Showing posts from July, 2022

Less One Man to Fear

  There was once a man of magic who held, deep within his bones, a breadth of force that could topple kingdoms. He was a gale that blew when the wind turned haunted. In his power sat the seeds that the oldest of the gods had carefully dropped into the palm of his hand. From these seeds sprouted a harp—an instrument that proved the loss of an eye and the essence of his making.      His problem lay in his personality. It was kindly and well-ordered; the kind of character that lent itself well to a position of power. It was not long before the people of his land, charmed by his wit and his person, made him king. Perhaps it was the harp that led them to grant such a gift. Perhaps the harp was something else entirely, for it proved a useful instrument to the ruler. All that needed righted was easily done; merely a few plucks at the strings of his harp, and chaos trickled into order. Those that heard the music felt the tug on their own heartstrings, a yearning for a good and right and cent

There was Once a Time...

There was once a time when the world felt like light streaming through the top branches of the trees of a forest, trickling in like warmth and kindness and gentle shadow.      It was a moment and an eon, the blink of an eye and centuries.     There was once a time when the world felt like ice piercing through darkness like stabs and slashes, hitting down like pain and wounds and sorrow.     It, too, was a moment and an eon, the blink of an eye and centuries.     There was once a time when the world felt like the smeared blur of fog spread across glass, seeping into a being like slow worry and curbed ambitions and slow chaos.     Yet again, this too was a moment and an eon, the blink of an eye and centuries.    Once the world looked in on itself, and weighed and measured all that it felt and thought that it might break. In the end, it didn't break. It lived.

The Old Fox and the Old Gods

The old fox hated the old gods — though not because they were older. It was that they were too old. Cavalier. Cruel. Impatient in their immortality. They whittled away their time antagonizing mortals for the purposes of fending off the tedium born of lives lived too long. And the old fox was done with their foolishness. She was wise that way.     The day she ended their reign came unexpectedly, for it was in the evening and she sat by the fire in her hollowed tree playing the pipes. She often did this of an evening, for the music sunk deep into her soul and offered her rest. But, of late, the music was too rattling. Too harrowed. For the old gods had begun their abuse of mortals anew, and the old fox witnessed the devastating chaos day after day.     Once it was a human boy made to travel all the world with a weight of stone upon his back that could only be removed should he come across a field of black poppies, the price for the gift of his ailing mother's life. Too late did he re

The Little Girl Who Fixed a Rotting House

 There was once a house where things went to die. It was the kind of place that sucked the living soul out of a person. Or a thing. The staircases, halls, and rooms all went to rot beyond repair. Even a book could enter into the house with all the best of ambitions and the highest will to pass its words from mind to mind — but it would not fulfill its goal. Instead, the ink would fade from its pages and the binding would crumble into dust. It would be best not to think much about the person who would enter such a house.     At least, this was how the story began.     It was a little girl that changed the house. She had been a most careful watcher, and witnessed that what went in did not come out, save in a box. It did not take many boxes for her to understand; she had that kind of soul.     It was that kind of soul that filled her with a desperate desire to change the house. Yet, she could not do it from the inside. Instead, she took handfuls of soil, and tossed it in through a window.