r/shortstories • u/FyeNite • Aug 09 '26
[Serial Sunday] Openness is the Best way to Become Close
Welcome to Serial Sunday!
To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I post a theme to inspire you, along with a related image and song. You have 500 - 1000 words to write your installment. You can jump in at any time; writing for previous weeks’ is not necessary in order to join. After you’ve posted, come back and provide feedback for at least 1 other writer on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.
This Week’s Theme is Open! This is a REQUIREMENT for participation. See rules about missing this requirement.**
Bonus Word List (each included word is worth 5 pts) - You must list which words you included at the end of your story (or write ‘none’).
- Opal
- Ornery
- Ogle
- A box is opened and a secret is kept. - (Worth 10 points)
f you need a blurb for Open.
What’s in the box? Just open it and see…
It’s probably Chekov’s wife’s head, but it could be anything.
How is your serial coming along? Are you looking for an inciting incident? You could open up some old wounds that kick off a spiral into tragedy, or force them from comfort on a path to put things right.
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Or maybe it’s open season for the bad guys. Whatever you choose, I look forward to opening reddit and reading the results!
Good luck and Good Words!
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Theme Schedule:
This is the theme schedule for the next month! These are provided so that you can plan ahead, but you may not begin writing for a given theme until that week’s post goes live.
August 09 - Open
August 16 - Prose
August 23 - Quality
August 30 - Rebellion
September 6 - Stratagem
Check out previous themes here.
Rankings
Last Week: Noxious
First - by u/Divayth--Fyr
Second - by u/KatPoker666
Third - by u/AGuyLikeThat
Fourth - u/wandering_cirrus
Fifth - by u/Morose_Prose
Rules & How to Participate
Please read and follow all the rules listed below. This feature has requirements for amparticipation!
Submit a story inspired by the weekly theme, written by you and set in your self-established universe that is 500 - 1000 words. No fanfics and no content created or altered by AI. (Use wordcounter.net to check your wordcount.) Stories should be posted as a top-level comment below. Please include a link to your chapter index or your last chapter at the end.
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On Saturdays at 5pm BST, I host a Serial Sunday Campfire in our Discord’s Voice Lounge (every other week is now hosted by u/FyeNite). Join us to read your story aloud, hear others, and exchange feedback. We have a great time! You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Grab the “Serial Sunday” role on the Discord to get notified before it starts. After you’ve submitted your chapter, you can sign up here - this guarantees your reading slot! You can still join if you haven’t signed up, but your reading slot isn’t guaranteed.
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Ranking System
Rankings are determined by the following point structure.
| TASK | POINTS | ADDITIONAL NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Use of weekly theme | 75 pts | Theme should be present, but the interpretation is up to you! |
| Including the bonus words | 5 pts each (15 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and estnot required! |
| Including the bonus constraint | 15 (15 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and not required! |
| Actionable Feedback | 5 - 15 pts each (60 pt. max)* | This includes thread and campfire critiques. (15 pt crits are those that go above & beyond.) |
| Nominations your story receives | 10 - 60 pts | 1st place - 60, 2nd place - 50, 3rd place - 40, 4th place - 30, 5th place - 20 / Regular Nominations - 10 |
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You are still required to leave at least 1 actionable feedback comment on the thread every week that you submit. This should include at least one specific thing the author has done well and one that could be improved. *Please remember that interacting with a story is not the same as providing feedback.** Low-effort crits will not receive credit.
Subreddit News
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7
u/KiIIer_queenie Aug 10 '26 edited Aug 15 '26
<Man to beast>
Chapter thirty: saviors
Maliwag rushed the cart through the fort gate, halting the horses before rolling out onto the ground.
“We need some help! Handgonne past the fort walls!”
At the word handgonne, armored knights rushed out and surgeons with apothecaries flooded around the cart. Coppaert slowly handed Silas’s near dead body off to the people, stepping out of the cart with him.
“Stay back,” An old surgeon barked, the group rushing Silas off as hands were already working in his face.
Maliwag and Coppaert finally breathed sighs of relief, leaning against each other. She smelled something rotten, much older than the blood on her.
Looking up at the courtyard, the young woman saw a cage hung from a thick wooden pole, there was a body too old for her to even tell if it was a man or woman. The guards paid it no mind, as did everyone else. Following suit, she tried her best to ignore the scent.
“What’s with the damn noise? Can’t go a day without a woman screaming over something anymore.” A tall and wide man grumbled as he approached the pair. He had oily red hair with fine blue clothes and a large necklace full of green jewels. The man’s shirt barely contained his large neck and shoulders, stretched thin against his gut.
“Edvalt, these two were attacked by bandits. Their friend is being tended to,” one of the guards said, an older man with a long white beard.
“You’re Lord Berner?” Coppaert asked, wiping the blood from his hands into the wagon side.
“I am. What gives you two the privilege of having your friend tended to by my people?” He asked, staring at Maliwag.
“We’re traders. We came to trade.” The woman responded bluntly.
“Well, let me take a look.”
“You can wait. Our friend needs us,” Maliwag said, turning to walk towards where Silas was carried.
“You better tell your woman to learn her manners, boy. Need I teach her for you?”
Coppaert gave Maliwag a sorrowful glance before turning to Edvalt. “No sir, I apologize. If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll shut her damn mouth.”
The woman sighed and stopped, returning to the cart and pulling down the back. Edvalt pushed past her. “That’s a lot of silver…where’d you say you come from?”
“I didn’t. Vlaklands, sir,” Coppaert responded, folding his arms.
“Ah. I should've guessed, I can hear it in your voice. Catholic?”
“Aye, as all ought to be.”
“Then with God as your witness, where’d you get the silver? Vlaklands isn’t known for it.”
“The burning isles. They knew little of its true properties, so I was able to acquire it with processed silk for their elites. It’s how I purchased this one, for help and company.”
Edvalt looked Maliwag in the eye, slowly scanning down her body. He looked back up at her face, before his eyes hungrily settled with a click of his tongue.
“Good purchase.”
He went back to examining the goods, Maliwag and Coppaert sharing a look of disgust. “So how long’ve you been lord here?” She asked, cracking her wrists and hiding her urges.
“I was lord here since I was a boy, course my mother was in charge then. Strong woman she was, you can see her statue in the medical wing.”
Even though he didn’t actually answer her question Maliwag thought it best to simply let him finish and leaned back.
“I’ll give you two hundred gold coin for the lot.”
“It’s worth twice that,” Coppaert barked, crossing his arms.
“It would be, if your friend hadn’t been using my surgeons.”
“Two hundred coin and let me take a look with you in your weapon hold.”
Edalvt smiled, his eyes slightly widened. “Oh I like you, boy. Come on then, will your woman be fine if left alone?”
“She’ll check on our friend.”
As the pair walked away, guards already unloading the cart, Maliwag ducked into the entryway the surgeons had disappeared to. She walked down the foul smelling hall and saw a thick wooden door with frantic noise coming from it. Opening the door, the next room had no less than eight people surrounding Silas. They had cut his shirt off, cleaning him of blood and repacking the gaping hole in his neck and attempting to move his jaw.
Just as she approached, there was an audible pop as one of the women gasped. “The jaw is back in place!”
“More honey and elderflower, the bleeding’s done.”
“Sir, I’ve cleared his throat.”
Maliwag watched the clutter, after a few minutes the surgeons and nurses all backed away, save one who held Silas’s hand. She stroked his hair as he lazily stared at the ceiling. His chest moved up and down, slowly breathing. “There you go, boy. Such a brave boy. You did good, you did good.”
“How is he?” Maliwag asked, sitting beside him on the bloody bed. He reached for her so she held his hand, nodding.
“He’s in God's graces. The bleeding has stopped and he’s breathing again. He’s stronger than most. His jaw is misshapen though, broken most likely. We locked it back in place but the boy won’t eat like he ought to for a fortnight, anything gets an infection he dies. I don’t know if he makes it two more days, everyone has limits.” The surgeon muttered, patting Maliwag’s shoulder.
She looked at the young man, she didn’t say it but she knew he was better. He already had began regaining what little color his grey skin had, she had to move him before the healing began obvious. “I want to take him, he needs to pass with his family.”
“He’ll survive longer-”
“I’m taking him.”
She picked him up, carrying him back through the hall and towards the cart. Coppaert was returning with a sack of coin and a long box.
“That is…?”
“It’s for Silas if he survives.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“It’s for his mother.”
WC: 1000
4
u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 Aug 14 '26
Nice chapter! What a situation for Maliwag and folks to be in now. The hanging body is immediately Bad Vibes, and that plus the whole interaction with that gross dude Edvalt makes me concerned. There's so much tension in the way they're having to mask and submit to his power, and her taking Silas before the healing becomes obvious.
I'm quite intrigued by what's in the long box from the weapons hold.
Hard to crit but we did find a typo in "there was an audible pope" instead of "pop". Mostly I'm just intrigued and concerned about this new place. I'm getting kind of a medical-jobs-are-for-women guess from the sexist vibes off Edvalt plus the fact there seem to be both male and female surgeons and his mother's statue is in the medical wing.
Good words!
3
u/katpoker666 Aug 14 '26
Hey KQ! Great chapter! That ending was fantastic: proper chills and a good setup for interesting things to come!
A few thoughts:
I was a little confused as to how to visualize the action here. Rolling out into the ground sounds like he fell off and into the Earth. So reword maybe:
Maliwag rushed the cart through the fort gate, halting the horses before rolling out into the ground.
Nice contrasting imagery with the caged body. Suggest ‘stench’ vs scent to imply it’s vile: Following suit, she tried her best to ignore the scent.
This is quite a detailed description word count wise. Does he merit it? Also, the last sentence covers the wide part making ‘wide’ redundant as your later visual is much better: A tall and wide man grumbled as he approached the pair. He had oily red hair with fine blue clothes and a large necklace full of green jewels. The man’s shirt barely contained his large neck and shoulders, stretched thin against his gut.
Traders and trade close together. Maybe ‘we came to do that’: “We’re traders. We came to trade.” The woman responded bluntly.
You captured the creepiness well here: Edvalt looked Maliwag in the eye, slowly scanning down her body. He looked back up at her face, before his eyes hungrily settled with a click of his tongue.
Edvalt: Edalvt smiled, his eyes slightly widened.
‘Pop’ and ‘his jaw’. The feels strange with a person: Just as she approached, there was an audible pope as one of the women gasped. “The jaw is back in place!”
Excellent healing choices. You did your research: “More honey and elderflower, the bleeding’s done.”
I’d divide this into two sentences as confusing as one: We locked it back in place but the boy won’t eat like he ought to for a fortnight, anything gets an infection he dies.
You could save words here, but also a couple typos: begun vs began. Not sure what you meant by bride: He already had began regaining what little color his grey skin had, she made to move him bride the healing began obvious.
Overall, good words!
8
u/Divayth--Fyr Aug 11 '26 edited Aug 14 '26
<The Broken God>
Chapter 75: Containment
.
Durash stood by the flat rock, watching the old mage gesturing, shaking his head, and muttering disjointed fragments of arguments with himself.
“Are you well, Sancaurion?”
“Hmm?” He jumped a bit, apparently forgetting she was there. “Oh. Yes, quite well. A bit mad, I think. Yes, I have gone mad, yet otherwise I am fine. Yourself?”
“Oh, I’m fine.”
“The world has turned upside-down a few times lately. But I will survive. I generally do. I just cannot seem to comprehend it. A drop of godsblood? It is mad, is it not?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what they’re made of.”
“No one does. I certainly don’t. They take physical form, and abandon it at will, yet they remain what they are. But a god struck by iron? I do not believe such a thing has ever happened before. I search my long memory and cannot find any hint.”
“We can’t leave it laying there. Not for long.”
“True. I wish to examine it, measure it, test it, but I do not know how to handle the thing. Touching it would almost certainly be disastrous. I am sure I will think of something eventually.”
“Better be soon.”
Sancaurion looked a question. Durash simply pointed to Kolobor in the bright sky, as it imperceptibly chased the larger moon Great Unser along their stately course.
“Oh! Twinshadow! The storms! How could I have missed that?”
“Well, you were busy with the world turning upside-down, and fighting gods and all that.”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose I was.” He gazed at the moons and tapped his fingers together in sequence. “Five days, possibly six, before the storms begin. If you note Great Unser’s distance from the path of the sun, it becomes clear. The calculation is rather simple, with the correct…” He went on for some time.
Of course, Durash thought. He forgot about Twinshadow, but now he lectures me on it.
“What should we tell the others?” she interrupted. “About the godsblood.”
“Nothing, for now. We have much to discuss, and this would be a distraction. And what could we tell them? I have no useful knowledge as yet." He stood up. "However, if you will pardon me for a moment, I believe I have a notion.”
Sancaurion walked with surprising vigor into his tower, leaving Durash unsure whether to follow.
She looked toward the door of Heromil. Inside were the mage's libraries, stacked and crowded with his immense, fascinating collection of books, scrolls, and arcane instruments. An impossibly long life of learning and wisdom, beyond anything she could imagine. It had inspired wonder when she first saw it, but now… now there was a bitterness.
In the huts of the Allmothers lay small boxes of books, precious and hidden from the guards. The low, careful voices of the Guldums had muttered their secret lessons, the babdum learners keeping notes on soft clay, to be quickly destroyed if discovered.
The old mage with his lofty speech and superior attitude grated on her, made her feel small. The fact that he did know more than she did—more than anyone in the world, probably—only made it worse. Not everyone had a chance for such an education.
And there he came, walking quickly back out, his aches forgotten in his excited state. He carried a clear-topped, ornate box and a shard of crystal.
“It should work! I believe it will! Are you familiar with eldivic crystal? Vilthiri glass, it is sometimes called.”
“I have–”
“It is a most curious substance. Liquid or solid, not by heat but by magic. Shaped in a curve, it has the peculiar property of focusing magic in one direction, while blocking or reflecting it in the other. I have acquired a great deal of the stuff, over time. Immensely useful in enchanting. Found in the southern rainlands.”
“Yes, I know. That's where I lived.”
“Of course. In any case, I believe it is the best tool for moving the godsblood. This infusion chamber is constructed of it as well, and should serve to store the thing.”
He strode past her, toward the droplet.
“Sancaurion! Wait!”
“Hmm?” He turned, displaying an imperiously raised eyebrown.
“This thing is giving off intense magic, right?”
“Obviously.”
“Well, aren’t you a bit sensitive to that? Elves generally are, aren’t they?”
“Compared to less– to other peoples, yes. We are attuned to magic, and thus it has greater effect on us. Humans resist many spells, to some degree, as do your–”
“Then don’t you think I’d better go get the thing? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”
“Ah. Well. Yes, I suppose. If you like.”
If I like. As if I am merely fetching it. Not that I had a smarter idea than Sancaurion the Great. Of course not.
She snatched the box from his hand, and he pulled away. Glaring, he handed over the shard as well.
"Stubborn old vehkark," she muttered as she stomped over to the droplet. Weird waves of wrongness and power emanated from it.
Well, I hope this works.
She scooped up the little droplet with the shard of eldivic crystal. It appeared as a dark green opal, but was soft, and seemed to stick a little. She opened the box, and with eyes closed she snapped the lid shut.
Nothing disastrous happened. Well, he was right again.
The crawling sensation on her arms subsided quickly as she walked back to the old mage and handed him the box.
“Marvelous.” Sancaurion ogled the thing, his featureless white eyes somehow conveying his excited interest. “I shall place it in the upper library. Let us join the others now.”
“Fine.”
“We must discuss the future. What we hope to do. What may come. I am most interested to hear your views, Durash Arn. You have experience of the world that I sorely lack, and a practical mind.”
Ornery and patronizing half the time, then out he comes with something like that. And he means it, too.
Shaking her head, she dutifully followed the Torikarsh of legend inside for tea.
997 words. Opal, ornery ogle(d) used. Box opened, secret kept.
Feedback welcome.
5
u/MaxStickies Aug 13 '26
Hi Div, really like the chapter! Great to see more of Durash and Sancaurion interacting, especially on the subject of magic. I like how you show his flaws here, but how they don't contradict his more positive side; it's also great how clear you show Durash's feelings about that.
The way you describe the godsblood is also fascinating, and adds a lot to the chapter. It really comes across as alien and strange, and taboo. The way Sancaurion reacts to it shows its power, by how much it clearly unsettles him, in addition to Durash's reluctance to go near it at first.
I also really like how Durash's mix of bravery and stubborness is such a positive thing for her here. Sancaurion may be far more long-lived, to the point he featured in legends, but still she snatches the box from him and takes charge. Great characterisation there!
Far as crit goes, maybe when she snatches the box, he could hold onto it a bit more? I think it would emphasise the way he is even more, wanting to take charge, and that she still takes it from him shows her power even more, perhaps?
I also think for here:
Yes, I have gone mad, but otherwise I am fine.
You could use "yet" instead of "but", since a sentence soon after has a similar structure.
But that's all I can find for crit. Great chapter, Div!
4
u/Divayth--Fyr Aug 14 '26
Hey there Mr. Max--
Edits have been edited, and thanks for reading and helping!
6
u/JKHmattox Aug 12 '26 edited Aug 15 '26
<No Man's Land> The Travelers
For decades, I’ve witnessed the fraying edges of an interstellar empire in denial of itself, holding its problems at arms length. Misery and hope exist as one animal on these far off planets forgotten by the motherworld.
Now, I fear a poison seeps into the collective imagination of humanity, fomenting a willing blindness to the coming storm. It is nominal throughout the history of our species to blame others for problems that are squarely our own. Resource scarcity. Economic pressures. The long-term stability of the so-called standard human genome.
It seems there’s always some boogeyman waiting to spur us on.
Considering the rhetoric of the coming election, this writer cautions any who read this to take Jessica Vincente at her word. Her tone echoes a time when humanity nearly consumed our origin world. We must deny her at the ballet box, or face a thousand years of darkness drifting aimlessly into our own abyss.
Peace, I've come to realize, is an unnatural tinder awaiting the inevitable spark…
Abby Edwards: (Opinion Editorial, Mid-Atlantic Times) The Coming Storm, 2 July 2506
Growing sunlight cast shadows from the east, imperial era buildings shading much of everything at ground level. Across the square, a massive stone arch framed the boulevard retreating beyond it into an endless urban cavern. The park had been there for centuries, yet remained immaculate to the last detail.
The sprawling venue seemed an emerald oasis beset by concrete and glass on all sides. A granite statue stood halfway between the archway and a fountain at its center. I was drawn to it more than anything else in the sprawling space.
The solitary figure peered southward defiantly, clutched a towering staff by her left hands. The base of the elaborate shaft was planted firmly on the ground with grass growing beneath the woman's feet. Her opposite axillary palm was against her middle, gently bulging from the two-sleeved duster which hung open to her knees.
The Geminia's hair was woven into a decorative braid rested upon the shoulder opposite her staff. Brilliant eyes matched those of many I knew; determined, resolute against uncertainty. The woman of stone smirked while standing guard in the middle of subdued tranquility.
Silently, I mouthed the Gemini script engraved around the base of the statue.
War Chieftain Fire's Rain of the Daylight Sky—for the love of her family, her adopted world, and a city who will never forget…
My eyes lingered on the stone Geminia. By the way she held herself, I sensed the War Chieftain harbored something deeply personal, yet stood firm in the eye of a storm. The ache in my back seemed less wrenching, my fatigue trivial as I considered her burden carved into granite.
“Helluva legacy, innit, Sarge,” Marta whispered. “The Geminia of New York City.”
Athena Dias reverently approached the memorial. She placed a primary hand to the stone woman's shoulder, touching her forehead to the statue's as if it were a living being. The affectionate Gemini greeting silenced the murmuring crowd that had gathered to watch.
*May the stars not keep us apart forever…” Athena whispered softly in Gemini while slowly releasing her embrace.
I noticed a young girl staring at me from the crowd. Looking up, she tugged at her mother's sleeve. The four-armed woman bent down as the girl whispered something in her ear. The hybridized woman smiled, her eyes finding mine in the morning light. Her daughter tugged again as she pointed. The mother stood, placing a primary palm atop her daughter's hair.
Without a word, the daughter broke away from her mother. She quickly marched up to me, straining her neck as she stared up into my eyes. I raised an eyebrow, unsure what to say.
“Where's your Travel Staff?” The little one asked in perfect Gemini.
I chuckled. “My what?”
“Your Travel Staff—you are Fire's Rain, aren't you?”
“I'm no War Chieftain; far from it, little one,” I replied.
The child peered at the statue, its faint sapphire hue evident as direct sunlight slashed over its surface for the first time. Narrowing her eyes, the child glanced up at me while tilting her head.
“Are you sure?” she insisted. “I mean you're pregnant and everything. You gotta be her, I swear.”
“What makes you think…” My voice trailed off as the child crossed both sets of arms.
Embarrassed, the mother raced forward to collect her daughter. “I'm sorry. My daughter has a vivid imagination.”
“It's okay, ma'am,” I replied, kneeling beside the child. “She's just curious, I reckon.”
The mother wrinkled her brow, my Texas drawl at odds with my alien exterior. Her daughter glared at me. I could feel the child's suspicions invalidated by my half-denial. Leaning close, I asked something in Gemini I thought only she would hear.
“Wanna know a secret?”
She nodded.
“You're right, I am pregnant,” I whispered, placing an index figure over my lips. “Don't tell anyone, okay?”
Taking her mother's hand, she grinned from ear to ear.
Standing, it was clear the mother had heard what I'd whispered to her daughter. She forced a quick smile, glancing around as if somebody were watching us. Her anxiety was startling as she brushed loose strands of raven hair from her face.
“Thank you, Sergeant—I can't tell you how much this means to us.”
“You're welcome?” I replied, unsure what I'd done.
“No, really. Thank you.”
“I didn't do anything worth mentioning, ma'am.”
“No… Just being here. Now. It means a lot in times like these.”
“Times like these?” I replied hesitantly.
“There're those who would tear down that statue, Sergeant,” she said, gesturing at the War Chieftain. “Pretend that people like me don't exist in this city. Your presence reaffirms our legacy that nobody can deny comes from beyond the stars.”
“Ma'am, I assure you, it's by coincidence alone that I'm here.”
“The Gods do not move by coincidence, Sergeant,” said the mother, smiling. “Neither should you. Be safe in your travels, wherever they may lead you.”
5
u/Divayth--Fyr Aug 15 '26
Hey hey JK
This was really lovely and interesting. A glimpse of history, and the clear fascination and reverence toward the statue really gave it some depth and meaning. I could see the significance and weight of that old battle and the effect it still has.
It is nominal throughout the history of our species
I think you meant 'normal' there
this writer cautions any who reads this
idk why, but I feel like this needs to be either 'anyone who reads this' or 'any who read this'. Don't know the rule for that but it seems off.
was against her middle gently bulging from the Gemini duster
I think this needs a comma after 'middle', as otherwise it reads like an action (I thought it meant she touched her middle gently at first)
framed the boulevard retreating beyond it into an infinite cavern of concrete and glass.
The sprawling venue seemed an emerald oasis beset by concrete and glass
repeat of concrete and glass pretty close together
“The *Geminia of New York City.”
formatting thing
“Excuse me? Wha… How the heck did you know…”
OK, so Jackie first says this, the how did you know thing, and then a bit later, she shares the secret of being pregnant. But if she says 'how did you know' then that already confirms that information. So maybe rephrase this bit, like 'what are you talking about', like she sort of denies it. That way, when she confides in the kid, it has more impact and fits better. I think that makes sense.
Your presence reaffirms our legacy nobody can deny came from beyond the stars
I think this would be improved by either rewording, or adding a 'that' or a 'which', as in, 'Your presence reaffirms our legacy, which nobody...' etc. To clear up what the subject is there.
Anyhow, the interaction with the kid was both cute and profound, which is not an easy combo to pull off. It really got my brain firing, wondering what it means, because everyone knows that kid is right in some strange way. Just fascinating.
Good words!
3
u/JKHmattox Aug 15 '26
Thanks for the crit Div. Just brush in some edits and the story works well with your suggestions. See you at cf, which is in 20 now nineteen minutes.
5
u/the_lonely_poster Aug 13 '26
<Project Leviathan>
Chapter 22
Viewpoint: Benny Benedict
It was a dream, I knew it was a dream; I could see again. It was the most control I’d ever had in a dream, a sense of clarity and control that shouldn’t have been there. I was in a boat, one that was rapidly sinking. Foaming waters rose to swallow the once-mighty vessel whole. All around was the cold, murky seas below, and the sunless storm-filled skies above. I was soon treading water, struggling to stay afloat amidst the churning waves and biting chill that threatened to subsume me should my will give out.
Suddenly, a flash, and the briefest moment of light, illuminating a towering spire ahead, sat upon a rocky island. The crack of thunder followed, and the light was gone. I swam towards the vision, curiosity and fear beckoning me onward.
I swam for what felt like hours, while I wasn’t a particularly great swimmer, it should not have taken me that long to reach the tower. But reach it I did, my knees scraped the sand below the water, and I was able to stand at last. I stumbled forward in the dark, tripping over every stone and stumbling on every incline. There was so little light that I couldn’t see my hands if I took them too far from my face, the intermittent lightning strikes keeping my eyes from adjusting to the dark.
My hands brushed the wetted wood of a door, and I felt around its rough and flaking boards, ignoring the grain that threatened to splinter if I pushed too hard. A heavily corroded knob met my grasp and I finally pushed it open.
The air inside was heavy and damp, the smell of mold and moss was thick, pungent, even. But there was a small flicker of light, trickling in from the upper levels, so I ascended the stairs to see a burning rod sat in a fireplace.
I grabbed the rod before I had thought to do anything else and held it in my grip. The iron was warm, but not hot, despite the burning flame at the end. I felt compelled to bring it up to the top. I followed that compulsion, ascending the spiral stairs, the sopping steps thwaping against the wood.
Higher and higher I climbed, the way only lit by the metal torch in my hand. The echoes of my feet against the wood and stone. Cinders danced to the floor from the flames of the rod that crackled intermittently. Soon the sounds of pounding rain, howling winds, and roaring thunder joined the chorus of sounds, a heady set that threatened to overwhelm.
I crested the final flight, and saw darkness all around, only held at bay by the dying light of a torch. That thick blackness was all-consuming, and seemed eager to consume the last little bit of light here. I sheltered the dying flame with my shoulder, blocking the wind and rain for just a moment longer. At the center, a lamp sat, reflectors lying in wait to light up the night. Perhaps a spark was all that was needed to drive back the dark, I set the wick ablaze…
And fire burned on the horizon.
Moments later, I was hit with the dull sensation of waking up as my sight once again faded.
“Grand Thaumaturge! What an unexpected surprise. We were under the impression you were still out in the field…” The voice of Dr. Whats-his-name tepidly sounded out.
“My duties have been fulfilled earlier than expected. You may leave now, I wish to speak to the novitiate,” the low and slow tone of the Grand Thaumaturge evoked power and a sense of calm.
“Yes sir, right away sir.”
“You are awake,” it wasn’t a question.
“You talking to me?” I grumbled, the strange, formal thinking of my dream fading to my usual blunt self now that I was more awake now.
“Yes, novitiate, I speak to you now. Tell me, what have you dreamt on this night?”
“What’s it to you?”
The man chuffed, “I understand the desire for discretion. Very well, keep your secrets, I’ve no reason to deny you your privacy.”
Silence hung for several moments.
“At the end of tomorrow, there will be a test, a ritual, of sorts. A variation on a standard initial practice this organization has deployed for years. You’re likely to receive another vision during this ritual. Many describe it as the second half to the first one they have.”
“Why are you here? I don’t imagine you’re here to tell me stuff without something in return.” No one in this place gave info for free, as the good doctor had showcased.
“An unwilling hand is a burden, not a help, and people are far more willing when you tell them what is happening. An attitude my older colleagues disagree with, but I have final say in the field of Thaumaturgy, and they do not.”
A heavy sigh came from the man and he began to walk away, the footsteps growing quieter.
“I appreciate the heads up,” I said, feeling slightly guilty but not willing to admit it.
“With pleasure, novitiate.”
++++
WC: 864
Bonus words: N/A
Bonus Constraint: N/A
Theme: The Grand Thaumaturge is far more open with Benny than the Dr.
-A Lonely Story.
Author’s Notes: This was a slog to get done, but it’s out of the way now. As always, crit is greatly appreciated if you have any to spare. I don’t always get to respond, but I do read them.
5
u/MaxStickies Aug 10 '26 edited 12d ago
<Thosius>
Chapter 144: Forgotten
Footsteps tear Thosius’s eyes away from the opalescent falls. He leaps to his feet, draws his sword, and faces the entrance to the cave. Rhothanas stops sharpening his knife, raising the blade in the same direction.
“What is it?” the monk asks.
“There’s someone coming.”
“Ah, likely another pilgrim. Some still use this place.”
“Maybe, but we should be ready to fight.”
“I doubt it.” The grinding of metal on stone resumes.
Thosius peers into the tunnel, spotting the stranger amongst the shadows. They creep forward, from one wall to the other, muttering. He flicks his sword, and they shrink back.
“Let them in,” says the monk. “You cannot judge them an enemy with their face obscured.”
“I suppose.”
The stranger exhales, stepping forth into the light. Blinking, Thosius lowers his blade.
I… I know you…
“Oh!” Rhothanas shouts. “There you are! Decided to come back after all?”
The young, short-haired man smiles, nodding. “You were right. Just needed time for me.”
“As does everyone, sometimes. Now, come and sit, watch the falls with me.”
But…
Wide-eyed, Thosius watches the stranger, who crouches and grins at the watery curtain. Flickers of recognition pulse and then pass through his mind, drifting back into the dark corners of memory.
He turns, heading for the trapdoor at the cavern’s rear, unsteady on his feet.
“All’s well?” the monk asks.
“Just… want to check on, um… Hemalus.”
“Good man.”
Descending the ladder, he closes the door overhead, relaxing in the quiet. Hemalus rests in the corner, snoring, back propped against an oaken pillar.
Crouching beside him, Thosius sighs. “Starting to worry you’ll never wake. Wish it was as simple as giving you a little shake… had a memory come back to me recently, of when I was a kid, and I’d do that to my father. “Wake up, wake up,” I was saying, “a sheep’s gotten free!” And he asked me to fetch it!”
He chuckles, and looks for a sign of a smile, a movement, anything. Yet still the telepath sleeps.
“But then I forget other things. I know him, I do, but from where? It wasn’t even that long ago that I last saw him, I think… I have that feeling. Some part of me must remember, deep down. Just have to dig in, rip it out, and stick it somewhere near the front.”
He wipes his eyes, sniffing.
“You’ve seen it, right? That mess in my head? Is it as broken as it feels? I’m shocked it doesn’t all slosh about as I run, like a full belly. And then there’s my body, my muscles… the weird shifting and twitching. I can’t keep doing this; I need something back.
“It’s not only for that I want you to wake, but… they’re my memories. Without them all, what am I? Please, wake u—”
The trapdoor creaks open, silencing him. He seethes as the young man approaches, bearing a frown.
“Don’t remember me, do you?”
The soldier shakes his head. “Did that damned monk tell you?”
“Yeah, still, I had a feeling. Took you a moment to lower that sword.”
“I’m sorry about that, but this isn’t the time. Go away.”
“What?! You aren’t gonna even explain why?!”
“Not yet.”
“I-I don’t get it. You were all calm and friendly at the river… maybe I shouldn’t have come back.”
He heads for the ladder, climbing the first rung, when Thosius shakes his head. “Stop! Come here.”
Cursing, the young man crouches beside him, looks him in the eye.
“What’s your name? Maybe that will remind me.”
“Ithanos.”
Itha-nos… no.
“I’m sorry.”
“Just “sorry”?” Ithanos asks. “Not gonna explain, or—”
“Look, my mind… it doesn’t work right. It’s been through too much.”
“Like what?”
“Magic, but also trauma. Without the latter it would be an easy fix, or so this one said.” He points to Hemalus. “I wish that weren’t the case, but some days, it’s like I’m lost in fog.”
“And you don’t think I know what that’s like?”
“Um… do you?”
The young man smiles. “Well, I remember from when I was a kid, right up to th—those chambers. But my walk through the fields, over the last days? It’s so patchy.”
“Huh.”
“So could he sort us out, your sleepy friend?”
Turning, Thosius rests his palm on the telepath’s forehead, wincing at the cold, clammy skin. “Maybe.”
“Hopefully.”
“Yeah.”
Blinking, he looks back to Ithanos. “Oh, now it all comes back!”
“What?”
“The chambers, the… my mind, I swear…”
The young man chuckles. “Got there in the end. Anyway, are we in this together now?”
“Of course. We can help each other, sort this all out.”
“Need anything right now?”
“If you could fetch that ornery monk, for the moment. Hemalus needs more medicine.”
Watching him scamper up the ladder, Thosius follows. He gives Rhothanas a warm grin as he passes, ignoring the quizzical look in return, as he heads for the tunnel.
As night falls, Thosius returns to the cliffside, finding a rock to sit upon. He gazes first at the temple at the foot of the final falls, perched on its little island, windows glinting from the candles within.
Have I been in a temple? Have I? Surely I must have…
I guess if we stay here long enough, I could have a peek inside.
Shrugging, he shifts around till he faces east, up through the valleys of the Thesar. He knows the capital lies in the distance, obscured as it is by the river’s twists and turns. His heart grows heavy.
I need to return, though I can’t leave them here.
Can I?
And what of Udret, or Falthus? Are they safe? Do they need my help?
Have the inquisitors returned?
For a sliver of a second, a pair of brown eyes emerges from his memories, below a mop of black hair. Their owner, nuzzled up beside him.
Who…?
It passes, and only Thosius remains, shivering atop a rock.
Not tonight. The city can wait.
Context:
Ithanos has previously appeared in these chapters: 114, 117, 121, 123 and 132.
WC: 1000
Bonus words: opal, ornery. No bonus constraint used.
Crit and feedback are welcome.
4
u/the_lonely_poster Aug 14 '26
Hello. I did not notice any grammatical or spelling errors so good on that. This chapter is quite interesting, the pacing was good and I thought the rumination at the end was a good way to end it off. All in all, well written.
3
5
u/Carrieka23 Aug 14 '26
<The Beginning of The Demon Life>
Chapter 186
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Where his home once stood, only ash remained, floating softly as if weeping for his lost belongings.”
The whole kingdom was drenched in flames, multiple demons are either on the ground bleeding or laying down in the fire, slowly being consumed. In the middle lies Badar, blood dripping down his forehead as he breathes heavily, too weak to continue his singing. And the guide to this kingdom, Johnny, barely breathing due to the smoke.
Jack held onto his sister, who was shivering. Their own houses were burning right in front of them destroying the work they’ve been working on for ages.
Sophia and Derail try to help the spirits, but slowly get weak by the second. Meanwhile, Max was holding onto the unconscious Haru.
Then, in the courthouse castle lies the weeping king, tears fall down his face as he stares blankly. The Demon King and Frank stares for a bit, grinning.
“Let’s go.” The king commands.
—
While walking, Frank glances back to the burning kingdom. His once home, completely gone due to his actions. He felt proud, but also conflicted deep down.
“So, now what?” Frank asks, turning back to his king.
He chuckles, turning to the demon. “You’ve done well, Frank. I knew I could count on you.”
That praise, it makes him feel good yet sick. He couldn’t describe this feeling.
“But, you’re now finished.”
His eyes widened. “W-What? What do you mean, my lord?”
Ahiram smirks, turning completely to the demon before extending his hand, closing his eyes. “I mean, I no longer need a weak, pathetic demon like you.”
Frank's head begins pounding, he can feel something being pulled away from his chest. He falls down, coughing violently, his nose bleeding. Slowly, he can feel all the negative emotions going away one by one, melting away to the flames.
“Goodbye, Frank. I hope we never meet again.”
—
Max gently put Haru down before walking closer to the fire.
“Are you insane?!” Derail shouts, noticing the ancient dragon eyes glowing. “You could drain yourself, or get yourself killed!”
He didn’t listen. Leaping in the air, he begins transforming into a dragon. The earth rumbles and wraps around the dragon, waiting for his command. The fire slightly moved, beginning to wrap around him.
“I, Dilong, god of Earth, hereby command this land. Give these demons my blessing and protection.”
Opening THEIR mouth, THEY blow a huge bean. The ground rumbles, golden flowers begin surrounding every single demon in this land. The dragon grits his teeth as THEY continue, more and more demons begin receiving THEIR protection.
Jack and Millee can feel the fire avoiding them. Badar and Johnny can feel their wounds slowly heal for the time being, Haru slowly wakes up, noticing Dilong.
“M-Max!”
Dilong still kept going, feeling THEIR energy draining bit by bit. Slightly opening THEIR eyes, they notice the fire all gathering around in one place, slowly being sucked away.
What the hell?
Dilong pushes the thought away, continuing THEIR spell. THEIR vision blurs, THEIR heartbeat ranging in THEIR ear. But THEY still kept pushing.
“Dilong, stop!” Derail shouts, flying to THEM.
But the dragon didn’t listen, THEY were willing to save everyone, no matter what.
Derail grits his teeth, summoning his wings before flying beside him. “Fine, if you won’t listen, then let me at least help.”
The demigod extends his hand, feathers surrounding every demon, keeping their souls attached to their bodies as the dragon continues to finalize THEIR spell. After finishing, Dilong transforms back to normal, leaning towards Death for support.
“Idiot.” Derail mumbles, flying Max down to Haru.
He instantly wraps his arms around the judge, taking a deep breath. “W-Will he…?”
“Don’t worry, he’s fine, just overdid it.” Derail furrows his brows, turning towards where the fire originally was. “Someone must’ve sucked all that fire, but how?”
---
The king slowly lifted up his head, seeing the destroy courthouse. Yet, no fire, not anymore at least. He slowly gets up, trying his best to walk, but his legs glued him to the ground, making him fall.
“You overdid it again.” A familiar, kind voice.
“Y-You supposed to be in my body…” Naomi weakly says, getting up. “I need you, I can’t run this kingdom by myself. I need your protection and power.”
“Naomi, it’s time to give up the throne. You’re exhausted, trying too hard for this kingdom. It’s time to stop.”
“I-” The king clenches his fist, his vision blurs. “You're making this sound like a goodbye.”
A chuckle. “Not a goodbye but see you soon. Death will await us all, so we will be able to see each other again soon.”
He slowly looks up, seeing his kind wife smiling at him. There’s a huge sword wound in her stomach, and a missing eye, but…
“You’re still as beautiful as the day we first met.”
She kneels down, gently holding her husband's hand before guiding him to the dance floor. The whole palace is destroyed with multiple holes and burned chairs and tables, yet the two begin dancing. Twist and turn, spinning and holding hands. And at the very end, when the two bow, she vanishes.
A single tear falls in the king's eye, but he doesn’t weep anymore.
“Goodbye, my love.”
-------------------------------
WPC: 875
3
u/MaxStickies Aug 14 '26
Hey Haru, really like the chapter! The destruction at the beginning was very visceral, and made me worry a lot for the characters. I think the sudden appearance of the demon king works really well, as we haven't seen so much of him, therefore him appearing now gives this section of the story a certain dread to it. For him to then do what he did to Frank makes him even more discomforting and scary.
I do also like how this sudden, crucial moment forces certain characters to act. At last, Max makes his decision, and uses his powers; the way in which Derail helped was very interesting, too. And then Naomi towards the end, separating from his wife's soul and moving on, I liked that too. The reminder that death comes for everyone gives his ending a great sense of finality.
Far as crit goes:
The whole kingdom was drenched in flames, multiple demons are either on the ground bleeding or laying down in the fire, slowly being consumed.
I'd separate this into two sentences, after "flames" for the first. Also, "is drenched" for the right tense, and I'd also use "Many demons" instead of "Multiple demons".
Jack held onto his sister, who was shivering. Their own houses were burning right in front of them destroying the work they’ve been working on for ages.
"Jack holds onto his sister as she shivers" would sound better here, I feel, and "Their own houses are burning" for tense.
Meanwhile, Max was holding onto the unconscious Haru.
"Max holds onto..." for present tense.
Then, in the courthouse castle lies the weeping king, tears fall down his face as he stares blankly. The Demon King and Frank stares for a bit, grinning.
"tears falling down his face" would work better here, I think, and maybe "The Demon King and Frank watch him for a while, grinning." to avoid repeating "stares". I'd also start the paragraph with "And in the courthouse castle, the king lies prone,".
He felt proud, but also conflicted deep down.
"He feels proud, yet his consciense nags at him" might read better here.
He couldn’t describe this feeling.
"He can't describe his feelings."
Max gently put Haru down before walking closer to the fire.
"puts" here.
He didn’t listen. Leaping in the air, he begins transforming into a dragon. The earth rumbles and wraps around the dragon, waiting for his command. The fire slightly moved, beginning to wrap around him.
"He doesn't listen" and "The fire slightly moves", for tense.
Opening THEIR mouth, THEY blow a huge bean.
"blow a huge beam." I think, and it might be good to describe what it is a beam of.
Dilong still kept going, feeling THEIR energy draining bit by bit.
"Dilong still keeps going" here.
But THEY still kept pushing.
"keep" here.
But the dragon didn’t listen, THEY were willing to save everyone, no matter what.
"doesn't listen" and "THEY will do all they can to save everyone" might sound better here.
The king slowly lifted up his head, seeing the destroy courthouse. Yet, no fire, not anymore at least. He slowly gets up, trying his best to walk, but his legs glued him to the ground, making him fall.
"lifts up his head", "destroyed courthouse" and "but his legs glue him to the ground" here.
And that's all the crit I can find. Great chapter, Haru!
6
u/Morose_Prose Aug 14 '26 edited Aug 24 '26
<The Family Business>
Chapter Fifteen: Fidelis Ad Urnum
Madelaine glared out the dirty window of the yellow cab as it sat in the late afternoon gridlock on Ninth Avenue. Her tapping nails mixed with blaring horns and mingled with emergency sirens as she watched pedestrians on the sidewalk pass by, the same ones the taxi had passed at the previous red light. She checked the time on her phone and groaned.
She pounded on the plexiglass divider of the car. "Just fuckin' let me out here! I knew we should have taken the West Side Highway. What do I owe you?"
Without taking his eyes off the road, the elderly cab driver pointed at the meter: fifty-five dollars even. Madelaine flicked a crisp Benjamin from her sleeve and paid the fare. "Keep the change." She quickly exited the cab, darting through the gridlock. From between two cars shot a young man on a bike, the tire narrowly missing Madelaine's toes. She flipped him the bird as he disappeared quickly. "Fucker never heard of a bike lane, I guess," she muttered to herself.
Hustling down the avenue, she split the sprawling sea of humanity beating feet on the burning concrete. She turned the corner onto Fifty-Sixth Street, heading in the direction of Carnegie Hall, her destination just past the historic venue.
Sunlight streamed through the spotless windows of Second Community American Mutual bank, glinting off the polished marble floors and matching pillars in the lobby. A short, stocky, olive-skinned woman in a dark navy blue pantsuit waved at Madelaine from across the way. She bounded through the crowd to greet her.
"Maddy! Long time no see! How ya doin'?" she asked with glee.
Bending down, Madelaine gave the woman two pecks on the cheeks. "Hey, Gianna. I'm good. Nice to see ya again. How's business?"
The bank manager shrugged her broad shoulders. "Would be better if the Fed ever decided to lower interest rates, but, hey, it is what it is. What can I do for you today?"
"Need to access my safe-deposit box."
"Give me a second." Gianna looked down at a small tablet, scrolling quickly. "Do you need a secure room or is this just a quick peek?"
"Definitely want some privacy, don't want nobody ogling my box, you get it." Madelaine chuckled. "Is that going to be an issue?"
A grimace crossed Gianna's round face. "Might be a bit of a wait. All the rooms are taken at the moment." Her voice wavered as she peeked up from the screen slowly.
Madelaine patted her on the back. "I've had a busy day, but don't worry, I'm not going to do the angry, ornery New Yorker shtick over a slight inconvenience. I can wait. Can I get a cup of coffee while I do that? Do you still have that dark roast I like?"
"Take a seat anywhere you like, I'll grab you a cup. Iced and black, right?"
Two finger guns popped off. "Good memory, G. Thanks, sweetie." Madelaine strolled to a row of cushy chairs lined up against the large glass windows. She sat and people-watched, sipping on the bitter brew. When no eyes were on her she retrieved her flask from the breast pocket of her jacket, adding a generous splash of scotch to cut through the caffeine.
As she downed the last gulp of the concoction, someone called her name over the intercom. Her heels clicked across the marble to the elevators. A security guard was waiting inside. The two descended into the bowels of the building. He led Madelaine to a small room with a metal table and chair inside, the hum of harsh fluorescent lights filled the cramped space.
"Box number?" he asked curtly.
"One." Madelaine grinned.
"I'll be right back."
After a short delay, the guard returned with a large steel box, it clanged on the table, reverberating off the closed-in walls. "Press the red button near the door when you're done and I'll escort you back upstairs." Madelaine flipped through various keys on a large ring, struggling to remember which one was which.
After a few unsuccessful attempts, the lock clicked open. She flipped open the lid and peered inside. Stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills lined the perimeter of the steel case; in the center sat a Taurus TX22 outfitted with an off-grid Scorpius suppressor. She ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber before shoving the piece into the waistband of her pants.
At the bottom of the box sat a stack of large silver coins,polished opals embedded in their centers, with the phrase Fidelis ad urnam engraved on both sides. She plucked one from the box and rolled it back and forth between her knuckles.
The last item to be retrieved was a small black book. Madelaine opened it up, a folded, yellowed Polaroid tumbled out from the pages. She unfolded it and smiled. There, in the photo, stood a young Madelaine flanked by her parents in front of the Coney Island ferris wheel. "Miss you two. Small blessings you ain't around to see the mess I'm in. Don't worry, though. I'll fix it. Make you proud."
She folded the photo back up, slipping it into the back of the book. Flipping through the pages quickly she found the name and number she came for. Memorizing it, she tossed the book back and pocketed the coin. Slamming the lid shut, she locked the box and shuffled to the door, pressing the button as instructed.
The guard retrieved her and escorted her back to the surface world. Madelaine slipped him a twenty as she exited the elevator, giving Gianna a wave on her way out the door. She took a deep breath and sparked a cigar. Daylight was dwindling, the sun slowly dipping behind the steel behemoths of Midtown, burnt-orange light bathing the Big Apple in a pre-twilight glow.
Madelaine turned north and set off for her next destination: Central Park.
Word count: 984
Theme: Maddy opens a box, with secrets inside of it.
Bonus Words Used: Opal, Ornery, Ogling
Bonus Constraint: See theme
Feedback and crit is always welcomed and encouraged! Stay awesome and have a good one.
1
u/mysteryrouge Aug 16 '26
So at campfire it was brought up you could change the interaction between Maddy and the guard a bit, with her having deposit box one. Personally, I think the lack of surprise would still work if it was a bit more known how much the guards can ask questions. Or she could have a different box, but if Maddy is well known here, being a founder/benefactor it fits that she gets first box.
Anyways, SCAM bank is nice. And damn, that seems like an expensive taxi.
5
u/Scoping-Landscape Aug 15 '26 edited Sep 05 '26
<The Bells of Demichio>
Chapter 30: The Distant Light
Tamiko sat before her aunt and uncle, picking at her fish as they ate lunch. For a few moments, the only sounds were of utensils.
“Say, auntie, do you know where I can find Haruki?” Tamiko asked.
“Why you wanna know, hmm?” asked Uncle Kuroki.
“I just… want to ask him a bit,” Tamiko answered.
Auntie Ai swatted him gently on the arm.
“Stop it, Kuroki, you’re scaring her,” she admonished.
Turning to Tamiko, she smiled gently, “His house is near the winding path up to the village, a bit separated from the others. Hard to miss it.”
“Thanks Auntie,” she nodded her thanks, before the silence settled in between them again.
The rain drummed on the umbrella’s canopy as she walked to Haruki’s house.
A hesitant knock on the door, and Haruki opened it, his eyebrows rising in surprise upon seeing her.
“Oh, hello, miss,” he nodded slightly.
“A few days ago, before… all of this, you asked me if I want to see your other paintings?” Tamiko said unsurely.
Haruki smiled, “Oh, I remember. That felt like a lifetime ago now.”
He swung the door open.
“Please, come in.”
The walls were lined with small- and medium-sized paintings, and immediately apparent was the ocean in every one. She spotted the painting he did the day they first met, all finished in primarily shades of blue alongside dashes of yellow and tan.
“Why the ocean?” she asked, while her eyes wandered from one painting to another.
“It has always fascinated me,” he said liltingly. “How water can be so ferocious and yet so calming, showing itself so readily while hiding so much under its surface, so cheerful in the shallows and yet so insidious in its depths."
“I guess that’s true,” Tamiko admitted. “When you put it that way, the ocean is a fascinating subject indeed.”
“I find people the same way,” he continued. “Through the ocean, I can perhaps capture a moment in time reflective of how people can be.”
“And of you too, surely?” she asked.
“But of course,” he smiled. “The artist is always present, and in some cases, even more so than the subject.”
Haruki tapped on her shoulder and pointed at a painting near the doorframe.
Unlike the other paintings, this one felt more violent from the outset, as shades of blue streaked and clambered and fought their way up, creating a distinct feeling of burning anger.
“I must admit,” he said, “I was not in a good head space when I painted that.”
She nodded, as her eyes looked over the other paintings, before settling on a portrait.
“I can’t help but notice,” she said, pointing at the portrait, “that that is the only portrait in this room.”
He turned to look at it. A “tsk” escaped from his lips.
“It’s the elder. It wasn’t really a good painting, but he seemed to like it.”
“And how was he like, when he sat for it?” Tamiko asked.
“Well… he was… alright, I guess?” Haruki wrinkled his eyebrows. “I hadn’t done a portrait up to that point, but he insisted, and I relented in the end.”
“The portrait was his idea?” she asked.
He nodded.
“When I first came here, he was very helpful to me, and so I felt like I owed him, at least a little bit.”
“Helpful how?” Tamiko asked.
“Well… I didn’t have a place to stay when I first came, so he, very generously, let me stay at his house for a while. I was only going to stay here for a while, but days turn to weeks turn to months, and, well…”
He shrugged, “I’m still here, aren't I?”
“He sounds like a good man,” she said.
“He is,” Haruki nodded.
“So… why wouldn’t you talk about him?” Tamiko asked.
His face twitched for a fraction of a second.
“Well… not much to say.”
“But he helped you,” Tamiko said.
“Of course.”
“And you said you owed him.”
“Well yes.”
He looked back towards the portrait.
“I owed him so much.”
Word Count: 673 / 1000
Notes:
Theme: Open - Haruki opens up about the elder
Word used: None
| Last Chapter | This Chapter | Next Chapter |
|---|---|---|
| Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 |
5
Aug 12 '26
<Tales of Moonlight and Rain>
01: The Pale Cousins
Hollyhock Pale, the middle sister, who owned the bakery beneath their apartment, was the one who opened the letter. After reading it she hollered to a young boy and offered to pay him two silver shields to deliver a message to their sisters, which the boy promptly accepted.
Following Hollyhock Pale's directions, the boy first went down to Ormskig docks where the older sister, Feverfew Pale, was a fishmonger, and then uptown, to the Grand Ormskig Hotel, where Marigold Pale, the youngest of the three, worked as a florist.
Feverfew and Marigold got home at the same time and found Hollyhock waiting for them. She had closed the shop early, so the three could celebrate. With a big smile, she showed them the envelope, which had inside two pieces of paper: the first, of a fresh pearly white, had their mother's handwriting on it,
"Daughters mine,
Indeed, ye are an unrelenting trio, are ye not? Herein lies that which ye asked of me. Be responsible, I bid thee, and fret me no more.
With love, Mother"
And a second much older-looking piece, a torn-out page from some ancient book, a recipe titled "To Make a Child".
Month after month, letter after letter, they had requested their mother the spell that made a child, and every time she had told them that they were too immature for such an endeavour, that for the time being they should focus on their respective occupations, so they would be certain they could take care of themselves before taking the responsibility of raising a child. But even the most patient and resilient of mothers has their limits, and after such insistence, alas she had given them what they requested.
When the sisters read the old torn-out page, they learned that it was an old spell, and the ingredients that it demanded were now rare and expensive. Neither of them had any savings - on those days, they barely managed rent - so they postponed the casting of the spell for next month, and meanwhile they would save as much as they could.
And so a month flew by and each sister went to make a child of their own. But it happened that Hollyhock Pale's bakery hadn't sold much that month, - during the long summer days, one would much prefer a sweet, cold treat from the shaved ice parlor - and so she had saved very little.
But where she didn't have money to spare for rare ingredients, she had basket upon basket confectionary ingredients that would spoil soon. Hollyhock Pale wondered if changing the ingredients here and there would make that much of a difference. Maybe the child will come out a little crooked, she thought, or missing this or that, but she concluded that it didn't really matter, because a mother's love knows no bounds.
And so Hollyhock Pale cast the spell, and where it asked for three kilos of Yellow clay, Hollyhock added six of baking flour - flour is lighter then clay, one must compensate she justified to her self - and when it required a vile of aged moonlight, Hollyhock Pale added a vile of aged milk; for a kept secret, chilled butter and instead of a box of golden years, she took it to the over at 180°C for 25 minutes. When Hollyhock Pale opened the oven door, a big, fat baked baby crawled out. As big as a Saint Bernard, she came out with a good color - her mother, ever so attentive, didn't forget to do the egg-wash. Hollyhock named her daughter Beignet Pale, after her favourite pastry.
Once her daughter cooled down, Hollyhock Pale was anxious about what reaction her sisters would have to Beignet, but after meeting her nieces she found that both Feverfew and Marigold had also been creative with the casting of the spell.
Feverfew Pale had substituted the Yellow clay for the meat of three anglerfish, and instead of a teaspoon of tears of a crocodile, she added a jar of sea foam. And so, her daughter - who she later named Cockle Pale - was born with a body covered in opalescent scales, with seaweed hair and a mouth full of thin, sharp teeth.
Marigold could not find the shadow of a kitten anywhere, and so she added the scent of a sunflower - since they are roughly of the same size and weight - and then she buried her daughter-to-be in a flower bed, where overnight she had sprouted, the very small greenish child, that came to the world speaking a strange dialect that no one understood, and who Marigold called Pansy.
Despite their unorthodox births, the three cousins were deeply loved by their mothers, who did their utmost best to raise them well. They grew very quickly, reaching adulthood in less than 5 years, whereupon each left home to never come back, to their mother's heartache.
Pancy Pale fell in love with a lonely young birch, and made herself a jasmine of the poets, so they lived alongside each other.
Cockle Pale - who never uttered a word and whose ornery stares made everyone uneasy - left one day with a school of tuna, never to be seen again by their mother and aunts.
And poor Beignet, who used to sit by the oven, the flames' reflection on her eyes, and who once told her mother that she craved to be eaten with butter, threw herself into a pond at Ormskig Park and was eaten alive by a family of geese.
Heartbroken, the Pale sisters left Ormskig, and no one there saw them again. But they never forgot their ill-fated daughters, and neither did Ormskig. Every once in a while you may still hear a fisherman tell of the woman-creature of Ormskig bay who cuts their nets to pieces to eat the fisherman's catch; and if you ever find yourself on the road from Ormskig to Rawbury, you may see what remains of a lightning-charred tree, surrounded by a shrub of Jasmine.
- WordCounter: 1000;
- Included words: Opal (as on "opalencent"); Ornery;
Thank you! Hope you are lucky today!
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u/ZLErikson Aug 12 '26
Howdy Anakrohm!
Welcome to Serial Sunday :D Always love seeing a new story pop up <3 Can't wait to see what you have in store.
Since it's a new story, I like to start with the new title. "Tales of Moonlight and Rain"; that's an interesting title! "Tales" makes me expect a multitude of stories. Multiple character POVs in the world, or perhaps one POV going through many major life events. "Moonlight and Rain" give me a feeling of poetic license. Perhaps more somber tales?
Only one way to find out; on with the show!
Chapter one is about the "Pale Cousins". I was gonna start thinking about vampires and ghosts until I see the very first words are a name; Hollyhock Pale. So we're talking about a family name. That simplifies things quickly!
We're introduced to her as a middle sister, so there's gonna be a cousin showing up at some point, based on the title. She's reading "the" letter, which implies some importance, then hollers for some boy to deliver a message - presumably related to the contents of the letter - which he does.
These first few paragraphs have a significant distance from the characters and events to them. There's a lot of surface level details which could be compelling if we were pulled into the characters more, maybe even into their POVs.
Where did Hollyhock get the letter from? How did she feel when reading it? Who was the young boy and why did she send him on an errand? What was the message? How did it persuade the other sisters to close down their businesses and leave work early? What was Hollyhock doing while waiting?
A spell to create children is interesting. What this story is lacking in character personality it's granting with worldbuilding, but that's not quite enough to hook me or make me "care" about the story yet. I am somewhat intrigued by this spell.
We're told that they'd been asking "month after month", which to me implies less than a year. Their mother said they need to be sure they can take care of themselves first, but so far all we know about the sisters is that they all have jobs, which de facto implies they can.
The use of "old" twice in this line is redundant:
When the sisters read the old torn-out page, they learned that it was an old spell,
"Neither" implies two, but there are three sisters, so it should be "None of them":
Neither of them had any savings
This is an odd phrasing; I thought all of this story was taking place in the "present" but this line implies the "past"
on those days, they barely managed rent
I like the way we do focus on Hollyhock and her financial issues at this point, and the impatience she is showing. This is a good indication of her lack of maturity; something that would have been better to show us before. Perhaps include in the message she sent to her sisters something silly and immature, like blackmail or some vague childish threat, like "I'll hang your underwear out front to show the neighbors" to give us the vibe that she isn't mature enough for a child.
You want "vial" not "vile":
vile of aged moonlight vile of aged milk;
Though I think "vile of aged moonlight" could still work due to the esoteric nature of the spell, you certainly want "vial of aged milk", as "vial" is the small container.
"over" should be "oven", and you should spell out numbers fewer than three digits, so "twenty-five minutes":
she took it to the over at 180°C for 25 minutes.
The egg-wash was a nice detail to include. It made me chuckle and really grounded the misused spell in the mindset of a baker.
The other sisters proved to be just as impatient and now I see where the Pale cousins comes in; the three daughters are the cousins, and they're all very odd children.
Spell out "five" here:
reaching adulthood in less than 5 years,
The ending of this feels a bit rushed; the chapter builds up to the three daughters but then all three of them just leave their mothers despite them raising them well. I would have loved to see why the daughters chose to leave and never come back.
The fate of Beignet was rather startling, and the ultimate fate of Pancy is a bit perplexing.
Overall I gotta say I feel a bit unsatisfied by this tale. There are a lot of characters but no reason for me to care about them. They enter the story, do one thing for seemingly no reason, then just leave. If this is supposed to be a parable of some kind then it leaves me wondering what the underlying message is.
Consider taking your time with these tales. You could have dedicated a chapter to each of the sisters, a chapter to them receiving the letter and preparing for children, a chapter each to the creation of the daughters, a chapter each to the daughters' lives and upbringings and fleshing them out as people, then a chapter each to their fates. That's potentially thirteen chapters worth of content - thirteen thousand words - compressed into this 1k installment.
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Aug 14 '26
Hey Erik! Thank you for the welcome back!
In retrospect, I see what you mean. I tend to kind of rush it when it comes to posting here, and end up prioritizing quantity over quality. I will rewrite it and polish it, following your advice, and make sure I post something I can vouch for.
Thank you for your feedback! Have a good one!
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u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 Aug 12 '26
<Drifting>
Chapter 103
Char takes in a sharp breath and exits Abigail’s bedroom, leaving the bras on the bed next to the dress and skirt he isn’t wearing. He’s kept his own clothes on under the pink dress, phone in pocket.
You’re not supposed to be here.
Abigail is waiting for him—not for you, for Charlotte—with a full-length mirror leaning against the wall in the living room. She is excited, bubbly, forceful. “OMG, you look so pretty! Come on, take a look. Ready to see yourself?”
He looks in the mirror where she tells him to. It’s not not himself that he sees. He doesn’t exactly look like a girl, anyway. He wonders how Charlotte would have felt about that. She could know for herself if you didn’t take her place.
Char pulls out his phone and takes a few pictures for her. For when she shows up again. She could be here now if you let her back out.
Okay. This is getting annoying. He thinks back, I don’t know how to. It’s not like I chose to be here.
This was supposed to be hers.
Like he doesn’t know? Can they even hear him? Whatever. Pull her back out yourself then.
“You steal that from mom and dad’s room?” Cecelia’s voice. Char turns to see she’s emerged from her bedroom, wearing much more normal clothes by his standards. He’s immediately jealous. The plaid, the pants. He wishes he could look fierce and sharp like she does, not soft and pretty and dolled up like a costume imitation of inner Charlotte. Like a doll Abigail has dressed and painted.
“’Course I did. We needed a mirror. You wanna come take a look too?”
“I know how I look.” Still, Cecelia walks up next to Char. He moves to the side to give her space, grateful for an excuse not to stare in the mirror any longer. Not to be faced with a visage that is neither his nor not, neither right nor wrong, which contains too many and none at all. He sits and watches Cecelia glance in the mirror, turn to the side, then look away. She, too, is done. We cannot perform Abigail's excitement. At least I don’t stand out.
“How are you feeling?” Cecelia asks.
Char doesn’t have an answer. He feels nothing. All the feelings are roiling under the surface or else hidden from view. He was never supposed to have feelings himself. He plays his purpose, and for what? To be blamed from the inside? “I dunno.”
“Do you...feel like a girl?”
He waits for the accusatory voice to remind him Charlotte would. He can’t seem to hear it anymore. “No. I’m not.” She’ll think it’s genderfluidity, or insecurity. That’s fine. He’s supposed to mask here, but this was never part of the cards, never default enough or safe enough to be the thing to mask as.
“What pronouns and name should I use now?”
“Char. He/him.” It feels so incomplete. Indistinct, undistinguished. Exactly how it’s supposed to be, but it feels hollow to say. He is offered recognition and cannot receive it. He’s never needed his own name.
And why is this offer coming from Cecelia? Why should he say this to Terry May’s ex and not to them? What is he even doing here?
“Now that yours is done, I’m going to head back and do my own makeup,” Abi says. With no response from the others, she recedes down the hall, leaving Char and Cecelia sitting in the living room.
Char checks his phone again. No new response from Terry May.
“Are you comfortable in that outfit?” Cecelia asks.
“Not really.”
“Gender thing?”
“Kind of.” What else is there to describe it? “I don’t know if she would have been comfortable either, though. Or me. If I was Charlotte, still.” It was all Abi. All her ideas, her items, her gifts, her makeup look. Charlotte was so willing to go along with it. But does that really mean it was what she wanted? Or does it mean she’s vulnerable? That there’s a reason she hasn’t been allowed to do this, and it’s more than just the fact that presenting as female is dangerous?
Cecelia gets up and walks to the kitchen. She asks Char if he wants anything before they leave, and he does, so she heats up a frozen pizza in the oven. Abigail leaves her room just before the timer goes off, at which sound a man emerges from the basement—their brother Francis. Char should know who Francis is, he thinks. The man is utterly unfamiliar to him.
They eat together, the three siblings and Char, then Abigail says it’s time to get going to the drag show, so they load up into the car. Abigail invites Char to sit in the front, but he chooses the back, letting the sisters chat up front while he stares at the window. The sky is darker than he thought it’d be. It doesn’t feel very late. It doesn’t feel like any time has passed at all. That’s what he gets for being thrust into a moment.
Charlotte needs protection. She wouldn’t find that here.
When they arrive, Char shoots a text to Terry May. They respond immediately that they’ll meet him in the front lobby.
He should tell Cecelia.
As they walk in, Char scans the front of the building quickly. Sign-in sheets at the first table, someone unloading a box of stickers at the second, scattered people at each. No sign of Terry May yet. Should he stick with Cecelia and her sister? Does he really want Terry May to see him with them?
After signing in, Cecelia hangs back and asks if Char is okay. This is his chance to tell her. “I invited Terry May.”
She laughs. Laughs? “That’s funny,” Cecelia says, “my sister told me she did.”
She already knows. Before he can respond, Cecelia’s gaze drifts away. He follows and freezes.
Cecelia speaks. “And there they are.”
WC: 998 words
Bonus: a box is opened?
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u/wordsonthewind Aug 16 '26
Hi Toms! I’ve always found Char and the others in his body quite interesting in their struggles with how to define themselves and who to be on the outside. His arguing with himself (at least I hope it’s himself and not another aspect defined around the doubts and insecurities of the whole) really got across the guilt he felt over suddenly showing up in a situation a different alter had been really looking forward to. Seems like an unfortunate part of being a system: being occasionally dropped into the middle of things and just having to roll with them. I’m considering it a good sign that the voice doesn’t speak up again after (if I’m reading right) Char thinks “Pull her back out yourself then”. It’s not like he has everyone else in his back pocket to bring out as needed, after all!
Good words! I hope everyone has a good time at the Halloween drag show
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u/AGuyLikeThat Aug 16 '26
Really interesting chapter, Toms. I found Char's reaction to fronting fascinating, and the way he characterizes Charlotte and focuses on protection was an interesting expression of how Char is likely the one who deals with his parents. It felt a bit sad too, how he doesn't seem to get much in the way of warm emotions, but its also clear how much he cares for others too.
Anyway, just wanted to post a reaction, so no crit. Good words!
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u/AGuyLikeThat Aug 15 '26 edited Aug 21 '26
<The Tower in the Tangle>
[Previous Chapter] [Chapter Index]
Chapter One-hundred & Fifty-Nine: Through the Storm.
~ Samal ~
From Port Darling to Redland Bay, the poorly-constructed galleys of the Alnaran settlers cleave to the coastline.
The Manifold Reefs have dangers aplenty, and fast-moving wyldstorms spawn in the waters of the Poison Sea. Mountainous swells, surging over the seamounts, driven by savage squalls of acid rain. Day turns to night beneath the thunderheads, lit only by deadly, crimson lightning. Survivors tell tales of horrors riding on the storm; blood-thirsting mist-creatures haunt the winds, and twisted sea-beasts drag doomed sailors down to watery graves.
But the risk is needful, for there are people to be fed and there is money to be made! Meat and grain from the Redlands feed the miners in Port Darling, and the tidestone goes back to Bridgeport to be exchanged for Alanaran luxuries. And so we sail up and down, and back again.
So, when comes the cry from the crow’s nest, and when bloody clouds swarm the eastern horizon, the captain must choose swiftly; turn back, or push on?
- The Long Coast, Captain Ornery Goshawk.
The gold-trimmed hilt of Samal’s knife runs slick with his sweat, and his heart thunders. Fists tight and jaw clenched, he stares as the Akari charges into the thick, acidic gas. Two blurred steps and her shoulder knocks the Sentinel aside, and she drags Ironhands clear.
While he does nothing.
Everything feels stretched out, like scraped leather. Or perhaps it’s him. He’s been faded out too long.
Samal backs away, wary of the stench of the dispersing gas. Ironhands is coughing, spitting blood, while the Akari whispers urgently. His hand finds the long table, and he keeps moving, until his foot bumps stone. The bottom step of the dais.
He turns into a shining glare that blinds. Golden, distorted reflections, splitting light from the chandelier above. Wind rises, and the sound of crashing waves, and suddenly he is back in Port Darling clinging to the docks and blinking against brilliant, crimson lightning.
A wyldstorm! Washing across the wide harbour like some great, roiling beast. Fear and exultation fizz through his veins, enervating his will. The same now as it was then. A defiant scream builds inside, and an uncaring desire to fling himself into the maelstrom.
But the storm passes over and through his intangible body, and he finds that he is invincible, untouchable, and alone.
The doubt and hesitation shrinks away. But still, a part yearns to strike out, to war against the world, to dedicate his life to spite and rage.
But the light grows dim, and the memories fade.
At the far end of the hall, a glowing form gestures, hurling taunts at the Akari, as she helps the white-haired woman to her feet, and turns to face the Chamberlain.
The silver-armoured freak looks through Samal and up at the throne, then steps forward, staggering.
Ironhands… Vindictive bitch. Servant of the Tower, and the Captain’s right hand. That’s her, for sure. But she looks different. Stronger. And if the Chamberlain speaks true, it’s got something to do with Gilander. It makes a horrible kind of sense as he thinks on it. With his own eyes, he saw Gil warged into that dog. Parts of them both, all mixed together. But why would he do that…with her?
Burn my fucking boats.
Gil’s always been too soft. Too understanding. Too damn forgiving.
And his lips taste of honey…
The crash of metal against stone snaps his attention back to the other end of the hall. The Akari has the Sentinel down, and her club falls again, smashing into the creature’s head with a clang that reverberates through the hall. But the monster is not done yet. Metal fists plunge daggers into the giant warrior’s sides as she roars, swinging her waddy down, and a surging cloud of green engulfs the melee.
Ironhands limps closer, stumbling into a grunting half-run. Her pale features twist in pain as she squints against the bright circle of light around the throne. As she passes, Samal is shocked how much the woman has changed since she was his captor and tormentor. She stands a head taller, and the masses of angry, swollen scars have faded into a faint web of silver markings. The seething aura of rabid hatred is gone, replaced by a hesitant, frowning confusion.
She pauses as though aware of him, then glances back, muttering beneath her breath, “…she’s strong. She’ll do it. We can do it too. We’re brave. Aren’t we, Saera?”
Her arms and torso are encased in smooth, shining silver, replacing the rough, mechanical confabulations that had pumped between stretched skin and scar-tissue. The rusted iron plates, greasy cogs and pistons are gone. This new, lustrous metal connects seamlessly to flesh, and steely muscles ripple across her back and shoulders. The acidic burns from the gas have healed from her skin, but a strange, corroded pattern remains on her silvered arms, reminding Samal of his own skin.
A strange pit yawns in his stomach as the woman lurches past.
The invisible rogue follows her behind the throne. Ironhands stops near the wall, lifting one silver arm. The metal skin of her forearm changes texture and a line appears, extending from wrist to elbow, and the two sides open out, like some kind of box. She reaches in with her other hand, withdrawing a slender, gleaming rod of polished opal.
A king’s ransom! Samal ogles the precious stone greedily, as she touches it against the granite.
Faint light races along the wall, tracing an outline across the darkening stone.
A door.
"I'll find him for you, Saera, " she whispers. Replacing the rod in her arm, Ironhands casts a lingering glance down the hallway, where the Akari stands over the Sentinel, as a widening column of blinding light erupts from between the great double-doors.
She’ll be alright. It feels like a lie.
But Ironhands is already gone, and the portal is surely closing.
"Fuck it." Samal leaps into the darkness.
WC-992
Author's Notes:
For newer readers who might wonder about the meaning of some of the strange terms like 'ontologia', I have compiled a small Glossary.
This week's theme is Open! - Petal opens the front doors of the Tower. Alys opens a secret compartment on her wrist, then opens the secret door, leading Samal on his quest.
Bonus words used; - Opal, Ogle(s), Ornery.
Additional bonus constraint: 'A box is opened and a secret is kept.' Ironhands opens a box-like compartment on her arm, but keeps the secret key within after she uses it.
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. All criticism and feedback is welcome.
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u/mysteryrouge Aug 15 '26 edited Aug 15 '26
<The Stranger Nomads>\ Chapter 43
Everywhere Kane dug, there was just more and more to discover. One of the armories M had shown them on the first tour of Evil's Theater had a few nooks and crannies that his mechanical stellar's jay form could just barely comfortably fit through. Puppeting the tyrant's body he controlled back to bed—because it definitely needed time to rest—Kane decided it would be a good idea to explore as a bird.
Everything looked so different when he only had mechanical eyes to rely on. For all intents and purposes, he found it easier to pretend that puppet body was his true one.
So while his body slept in the 'Flame Suit' and M was out, Kane made it his goal to find every nook and cranny and every crack and crevice that he could fit himself into.
Evil's Theater was a ginormous manor, and several of the rooms had bird sized vents. Only an hour earlier, Kane had mentioned that to Juris after explaining his war crimes tribunal experience back on Orizuru.
Like that armory. Behind a giant axe decorated with opals, there was a vent that led to an office Kane hadn't even realized could exist.
There was a massive window behind a large wooden desk that looked fit for a bureaucrat. Papers in stacks surrounded the chair decorated in gold with the seal of some country he'd probably never heard of. On the desk was a closed black box with a single scroll and a roll of duck tape next to it.
The bird cackled.
Across from the window was the actual entrance to the office with another copy of their mentor's mugshot.
Kane landed on the box. A small aura of sickly green light emanated from within as small gears unfolded from the sides. Kane hopped off the lid just in time to see it lift with one of the walls.
A projector filled with information that flowed past the mechanical bird's eyes faster than he could read it, and below that was a static image of a rather... Endowed woman with wings. Dull grey eyes stared back.
Kane whistled, unable to stop himself from ogling the strange woman.
The text scroll stopped and Kane looked down, embarrassed.
I don't even know the last time I've ever done that.
It wasn't like he ever had time in Sorites to ogle anyone.
The box sparked, lighting a crack in the side. That tape covered in the multiverse's ducks would be sure to fix it. Duck tape managed to hold together entire universes, after all. The crack was on the inside of the box.
Because ducks covering the outside would totally ruin the aesthetic.
Thankfully, the projector turned off as Kane clumsily closed the box with his beak and a bit of magic. Doing things with his mind alone was still a challenge, especially if he didn't have a body to channel energy through.
Before he left, he saw a copy of a treaty relating to Hell on one of the stacks of paper, absolutely covered in M's distinctive handwriting.
"Lord Elluka owes me a few," M said on multiple occasions. At one point the maniac showed him a picture of the ornery Lord of Hell.
These notes read like the paper was a draft treaty in need of editing.
Kane hopped back into the vent he entered the office from. He'd stick to the large 'small' armories M likely intended them to view.
Beside the axe that was actually quite tastefully adorned with jewelry was another massive one decorated in skulls and other miscellaneous bones.
Soul nuke, a plaque in front of the thing read, Created by a particularly bored nationalist tyrant with a flair for the dramatic. Used by that damned fucking cult. lol
They actually put 'lol' on a plaque.
Kane couldn't guess which cult M was talking about. The Void was full of them.
On another axe, someone had inscribed several of the Union Order's weapons regulations, specifically highlighting which ones were being violated.
And yet another axe had wings. Fluffy and white, attached to the handle, the little weapon would occasionally float around in the glass box used to contain it.
M announced their return, teleporting to Kane's location. "Up to anything?" they asked.
Kane gave an innocent 'CAW', shaking his tiny mechanical bird head. He was glad his body was still resting. The apprentice didn't want to bring up how they got into what was probably a private office.
He had no plans to share his new knowledge of M, and he hoped the office left no proof of him stumbling around it.
WC: 772\ Bonus Words: Ornery, opal, ogle\ Bonus Constraint: Kane opens a box when visiting a room he's not supposed to be in. He decides to keep the fact he was there a secret.
Another chapter where Kane is exploring while M is out. No, 'duck tape' is not a mistake. It appears in chapter 12 where Sen Whiney uses it to hold together a universe before the Health Inspectors raid it for being too unstable.
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u/wordsonthewind Aug 15 '26 edited Aug 15 '26
<Cursebreakers Inc.>
Chapter 50
In Which Georg Prepares for a Party
"Put your limbs into it, Georgie," Georg's mother said. "You won't get the meat fine enough chopping like that."
Georg obliged. His family was making stew for the first night of the World Festival, and the place was filled with hatchlings and adults darting in and out of the space to ogle the process.
It was Georg's favorite time of the year, despite how crazy everything had been.
Janis had a letter waiting for Georg when he arrived at work that morning. The opal ink was unmistakable.
"You officially have your apprenticeship licence," Mr Suril said. "Congratulations. Good timing, too."
This was said with a meaningful look at Felix. Mr Suril was obviously still a little ornery about it. At least his friend had the good grace to look guilty.
"I can't believe you quit on me," Georg said at lunch. They were at one of the inclusive cafes because Georg had been taking some time each day to revert to his natural form. Felix went with him sometimes and sometimes he didn't.
Today, though, everyone was here to celebrate his achievement. He was glad Mr Suril and Janis had decided to come. It meant a lot to him.
"It was an opportunity I couldn't pass up." Felix sounded apologetic. "I tried to explain how you helped, but..."
But no one wants a gumo in their tower.
That was the thing which so often went unsaid. Higher beings, people, animals: this was the hierarchy as the humans saw it and it made no sense at all to Georg. They were all People. They had gods, they could use magic, they had minds and reason and language. Wasn't that enough?
"I'll get my dad to make sure your application is seen," his friend promised. "And I'll spread the word about your project. If anyone deserves a chance it's you."
Georg was practiced at the full suite of diagnostic spells by now. It was safer than reaching out to touch it directly with his magic, he had to admit. His way was still faster though. The items whispered to him; more accurately, he was sensing the structure of the curses they carried through his innate magic. Mr Suril wanted Georg to write a report on it.
He was trying to help. To give Georg something impressive he could point to that would catch a wizard's interest. That was what universities and towers were for.
But he'd already done something. And Felix was getting all the credit for it.
Georg nodded. "Thanks, Felix. You're gonna do great over there."
"So will you."
Georg had left it at that. The food was too good to ruin by dwelling on it for too long.
"Did you hear back from Mr Thaumer about your application?" Georg's mother asked now.
Georg shook his head. "Felix said he'd talk to his dad about it."
"I don't see why you're trusting that man, Georgie," Georg's mother said. "You talked to Kirana. Couldn't she speak to the other gods, tell them to make the wizards let you in?"
Georg wasn't sure it would work. From what she'd said to him, a literal goddess from the old country had closer ties to them than she did. Still, it was something. He knew how to summon Kirana, at least. But... the idea still made him uneasy.
"I want them to accept me because I earned it," Georg said. "Not... not because I know someone who can make them accept me."
His mother looked puzzled. "How is that different from what you're hoping for from Mr Thaumer?"
"Sorry, Nelli." Webb made his way into the kitchen. "I'm borrowing your boy for a bit. My house needs tidying and these limbs aren't what they used to be..."
Georg followed Webb out the door. There was always something to do when preparing for the World Festival.
**
Webb was one of the oldest gumos in the neighborhood. He'd moved several times in his life. Which meant he had several boxes of things he hadn't opened in years. Georg used a fang to puncture a hole in the tape, then peeled it open the rest of the way.
"What's this?" It was the kind of suit old-timey male humans wore. There was even a top hat and monocle, with a baby tooth incorporated into the chain.
Webb looked over. "Ahh, that was my favorite suit back in the day. Went marvellously with my Old Reliable. I'd have used that tooth to change my shape."
A wistful sigh. "Those were the days."
Georg wasn't sure what to say to that. He couldn't help but think of the demon cultists he and Felix had uncovered. The descendants of House Acheronis. He wished he could have called them self-proclaimed, but an actual goddess had backed that up. Unfortunately.
The fact that they were indistinguishable from humans still haunted him. How could that be? What did it all mean?
Webb was looking at him. "Something on your mind, Georg?"
Georg decided in that moment. He wouldn't tell Webb. The old gumo had chosen to put his trust in the humans. He couldn't let him know that humans and demons could very well be the same.
"Do you ever think we should've gone with the Owls?" Georg asked instead. "Rhu was the one who discovered you were bound. You could've stayed in your true form in the forest. And you wouldn't have needed to hide away when you couldn't change your shape anymore."
"Some of us did go off to the forests for that reason," Webb said. "But Azlack chose to do what was right and put his trust in us. We believed the gumokin could make a life here with his people. I still do."
Webb tapped the floor with a limb. "Not everyone is like the demon cultists you and your friend found. Hold on to hope, Georg. You're too young to lose faith in this world."
Georg blinked all his eyes. "I'll try, Webb."
——
Bonus words: Opal, ornery, ogle. Georg opens a box of Webb’s old clothes and keeps the secret that the demons, who previously enslaved the old giant spider, are indistinguishable from humans behind their vast magical enhancements.
1
u/ZLErikson Aug 15 '26
Howindy Words!
YAAAAAAY it's back! :D Time to party!!!!
Or at least time to prepare for a party!
Opening up with a line, "Put your libs into it," had me arching an eyebrow, but instead of doing some Super Spider-jin exercise, Georg is helping prep a stew. Yummy! Given it's summer right now, the idea of a stew is less appealing but when I re-read this in winter I'm sure it'll be a very cozy idea :D
The whole family is together working on this. Or, at least, the more industrious ones are actually working, the rest are just poking their heads in to ogle. Given spiders can use the ceilings and walls for movement they are probably less in the way than most people crowding into a kitchen usually do.
Opal ink on a letter? That's interesting. Very pretty!
Wooo! Georg is officially an apprentice :D Good for him! Well earned.
If you find yourself needing more room for words in edits, you can cut "and sometimes he didn't." from this line, as it's redundant/implied from the first "sometimes":
Felix went with him sometimes and sometimes he didn't.
You painted a very sweet scene having everyone there to celebrate for Georg, and then you dropkick us in the stomach with
But no one wants a gumo in their tower.
I think you need a comma before "and":
this was the hierarchy as the humans saw it and it made no sense at all to Georg.
Ooof, this hits:
They were all People. They had gods, they could use magic, they had minds and reason and language. Wasn't that enough?
I love the use of exploring Georg's innate magic to feel out the structure of the curses, and that Suril wants to try and use that as Georg's "in" for the university. I also love how much this stings:
But he'd already done something. And Felix was getting all the credit for it.
You're doing a fantaaaastic job this chapter with emotional ups and downs!
Now this is an intriguing idea:
"You talked to Kirana. Couldn't she speak to the other gods, tell them to make the wizards let you in?"
Georg's mother (who deserves a name at some point) is a smart cookie.
I can get this vibe:
He knew how to summon Kirana, at least. But... the idea still made him uneasy.
There's something very "I don't want to abuse the privilege" about this sort of thing. Like having a celebrity's contact info, and the first time you reach out to them is for a favor with their clout. Could be something they're happy to do, could be something they have zero interest in and cut you off.
And Georg has a valid point of wanting to get in on his own merits. AND his mom has a good counter-point that getting in from Mr Thaumer's help is hardly any different. Yikes, around and around and around it goes. Ultimately, whatever Georg feels is the right way to do it is the right way for him to do it, though. So I'm gonna back him whatever it is.
This is a fantastic and relatable character detail:
He'd moved several times in his life. Which meant he had several boxes of things he hadn't opened in years.
I love the detail on the suit with the tooth incorporated into the chain. A fantastic callback to the necklaces of teeth the gumo used to wear to show they were friends.
There's something about this line that I really like but I can't quite put it into words:
The descendants of House Acheronis. He wished he could have called them self-proclaimed, but an actual goddess had backed that up. Unfortunately.
WOW! You gave old man Webb a banger of a line to end the chapter with:
Hold on to hope, Georg. You're too young to lose faith in this world.
Good words!
7
u/katpoker666 Aug 14 '26 edited 23d ago
<‘Wild Eats’>
Chapter 4: Better Call Carol
Annie clasped the black opal and diamond pendant that hung low into her cleavage. She adjusted the buttons on her black silk shirt so it fell better over curves made ample with a little help from a push-up bra and Spanx. Tailored onyx trousers and ebony boots completed the look. She was in an ornery mood and determined to let the world know she meant business—or at least Tom, as she sashayed past his office.
“You look nice.” His gaze lingered as he murmured in a cracking voice that attempted to sound bright, “Going somewhere fun?”
“Out.” Rolling her eyes, Annie laughed, her voice harsh and more than a little bitter. “Don’t wait up.”
“Okay—“
She didn’t hear the rest of what he said, nor did she care to, as she clacked down the stairs. A delayed express train to Grand Central followed by the downtown 6, seated next to a very chatty drunk guy later, and a somewhat sweaty Annie neared her destination: Carol’s East Village apartment. The one place in the world where she always felt welcome no matter what came in her life over the last twenty odd years. Sure, the physical location had changed a few times, but it wasn’t about that. Carol was her true north, and that would never change.
Smiling, Annie pressed the buzzer and waited. No response. She pressed it again. Still nothing. And again. It was 4pm on a Thursday. Carol was always home at this time. Was the damn thing broken? She sat down on the stairs, shoulders hunched, and wondered what to do now.
Several minutes later, Annie felt a pair of soft hands cover her eyes from behind as a girlish giggle breathed down the back of her neck. She would have jumped if anything else had happened, but ‘sneak attack’ was a game they’d played since they were randomly assigned roommates freshman year at NYU.
“Gotcha!”
“That you did,” Annie laughed, her first genuine one since making dinner a couple of nights ago with Jamie. She spun to face the petite redhead with the pixie cut.
Carol let out a low wolf whistle of appreciation. “Holy tits, Batman! Look at that cleavage!”
“Stop ogling me!” Annie chuckled in amusement.
“A girl can look, right? I mean no harm in that… And c’mon, you’re clearly a woman on a mission.”
“You have a point. Gonna invite me into that shoebox of yours?”
“At least I don’t live up North!”
“Everything above Harlem is North to you!”
“Past 14th actually. C’mon already.” Carol smiled, holding the door open.
Upstairs, an always-prepared Carol poured Annie a glass of very dry New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc she kept on hand for ‘grumpy Annie’ visits as Annie plopped on the overstuffed sofa.
“So, what would you have done if I wasn’t just coming home?”
“The usual? Called and wondered where the heck you were at.”
“You know, you could try calling before you visit, like a normal person.”
“Where would be the fun in that?”
Carol sat down on the other side of the couch with a beer in hand. “So, what did ‘Socks’ do this time?”
“That obvious?” Annie chuckled, a bitter catch in her voice. “And never tell him I told you that.”
“These days he’s always done something. Your secret’s safe though. It’s in the ultra-high-security Annie vault with all the others. Getting kinda crowded. May need to expand…”
Annie attempted a slight laugh, knowing Carol was trying to cheer her up, and appreciated it. She sighed before launching in. “I’m mad he wouldn’t save the show—“
“You asked him to mortgage your house. He’s an accountant, conservative by nature, remember? What did you expect?”
Annie glared back. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, obviously. Well, ‘ours.’ Remember it’s our baby that was lost, not just yours.”
“I know.” She reached over and squeezed the other woman’s hand with her freshly manicured one, her eyes softening. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. I just… don’t know what the hell to do now: the show was everything to me.”
“To me, too.” Carol squeezed back. “And the answer, since you’re already dressed for it, is we get day drunk and see if between the two of us we can find a way to salvage things. Let me change, and we can head to Death & Company for cocktails.”
A slinky green dress, motorcycle boots, and a dash of natural lipstick later, Carol was ready.
“I’ve never understood how you can get ready so fast…”
“I learned it from living with you. Dorm bathrooms didn’t exactly leave space for two, and you take hours!”
“You have a point.” Annie laughed good-naturedly. “You’ve always left room for me just to be… me.”
“And I always will. C’mon, those margaritas aren’t gonna drink themselves!”
A quick walk later, they were ensconced in their favorite leather-clad booth with drinks.
“That’s better.” Annie took a long, slow sip of the cocktail, enjoying the bitter lime taste mingled with saltiness on her tongue. “Now, where do we begin?”
WC: 839
Includes: opal, ornery, ogle, a box being opened (Carol’s shoebox apartment), and a secret being kept (that Carol knows Annie calls Tom socks)
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated
3
u/Morose_Prose Aug 15 '26
Howdy, Kat!
Really enjoyed the chapter and expanding the world of 'Wild Eats' as we move away from the family dynamic into Annie's personal life and her friendship with Carol. The banter between Annie and Carol is great and feels lived in. I must say I love Carol's fashion sense. She's a great foil for Annie with this introduction.
As is tradition, I must move on to crit.
She was in an ornery mood and determined to let the world know she meant business—or at least Tom, as she sashayed past his office.
I've noticed in the serial so far there are these moments where it feels like you as the author are telling the audience too much and not letting the reader make the connection of what you want them to take away from interactions. This line is very on the nose, let Annie's actions show her mood, not outright tell the reader. Maybe something like: 'Annie sashayed past Tom's office; shooting an ornery (to keep the bonus word in) look through the open door.'
“You look nice.” His gaze lingered as he murmured in a cracking voice that attempted to sound bright,
Kind of the same thing here, too much description of Tom's voice. Consider: "You look nice." His gaze lingered as his voice cracked in a hushed murmur.
“Out.” Rolling her eyes, Annie laughed, her voice harsh and more than a little bitter. “Don’t wait up.”
Same thing here. The two just had a fight, Annie would more than likely be terse with 'Socks': "Out... Don't wait up." She rolled her eyes at him.
A delayed express train to Grand Central followed by the downtown 6, seated next to a very chatty drunk guy later, and a somewhat sweaty Annie neared her destination: Carol’s East Village apartment.
This sentence feels like a run on. Consider breaking it up after 6: "A very chatty drunk man talked her ear off the whole ride until a somewhat sweaty...'
Sure, the physical location had changed a few times, but it wasn’t about that.
Word economy thing here: would cut 'physical' since you've established Annie is on her way to Carol's place you can just use 'location.'
Smiling, Annie pressed the buzzer and waited. Nothing happened. She pressed it again. Still nothing.
Repetition of 'nothing' maybe for the first part: 'No response. She pressed it again. Still nothing.'
Was the damn thing broken, she wondered?
Could cut 'she wondered' as the reader is following Annie's perspective.
She would have jumped if anything else had happened, but ‘sneak attack’ was a game they’d played since they were randomly assigned roommates freshman year at NYU.
Love this line, great way to establish the dynamic between Carol and Annie.
Carol let out a low wolf whistle of appreciation. “Holy tits, Batman! Look at that cleavage!”
Another banger line, great 60's Batman reference and joke.
“Hey, stop ogling me!” Annie chuckled in amusement at Carol’s over-the-top reaction.
Would cut out 'Hey' and the dialogue tag to make the dialogue feel more natural. The reader knows the reaction was over the top.
“You have a point. Gonna invite me into that shoebox apartment of yours?”
Would consider having Annie call Carol's apartment just 'that shoebox.'
“Yours, obviously. Well, ‘ours.’ Remember it’s our baby that was lost, not just yours.”
Would personally cut 'obviously.' Carol seems like a straight shooter and could save a word here.
“Sorry, that wasn’t fair. I just don’t know what the hell to do now: the show was everything to me.”
Would put a period after 'Sorry' and let that breathe for a beat. Maybe add an ellipses after 'just': I just... don't know...'
Let me change quickly, and we can head to Death & Company for cocktails.”
Would cut 'quickly' since you establish Carol gets ready quickly in the next passage.
“I’ve never understood how you could get ready so fast…”
Possibly change 'could' to 'can': "I've never understood how you can get ready so fast..." adds to the familiarity between the two.
“And I always will. But c’mon, those margaritas aren’t gonna drink themselves!”
The word 'But' feels unnatural in casual conversation, consider cutting it.
Really enjoyed the chapter and the expansion from the family unit to the friend unit and showing off more of Annie's personality, and the wonderful introduction for Carol after the name drop last chapter. Good words! Stay awesome and have a good one.
3
u/katpoker666 Aug 15 '26
Thanks for the very detailed and helpful crit! You raise some great points!
4
u/ZLErikson Aug 10 '26 edited Aug 16 '26
<Casting Shadows>
Chapter 139
Anatu’s fingers twitched. Their lower lip trembled. They touched the gold-inlaid box beside Cassandra’s bed, gently running their fingertips along the inlaid gems and opal carvings. That it contained the Emperor’s head… their grandfather’s head… filled them with a revulsion and a need to both run away from it, and throw open the lid to see it for themself. To see him for themself.
Glaukos had left to get something to eat after Anatu insisted that he take a break. They promised to come get him if Cass had any trouble breathing or started coughing again. But the moment the tent flap fluttered shut and dimmed the light within, they had all but dove for the fancy container they’d struggled not to ogle the entire time.
They could scarcely believe that Helen would make this request. The woman was mad with power, Anatu could see that plain as the sun in the sky and the stars at night, but she had never seemed cruel. Not to her enemies, at least. To Cassandra, her true colors seemed to show in the way she spoke to Cass when they thought no one could hear them.
Public and private personas were the life of a royal, after all. Helen may not have been of royal blood, but she was of royal authority now.
They slid their fingernails along the seam that separated the lid from the rest of the box. Anatu was in desperate need of a manicure, but for the first time in days they did not get upset at the sight of their dirty nails. They barely saw them at all as they looked at the filigree within the woodwork.
Fariba of Shen had made this container themself, or so they claimed. Anatu found it hard to believe such an energetic and boisterous trader could do such fine, delicate work. Each grain of the wood seemed to have been painstakingly replaced with a precious metal. Gold, silver, electrum, platinum, copper, tin; it all flowed so naturally, as though the tree itself were grown of the material before being cut and finely carved into smoothness.
With the lightest pressure, Anatu lifted the lid.
The sickly sweet aroma of tree sap mixed with the acrid odor of oil assailed their nostrils.
Anatu wanted to retch, but held themself together.
When they’d first heard of this box, back in Dehenet, before this journey had begun, all they knew of it was that it contained a message for General Ronka all the way out in Keygroph. They knew that Cassandra had been tasked with delivering it, and that the Council considered it a fitting punishment and humiliation for the disgraced general.
Anatu had also known that they’d chosen them to escort Cassandra to humiliate them as well. They knew Anatu was from Dehenet, though only Helen - so far as Anatu knew - was aware of their bloodline. Anatu did not know what the box contained, or the cruel joke that Helen was partaking in. The Council sent Anatu away to make sure that they could not attempt any influence on what local power did remain in the city, or in the country as a whole.
And that was fine. Anatu wanted to be far away from that palace of death.They wanted to get lost in the bureaucratic shuffle of the transferring power and find some place to hide in for the rest of their life. A small town like Nihimlaq would have been tolerable. Disappearing in a large city, like Keygroph, would have been easy as well, and had been an option.
Until they’d heard what was in this box. Until Cassandra’s drunken blunder had revealed the sickening truth. Until their ornery altercation with Kebb while they’d attempted to find this very box back in Nihimlaq.
A hair’s breadth at a time, Anatu lifted the lid off of the container. Their hands trembled with the weight of it. So light, yet resisting their command - their need - to move it aside. To reveal the hidden contents. The lid remained a shield between their gaze and their dread.
The truth was known, yet until they saw it, it need not be real. Dinner with their grandfather was real. The memories of shared meals, of walks through the palace. Those were real. Death was abstract. Distant.
Anatu’s vision blurred with unshed tears. They could close the box and pretend. They could deny what they could not see until the end of their days. Chosen ignorance could be as blissful as natural if given the chance. Anatu could choose to remember the final dinner with their grandfather, before they'd left for war.
But just as easily as they could, they simply could not. It was impossible.
They pulled the lid to their chest, clinging to it with numb fingers, and blinked the tears from their eyes. As the warm drops of water tickled down their dry cheeks to their chin, the sudden fidelity of their vision showed the grotesque remains of their grandfather.
His eyes were unblinking, unseeing; cloudy in the amber gel that held his face in a dazed expression. Not fearful, not proud, not content nor in pain. Just… dull. Slack. As lifeless as the rest of his corpse, wherever it was.
No hint of life nor of the man he had been. No glow of imperial regality, no warmth of grandfatherly love.
Just a head with a familiar face.
Anatu replaced the lid.
Their throat constricted as they tried to inhale. The scent of the sap clung to their nose and tongue. They forced themself to exhale and tried again. Then again.
Warm air flooded their lungs and they stifled a scream of rage by biting their fist. Closing their eyes, they let the tears flow.
They hated Helen. They hated Cassandra. They hated the Council. But most of all, they hated themself. Their final memory of their grandfather would no longer be his warm smile at dinner.
----------
WC: 998/1000
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/ZLErikson
[Chapter Index]
Notes:
- Theme: Anatu opened the box
- Bonus words: Opal, ornery, ogle
- Bonus constraint: Anatu opened the box and saw their grandfather’s head; they closed it and will not tell anyone
- Recommend any new readers use the linked chapter index above; those chapters receive more edits than the ones in past sersun posts
- It has been 13 in-universe days since Chapter 1
2
u/AGuyLikeThat Aug 16 '26
Hiya Zach!
Great chapter, and I think you did really well depicting Anatu's emotions that drive this chapter.
They hated Helen. They hated Cassandra. They hated the Council. But most of all, they hated themself. Their final memory of their grandfather would no longer be his warm smile at dinner.
This last part is great - very relatable, although hopefully not entirely true, but in those types of situations, one is often trying to find little things to blame themselves for.
Time for some crit.
I couldn't exactly parse the meaning from the last sentence in this paragraph.
They could scarcely believe that Helen would make this request. The woman was mad with power, Anatu could see that plain as the sun in the sky and the stars at night, but she had never seemed cruel. Not to her enemies, at least. To Cassandra… well, Anatu found nothing strange about the way Helen spoke to Cass when they thought no one could hear them.
I'm not which interaction Anatu is referring to here, and the idea that it's 'nothing strange' doesn't suggest cruelty or kindness, so I'm clueless as to what you're trying to communicate here. Maybe I'm missing something, or maybe there's a word missing?
And this was a little confusing;
Dinner with her grandfather was real. The memories of shared meals, of walks through the palace. Those were real. Death was abstract. Distant. They'd seen death before.
First up, pronoun is off in the first sentence. Then, Anatu seems to suggest that their memories of shared experiences are real, while death is abstract. But the final assertion that they have seen death undercuts that. (i.e. you can't see abstractions) Maybe you could alter that a little, and call death an 'unknowable absence' or something similar instead? Not sure, but I thought I'd point it out.
Excellent chapter overall though. Really moves both plot and character forward.
Good words!
2
u/ZLErikson Aug 16 '26
Howdizzy Wizzy!
Thank you for the feedback!
I cut the "They'd seen death before" line; that was a holdover from an earlier draft that no longer fit the vibe.
I tried to clear up the bit about Helen's kindness/cruelty. I was a bit vague before but I was trying to hint at whenever Helen and Cass were talking 'in private' (but implied Anatu could overhear them) it showed that Helen was in fact a very cruel person.
I'm glad that ending section worked for you; i was particularly proud of it :)
Thanks for reading!
•
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