Stories

One-off stories and stories which were not explicitly serialized.

How They Met

Olive couldn’t say how they met, afterwards. A consequence of the night’s debaucheries; loud music and frantic bodies and another drink, another line, always another—! And then waking up back home in her own bed, left to sort out what happened from the barest suggestions. Rumpled sheets, torn stockings, fresh bruises, all normal enough. And that new voice trickling into her DMs, so strangely familiar. She couldn’t help trusting it, even when it was so cagey about how they’d met and what happened and who it really was, and that should have been a warning sign, shouldn’t it?

Read on … ( ~7 Min.)

before the frenzy

The sun is hiding behind a cloud when Lost bursts out of the stairwell into the open air. The rooftop is a wide plaza, peppered with an eclectic assortment of beach equipment and the usual detritus of disused spaces: buzzing heat exchange units, vents slurping down fresh air, and a handful of pigeons. It feels like it is about to rain, but she hopes that it will not; she needs a fast burn to put an end to things.

Read on … ( ~5 Min.)

Gyrfalcon x Club

Intoxicating noise fills the club. The music’s throbbing beat, glittering with crystalline static and the crowd’s excited shouts and bursts of laughter are obvious, but Fel has never found a way to drown out the oceans of blood pulsing just beneath their skin. Earplugs and thick, insulating headphones help a bit, just like the smelling salts and herbs stuffed inside her mask help with the smell, but it is never enough. Will never be enough.

Read on … ( ~5 Min.)

The Old Royalty

Her Majesty’s Daughters

There is an unpleasant smell in the garden; something not wholly subsumed by the freshly turned gravel and the scattered wood chips. An unfamiliar flower, perhaps, though to the Fulminous Princess’s practiced nose it has more in common with the exercise of power. She’d never thought that the stories about saint-sworn nuns were true, but …

Read on … ( ~24 Min.)

The Old Royalty

Her Majesty’s Rat-Catcher

Johanna sits in her accustomed chair, idly swirling the last drops of brandy around her glass. It’s a comfortable chair, well-positioned in one of the many nooks ringing the lounge’s floor; it gives her a good view of what’s going on, and a place to keep her papers. All of the other nooks are curtained booths with cushioned benches and high tables; hers is unique only because of her contributions to the social club. Rank brings its privileges, even when no one can quite say where one’s rank comes from—for despite it all, Johanna is merely a rat-catcher.

Read on … ( ~17 Min.)

The Old Royalty

Her Majesty’s Poison Taster

The poison taster stands behind her queen’s throne, eyes downcast. She is the only thing in the hall that is drab and unadorned, denied even the fine livery that the serving maids and footmen wear with pride. Her purpose is to die, and when she does her thick black robes will contain the mess.

Around her throat is a band of plain silver. The queen wears one too; gold, studded with polished bezoars and staring agates. It vanishes into her finery, just another thing to sparkle and shine; her courtiers easily forget it. The poison taster never does.

Read on … ( ~14 Min.)

The Guardians of Day

Corvina vs. The Sword of Morning

“Pathetic mortals! Hear my demands,” Corvina intones, feathers raised is a posture of challenge, “and despair, for the will of the night is unstoppable! Your compatriot has made a mockery of our alliance! You must,” her voice shifts, a faint squawk betraying a feather-covered blush, “make her let go of me.”

Maria, Halberd of Noon, peers up at Corvina. The villainess, once barely taller than her, has grown beyond all reason in the weeks since the Tremorlord ate the sun and plunged the world into an eternal and moonless night. “Is Anne being a problem?”

“Yes! I mean, uh,” she tries to compose herself, “yes. Remove her, lest a worse fate befalls her! I will drop her in the ocean to freeze, see if I don’t.”

Read on … ( ~4 Min.)