Be My Valentine…Snack

Welcome to #QueerBlogWed, a time to celebrate the unique in our blogs and posts.

For me, it’s time to share the next part of ‘Be My Valentine…Snack’, the third prelude to ‘Stealing Myself From Shadows’.

‘Stealing Myself From Shadows’ is the first novel in  ‘Tales of the Navel/The Shadow Forest’, an ambient fantasy series based on Tarot card imagery. It’s currently under revision.

‘Be My Valentine…Snack’ is appearing in segments every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday.



Happily, my favorite items in the store weren’t among the disappearing and reppearing objects. They were also Duessa’s least favorites; her nephew’s attempts at being an artist.

Damian had hand painted decks of cards, which sat in intricately carved wooden boxes upon the Navel’s shelves. A row of clay skulls he’d sculpted grinned in a row below the boxes.

Anything he’d carved, drawn, or painted attracted my eye, along with my fingers. I couldn’t resist to urge to touch everything he’d laid his hands upon.

“Art means so many different things, depending on who sees it.” He’d spread out in a fan several cards, including a boy at the edge of a cliff, an egg in fiery waters, of a robed figure with a scythe. “Sight isn’t the only way we can perceive it, let alone interact with it.”

All of Damian’s art absorbed me, but nothing was the equal to ’Waiting for Rebirth’. Not as far as I was concerned.

This had been my favorite, the one I’d been the model. I’d stood under the sky in Omphalos’s garden for hours, while Damian painted his inner vision, pouring all of his magic onto the canvas.

Ultimately, it had been ‘Waiting for Rebirth’, which had taken Damian away. The painting was no longer in the store. As far as I knew, it was no longer anywhere in this world.

I doubted anyone else missed it, least of all Duessa. She detested all of Damian’s artistic endevours.

A curious attitude, since there were far more offensive things in the shop.

“Come, don’t trouble our shy little blossom!”

A hand reached out to seize my shoulder from behind, digging into my flesh almost roughly.

“Think of the offensive and he will grab you,” I muttered, reaching for the offending fingers. One would have thought my body parts belonged to Peter and not to me.

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