Category: Theme Issues

“…and the pieces of her body slowly move towards each
other, worming and squirming underneath the surface of the dirt
until they can reconnect again.”
“Her ‘pieces’? Ewwww….” squirmed Shyloh.
“Well, that’s what they are”, I reasoned. “Pass another
marshmallow and I’ll finish.”
“There’s Bailey,” said Shyloh. “Hey, come over! Preston’s
telling a true Halloween story! Start it over. The real ones are the
creepiest!”
I began again. “Here in St. Charles, Missouri there’s a story
most kids hear in high school – Molly’s Grave. Back in the 1800s,
a woman named Molly Crenshaw lived by herself outside of town,
so people thought she was a witch. One winter, the ground froze,
and the farmers couldn’t get anything to grow the following spring.
They began to whisper among themselves, ‘It’s that witch’s fault!’.
They blamed Molly and grew angrier the more they complained.”
The breeze made us shiver and Bailey inched closer to
the firepit.
“One Halloween night, the farmers exploded into rage.
They banded together with pitchforks and stormed her home.
Molly refused to take the blame and argued with the mob. ‘This is
NOT my doing, I SWEAR!!’ But despite her cries, they dragged
Molly to the town’s square for a horrifying execution. A public
death would serve as adequate punishment! She pleaded for help
from the townsfolk who’d come out to watch. Wouldn’t anyone
stand up for her? But there was no stopping the farmers. As she
lay there, she realized that nothing would convince them of her
innocence. She was going to die! Mustering her courage, she spun
a bone-chilling curse. “Anyone who harms me! Or watching my
death!” Molly screeched. “YOU’RE CURSED! I’ll come back to
life and bring my vengeance! To YOU, your family, your children,
and grandchildren!”
The fire flickered wildly, and we all jumped.
“While they didn’t stop, the mob hesitated. How do you
keep a witch from resurrecting? Someone yelled, ‘Cut her in half!
She can’t come back if she’s not a full body!’ Molly screamed her
last words, ‘I’LL STILL COME BACK!!’ Undeterred, they agreed
on this solution and Molly was sawed in half.
Molly’s body was buried in separate graves. One at a private
cemetery near where the high school is now. The other, miles away
in an unmarked grave near the river. The town went back to its
everyday life and the farmers returned to their fields. But no crops
grew that year. And despite the miles between them, Molly’s
body started moving towards each other from the moment of her
burial. As if magnetically attracted back together, aching for new
life and a taste for revenge. Wiggling like worms underneath the
unsuspecting town. Once the pieces meet, Molly will live again and
wipe out all of the farmers’ descendants and of those present at her
death! How soon will it happen? How close are the pieces now?
How much time is left? Are YOU a descendent?! No one knows…”
“Let’s go!” blurted Bailey, already standing.
“Where???”, asked Shyloh, not wanting to know the answer.
“Umm, bad things happen to anyone who disrespects Molly,”
I warned. “Some kids went looking for her grave once…and the
police found them impaled on a cemetery fence. Like DEAD.”
He scoffed. “Scaaaaaaared?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s just a story.”
“Well, if there’s nothing to worry about…”, Bailey taunted.
We piled into Bailey’s car, wishing for the first time that he
wasn’t old enough to drive. I wasn’t listening as he mapped to our
destination – a private cemetery near the high school.
As we pulled up, my stomach knots relaxed. ‘That’s it?!’, I
thought, seeing a chain link fence surrounding a dozen markers.
Bailey grabbed a flashlight as we stepped out into the darkness. The
crickets serenaded us, unphased by our intrusion. We hopped the
fence and Bailey lit each grave, mumbling their names. I held back;
the fence felt safer than stepping over graves.
Shyloh’s voice unexpectedly cut into the crickets’ song,
“Molly, we aren’t afraid of you!” The cacophony of crickets suddenly
died to a deafening silence. My neck hair prickled as I realized the
wind had abruptly stopped, too. We stood motionless.
Waiting.
Listening.
Petrified.
My stomach knotted as Bailey shifted his weight and a
stick cracked like an old bone. “Look at the ground!”, he sputtered.
“Something’s moving underneath!!” Bailey dropped the flashlight
and bolted. Shyloh followed but I couldn’t – my legs had hardened
into cement. She ran, leaping to clear the fence but caught a barb
and she crumpled with a cry into the rail before crashing to the
ground. Was she impaled?! I couldn’t see past the stinging tears.
Bailey made it to the car first, keys jangling as he shook.
The car simply clicked, refusing to start. I stood frozen solid,
watching Shyloh groan on her bloody leg. Bailey cursed at the car
as if that would convince it to work. Numb and blurry, all I could
do was watch the flickering flashlight cast eerie shadows on the
gravestones. Terror took ahold of my body, and I saw my breath in
the chilly air. Molly was here. We’d been disrespectful and there
were dire consequences in store. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, “I didn’t
even want to come.” I choked as panic engulfed my throat. “Please,
Miss Crenshaw! We’re sorry,” I pleaded with reverence. The words
hung like corpses over my head. Throbbing silence beat on my ear
drums as I held my breath, not wanting to see it billow out again.
Then, one lone cricket ruptured the nothingness. Then
another. The key clicked and the car struggled to life. “PRESTON,
MOOOOOVE!!”, Bailey screamed wildly, his voice octaves above
his normal tone. I exhaled; my breath no longer visible. “Thank you,
Molly”, I sputtered, shaking as the words tumbled off my tongue.
My legs, now complying, flew with newfound speed towards the
car, grabbing Shyloh and dragging her in as I jumped inside. Bailey
stomped the gas pedal to the floor. As I took one more look out
across the graveyard, the flashlight’s flicker caught what looked like
a woman’s shadow. I squeezed my eyes tight, whispering apologies
as we sped away.

Shades of colour, shades of black
shades of lightning flashing back
echoes distant in the night
fire’s burning — feel its bite

.

Whispered voices in the ear
magic tones remain unclear
one part pine sap running down
thistle, hemlock that’s been ground

.

Two parts mandrake, spider’s lace
belladonna, mustard paste
lick of hemlock, myrrh, bloodroot
smell the burdock, burning jute

.

Toadstool, guano, song of crow
footprint from the beetle toe
forest echoes, termite’s sneeze
rumours from a passing breeze

.

Image of a demon bug
mucus from the leopard slug
wicked is a wild brew
steeped in venom, feral stew

.

Jimson, henbane, faerie rings
owl hoots and larvae strings
lurid nightmares, ghoulish dance
curb the shrieks but heed the chants

.

Spell’s been conjured, spell’s been said
bitter grudges to be fed
smell the sulfur, smoky stone
cauldron boils the whittled bone

.

Shades of colour, shades of white
rising sun sends home the night
chanted echoes in the dawn
breaking darkness — night is gone …

I bought my wife a new necklace, but she doesn’t know yet.
I changed the tires on my wife’s car, but she doesn’t know yet.
I did the grocery shopping, but she doesn’t know yet.
I washed and put away the dishes, but she doesn’t know yet.
I changed the baby’s diaper, but she doesn’t know yet.
I took her dog to the vet to have it put down, but she doesn’t know
yet.
I changed the locks on the house, but she doesn’t know yet.
I tampered with her birth control, but she doesn’t know yet.
I killed the man who claimed to be her lover, but she doesn’t know
yet.
I cleaned the bloody knife, but she doesn’t know yet.
***
My wife means the world to me, she is the light of my life, but she
doesn’t know yet.
We’ve been living together for three years, but she doesn’t know
yet…

‘Twas Halloween Night all the children were dressed
As ghosties and ghoulies to scare all the rest.

.

They set out for adventure – sweet treats for the taking
Clouds swept past the moon – a night of tricks in the making.

.

Dark streets were lighted – Jack O’Lantern’s glowing
Nobody knew that true danger was growing.

.

Kids giggled and skipped house to house, door to door
“Trick or Treat” they would shout, rudely asking for more.

.

The neighborhood houses were decked out as well,
Graveyards with monsters and demons from Hell.

.

The scene was a treat for the imagination,
Until Sam finally snapped and sought retaliation.

.

As kids filled their bags up with neighborhood goodies,
Terror lurked in the shadows wearing black pants and a hoodie.

.

Sam hated this tradition, greedy kids, noise and laughter,
He’d make people think twice from now on, ever after.

.

As the children ran past him, his patience was waning,
He needed to strike – his insanity gaining!

.

One house was designed to give kiddies a fright,
The front lawn was a graveyard just for tonight.

.

Fake zombies struggled to rise from the ground,
It was one of the best Halloween scenes to be found.

.

Danny crept near a place where he shouldn’t have been,
A quick blade ‘cross his throat and he’s part of the scene.

.

An old oak spread its limbs in a park down the street,
Fake monsters were hanged there – a cool breeze blew their feet.

.

Sandy, dressed as a ghoul, got too close to the dark,
A noose tight ‘round her neck added feet to the park.

.

Red strobe lights flashed brightly from the depths of a well,
A bloody, handwritten sign read: “The Gateway To Hell”.

.

Away from his friends, Timmy wandered too close,
One little shove – his screams add to the show.

.

The horror continued all Halloween night,
Kids disappeared to the left and the right.

.

Sam did his handiwork the whole evening through,
Until one child was left who didn’t know what to do.

.

He stood under a streetlight, whimp’ring, cold as a bone,
Wond’ring, through sobs, why his friends left him alone.

.

Sunrise discovered a most grisly scene,
More murders in one night than there’d ever been.

.

What once was tradition became nightmare that year,
No more tricking, no treating, no laughter, no cheer.

.

Sam was convicted and locked up for good,
Only one child survived from the whole neighborhood.

.

That child is all grown now – he’s not been the same,
Stories say now he plays a most frightening game.

.

He wanders the countryside, from town to town,
He hasn’t got friends and he can’t settle down.

.

Wherever he visits on Halloween Night,
He pretends he is Sam and gives children a fright.

.

Once he finishes playing his Halloween game,
It’s said that the children are never the same.

.

He fills neighborhood children with terror and dread,
When all’s said and done the kids wish they were dead.

.

So, as you put on your costume with plans to have fun,
Keep looking behind you, be ready to run.

.

A madman is lurking ‘round every dark turn,
To teach you a lesson all children should learn.

.

Stick together, say thank you and please be polite,
And you just might survive this Halloween Night!

New Years Eve
Alex couldn’t stop talking, about how bad I was in bed, how
disorganized I was, how angry I got. Sometimes I’d help him. I’d
interject and paint word pictures about the rage and hate I’d feel.
And everyone laughed, I laughed, he laughed. But under the blanket
my palms bled where my fingernails dug into them.
Sean chimed in about his shitty ex-boyfriend and there was
someone else to disparage. Alex and the other guests left, and I
secluded myself in my room and tore my dresser apart. I was leaving,
far away, and I wasn’t coming back.
Fresh Air
There was a moment in my life when the work zoom was
the highlight of my day. I’d wake up from my nap and excitedly wait
for it to start. It was a gasp of air in an ocean. We started meeting
on the weekends to play games and strategize against our boss.
Hannah and I would talk for hours into the night about everything
and nothing while Sam cracked jokes and told me to go to therapy.
What I once only felt on the weekday zoom, I was
surrounded by. Even as our strategies failed and I lost that job, we
spoke constantly. Maybe I could travel to see them, they were close.
I missed them, though we’d never truly met.
The List
My mother sat in her cushioned throne and assembled a
puzzle as she wept. She explained endlessly. She wanted me to stay.
She wanted me to go. She was sorry about leaning on me. She was
a bad mother.
I wrote out everything I needed to move far away. I needed
a license and a car. I needed to sort out what I was keeping and
throwing away and buying new. I didn’t speak for a long moment as
she wept. I just wrote.
Days later she asked me for my list with a shaky voice and
puffy red eyes. I gave it to her, and she added things I hadn’t thought
of. We were ready.
Vacation
All the zoom friends lived in the city. It was beautiful,
glass and bricks rising from the ocean before giving way to trees.
I traveled and stayed there for a time. I spent afternoons working
and went out with them late at night. Sam took me to their home
to watch tv and eat frozen pizza, we laughed until the sun rose and
slept under its gaze. Hannah took me to my first rock show, I felt
the guitars in my bones, saw people flail and collide in exuberance.
I felt loved.
On the last day of my stay, we assembled to play the weekly
game. I sat at a table I’d only seen on camera next to all my favorite
people. We played and laughed and told stories. We complained
and drank and smoked and left lighter than we entered. My hands
weren’t fists; my shoulders weren’t tense. I knew who I was, and I
was just me, something I couldn’t be alone.
On my way home I texted Alex that we were done. He didn’t
seem to care, but my rib cage loosened, and I could breathe again.
The zoom friends congratulated me over text. I was free.
Divide
“Have you considered moving there?” Sean asked in the
middle of me retelling my time in the city. I told Sean I couldn’t
afford it; it wouldn’t be the right path, I was already committed to
moving far away, they were expecting me there, they had prepared
for me there. Sean agreed and we moved on.
Once the sun had set with Mom and Sean asleep in their
rooms, as I texted Hannah, like I did every night, the plans started
to form in my head. It would be closer to family. I could keep my
new job. I could see my friends. I could do this.
Driving
A decade ago, when I could barely reach the pedals and
see over the dashboard, my mother took me down a dirt road and
handed me the keys to her car. A decade ago, I’d gone down that
road, terrified of the gas pedal, my whole body shaking.
For a decade, my heart would pump violently, and my fingers
would hurt with white knuckles upon the wheel whenever I drove,
my mother always by my side.
But in preparation for going far away, I got my license, and
now I could drive alone. My hands were loose upon the wheel, and I
could forget my heart existed. My only companion was the road as I
made my way to visit the city. I could see my friends every weekend
now. It was all I wanted in the world.
Mundanity
The city didn’t have anything to offer that weekend. No
games, no shows, no rallies. I went anyway.
Hannah inflated her air mattress, and we went grocery
shopping. We walked to the ocean at dawn and saw the sun break
through the water. We cleaned her apartment. We ate pears and
potato chips all weekend and traded album recommendations.
We did nothing, and yet I felt my stomach drop to my
waistline as I drove back home. There was no place I’d rather be,
and no one I’d rather do nothing with. This was where I would leave
to. This was home.
San Francisco
Mom and I traveled to see her brother die. Cancer had
sentenced him, and he wanted no more pain. Mom left every day
to help her brother prepare and returned to the hotel crying. She
hardly ate.
On the third morning, I awoke to Sam’s accusations.
Boundaries crossed, actions taken, inactions left to fester. Lies
from an unknown source whispered onto Sam’s tongue. My ribcage
constricted and my breaths became shallow. I screamed into the
darkness of the early California morning. I cried, I sent defenses
and questions to push against an electronic wall. I read Sam’s text
a hundred times, and I read its ending, “You know better, get your
shit together, goodbye.”
On the sixth day, Mom left to help her brother prepare for
his final hours. It took all day, and 18 hours after his medically
prescribed lethal dose of morphine, my mother’s brother passed.
We left the next morning, a pair suffering tragedies, she left hers
behind, I was catching up with mine. We landed in the city, and I
knew it would be my last time there. I’d never see them again. I was
alone.
It’s Time
The springs had worked their way through the padding and
fabric of my mattress. It tore through my sheets and my skin. I woke
up bleeding in the morning and started sleeping on the couch.
The dryer was broken, and all the laundry hung from a line
that stretched from the greenhouse to the porch. It rained most
days that month.
I felt hollow at work, every call arithmetic, and every meeting
a defeat. My performance was slipping, but no one else had noticed.
My car started filling with things once I was done using
them. My electric piano, my dress clothes, my hairbrush. It was
time.
Far Away
I texted Alex last night. I wanted to let him know that my
grandmother appreciated his Facebook presence. We talked a little
about old times and old people. He didn’t ask me about my studies
or about my move.
My phone is still silent at night. I keep hoping, but they’ll
never reach out. I put on my headphones at night and listen to
Hannah’s music with my eyes closed, trying to remember that
night fondly. Moving far away isn’t all I thought it would be. My
room is donated to me, with paintings I didn’t choose and a bed
the wrong shape.
Tonight, I look at Alex’s little message box, with his face and
his dog’s smiling next to each other. I start typing 3 times and delete
each text. I close my phone and turn over to sleep. 500 miles is the
right distance for him. I think back to the city as my eyes begin to
flutter closed for sleep, and as I remember that single night sitting
around the game table with them, I realize that I love them.

“I was thinking,” he said.
John’s words startled his son, Gabriel, who was watching a
baseball game on TV with the sound off. They were sitting together
in the small room where John lived. Most of the time, they sat in
silence, because most of the time John was lightly dozing. Doctors
don’t give out predictions, but everyone knew John didn’t have much
time. He was going downhill fast.
“Hi, Dad. I thought you were sleeping.”
“I was thinking. Nothing serious.”
“What were you thinking about?” Gabriel asked, although
he wasn’t terribly interested in the answer. In recent days, he had
listened politely several times to John’s scheme to generate power
from building small dams over all the small rivers in the country.
Gabriel was prepared for more of the same. His father prided
himself on coming up with solutions to pressing problems.
“Could you get me some of that ice water first?” John asked.
Gabriel got up, poured a glass from the plastic jug on the
counter, and brought it back to his dad.
“How are you feeling?” Gabriel asked.
“Oh, I’m fine,” John said with a gentle smile. Gabriel had
spent the last two days with him, and he had noticed that his dad
smiled much more than on his earlier visits, and much more than he
did in younger days. A softness that Gabriel had never known now
seemed to suffuse his father.
“I keep thinking about the sunlight on her. It’s funny. Just
that. The sunlight. And her yellow dress,” John said.
“Who are you talking about?”
“Your mom.”
Gabriel was taken aback. His mother had died 10 years ago,
about 30 years after she left his father. She had remarried nearly
immediately after the split, while his father stayed alone and sadly
stoic for more than decade. His mother had been garrulous about
her reasons for leaving, but his father never spoke about their marital
problems, and rarely spoke about his mother.
“Mom? Were you dreaming about her?” Gabriel asked.
Recently, his father had been dreaming about people from his past,
dreams that were so much more vivid than these days spent in the
assisted living facility.
“I wasn’t really dreaming about her. I wasn’t sleeping. And
I wasn’t really thinking about her, I guess. Not all of it. I was just
thinking about a moment. Before you were born.”
“When?”
“Just a moment, really. We had just started dating, and one of
those carnivals had come to town. Not a really big thing. A merrygo-round. I think some ponies to ride. And a small Ferris Wheel.
Her folks were there too.”
“They didn’t like you, right?” Gabriel was familiar with this
motif from his parent’s marriage.
John smiled.
“No, they didn’t. That was fine. She did. I was just thinking
of this moment. She came to the carnival with her folks. I don’t
think they wanted to come. They didn’t like those types of things.
But she wanted to come, and she was wearing a very simple yellow
dress. Pretty. It was a hot afternoon, but there was a breeze. And she
was so happy to see me – and I was happy to see her too, really. So,
she left her parents there – grumbling. And we went to get tickets
for the Ferris Wheel.”
John smiled, paused, and sipped from the glass Gabriel had
given him. He sucked a little on an ice cube, and then closed his
eyes. John’s breathing was slow, and Gabriel wondered if he should
go soon. These times with his dad were important, but his father
also tired quickly.
“That’s it. Just that,” John said after a couple of minutes,
startling Gabriel. “You know, we had some years together. We had
lots of good times. We really did. But I remember that time, maybe
the sweetest time. Maybe because it was so new. So much is really
sweet when it is new. That’s what I remember. That yellow dress.
And she was so beautiful. And the sunlight on her. And she was so
happy to see me.”
“That’s wonderful,” replied Gabriel, though he felt awkward.
The divorce had been years ago, but some dark bitterness about his
mother still lived his heart. “She was beautiful.”
“The best part, I think, is that it’s not just me,” John said.
His face contorted some, as it did when was holding back tears.
Gabriel was familiar with this expression, an expression he saw visit
his father with increasing frequency. “It’s not just me, I know that.
I’m leaving. Soon. But I think about your mom, and the sunlight.
That yellow dress. So simple. We were in love. That’s it. It was so
sweet. And it wasn’t just us. So many people had that. Have that.
Countless people. Different times. Different moments. All that
stays. That’s not going.”
John fell silent, but he was not sleeping, just looking at his
son. He stretched out his hand. John did not need to tell Gabriel
that this is something that he wished for him. John’s tears flowed
quietly down his cheeks. Gabriel felt his own tears on his cheeks,
gave his father’s hand a squeeze, and pulled back.
“Can I get you anything else, Dad?”
“No. That’s fine. Thank you. You should probably hit the
road. You’ve got quite a drive, I know.”
“I can stay longer, really.”
“No, that’s fine. I’m tired. All this strolling down memory
lane!” John laughed.
“Thank you for telling me about this,” Gabriel said. “Really.”
“Silly, I know. Funny. How many years has it been?”
“55? 60?”
“Something like that,” John said. “And I can still see her
there. Oh, her parents were not happy!”
Gabriel smiled – and rose. He would be returning again on
Wednesday; Gabriel reminded his father. They chatted a little about
the National League playoffs and the heatwave that was expected
this week. John asked Gabriel to turn off the TV before he left. John
said he was going to take a nap.
In the hallway, Gabriel passed by and greeted several
residents sitting in wheelchairs. One man seemed to recognize him
and said hello. At the front door, he met Doris, the shift attendant,
who gave him the visitors log to sign.
“How is your dad doing? Did you have a good visit?” she asked.
“We did, thanks,” he answered. “I think he’s doing better,
but we didn’t really talk too much. He’s doing OK.”

Clarissa, Crown Princess of the Kingdom of Brethonia, was
not the biggest fan of parties. Too many drunk noblemen convinced
that they were the Divine’s gift to all women. Too many social
niceties that she had to keep track of for diplomatic reasons. And
far too few excuses for her to avoid wearing a corset.
But, there were certain occasions when she simply couldn’t
avoid attending a party. The celebration of an armistice with the
Kingdom of Wethage was the sort of event the Crown Princess
was expected to attend. If for no other reason than to reinforce the
fiction that there were no lingering grudges between their people.
So, Princess Clarissa was clad in her elegant red silks and
posture-stiffening corset. She sipped at her wine and did her best to
pretend that she didn’t feel a growing urge to throw the Wethagian
delegation out of a window. At the moment, Duke Siegfried of
Hermage, a Wethagian general, was droning on in her ear. Something
about horse breeding? She hadn’t really been paying attention.
“I suppose I can show you the mare when I return from
campaigning,” he said.
Clarissa was suddenly much more interested in what he
was saying. “Campaigning?” she asked, careful to keep her voice
consistent with her established tone of vague polite interest.
“We are riding north into the mountains,” the Duke
explained. “Going to deal with those dragon-riding barbarians.”
“I wish you luck,” Clarissa lied.
“Thank you,” he said obliviously. “Their leader is quite the
fearsome brute. A towering hulk of a figure, though dwarfed by the
terrifying red dragon he is always astride.”
Clarissa did her best not to preen and simply said, “Sounds
dangerous.”
“It is, but it must be done. You should reinforce your own
borders,” he advised. “Our assault may drive some of their stragglers
into your lands.”
“You should speak with my father on that matter,” Clarissa
said while feigning an airy distraction. “I don’t know much about
military matters.”
“Maybe when I return from wiping them out, you and I
can continue negotiating a friendly settlement to our minor border
dispute,” he said with an attempt at a suave smile.
Clarissa did not see his smile. At the words “minor border
dispute” her mind flashed to memories. The searing heat of a village
as it burned. The acrid smell of rotting bodies as they lay piled in
the fields. The gurgling cry of a young boy calling for his mother
while bleeding to death. Clarissa’s desire to throw the Duke out of
a window intensified.
However, her diplomatic training was victorious over her
instincts. As much as she hated the way he was so dismissive of the
war between their countries, she simply gave a bland smile and said,
“of course.” With a polite farewell, she stepped away from the Duke
and mingled back into the crowd.
Clarissa quickly downed the rest of her wine and handed the
goblet off to a servant. It wouldn’t do for her to accidentally crush
perfectly innocent silver in her anger. Her search for something
to distract her was only partially successful; She happened upon
Vanessa, one of her handmaidens, trapped between a table and a
knight’s ego.
Sir George was rambling on about how he had bravely
defended Castle Belanglos during the war. Clarissa could only
roll her eyes. If she recalled correctly, Castle Belanglos was little
more than a supply camp with a dozen men and some palisades
protecting it from raiders. The latest intelligence report that she had
seen said that no Wethagian troops ever got within a 2 day march
of the place.
The princess considered embarrassing the knight by asking
more pointed questions about the mudhole he had garrisoned
when something gave her pause. Vanessa held her hands carefully
clasped behind her back out of the knight’s sight. There, her
fingernails were slowly elongating into talons and scarlet scales
crept their way across her hands to disappear into the deep maroon
folds of her sleeves.
“Excuse me, good knight,” Clarissa interrupted. “I’m
afraid I must steal my handmaiden away to aid me with some…
womanly matters.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” they both responded. Sir George
looked a bit disappointed but did not protest. Vanessa, however,
eagerly shot to Clarissa’s side and allowed herself to be led away. At
the princess’s lead, they ascended the spiraling staircase into one of
the castle’s towers.
“Thank you for rescuing me, Your Highness,” Vanessa said
as soon as they were out of earshot.
“I’m not sure if I saved you from the knight or the knight
from you.” At Vanessa’s questioning look, Clarissa leaned in and
whispered, “Your scales were starting to show, it wouldn’t do to
allow you to complete the process.”
Vanessa shook her head, energetically enough to shake a lock
of hair loose from the bun it was tied in. “I would never allow myself
to dishonor Your Highness by losing my temper in such a manner.”
“I don’t know,” Clarissa said with a smirk. “I’ve made great
use of your anger in the past.”
Vanessa smiled sweetly. “Allowing you to wield my anger
as a sword, in one form or another, is hardly the same as losing my
temper. If anything, it requires that I maintain control of my temper
more firmly than ever.”
Clarissa let out a soft laugh and bowed slightly to concede
the point. The two then arrived at the royal bed chambers. Clarissa
ushered Vanessa inside and then barred the door behind her. Vanessa
closed her eyes and walked the edge of the room, taking in a series
of shallow breaths through her nose.
Clarissa’s eyes followed her handmaiden as she passed the
features of the small room. A tapestry showing her lineage. A
window overlooking the keep’s courtyard. A four-poster bedframe
draped in silken sheets. An armoire displaying gold jewelry. A
closet where Clarissa knew her “hulking” suit of armor sat hidden
from view.
“We are free of spies, Your Highness,” Vanessa declared
when she finished her circuit. “Have you learned anything worth
discussing, or are we simply hiding from Sir George?”
Clarissa let out a very unladylike snort. “Not simply hiding.
Duke Siegfried will be leading a force into the Northern Mountains
to hunt the dragon riders.”
“How treacherous,” Vanessa said in a complete deadpan.
“Those mountains have many narrow passes. Many places a
forewarned dragon rider might stage an ambush.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Clarissa said with a smile. “I trust
you can make the necessary arrangements?”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Vanessa paused. “Is there anything
else you require, or should I begin preparations immediately?”
Clarissa studied her face intently but didn’t say anything.
Her eyes trailed to the loose lock of hair framing the side of
Vanessa’s cheek. Vanessa began to flush slightly under the attention.
Absentmindedly, a forked tongue snaked its way out of Vanessa’s
mouth. Her tongue reached up across her cheek and tucked the
loose lock of hair behind her ear.
Clarissa glanced in the direction of the bed. “I suppose there
is one other task you can perform first.”
The flush on Vanessa’s cheeks was joined by the brighter
red color of scales appearing from beneath the collar of her dress.
“Your Highness is feeling… territorial then? Shall I help you with
your dress?”
“Of course,” Clarissa said, and turned around to expose her
laces. After a moment, she spoke again. “I have half a mind to give
Sir George command of a front-line unit. Let the knight earn his
tales of bravery.”
“That would be a waste, Your Highness,” Vanessa said as she
began to unravel the lacing on the princess’s dress. “The man is a
supply officer through and through.”
“So defensive. You understand that I am not accustomed to
leaving rivals of any kind.”
Vanessa finished with the lacing on the dress and peeled the
silk from the princess’s shoulders. “Perhaps introduce him to Lady
Margret. She has expressed interest in acquiring a husband.”
“She has also expressed interest in entering these bed chambers.”
“Has she?” Vanessa asked as she started on the lacing of the
corset. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“You would remove one rival with another.” When she didn’t
receive a response, Clarissa continued, “I suppose I could introduce
the two. Consider yourself as having saved Sir George.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“Such deviousness,” Clarissa drawled. “Wherever did you
learn such a thing?”
“From your astute tutelage, Your Highness,” Vanessa said.
“After all, you have always told me that all is fair in love and war.”