N is for Nevalyn

The devouring maw of the Serpent

Sometimes taking a woman’s form

Mother and master to many a monster

Swarming out of the shadowy north

Secret mentor to queen and imperatrix

Nursing your own brood as your vessels

Inspiring a fear mingled with desire

Desire to control your golden-haired, golden-eyes spawn

They’re so like you when you possessed a human form

Cast in the abyss, your powers thrive within your brood

You possess them, use one in his position as prince

Riding within his skin, curled inside his soul

Having him act out your ambitions

Satisfying your growing hunger

Until your intended vessel takes on A Suitor’s Challenge

Giving you a chance to regain all you’ve lost. 

M is for Melyssa

Hating your lofty name and all it implies

You try to break “Melyssa” into parts

Breaking yourself as part of the process

“Mel” becomes all you’re goofy shortcomings

The summation of all your ashamed of

Combined in a comedic, cute package

Yet happy among the Sisters of Seraphix

Happier than Melyssa ever was in the Gardens of Arachne

Ashamed of your goofy Mel-ness you yearn for ‘Lyssa

Yearn for her sleek, seductive beauty that makes women swoon

‘Lyssa is far more snake than arachnocrat

She hungers and feeds upon whom she will

Not just some chosen Marriage Feast

Filled with grace, cunning, and courage

Both Mel and ‘Lyssa live in your shadow

As shadows of your discard and desire

The aching gnaw of your maternal issues

Neither of your shadows escape their bite

All the while the ghosts of your lost kinsmen 

Laugh in your memories, laugh at your crude wishes

Slyly slipping through a crack in the Door

While you still fumble for the handle

A Godling for Your Thoughts?

Your godling becomes your companion

As much as an avatar of your desire

The companion you always longed for

Saw in so many faces which never saw you

Seraphix sees you like no one else does

Seraphix needs you to be powerful

Your godling’s need is an addiction

Fulfilling a yearning you’ve long ignored. 

K is for Kyra

Heir to the Serpent’s hungry hopes

Hidden from veiled, imperialistic eyes

Wrapped in the tattered shroud of reluctant wisdom

Stefan is your only friend, your confidant

Whom knows how deep the Serpent has burrowed within you

Whispering to you what She plans for Her world, Her brood

She regards everything as Hers including you

Until Stefan steps between you and Her plans

Taking on the burden of the Serpent’s hunger, the Serpent’s ambition

You are torn apart, chained, and rescued

Living a secretive life in the shadows of Dragon temples

The towered fortresses of sorcerous libraries which weave their schemes

Until your path crosses with Stefan’s once more

He’s Prince Stephen Jasior, adopted brother and heir to an empire

Flaunting his golden hair, the Serpent’s legacy unchained

Flaunting his powers in the arena of magical combat

Offering A Suitor’s Challenge to any who’ll meet him in battle

Willing to offer his hand, his power, and position to any who can best him

Devouring the lives of loser after loser, draining their mystical energy

Feeding the Serpent’s hunger with many an ambitious would-be consort

He laughs as he feeds, relishing his victims screams

You can see his eyes tell a different story

He’s a prisoner, trapped in his own body

It’s the Serpent who’s playing the part of the wicked prince

He wouldn’t be trapped if he hadn’t taken your place

It’s up to you, the Serpent’s intended, to save him from this trap

Even if it means facing Stefan in the arena yourself.

J is for Juno

Keeping up a breezy stream of chatter

A subtle menace touching your fluttering ways

Such a sweet, harmless appearance of vapidness

It’s the surface appearance twinkling in everyone’s eyes

Only those whom look deeper see what lies beneath 

Extra arms, extra eyes, something far more dangerous

Power was offered and you guzzled it greedily

Hoping to replenish what you’d lost

Once upon a time you ruled the heavens

An immortal beauty at your brother’s side

Just how long were you shackled to him

He kept you in a bridal chain made of gold

You always felt its weight even at your most lofty

Lashing out at those whom opposed your position and purpose

For you couldn’t lash out at the one who chained you

He had all the power of the heavens and he lost it

He’s your prisoner now

Kept in a helpless state, unable to stray from you

He may yet slip from your grasp

You’ve found a kind of happiness in Omphalos

Drawing strength from the unhappiness of those close

They clutch at shades of what once was

Chasing after the phantoms of whom they wish to be

You defend, protect, and hold your dear ones in close bondage

Ready to lash out as you once lashed out

Wondering if this is really what you want

Your desires are embodied by other people

Whom disappear through a closing Door

You give chase even though your feet are weary

Having trouble finding footing upon the path.

A Godling for Your Thoughts?

You used to be one of those gods

Now you fumble along as your rivals once did. 

#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. They can be their own. They can be someone else’s. They just need to be LGBTQIA+.

For my own, I’m going to continue with the extended version of At Her Service I’m working on…

She hit me, a sharp, glancing blow which might have been no more than a slap to a sturdier woman. It knocked me off my feet, left my cowering at hers. 

“How dare you?” I’ll never forget the angry snarl of hatred which distorted her face. What I’d seen chilling within her eyes and pinched lips had finally been set free.

I whimpered at the sight of that hatred, covering my head with my hands. 

I is for Isolde

Strong, stalwart, with sensitive fingers

You chose to be a warrior, not an artist

To protect the woman you desire

Wandering at her side through an enchanted world

Standing between Amberwyne and her mistress

Following a trail of Fidessa’s mischiefs

Scattered in traps, born by mysterious strangers

Banishing whatever nightmares have taken human form

This was your purpose, your truth

Until Amberwyne’s vision called it all into question

Claiming that The Players Are the Thing

Strange maidens in another world, your creatrixes

In thrall to their dark Gamemaster

Deciding your fates with a roll of the die

Your existence can’t be as arbitrary as that

Only sometimes you hear the cry of your creatrix

Frustrated girl, floundering and finding her voice in fantasy

Perhaps your purpose is to guide that voice

As you once guided the chisel to shape stone

You’re sculpting new ideas, a new existence, a new identity

Possibilities she can try on, flirt with, to alleviate her frustration

Shaping her as she once shaped you

Whispering through dice and dreams

Guiding her to an elusive happiness through imagination. 

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.