenaia that Tairsi is not her friend; she is her servant. And Elsenaia felt more and more isolated.

After Tairsi was sent away, Elsenaia was forced to spend all her time studying. The angry guard from before was actually one of her tutors; swordplay, specifically. She didn’t particularly enjoy or pursue it, but she’s passable with a blade, which is more than can be said of me.

Her truest passion was magic. I think it was a form of escapism; leave behind all her duties and responsibilities to focus on breaking the very rules of the universe.

As for as her family, her parents are both alive, and they see each other often enough, but there’s also a certain distance between them as well. Like the king (or whatever his title actually is) must keep that royal persona on at all times, even with family. I suspect her mother just follows along with whatever her husband says; someone with little to no will of their own to exert, even if they wanted to.

As for siblings… Elsenaia is certainly the eldest. She has at least one younger brother, I think? How much of this is patterned after the Schnee family? …Nah. Anyway, the next eldest is a brother, who is jealous of Elsenaia’s status, and the youngest are a pair of twin sisters. I’m still deciding if they’re malicious pranksters or something else at the moment.

Each has a day of the week they are assigned to “listen to the voice of the people”, though each of the twins’ days are cut to noon, and they always have one of their parents around to supervise due to their age. Elsenaia finds it very boring; she is, unfortunately, very good at it, and tends to draw bigger crowds than even the king. No telling how he feels about that; could provide an escape opportunity for Elsenaia if he turns out to be jealous.

Unless… I her brother’s actually older than her, and Elsenaia’s the one that “never measures up” in their parents’ eyes, always choking at the last minute, that could be an interesting dynamic, as well. I’ll have to think about that.

Yeah, I like that image; where she was the baby of the bunch, and the twins would always tease or prank her, perhaps because they were jealous of how happy she was roaming around with Tairsi. Then the incident with Tairsi leaving happened, and Elsenaia became way too serious, and the twins were filled with guilt.

When it comes to stories… The sheer shock she had in the last scene doesn’t make sense, I don’t think. Elves have stories, whether real, fictional, or legendary; it’s just a question of which ones Elsenaia was exposed to. And given the general attitude her parents/father had about Tairsi, I think it’s safe to say that her media intake was heavily censored. If it didn’t teach her something (and that something was both specific and approved by the king), it didn’t get anywhere near her.

Which does leave the question, wouldn’t some of the petitions on her public day be about requests to read or watch some of their artwork?

It also makes me curious what she does, exactly, the other six days of the week. I’m sure she’s kept busy, but doing what? Diplomatic meetings? I’m sure that’s part of it bu certainly not all of it. Flower garden tea parties? I’m sure she hates those. Leah Aragaki from Out of Touch might be decent inspiration for her personality; it would explain why she can’t trust anyone without reading their mind.

Does she paint? That might be the one “personal” thing she’s been allowed. Of course, it would still be heavily regimented; what kind of princess gets paint in her hair, for example? This would change on earth, though.

Yeah, I kinda hate her father the more this goes on. That kind of makes it fun, though. Does Elsie get banished, and that’s what lets her cut loose? Or is he an ever-present threat, always looming in the back of her and the MC’s minds, wondering when the other shoe is going to drop?

How big is her country? Initially I thought it would have to be quite small, but if it takes place on a whole different world, it could be quite the empire. Which would explain all of the diplomatic meetings. What kind of communication technology/magics do they have there? Whatever it is, what I’ve seen makes me think the king would make heavy use of propaganda. 

Ooh, what if his kingdom is small and failing, and that’s given him a chip on his shoulder? All his people know it, but he has that royal pride, and so has refused to let his children see it. The others have likely figured it out to one degree or another, but not Elsenaia. It’s a fun idea, but it doesn’t quite fit.

Also, what sparked their invasion? Did the portal reawaken suddenly, and they sent a party through to head off any potential threat? I like that idea. The question, then, is what is Elsenaia doing on this trip? There are two main possibilities, which are very much NOT mutually exclusive. Either she finagled herself onto the trip so she could actually see the world, or else her older brother arranged it in hopes of eliminating her.

<-Elsenaia First

<-Elsenaia Previous

Elsenaia Next->

25 September 2022

This one also got a little dark. I really like the idea that Hansel and Gretel grew up to be badass, and they took something from the witch when they escaped. From their, it made sense they would pay dear old step-mother a visit, but… Yeah, as much as I enjoy darker stories like Arcane, I don’t think I have the right mentality to write them.

Also, I had that stupid song stuck in my head all day at work one day, and this was how I put a spin on it to keep my brain occupied.

“The cat came back, the very next day.

The cat came back; she thought he was a goner.

But the cat came back; he just wouldn’t stay away.”

The older woman seated on the couch stood and whirled to look at the man who’d been singing. He leaned against the doorframe, one arm folded, while in his other hand he juggled a single knife. He had dark hair and wore a black duster over a similarly dark outfit.

“Who, who are you?” the woman squeaked.

“Ah, you do not remember me? My heart is wounded!” The man clutched his chest, but his mouth slipped into a smile that never reached his eyes. “Did you hear that, dear sister? She does not remember us!”

From across the room, in the hall beyond the doorway, a young woman’s voice lilted through. 

“Oh, the cat came back, the very next day.

The cat came back; she thought she was a goner.

But the cat came back; she just wouldn’t stay away.”

As the chorus finished, a woman in her mid- to early-twenties, same as the dark-clothed man, entered the room. She, too, was dressed all in black, save for some dark red accents. She wore pants, which would have made the older woman aghast were she not so terrified. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a braid, and she wore a feathered tricorn hat. Strange, arcane accouterments hung from her belt.

She smiled cruelly. “And after you tried so hard to kill us all those years ago? You’re going to break my heart, mother dearest!”

The older woman’s eyes went wide. “That’s not possible!”

“Hm. You would think so. Yet here we are, aren’t we, Gretel?” The man slowly began to walk towards the older woman.

“But, you were both dead!” The woman backed away from the two, and her eyes darted for some way out of the room. Unfortunately, the only two doors were the ones the siblings had used to enter.

Gretel stepped closer. “No, though the old witch certainly gave it her best shot, didn’t she, Hansel? Still…” She raised her hand, and a ball of ghostflame flickered into existence. “I did manage to pick up a few of her tricks, so I should thank you for that I suppose.”

The old woman had backed herself into the corner by this point. “No! Please! I, I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” Hansel asked, one eyebrow raised.

“So, if, for example,” Gretel asked, and traced a finger down the old woman’s face. “If I said I felt peckish, and that I’d always wondered why that old witch was so eager to eat children…”

The blood drained from the old woman’s face. “No, please! They’re only children! I beg of you!”

Hansel’s eyes flashed. “What were we, then, when you sent us to the witch?”

“You should have seen her salivating,” Gretel added. “Children must be quite tasty.”

The woman wailed and fainted. Both of the twins looked down on her in disgust. Gretel almost went to kick her, then thought better of it. Instead, she crouched next to the woman and held a hand over her head as she recited words from an unknowable language.

“And what will that do?” Hansel asked.

“Nightmares,” Gretel said, “every night, for the rest of her days. She will watch her children being eaten by monsters over and over again. I felt she should get to see for herself what she put us through.”

He nodded once, and the two left, with no trace they’d ever been there except for the unconscious woman in the corner.

24 September 2022

This was fun. I loosely based the MC of the Elsenaia story off of my own head, since that’s what I have access to, and I have a lot of weird and/or terrifying characters running around in there. So what would happen if she ran into one?

I come back to this idea and revise it later; I think the idea that she was utterly cut off from fiction to be unlikely, so later I took time to map out more of what her life looked like and what she’d been through.

The rest of my journey through the palace hallway was an interesting experience. I could feel Elsenaia pouting at me; she was trying so hard to be angry and indignant, but it was all undercut by the embarrassment I could feel all around me. 

I was not surprised by her fondness for cute things, not that the weekly day where the public could petition her for things was tedious as all get-out. What surprised me was the way she entertained herself during those days; she’d try to imagine whatever conflicts were brought before had happened in ridiculous situations, like underwater, or by taking the point of the conflict to its extremes. This did, unfortunately, backfire on her, as thinking outside the box meant she came up with solutions that weren’t always immediately obvious, and people began flocking to her court over the others.

Meanwhile, she poked around in my head, trying to ignore all the memories I was sifting through. She spent a great deal of time looking at D&D things; the idea of playing out another character’s life, especially with other people, fascinating, even if she did spend a long time ranting about the elf stat blocks.

Another time, I was poking around to see if Elsenaia had anything she actively enjoyed doing, rather than felt obligated to do, when I heard her scream from my mind.

I popped over, only to find Elsenaia running desperately from a hulking skeletal figure wearing ominous black armor and wielding a scythe.

“Why do you have Death wandering around your head!?” Elsenaia screamed, and she headed straight for me.

I sighed, and with a small smile I walked past her to the reaper. He raised his scythe to swing, but I just reached up and flicked him in the forehead. “Oi. Knock it off. You’re scaring her.”

When the reaper started looking obstinate, I folded my arms and raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I called Life over?”

The reaper flinched and sulked off. I turned and flashed Elsenaia a smile.

She just stared at the reaper, jaw gaping. When she finally looked over at me, she asked weakly, “Life?”

“His wife. Or maybe his wife-to-be? His crush? I dunno; depends on what part of the story he’s from. Time’s weird in here.”

“You have an aspect of Life in your head.”

I shrugged. “Well, sure. Why not? They’re not real; they’re just characters I made up for a story I’m writing.”

Eslenaia’s legs gave out from under her, and she plopped to the ground.

“Hey, wait, are you okay?” I crouched down and reached out to her.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just… need a minute.”

I shift so I’m sitting down properly, and we stay like that for several minutes. Finally, she spoke. “They’re… characters in a story, you said?”

“Yep. Or, well, a group of stories, I suppose. You know I want to write, right?”

Elsenaia nodded. “But I’m not sure I understand what that means.”

“Well, look.” I opened my mind to scenes of my wtiting, and to the “How Writers Become Authors” blog. “Basically, I want to tell stories for a living. Isn’t there anyone in your culture that does that?”

Elsenaia moved to shake her head, then stopped herself. “I’m… not sure. I never had time for things like that.”

I blinked, and materialized a movie drawer so I could start sifting through my memories.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You need a chance to relax. Time’s meaningless here, right? I figured I could show you a movie or something before you go.” I growled at the drawer of DVDs. “If there’s even any I can remember the whole way through, that is.”

Elsenaia’s eyes were drawn to one; the Hobbit collection of movies. An image of Tauriel flashed across like a mini preview. “What’s that one?”

“Oh, that’s the Hobbit, based on the book by J.R.R. Tolkein.” I noticed her expression and asked, “I don’t remember it very well, but do you want to watch it?”

She nodded, and I began letting it play. When she first saw Fili and Kili, she complained, “Those aren’t dwarves.”

“Agreed. They’re definitely men.”

“They don’t even look like dwarves.”

“Hm. But at least Fili has a cool beard.” I glance over at her. “Have you met many dwarves?”

“Only a couple.”

Sensing a bit of awkwardness, I peeked into her memories to find one of a dwarf catching sight of her for the first time, only to immediately propose as dramatically as possible. The rest of his fellows came and dragged him off while the leader of the group apologized profusely, and explained that this was “the young lad’s first time abroad, so he hasn’t gotten used to the sights yet”. The whole thing had made Elsenaia feel very awkward.

I laughed, but rather than the indignant reaction I’d expected, Elsenaia just told me to hush.

When I glanced at the screen, it was the parts about Tauriel’s romance with Kili. Elsenaia was completely enraptured by it. At one point she asked, “Do you think I could ever have that?”

I shrug. “Why not? I mean, I don’t know how anyone else will react, but I think the choice should still be yours.”

<-Elsenaia First

<-Elsenaia Previous

Elsenaia Next->

23 September 2022

I’d actually been really surprised when Serafina, Kal’s sister, showed up as a character at the end of the previous post. I also wanted to see more of what “Prince Caspir” was like, as opposed to Kal, and I’d ended with a promise of an engagement ceremony at the end of my writing on the 22nd, so I decided to run with that and see where it went.

I think this is the best example of the difference between “gardening” style writing and “architectural”; even though I have plans for the future of this story, I kind of let whatever I thought about happening happen for this scene. Sometimes that helps me generate ideas faster than just sitting and mulling it over. The trick is being willing to throw out a lot of what I write to generate the ideas, and even more importantly knowing what to throw out; I had no idea where I was going, so there winds up being a lot of stuff that distracts from the story that needs to go.

Also, if anyone knows any sort of medieval derogatory slang term for nobility or rich folk, I’d love to hear them. Peacock was what I came up with for now. Or stuffed shirt, but I think that usually means something different.

The party was grand. Jonathan and his bride-to-be were the centerpiece, of course, but the whole royal family was on display for everyone to see; even Caspir was roped into exchanging pleasantries with the well-wishers.

He hated it.

Part of that, he admitted, was because it meant eyes were on him at all times, which kept him from slipping away in the hubbub. But part of it was also how hollow the whole thing felt; a parade of smiles and gifts and well-wishes, and not a one of them felt sincere. Even Jonathan’s dynamic with his fiancee had an air of falseness to it. And maybe it was false; Jonathan was second in line for the throne, and who he married mattered. There was no guarantee either of them had any say in the matter.

The final reason he hated the party, though, was because it left him effectively trapped. This fact was emphasized when his father slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Just look at them. Aren’t they a beautiful pair?”

“They look fake,” Caspir replied flatly.

The king’s face spasmed. “Well, either way, Jonathan is settling down. Speaking of which…”

Caspir rolled his eyes. He could already see where this was going.

His father turned to face him. “When are you going to start searching for a bride, my boy? You’ve either refused or avoided every meeting with every girl that’s been set up for you! Surely at least one of them could spark your interest?”

“I very highly doubt it,” Caspir replied. “The very fact they agreed to yet another dull tea party just to court a prince they’ve never met automatically makes them less interesting.”

Before the king could respond, the queen grabbed onto his arm and intervened. “Now, dear, Serafina’s told me he’s actually already got his eyes on someone. Perhaps we should leave him be for a bit?”

Caspir shot Serafina a cold look.. He couldn’t be sure if she was so busy chatting that she didn’t see him, or if she deliberately ignored him.

Meanwhile, the king exclaimed, “What!? Who?”

“Actually, I was hoping to find that out myself.” The queen offered Caspir that looked gentle on the surface.

With a sigh, Caspir swore he’d make Serafina pay for this. Somehow. “There’s nothing to say. We’re not even officially courting yet.”

The queen’s eyes lit up with her smile, while the king grabbed both of his shoulders. “Wait, who is this girl? It’s not the Duke of Westbury’s daughter, is it!?”

“What? No!” Caspir freed himself from his father’s grasp and straightened his shirt.

The king sighed with relief, then shot the prince a quizzical look. “Then who is it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Caspir looked aside. “I doubt you’d approve anyway.”

His mother waved his concern away. “We won’t disapprove just because she’s a commoner you met on your ‘adventures’, sweetie.”

Shocked, Caspir snapped his head toward her. The king’s jaw dropped, and he floundered to find something to say.

The queen smacked the king’s shoulder. “Oh, stop it, dear. It’s hardly a surprise, is it? Considering how our Caspir hates all the trappings of nobility.”

After he chewed on that for a moment, the king nodded cautiously. “She’s at least from the kingdom, right?”

Caspir nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, it’s not the biggest scandal that could happen. In fact, this could even boost your image with the lower class.”

“Exactly, dear.” The queen’s eyes glowed as she turned to Caspir. “So, when can we meet her?”

Caspir felt even more trapped than when the king had first pinned him down. “Wait, wait, wait! Like I said, we’re not even courting yet! Besides, she doesn’t even know I’m a prince yet…”

“Caspir Leonard Dutchins the IV. Are you, in any way, just playing with this girl’s heart?”

When he saw the storms clouding the queen’s face, Caspir began to sweat profusely. “No, of course not! I just… I’m scared of what she’ll think when she finds out I’m just another puffed-up peacock.”

<- Ella and Kal Previous

Ella and Kal Next->

22 September 2022

I have always loved fractured fairy tales. Or fairy tales in general, really. There is something about taking a well-known, often beloved story and tweaking it one way or another to create something new that fascinates me. As such, I’ve read a fair number of them, and I’ve kept ideas about them bouncing around in my head for quite some time.

This one came about while I was pondering the story of Cinderella. I’ve always wondered, why did the slipper only fit Cinderella? Shouldn’t shoe sizes be a thing? Most of the time that’s kind of glossed over or made irrelevant, but I’ve seen it played in interesting ways a number of times; magical shoes that won’t fit anyone but the designated wearer, Cinderella suffering from “baby foot disease”, or even the shoe itself actually being Cinderella’s cybernetic foot in Marissa Meyer’s fantastic Lunar Chronicles series (specifically the first volume, Cinder).

But I had the thought, what if the prince was manually swapping out shoes for ones that wouldn’t fit, using sleight of hand or something? That opens up a whole slew of new possibilities. How did the prince get so good at sleight of hand? Is the Cinderella he marries even the same one that dropped the shoe at the ball, or did he just use the hype to marry the girl he’d already fallen in love with?

Ella was very good at scrubbing chimneys. Most of the orphanage kids were good at some menial job or another; after all, they had to “earn their keep”, as Matron Birgit often reminded them.

She’d just finished a job at the Lester mansion - might be the nicest house in the city, apart from the palace, and no way was she gonna be allowed in there - so she was already humming herself a happy little tune. Then she caught sight of Kal, with his wild blonde hair and cocky little smile, and her heart floated right up to her head and burned her cheeks pink.

She vainly tried to scrub the soot off her face before she waved to Kal. “Heyo!”

He snapped his head to meet her gaze, and his smile got so wide it almost split his face. He sauntered over to her and leaned against a lamppost. “What brings you here?”

“Had a job at the Lester mansion. I think that might be the fanciest place I’ll ever set foot in!”

Kal laughed. “Nick anything while you were there?”

“No!” Ella pouted. “I’m not like you, I can’t just go around taking things.” she leveled a glare at Kal. “You shouldn’t either; one of these days, you’re going to get yourself caught.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.” Then he grew thoughtful. “What about the beds? They must be soft.”

Ella looked away. “I… I thought about that one.”

“Hoh!” Kal’s eyes gleamed expectantly.

Her blush brightened to cherry red as she explained, “I, I couldn’t! We can’t all be rulebreakers like you. And, and… Their sheets were so white! I didn’t know you could even get fabric that white. And it felt like a shame to dirty it, especially when I thought about how much work their maids must do to get ‘em that way, and–”

Kal roared with laughter, and even when Ella puffed out her cheeks, the sound got her heart fluttering like a whole swarm of butterflies. “I got you something,” he said. He reached behind her ear, causing her whole face to turn its brightest shade of red yet, and pulled out a beautiful hairpin, with a white enamel lily,

Ella’s eyes widened, and she hesitated to touch it for fear of getting it dirty. “Did… did you steal this?” For me?, she added mentally.

“Nope. I’ve got an older sister who was getting rid of it, so I asked her if I could take it instead. 

Ella knew he was lying; he had the same embarrassed half-smile he always got when he made stuff up about his family. Besides, only one of the peacocks could afford something like this. Still, it made her happy. “Thank you. It’s very pretty.”

“Of course. It needed to match you, after all.” He reached up to put it in her hair before she could even react to this compliment.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Then Ella brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I should probably get back. If I’m gone too long, Matron Birgit will get upset. She’s been a lot more on edge recently.”

“Yeah. Uh, yeah.” Kal nervously scuffed his toe. “I, uh… I’ll see you again soon, then?”

Ella nodded and began to leave, and gave him a small wave goodbye before she scurried off. She skipped the whole way home.

Prince Caspir Leonard Dutchins IV, fourth child and third son of King Edward and Queen Alisonde, practically danced his way to his older sister Serafina’s room. He gave a quick knock, and as soon as he heard her call “Enter”, he strode in.

Serafina took one look at his goofy grin and went back to fussing with her hair. “It went well, I take it?”

Caspir gave her an exaggerated bow. “Thank you, dear sister, for your generosity. She loved it.”

“You know, you’re going to have to let us know who she is at some point, right? Rumors are spreading, and Mother is getting curious.” She gave him a sly smile. “Also, I kind of want to meet this girl.”

Caspir grimaced, and watched her for a moment. “Is there something going on tonight?”

The deadpan look Serafina gave im could have frozen a volcano. “Jonathan’s engagement ceremony?”

“Wait, that’s tonight?!”

Serafina nodded gravely.

“Crap, Theodore is going to kill me.” He bolted out of the room as he called out, “Thank you again, sister!”

Serafina could only shake her head.

Ella and Kal Next->

21 September 2022

As I mentioned in the previous post, thinking about what made the god-kings tyrants messed with my headspace. The Phoenix, which this short was about, was one of the most fascinating and sympathetic to me, but still very twisted in her own way.

I think one of the problems I had was I was both unwilling to let her and the others be anything other than tyrants, but I wasn’t fully willing to commit to how terrible they could be, either. And a lot of that was I didn’t want to have to imagine what they might do and the reasons behind it. There are certain lines I won’t cross because of my personal beliefs; however, there’s still plenty I could do within those limits.

I do plan on coming back to this story; I want find something to help balance the scales in my head, though, so I don’t get so focused on the negative I lose the point of the story or have it start impacting the rest of my life. I think it’s important to acknowledge evil exists, bad things happen, and even good people do things they regret, but it’s also important not to dwell so much on those things we can’t see the beauty in life.

Also, random fun fact for the day, in the “language of flowers”, dahlias represent commitment. Or so the Internet says.

This was part of my series inspired by a song called Godhunter by Aviators (link here). It’s also on Spotify.

Finally, WARNING! As you may have gathered from context, this post has scenes with implications of torture and abuse. Please DO NOT CONTINUE if you cannot, or do not want to, read such things. Thank you.

They were lovers, once, the Phoenix and the Conqueror, back when they were still human. Mortal. Back before everything around her burned, back when he was still capable of feeling. When they’d dared to dream of robbing death.

And then they did it. And everything went wrong.

No one, perhaps not even the man himself, know whether the Conqueror’s feelings for her were ever sincere, or if he’d just been playing her from the beginning for her skills. Whichever the case, only a few scant years passed after their transformation, he rejected her and ordered her to leave.

At first, she couldn’t believe it. She plead. She begged. She wheedled, and wailed, and bargained, until in rage he cut off her head and shoved her body into the moat before it could smoke up his castle when it burned.

Once she revived and crawled out, wet and pathetic, the Phoenix finally believed him, and she wept. Her tears turned to steam trailing from the corners of her eyes. Then, her sorrow turned to fury, and hell rained down on the lands. And thus the first of the God Wars began.

By the time the wars had ended, the Phoenix had claimed a kingdom of her own. Hers was a court of decadence; exotic foods, fine wines, and anything else one could desire. Every so often, some young man would catch her eye, and she would have him brought to her chambers. She couldn’t touch him, but she would order him to entertain her, leaving the question of what would happen if he couldn’t unanswered.

Some of her “partners” resented their forced servitude, and several managed to kill her once. One even made it outside the city before she revived and turned him to ash. Still, she tried to be kind to them, when she wasn’t in one of her fits; these men offered the closest thing to companionship she could get.

The women of her city were less lucky, however. And the more beautiful, the greater the danger. While most times the Phoenix maintained enough rationality to avoid harming her subjects, sometimes she would fly into a rage and attack. “Is it you?” she would scream, “Are the one who seduced him from me!?”

At other times, instead of rage, panic would cause the Phoenix to shake. She would slowly walk up to the woman while muttering, over and over, “No… no, can’t let him see you. You’ll take him away, like all the others. Mustn’t let him see you…”

Either way, she would grab the girl’s face, ignore her screams, and hold it long enough to leave a scar.

One day, however, a young man bowed before her and actually asked to be her servant. Shocked, she asked why. He said, “Because I want to see for myself who you truly are.”

The Phoenix eyed him appraisingly. “And what is your name?”

“Terrence, your Majesty.”

Despite feeling unsettled by the request, the Phoenix gave her permission.

And so he served her. He quickly learned her likes and dislikes, and when to prod for more information about a request or to leave her alone for a while. He painted her pictures and wove her stories, all while trying to glean what lay behind her mask of flames. In time, he came to see the hurt, lonely girl she’d hidden away.

“Who was he?” he asked one day.

The Phoenix froze. “Who?”

“The one the rest of us are meant to replace.”

For a long moment the Phoenix offered no reply. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t push the issue, but he didn’t fail to notice the glass in her hand begin to melt and mold to her fingers.

Several days passed, and again he asked, “Who was he?”

This time, she didn’t bother to lie. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Still, he noticed the steam streaming from the corners of her eyes, and for the first time, he recognized them as tears.

Two weeks passed before he was willing to try again. This time, they were strolling through a garden, the Phoenix carefully avoiding everything, but admiring its beauty all the same.

“Who was he?” he dared to ask.

For almost a minute, she didn’t move, didn’t speak. “He was a man, once. We decided to challenge fate itself together, along with our friends.” She scoffed, then let her finger rest on a dahlia. The flower immediately burned to ash. “Unfortunately, we succeeded. And I… I guess I didn’t matter anymore.”

Once more, whisps of steam rose from her face up towards the sky.

20 September 2022

The next two entries are based on a song called Godhunter by Aviators (link here. It’s also on Spotify.). Something about the song always fascinated me and sparked my creative juices ever since I’ve heard it.

So, I started writing it. I’ve got a whole collection of potential god-kings for this Godhunter to slay, and all the ways it’s ridiculously hard. It was actually a lot of fun to plan out; the problem is, as part of designing the god-kings, I also needed to envision what made them worthy of being called “tyrant”. There are a couple exceptions, but they’re not good people, at least in the version I would write. And living in the same headspace as that messed with my head. So, for now, until I can find some thread of hope to make that world a place worth being/saving, I’m taking a break. I’ve had a few thoughts, but nothing definitive enough to come back to it yet.

Still, I did have fun writing and planning it, especially the entry below, which serves as a “begin at the end” kind of prologue.

She looked up at the black fortress before her, scythe resting on her shoulders. It had been grand, once; a symbol of strength, or fear, depending on who you were. She’d been, once, exactly a century ago. Banners had fluttered in the breeze, and people had bustled about. Merchants, peasants, but mostly soldiers, doomed to die in a pointless war.

Now, though, it was empty. No more banners. No more crowds. No more soldiers. Just black walls, wreathed in shadows and silence.

Unperturbed by the gloom, she pushed through the front gate, each footstep echoing into the night. She could have softened the, moved silently, but for this target, there was no need. He already knew she was coming. He was the last, and he knew it. Let her footsteps announce her arrival; his fear would serve her better than any advantage surprise could offer.

She paused in the courtyard, trying to guess where her prey might be lurking, before she focused on the central tower. Nodding to herself, she strode inside and marched up the stairs.

At the top, she found a sad excuse for a throne room. Faded drapery hung limp along the walls and ceiling, thread-bare and moth-eaten. Half-rusted suits of armor paraded down the walls on either side, most of them missing at least one piece or another. And in the center, a man with greasy black hair and sunken eyes sat on a tarnished throne. A sad excuse for a beard marred his face.

He met her eyes and croaked, “Have you come to kill me?”

“Yes.” She made a show of looking around the room again and added, “Although, it looks like you’re already halfway there.”

He coughed out a laugh, a raspy, painful sound like the screech of unoiled metal. “Go on, then. Finish it.”

She flipped the scythe off her shoulder, and slowly brought the blade behind his neck. There she paused and stared at him. “So was it worth it?”

He sneered and spat, “Go to hell.”

She shrugged, and pulled her scythe forward. And the last of the god-kings fell.

How does one kill a god? Some will see the future and avoid it; others won’t die no matter how severe their wounds; and others will simply turn to ash, only to reborn moments later, unharmed.

She began by watching. Watching daily hunts of men and women for a war god’s amusement. Watching the jilted goddess fawn over her latest object of affection. Watching the god-priest compel his followers into a mad frenzy of unholy wrath.

It was fortunate, then, that she called the reaper herself mother; for as death always lurks just out of sight, unnoticed by all but the most wary, so too could she lurk unseen. And it was for her mother she would kill them; for how else would they have gained immortality had they not ripped it from her mother’s corpse?

The seeress would be hardest. Unfortunately, that meant she also had to be first; if she targeted one of the others, the seeress would foresee it and warn them. The question was, how could she prevent the seeress from foretelling her own doom?

19 September 2022

I hate the internet here. Just saying.

Anyway, I'm only entering one day’s entry, partially because of crappy internet that's making me work on my phone, and partially because the next two days go well together.

This entry I was really proud of, especially the first half. This is also the storyline I've worked on the most since, and am the most invested in.

Hanako slowly drew her katana, breathing in deeply through her nose. The rage lurked there in her chest, roaring to be set free, but Hanako focused on her master’s words. “Anger can be a powerful weapon, it is true. But if it wields you instead, you become the very monster others fear you to be, rather than the swordswoman you have become.”

She flipped her fiery red ponytail back, glaring at the mob of bandits across from her. They all cowered away from her, glancing between the single horn growing out of her forehead and the sword in her hands.

The monster in Hanako’s chest delighted in their fear and urged her to release it in a whirlwind of blood and steel. Instead, however, she let the barest hint of it creep into her voice as she growled, “Drop your weapons and the loot, and I’ll let you live.”

The bandits rushed to comply, almost tripping over themselves as they rushed back into the woods.

With a sigh, Hanako sheathed her sword and suffocated her anger. By the time she turned to the caravan master, she had her typical carefree smile plastered back onto her face. “Well, I think that went pretty smoothly, don’t you?”

She froze, however, when she saw the expressions on everyone else’s faces. The caravan master was sweating even harder than he had when the bandits first ambushed them, and several of the other guards now pointed their weapons at her.

Hanako looked at Lyra, the only guard she’d gotten close to, and found fear in her eyes as well, even if she didn’t seem hostile for the moment. The beast flared back awake, arguing that if they expected a monster, she should give them one, but Hanako only whispered, “No.”

She mustered up another smile, this one a lot more forced, and told the caravan master, “It looks like I won’t be able to go the rest of the way with you, sorry. Any chance I could still get paid for the part of the trip I did work?”

The caravan master wordlessly tossed her a sack of coins. Before she’d even picked it up, Hanako could tell it held far more than even the initially agreed-upon price. Her smile vanished completely, and even if they didn’t fall, tears formed at the corners of her eyes. She took out enough coin to cover half the wage she’d been promised, then set the bag back down. As she walked back the way they came, she turned and flashed Lyra one last sad smile. “I wish you all the best of luck on the rest of your journey.” Then she turned, pulled her hood back over her head, and walked away.

What kind of man finds a young monster and sees only a little girl? Or perhaps the question should be flipped; what kind of people look at a small orphan girl and see only a monster?

Whichever the case, Hanako thought she had probably been both when her master found her in the burned out ruins of herr parents’ home. Apparently, he’d been part of the auxiliary army sent to help the shogun’s main force end the “monster scourge” once and for all. After the things he saw, however, especially in Hanako’s village, he refused to lend them his sword any more, and took Hanako with him to his own village.

There, he taught Hanako everything he knew of sword fighting. Every time she became frustrated and let her rage overtake her, he would keep her from causing any true damage; after all, even if she could crush rocks bare-handed as a child, that didn’t matter if she couldn’t even touch him, much less grab him, to begin with.

She rarely left the swordsman’s home, which suited the rest of the village just fine. While none of the villagers were openly hostile, they still watched Hanako with a nervous distrust, like she was a bomb with a lit fuse. Hanako didn’t let it bother her, though; she had her master, and that was enough.

However, one day their village was attacked. One squadron of the shogun’s men were out of food, and had heard the town housed a deserter, so they considered it fair game. Hanako’s master held them off, killing many of them, until the captain stabbed him in the chest.

Hanako roared with grief, the sound shaking the very ground beneath their feet and rattling trees the next mountain over. Consumed by her fury, her skin turned red while the whites of her eyes turned black. She flailed about with her sword in one hand and a make-shift club in the other, completely forgetting all the training her master had put her through.

Weakly, her master braced himself up and said, “Don’t give in to your anger, Hanako… Use it. You are more than some mere monster!”

Even through her rage, Hanako heard him, and stilled herself. She breathed in deep, then locked all the fury in her heart, holding it tight. She faced the captain again, using both hands to hold her sword at the ready.

He smiled cruelly and moved to attack. Hanako stepped in underneath his sword, and right as she began her counterattack, she took all the rage she was holding and packed it into her swing.

Hanako barely noticed the surprised look on the captain’s face as his body lay there, cut in two, before she rushed to her master’s side, her rage flowing away like wind.

Her master struggled to lift his hand, and Hanko clasped it in both of hers, tears flowing freely. He gasped, “I am, proud of you. I hope… you find others… who accept you for yourself.”

Hanako shook her head. “No… no. You need to stay here with me! There’s, there’s so much I have to…” She choked up, unable to finish her words.

Her master smiled softly. “Live strong, Hanako. My daughter…” And with that, he closed his eyes, rattled out one last breath, and stilled.

Throughout the whole rest of the night, Hanako’s wails  echoed through the entire village.

Hanako Next->

Hanako Next Canonical->

Current Draft of Hanako’s story (including unposted content)

18 September 2022

This is the creation story for my homebrewed D&D story. Or, well, the first part of it. I may add more later. It’s been ages since I’ve played, but I do enjoy it, and I enjoy the worldbuilding aspect it inspires. My setting does differ from mainstream D&D settings in a few ways here and there, but that’s part of the fun for me. I’m not the first person to think of Life and Death being a couple who gave birth to everything else, but it’s an idea I find fascinating.

If I were ever to make this serious, there are definitely some things in this I’d expand upon. Also, this is 100% fiction, and doesn’t represent my actually religious beliefs. I probably didn’t need to say that, but you never know.

Before the beginning, there were only two, Mother Life and Father Death. Some say they were exiled from other realms, others that they wandered from their home to grow beyond the limits of what they were. And they stepped into the dark, and it was empty, and cold.

To stave off the cold, they embraced each other, and Mother Life conceived. To comfort her in her pregnancy, Father Death formed earth for her to lie on, and soon a baby girl was born to them, with flaming gold hair, and brought light to the darkness. In joy, the two gods wept and held their baby close. The Mother’s bed became the earth and the spirit Genbu, and their tears became the oceans and the spirit Aruna.

The baby grew, and as she grew she laughed loud and often. When she did, her hair would flare flames so furious it would boil the new oceans. The first flames fell deep in the earth, and became the spirit Pele. Mother Life wished for her daughter to know beauty, and so with her power grew a garden bed for her little girl. And even as her flames burned it, so too did her light sustain its life.

In time, Mother Life and Father Death again conceived and bare a son, who could shatter mountains with his cries. His first wail became the winds and the spirit Zephyr. With his winds, the boy learned to bring water to the garden the children now shared and let it rain, softening his sister’s flames and creating the first storm.

The two children would often fight and grieve Mother Life and Father Death. When they saw this, the four great spirits gathered and said, “We must do something.” So each shared of their essences to create a being in the image of their makers, and thus the first giant was born. They made many more, and brought them to the children, who stopped fighting to admire them in wonder, and play with them.

Mother Life and father Death were also impressed, and praised the spirits. “However,” Mother Life said, “they do not yet truly live. They are still little more than puppets.”

The spirits sorrowed, and Father Death cautioned, “If we grant them life, we must also grant them death. They will not be eternal, as the gods or the spirits. Do you still wish them to live?”

With one voice, the spirits pleaded for them to make it so. And the Mother and the Father granted life to the giants.

17 September 2022

This is where I started figuring out the beginnings of who Elsenaia really is as a character. It still took me quite a while after this to figure out, and I didn’t quite have a good image of her mental landscape, but it’s where it started. It’s also a lot more focused on the romcom side of the story than some of my more recent shorts set with her.

You’ll see later, but most of this has been rewritten at least once. It’s liable to happen again; it’s just a fun concept to play with.

When I opened my eyes, or whatever I used to see in this astral projection, I stood in a hallway with a red velvet rug running down its length. Scattered down the hall on both sides were doors of every possible shape, size, and material, interspersed with countless small tables. Some had random items, like dolls, books, or even a pair of old boots, whole others projected a 3d image from the surface. The one in front of me had an image of the guard she’d been arguing with before.

I reached out to touch it, and the image sprang to life. “...mean to bond with this… human trash!?” The words were clearly not English, but somehow my brain could interpret what was being said perfectly, as if I’d known Elvish all my life.

Around me, I could feel as the palace itself grew indignant, and the princess’ voice replied, “Of course not! This is merely an interrogation, and it will not be–”

The hallway warped at that moment, and Elsenaia’s voice entered my head directly. “Wha… How did you… You’re not supposed to be here!”

I looked around and stepped back from the image of the guard. “Oh? Why not?”

“Because I’m supposed to be searching your mind, not the other way around!”

I cock my head for a moment. “Aren’t you, though?” Indeed, when I focused on it, I could feel Elsenaia where she’d looked through some of my more recent memories.

“Yes, but–”

“Then what’s the harm?” I ignored the twinge of embarrassment and panic emanating from the palace around me, and picked up a teddy bear from one of the tables. I immediately learned it had been a gift from Tairsi, before… something. A flash of pain and loneliness, and it felt like the memory was cut off.

“Nooo!” Elsenaia popped into existence before me, snatching the bear from me before clutching it to her chest. Instead of her fancy dress and tiara, she wore a simple white one-piece dress, and her hair was loose.

Before I could stop myself, I muttered, “Yep. You definitely look way more adorable relaxed like that.”

Elsenaia’s jaw dropped, and her face flushed pink before turning full-on scarlet. She turned and ran down the hall, still hugging the bear, waves of embarrassment and bewilderment pouring off the palace walls.

<-Elsenaia Previous

Elsenaia Next->