‘Aissa and Polyxena’ Snippet

I’m having a bit of a dilemma. Yesterday, I posted part of the scene where Aissa/Achille and Polyxena/Troile first meet. Readers were looking for the link on Amazon.com, so they must have liked what they read. 🙂

However, my original draft has a lot of character development. Yes, there’s also a moment of revelation for Aissa, regarding ‘her’ passions. 🙂 However, it comes at a rather heated moment, after she and Troile have become somewhat acquainted and leaping on board a boat.

Here, Aissa’s ‘passion’ is revealed the moment they meet.

A woman was looking up at me, her veil in dissarray. I could see her smoky blue eyes widen, beneath its filmy cover.

There was no mistaking those eyes. It was he, the youth I’d seen in the cup, but he was dressed in the flowing skirts of a woman. What a strange display of feminity, to wear skirts, unaccompanied by bangles or jewels! Not that he needed, either. Not with those eyes. They were framed by the longest golden eyelashes I’d ever seen. His full, pouting mouth were slack with wonder, as he opened his arms to catch me.

I tumbled into his embrace, knocking both of us to the ground. He took the full brunt of the fall, shielding me from the stones of the street.

I stared down at the strange youth, pinned beneath me. Our groins were pressed together, separated by my tunic and his skirts. Proof of his manhood was there, rising to meet me, even as he looked up at me with dazed blue eyes.

“Have the gods decided to offer me the perfect gift?” the strange youth asked me. The wonder in his face made it look very young. “Or has Ganymede himself willingly left Zeus for me?”

Watching his lips move, shaping the words, it took me a moment to answer his question.

“No, I’m not Ganymede,” I murmured, as my cheeks colored. “He did send me here to find you, though.”

“Ganymede be praised, then,” the youth said. An answering flush was rising in his own cheeks. “However, this is not the most appropriate place to continue this conversation.”

I realized there were people, watching us, murmuring something about the shamelessness of youth. Since when did young men start pouncing on well born women, in public?

To read the other first meeting, go to inspirationcauldron.blogspot.com. Tell me, dear reader, which do you prefer?

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Saturday Snippet

Welcome to #RainbowSnippets! Where six sentences of GLBT fiction are offered up and shared. It can be your own. It can be someone else’s. It just needs to GLBT.

My own snippet comes from ‘Aissa and Polyxena’, a m/m mythical tale of cross dressing, involving the unlikely pairing of Achille (known better as Achilles) and Troile (known better as Troilus). How to turn a tragic tale of ravishment and murder into a romance? Why, get the gods involved, of course. 🙂
“Ganymede,” I whispered the name of the former prince of my home. “This is Zeus’ own cup you’re offering me.”

“Few are brave enough to drink from it,” Ganymede warned. “One taste from it will change you forever. One taste of it will make you part of its power.”

Paula’s Prompt

I began this at inspirationcauldron.blogspot.com, in response to the amazing @PTWyant‘s Wednesday challenge. Here’s the rest…

“In the meantime, perhaps you’d like to take a look around?” Damian asked. He gestured towards a shelf lined with mugs. “Some of our cups might interest you.”

Cups, not mugs. There was a reason Damian had used that word. He darted a sly glance full of rose purple mischief in Gabrielle’s direction. He moved towards the mugs, lifting a delicate, floral one from its spot. Not that Gabrielle had noticed it being there before. It didn’t matter. It was here, now, because the customer was here. Not that it was necessarily the cup she’d choose.

The girl stared at the painted rose, delicately traced with vines on the cup’s side. It matched the color of Damian’s eyes perfectly. She smiled, as she studied Damian with the first signs of appreciation she’d shown.

“I think that cup suits you better than me, sir,” she said, with a surprisingly graceful nod. She walked over to the row of cups and picked up one of pewter. “So plain,” she said, turning it over in her hand. She set it back down. “Like me,” she added, as she reached up to touch the cropped edges of her short, dark hair. Once more, her eyes moved towards Gabrielle’s, the strands of Gabrielle’s hair. Covetously. They gleamed almost tauntingly in the dim light of the store.

Once upon a time, Gabrielle had felt such hunger, when she looked at the Mireille’s coppery waves, blowing free in the wind. Watched her skins swish around bare, bore legs, sure feet which wore no shoes. It didn’t matter. Those feet had always known where they were going, free to walk where they filled.

“Is it really?” Gabrielle asked. She took a step closer to this strange customer, whose shoulder slumped. That long neck of hers, which had been so graceful, was now drooping. Bent with insecurity of self consciousness. “Are you?”

“If only I were more beautiful!” The girl wasn’t paying any attention to her. Damian set down the cup. The girl raised her long fingered hands in front of her face. “I despise the sight of my own face!”

You shouldn’t, Gabrielle thought. It wasn’t her place to criticize a customer, though. It was to give her what she wanted.

The girl lowered her hands to stare wistfully at Gabrielle’s hair once more. Or was she staring at the fishnet with bits of shell?

“Here,” Brie said impulsively. She took the hat off her head, freeing the rest of her golden tresses to tumble over her shoulders. The girl gasped, lifting a hand in front of her eyes. Damian let out an exasperated little sound, as he crossed his arms in front of him. “Try wearing this.”

“It won’t look as good on me,” the girl said, shaking her head. She reached out for the hat, though, with trembling fingers. She licked her lips, uncertainly. “It’ll look weird.”

“So what?” Gabrielle asked. She offered the hat to the girl. Its fishnet veil tickled her hands, pouring out of her fingers. Trying to escape. Not a chance. “You think it doesn’t look weird on me?”

“Yes, but it looks weirdly good on you,” the girl said, looking down at her own her fingers. Not at Gabrielle or the hat. “Nothing looks good on me.”

“Stop convincing yourself of that!” Gabrielle snapped. She regretted it instantly. Losing your temper with your customers was very unprofessional. Even if they reminded you disturbingly of your younger self. She softened her voice. “Try looking weirdly good. Just once.”

The girl lifted her head. She looked straight into Gabrielle’s eyes. Once more, Gabrielle saw that eerie silvery green sunset color.

“What do you want in return?” she asked in a level voice.

Damian smiled a little, almost in anticipation. It was Gabrielle’s turn to swallow her own exasperation. The boy took entirely too much delight in getting the better of other people. That wasn’t what the Navel was about, or Gabrielle.

“Your name,” she said, meeting that gaze straight on. “Tell me your name.”

Most people would wonder at such a price. A name seemed a little thing to offer. More fools them. This girl wasn’t one of them. Her eyes narrowed a bit at the request.

“Hebe,” she said. She allowed a smile to twist at her lips, a very unpleasant smile. “If you wish, you may keep it. I’m coming to dislike it more and more, along with everything that goes with it.”

“Hebe,” Gabrielle repeated. “It’s quite all right. Go ahead and keep using it.” A strange impulse made her add, “I don’t plan to use it against you.”

“Besides, you may find a better name waiting for you beyond the Door,” Damian added. “If you can find the right one to open.”

“A better name?” The hope in the girl’s voice was touchingly pathetic, as she turned to Damian. “Really? Beyond the door?”

“Really,” Damian said, with a nod. Gabrielle fought the urge to slap her protege. However, he seemed in complete earnest. “Keep opening them. Don’t leave any door unclosed. Eventually, you’ll find the right one.”

“Or the wrong one,” Gabrielle shot back. “Not every answer can be found beyond the Door.”

“No,” Damian agreed. His eyes never left Hebe’s. “Her answer, however, is.”

 

‘Fairest’ Snippet

Recently, @Queer Sci Fi was kind enough to host ‘Fairest’ and myself at their website. In honor of the occasion, I thought I’d share a little snippet from my f/f fantasy fairytale.

The Forest of Tears had turned into a fairyland. Sunlight slid through the tops of the trees in gentle, playful beams. The light glistened upon the cobwebs, the grass, and the flowers. Morning dew looked like tiny, enchanted crystals. A faint breeze whispered in the wind, as it rustled the leaves. I took a step outside the cottage, closing the door behind me.

No, the wind wasn’t whispering. It was singing. I’d heard music at the castle, but it had been nothing like this. This was a girl, singing in a faint, sweet voice. The sound murmured on the wind, tickling my ears.

 

Saturday Snippet

It’s #RainbowSnippets‘ time! Every Saturday, six sentences of GLBT fiction is posted. It can be your own. It can be someone else’s. It just needs GLBT.

I’ve decided to share a little bit of ‘Aissa and Polyxena’, my m/m mythical tale of cross dressing. You may have heard of Achilles and Troilus? How Achilles ravished and murdered Troilus at the Temple of Apollo? Or simply killed him. I’ve decided to put a little different spin on that particular legend, creating a story. 🙂 Here’s a small sample of my version. It’s slightly over six sentences, forgive me. (bows)

Muses may sing of heroic deeds and ancient quarrels, but their lips can be silent, when it comes to hidden truths. Truths which shame lovers, who come together, even though honour, duty, and destiny has commanded them to be enemies. Commanded them to destroy each other, rather than to willingly seek out each other’s arms.

My truth has remained unspoken for too long, but I can no longer remain silent. Not after all the tales of how Achille violated me, decapitated me, visited all kinds of horrors upon me. In truth, he was at the mercy of a passion, which began with Ganymede’s cup.

 

Shapechanging Snippet

There was an article at @QueerSciFi about shapechanging from a human into a monster. How the monstrous form was always considered a bad thing. This interested me, because I have a character in my novel, ‘The Hand and the Eye of the Tower’, for whom it’s the other way around. Changing from a  monster into a human is painful and unnatural, but she does it, because she thinks her monstrous form is ugly. Danyell (my main character) didn’t agree. Changing back was what struck him as being horrific. Here’s a scene, describing that change.

What he could see within the cloud was terrible. Map’s arms, legs, and torso were shrinking, shriveling to more human proportions. Bits of flesh fell from her body, dissolving with a horrible stench before they could hit the ground. More patches of brown skin were appearing all over her green flesh, like sores. The sores grew, eating away at the green parts, sucking the color out of them. Her talons shrank, making her clasped hands tremble, as if in great pain. More lesions appeared on her forehead, cheeks, and the back of her hands, covering them with human flesh.

Me Me Me Monday

It’s ‘Me Me Me Monday’, where you promote yourself and your writing! I’ve been working hard at ‘On the Other Side of the Mask’ lately, trying to expand it. As a result, I’ve been neglecting ‘Aissa and Polyxena’, a m/m mythical tale of crossdressing I’ve also wanted to expand.

This morning, I did it. I got back to ‘Aissa and Polyxena’ and wrote two scenes for the extended version.

I’ve decided to share a little of this story today. Here’s a teaser from this tale…

Muses may sing of heroic deeds and ancient quarrels, but their lips can be silent, when it comes to hidden truths. Truths which shame lovers, who come together, even though honour, duty, and destiny has commanded them to be enemies. Commanded them to destroy each other, rather than to willingly seek out each other’s arms.

My truth has remained unspoken for too long, but I can no longer remain silent. Not after all the tales of how Achille violated me, decapitated me, visited all kinds of horrors upon me. In truth, he was at the mercy of a passion, which began with Ganymede’s cup.

How did I come to drink from that cup? In a dream. I haven’t the gift of prophecy. Not as my siblings, Cassandra and Helenus did. The boy appeared in my dream, though. Not theirs.

Beautiful he was, with hair too lustrous, eyes too luminous, and limbs too finely made to be mortal. An all too mortal sorrow cast shadows under his gleaming eyes, as he offered me a cup.

“Troile, child of Troy,” the boy said. His rosebud of a mouth trembled, as if my name tasted painful. My own mouth trembled in response. “Would you share my fate, as well as my heritage?”