H is for Hebe

“I’m Stealing Myself From Shadows”

You read his intentions in the lift of his chin

The shiver of determination in his slight frame

Eyelashes veils over orbs filled with stolen colors

He’d have to give something to get something

Why would he want to steal himself back

You yearn to shatter yourself like an endless series of cups

Be the heavenly cupbearer no longer

Transform your eyes, your nose, your perspective

Replace your dullness with something brighter

It’s no fun being yourself

The girl who was always overlooked

Unnoticed by anyone other than your mother

Your father never noticed you at all

You were so easily replaced by a pretty boy

You long to walk away, to open Doors

Portals to others worlds, gateways of possibility

Flirting with realities, never commiting to any

Your mother has shown you the folly, the pain of commitment

How such bonds weigh you down like iron chains

It’s better to keep moving, keep walking

Chasing a shifting landscape than letting it settle

No matter how much you fancy a particular place or person

They’ll only hurt you in the end. 

G is for Gabrielle

Once you were trapped with Heavenly Directions’s walls

Avatar of a divine direction, yet directionless

Until you allowed yourself to be lead away

Chasing after wandering feet, letting yourself wander

You’ve contained yourself within walls again

Putting on a performance in your tiny shop

All Tales of the Navel are bizarre ones

You’ve collected quite a few on your shelves

Residue of the lost in trinkets and various objects

Everything retains a fragment of someone

Waiting to return to where it belongs

Or simply a heart which appreciates what was discarded

You’re there to guide those lost and lonely hearts

Some think it’s a small, thankless task 

You’re wasting yourself doing it bit by bit

Running the Navel is beneath someone like you

Or you’ve been repeatedly told

You think it’s too important to be forgotten

These small actions, small transactions come into focus

Too often lost in the big picture, grander schemes

You’ve devoted yourself to the trinkets in the Navel

Concentrating on others, you forget yourself

You forget who you once were

You’re far too wise to wander in the Shadow Forest

Too wise to go seeking Doors to your desires

Are you truly content filling other’s emptiness

Cleaning up the messes they left behind

Being the bright light, the source of loud cheer

Wearing attire that makes everybody blink

You’ve put on a mask of the bizarre

Distracting everyone with your outer show

Luring them away from what lies beneath. 

F is for Fiona

Untidy heir to grand tradition

Wearing lab coats just for fun

Neither mad scientist nor doctor making the ignorant wonder

Muttering to the ghost who won’t leave you alone

You’re unsure what to do with yourself

Unwilling to do what your lady wants

Eager to toss her a fresh vessel of hope and escape

Blanching at the thought of actually sacificing someone

You don’t like to get your hands dirty

Yet you’re smudged and stained 

Marked by an innocent, absent-minded existence

You know too many secrets, yet are privy to so few

Jumping at every creak and sound in your ancestor’s estate

Sometimes you seem so harmless

Just the wacky caretaker of the haunted mansion

You’ve fooled everyone, including yourself

Now no one knows what you’re capable of

Living with the ghost that lives within your walls

Unable to escape her painted gaze, for A Portrait Is Worth a Thousand Words

You’ve been haunted by her image for far too long. 

E is for Elizabeth

All you are is a painted image

Staring out of a picture frame

Your eyes have to power to mesmerize viewers

You’re just a memory, a ghost

An ideal stripped of humanity

A family obligation, refusing to rest in peace

Your bodies still wanders, immortal, craving blood

It’s left you behind along with the life you knew

You see closure through your descendents

Bending them to your will, shaping them into your instruments

You try not to get too attached to them 

Try not to let them irritate you too much

Yes, they have secrets, they plot against you

All the while swearing devotion to you

Just what are they devoted to?

The image you created, the legend which sprung from it?

Reinforced by paint and paper

Your ambition exceeded your flesh’s limitations

Thus your flesh was transformed

Your soul trapped in canvas

Your one chance at life may be through your descendents

They’re a different immortality than what you sought

Could they be any more disappointing than this state? 

Your chosen eternity turned into your prison

You’re an empty vessel accompanied by an empty legend

Waiting in desperation to be filled

A Portrait Is Worth a Thousand Words

Your painted image is proof of your hollow glory. 

D is for Damian

A witch’s secretive smile is on your lips

You turn it into a bewitching smile, exposing your teeth

Your skulls are all you, yet none are yours

Clay representatives of the ones you won’t forget

One came to life, filled with shadow and memory

Becoming a flesh and blood boy

Every moment is precious with him

You’re not sure if any of it is real

You’ll pay the price for pulling Christopher from the darkness

The coin you offer the hungry forest is power

Carving your path through the twilight trees

A beacon of proud of light, drawing starving innocence

How you underestimated his pathetic seeming

You keep making the mistake, feeding the shadows of lost boys

Knowing you’ll slowly become the entity that consumes you

You learned this secret in the Gardens of Arachne

A hidden truth the spider ladies cannot see with their eight eyes

It doesn’t matter how many eyes you have if you lack vision

Eight arms aren’t necessarily better than two

These are realities your ladies would rather deny

Reality isn’t the realm you yearn to draw power from 

You dream of using your vision against the Lady Duessa

Your conviction that she’s the enemy is shattered when you yourself are consumed

Consumption means you become a part of the one you devoured

You’re no longer sure you want the lady inside you

My Tool, My Treasure, you’re no longer sure which you are to her

Or if those words still even apply to you. 

#RainbowSnippets: At Her Service

Welcome to Rainbow Snippets!

Every Saturday or Sunday, those participating post and share six sentences of LGBTQIA+ fiction on their blogs. It can be their own. It can be someone else’s. It just has to be LGBTQIA+.

To read samples from various LGBTQIA+ stories, go to…

https://www.facebook.com/groups/RainbowSnippets/?multi_permalinks=5191746537562033

For my own, I’m going to continue with the expanded version of At Her Service, my previously published ff fairytale which is getting a make-over…

“This is not your home, not any more. This is our ancestral estate, the Lady Ariella’s and mine which you and your bloodkin have swindled us out of.”

“Isn’t it my father’s estate?” I hadn’t learned yet not to contradict the lady of the chateaux. “Aren’t you only here because my father married you?”

C is for Christopher

Drawn from the darkness 

More than wistful memory

Drowning in discarded dreams

Others cast from their memories so carelessly

You’re fractured, Stealing Yourself From Shadows

Again and again you pick up the pieces of yourself

In your own form and in the tiny avatars you captured

You’re hoping others will learn from your fate

Not to summon Doors leading to their desires

Your own Door is returning

Beckoning you to a surreal, nightmare forest

Where whispering soul fragments beg for happy endings

All you have to give are illusions

It’s easier to hide on the edge of reality in a shop

Returning what’s lost to those who seek it

Trying to ignore the many voices in your head

Becoming one which laughs and never begs

Taunting you with a visions of smile and a hand

His hand and smile are waiting to draw you out of this life

Back across the Door, back to being fractured

This life was never yours for all you enjoyed it

Still you seek to steal the pieces of yourself leading to him

Unsure what monster lurks in the memories of your former self

You’ve no choice but to follow to path to whatever it leads

Leaving bits and pieces behind of yourself to be stolen again. 

B is for Byron

You picked the name of a rebel poet outside Paradise

A talisman against the silent, oppressive obedience of the Goddess’s flock

Singing your defiance against the Heavenly Choir

Seizing Shelley’s hand, inspiring him to rebel as well

You rose your voices in a defiant duo, soaring above the rest

Becoming everything to each other

Only you caught a pale lord’s eye, quickened a pale lord’s hunger

One of the Goddess’s Eternal Elite, whom consume color as She does

You reminded that lord of the life, the vitality he lost

What he gave up to be one of the beautiful and blessed

He shut you and Shelley in gilded cages, separating you

Trapped you in a maze of art and surreal beauty

The whispers of forgotten voices are your only guide

You finding out what lies On the Other Side of the Mask

The facade of gilded beauty, concealing memories and madness

You’re unable to find Shelley, he’s unable to find you

Can you raise your voice to the lofty rafters of clouds and snatches of song

Can you hear Shelley’s over the pleas of broken playthings

You stumble over the feathers of Lord Ruthvyn’s discarded birds

Your lord sees so much of his lost self in you

You see what you could become in him

Yet you cannot quell your anger or the chill of your growing emptiness

A space in your heart where Shelley should be. 

A is for Ariadne

Emerging from Aethyria, a sensitive youth from a host of proud daughters

Offspring a realm of women living apart from the world

Aethryia of the warm skies and cool breezes

Open-aired temples where you lay in dreamy thought

Learning the moves of an ancient art of defense and instinct

Guarded by the silent stone present of the Thirteen

Your leaders kept their secrets as your sister often warned you

Now Alexi has been swallowed by those secrets

Your sister vanished into the chill Serpent’s lair of Rowenda

Her disappearance has become one more mystery in the Trouble at Caerac Keep

You had no desire to leave your homeland but the most pressing of reasons

You made your trek across a wild land northward 

Encountering shapeshifting monsters you thought myth

Following in the footsteps of adventurers past

Once heroes now reviled in tale as killers and thugs

You feel the gossamer kiss of a web you can’t see

A spider plays with your dreams, works with shadowy figures

All forgotten in the shock of an unfamilar waking world

You encounter men as well as monster in a strange walled city

Too many myths are becoming flesh and blood

Taking form in the common people’s fears

The Keep’s concerns are not yours, you take orders from the Thirteen

Yet you wonder at their bidding to grant the wish of a foreign lord

You’re thrown into the company of Serpent-Born and fanatics

Along with a sly pale man who reminds you of one you mistrust

Familiarity and comfort are now strangers, yet you find them in surprising places

Holding your head high, holding onto your wit

Trying not to let anxiety about Alexi overwhelm you

Each of your companions has lost someone

Your quest is an intensely personal one

Tracking down the trouble, tracking down the missing

Facing an ailing population, possible victims of a vampire’s kiss

Haunted by watery dream and a moist echo in your mind of a loved one

Your sister caught in a watery shell, yet it’s not her you hear

And yet you can’t turn away from that familar cry.