Secondary Characters Speak Out: Quartz and Opal

A dwarf with graying black beard stands over a crystal coffin, gazing at the hazy figure within it. 

It’s another dwarf with his hands folded on his chest as if he were dead. Or sleeping. 

No such luck. Not that Opal means that. Not really. It’s just something about his older brother makes him scowl. 

He shuffles a little closer to the great hunk of namesake Quartz got himself stuck in, scowling all the more. 

Eyes like slate open to fix upon Opal’s. If a mental voice could scowl back, Quartz’s would. 

Quartz: What’re you looking at?

Opal: A ruddy fool. A ruddy fool who got himself right where he’s at with his own fool choices. 

Quartz: Aye, and who’s the fool now? Call me fool for letting human princesses in the door, only to go and do the same. 

Opal: Just one princess, you and I. We just let one in. 

Quartz: Aye, you let in two, but the other was a witch. The same witch who cursed our Fairest. Right. Well done. 

Opal: Fine. (Opal backs off, starts to pace in front of the coffin.) I’m a ruddy fool. You’re a ruddy fools. Lots of fools in this forest. 

Quartz: Maybe that’s why it’s a Forest of Tears. Too many ruddy fools making each other cry. That witch of yours is the greatest fool of the lot. 

Opal: Maybe she is. (He stops, turns to face the coffin.) Maybe she’s trying to do something about being a fool. Maybe that’s why I let her in.

Quartz: What’re you saying? 

Opal: That witch of a queen. Aye, she’s been a wicked ruddy fool, that one. Our Fairest suffered for it. As did you. We all did. 

Quartz: Not convincing reasons for letting her in the door. 

Opal: If she’s right, our Fairest is becoming a wicked, ruddy fool. (He stops, takes a step closer to stare at the crystal.) You saw it. Right before this happened. 

Quartz: Aye. (groans) Too ruddy weak to stop her. 

Opal: Aye. Most of us were worse. We ran. 

Quartz: Aye. 

Opal: Not this time. 

Quartz: What’re you saying?

Dark eyes like slate silvered with sun meet again. Gazing at each other through a barrier of crystal. 

Opal: Another girl is going to get cursed like our Fairest. This time by our Fairest. The witch knows this. She’s trying to stop her. Maybe we can help. (He squints at his brother’s face.) You see, fool?

Quartz: Right. You let that princess and her witch into our cottage for our Fairest’s sake. 

Opal: That’s right. Besides…(He looks up at the sun, lifting a hand to shade his eyes.)

Quartz: Besides? (He stops, allowing Opal to hear the scowl in his voice.) Shards, I sound like Christopher.

Opal: What’re you yammering about?

Quartz: Never mind.

Opal: Finished? I’m trying to say something here. (Opal looks down at the crystal with a glower.) Not even a cursed sleep can shut you up. 

Quartz: Right. As if you could shut me up, little brother. 

Opal: Never you mind. You didn’t see that girl’s eyes, her face. Pure innocent, that one, yet she’s got something. Something like a stone. 

Quartz: (snorts) A human princess. Humans don’t know the meaning of stone. They’d be dead if one hit them before they guessed. 

Opal: Pebble brain, you didn’t see her. This princess looks a lot like the witch. 

Quartz: Right. Again I’m not seeing the stone. 

Opal: That’s just it. She looks like the witch, but there’s something different about her. A hint of courage like flint. 

Quartz: The witch never had that. Part of why she cursed our Fairest. 

Opal: Our Fairest went and cursed another girl. Not sure how much stone she’s got herself. 

Quartz: You try staying firm as rock after being cursed. It’s wearing even me. 

Opal: Exactly. Our Fairest is going to need all the help, all the courage she can find. 

Quartz: You think this girl can help our Fairest? (He snorts, almost as if to dismiss the hint of hope in his own question.) Why would this princess help someone who cursed her?

Opal: Curiosity. A need to save others as well as herself. Maybe even love.

Quartz: Why should this princess love our Fairest?

Opal: You did. We all did. Takes strength to love. Maybe this girl has it. 

Quartz: Putting a lot of faith in this human princess, aren’t you.

Opal: Not a lot. Just enough. You should try it, Quartz.

He raps his knuckles on the crystal surface of the coffin before striding off into the trees. 

Quartz: This is what I get, urging secondary characters to mouth off. Upstart pebble-brained brothers thinking they’re all that. 

A bird chips almost mockingly from one of the trees.

Quartz: Shut up. 

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J is for Juno

Stealing Myself From Shadows, what a quaint idea, tee hee! If only the shadows were that generous! I’m not sure how much I trust The Hand and the Eye of the Tower, precious tidbits that they are. Really, what are you doing? Offering A Godling for Your Thoughts? Have godlings become so cheap? When I was a goddess, you wouldn’t have trifled with us so, oh no! Still I suppose one of those little coins could become My Tool, My Treasure if he restored my power. The problem is my husband would regain his as well. We don’t want that, oh, no. I’ll have to catch him and his naughty schemes in a Web of Inspiration he cannot wiggle free from, tee hee! Only when that happens will My Cusps Overfloweth. 

Secondary Characters Speak Out: Dyvian, Danyel, and Tayel

Dwarves caught in cursed crystal still dream. Especially when they’re not dead. Especially when they’ve got something to say. 

Secondary Characters Speak Out has always been about other characters having something to say. Especially when their scribbler treats them as secondary as far as Quartz is concerned. 

Why was he dreaming of these three? They weren’t secondary characters. Especially not the two tiny, slight boys with shaggy golden hair, distinguised only to be their blue and green silk vests over their white tunic, gray trousers, and boots. 

That and one of them had glittering silver triangles in the violet-blue irises of his eyes. 

Tayel turns to look at Quartz, fixing those glittering eyes upon him. 

Tayel: Other worlds are trickling dreams and curses in. 

Danyel: Don’t they always? (He’s the boy without the triangles, but there’s a faint green glow emitting from his small fingers, one of which is pointed at the elegant white-haired man in front of him.) What I’m wondering is why we’re here with you. 

Dyvian: You share a letter with me. You cannot escape me, my little beauty, even though your beloved twin can leave if he wishes. 

Tayel: Letters and patterns may block my way. Still I remain.

Danyel: (grabbing Tayel with his other hand) You won’t separate us, no matter what you scheme. 

Quartz: (clearing his throat) Hmph. 

Dyvian: (not paying attention, his icy prismatic gaze fixed upon the twins) Ah, but I will. How else will you begin your stories? You cannot escape from your Once Upon a Time. Either of you. 

Quartz: Right. 

Tayel: Our stories begin as one as did we.

Quartz: Now I know you’re ignoring me. 

Danyel: Tayel’s right. Why should we separate? We’ve always been together. Right from the beginning. 

Quartz: Is anyone listening to me?

Dyvian: You were one before you came into being. You may yet become one again yet you have to find out whom you are as two. Your paths are destined to go in different directions. Just as you have different letters beginning your names. 

Quartz: EVERYONE SHUT IT AND LISTEN!!

Everyone is quiet and looks at him. Danyel blinks as if he’s just realized Quartz is here. Dyvian and Tayel raise their noses with an identical offended air. 

Quartz: Right. I’d wonder who’s whose twin with that air. Just as I’m wondering what I’m doing here.

Danyel: I don’t know. What are you doing here?

Quartz: It’s time for Secondary Characters Speak Out. My blog! What are you all doing here? None of you are secondary characters. 

Danyel: Yes, I am. In Stealing Myself From Shadows. That’s Christopher’s story. Not mine. Not Tayel’s. 

Tayel: As lights which trail a shadow do we Christopher. Not that I intend to leave Danyel. Not for any scribbler nor blog. 

Quartz: Right. And what’s your excuse?

Dyvian: Why, we were simply settling ourselves in for Blogging From AZ April Project: Characters Blurbs. Once more we’re together, bound by letters, even if Tayel no longer belongs. 

Tayel: Belonging is far more than a letter and a fragile bond is easily broken. 

Dyvian: I’m quite secondary in Stealing Myself From Shadows. Why I’m less than a shadow. More of a memory ghost. 

Danyel: That doesn’t make you any less manipulative. You’re not taking Tayel from me. 

Dyvian: You sound very sure of that. 

Quartz: Enough! All right, I think I understand. You’re arguing for or against being together in the same blog next month. During Blogging From AZ.

Dyvian: Correct. We shall be together at inspirationcauldron.blogspot.com. 

Danyel: Not that there won’t be Blogging From AZ April Project: Character Blurbs here. Christopher will be here. 

Quartz: Yes, he will, although I’ll be at inspirationcauldron.blogspot.com. Some strange sorcerous type named Questioning will be here. 

Danyel: Why is there a second Cauldron?

Quartz: Blame the scribbler.

Dyvian: Once upon a time our scribbler was told by her publisher she needed a blog. She set up this one. The Cauldron of Eternal Inspiration at inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com

Quartz: Didn’t work for the publisher. They were in on blogger. To be able to share her blogs with them, the scribbler created a Cauldron of Eternal Inspiration at inspirationcauldron.blogspot.com. 

Danyel: I remember being there. She tried to keep up both blogs, didn’t she?

Quartz: Yes, she did, but it was a lot for readers. Turned out being a lot for the scribbler, too. Once the formatting got hard, she moved over completely to the Cauldron at inspirationcauldron.wordpress.com.

Tayel: Once a year she returns and we return. During the Blogging From AZ April Project. We go back to inspirationcauldron.blogspot.com.

Quartz: Not everyone. Those of us who’ve always been there.

Danyel: I remember! We’ve Blogged From AZ at inspirationcauldron.blogspot.com.

Tayel: We’ve been silenced. Leiwell was blocked for his abusive and dangerous words. 

Danyel: Leiwell isn’t abusive!

Dyvian: He most certainly isn’t. Just who dared to accuse my Leiwell of such things?

Quartz: No one knows. Not sure why Facebook blocked that Cauldron. It may be just the scribbler was sharing too much from two blogs every day. 

Danyel: (shivers) Scary. 

Quartz: Aye, it is. Hard to avoid doing again. Especially if no one says what the abuse was. 

Dyvian says nothing but his shadow looms, becoming colder, more ominous. 

Quartz: Enough of that. Happened years ago. What about now?

Danyel: What about now?

Quartz: If you don’t want to be together, why are you here?

Danyel: (looking sheepish) Well, our scribbler started writing and we started talking…

Dyvian: (folding his arms with dignity) I fear these children forgot we were supposed to express ourselves in blurbs. They made me forget myself as well. 

Quartz: Right. You started arguing. Your blurbs became one angry dialogue. 

Everyone looks a little sheepish at his words.

Quartz: (looking in my direction) And just why did you drag me into this, scribbler? 

Me: Well, I’ve had a lot to write and a lot to catch up on what with the emergency change of computers. I started writing, realizing it was dialogue, not blurbing, and I didn’t want to waste my work-

Quartz: Right. So you wrote me into this mess. Made it my Secondary Characters Speak Out. 

Me: Er, yes. 

Quartz: Right. I’ll let you off, scribbler. I know you’ve had a lot to cope with of late. 

Me: (breathing a sigh of relief) Thank you.

Quartz: And you all. (glancing at the readers) Conversations with Christopher, Secondary Characters Speak Out, and everything else will taking a rest for Blogging From AZ. 

Danyel: (waving) Christopher will be here, though, at C is for Christopher! Look for Damian, Peter, Melyssa, ‘Lyssa, Gabrielle, Hebe, Juno, Una, and Vanessa as well!

Tayel: Some of us will blurb forth in the bubbles of the Cauldron at inspirationcauldron.blogspot.com. Such as the three of us. Such as Map, Leiwell, Jupitre, Oleander, Quartz, Seraphix, and Thomas. (He wrinkles his nose.)

Dyvian: Not to mention other characters from other tales. Finished and unfinished. 

Danyel: See you all there?

Quartz: Right. That’s enough. I’m going to back to my cursed sleep. You work me too hard, scribbler.

Me: I thought I didn’t give you enough attention.

Quartz: That, too. 

Conversations with Christopher: Meggie Part 1

A row of cottages and shops line a cobbestone street, the tips of their roofs daring to touch each other’s, teasing with their curled corners. 

All but the tailor’s shop and home. It squats proudly at the end of the street, the golden gargoyle serving as a knocker leering at anyone who might dare approach the dark green door, let alone enter the wizard, err, tailor’s residence. 

Except the door is opening from the inside. Someone is leaving, not entering. 

A round, rosy-face woman whose untidy russet curls are escaping from under her hood steps outside, tucking her burgundy cloak closer around her. She glances back at the gargoyle for a moment. 

Meggie: (also known as Megan, for that’s whom the woman is) Hullo, Jane. Is it me or are there shops here which aren’t normally?

Jane: (the gargoyle knocker) What is normal? Certainly not naming a gargoyle knocker and talking to it. How should I know what is normal for Omphalos?

Meggie: (considering this) That’s fair. You make a fair point.

Jane: I’m not making anything. I’m not even talking. I’m a knocker. This is all in your head. Quit talking to yourself and find some actual company to have a conversation with. Now. 

Meggie: I’m not sure if anyone else is here, but I’ll try. 

Jane: I’m not anyone, you silly girl!

Meggie ignores the insult. It’s fairly light after all. She’s heard far worse. She starts walking up the street, glancing from side to side. 

She stops at a shop she doesn’t remember seeing before. One with a painted sign of a woman’s stomach and belly button swinging over the door. A chicken statue bares its beak from the window while a skull grins at his side. 

Meggie: Huh, I’m fairly sure I would have recalled this place.

The door opens, revealing a slender youth with coppery-golden hair cropped to curl around his ears, cupping his heart-shaped face. Huge eyes filled with violet, purple, blue, green, red, and gray swimming around like light reflected on water gaze back at her. A faint shimmer of mist clings to his dark gray boots, the black velvet clinging to his legs and chest. 

Meggie: Huh, aren’t you pretty? What’s your name?

Christopher: (for it is he, gazing at her, trying to get his bearings) I think I’m still Christopher. For now. 

Meggie: Planning on changing into someone else?

Christopher: Not planning, no.

Meggie: Huh. If that’s so, I’ll call you Christopher. I’m Meggie, by the way. We are in Omphalos, aren’t we?

Christopher: (looking around) I think so. This looks like it might be the Omphalos I’m from. Not one of the others. 

Meggie: Huh. Guess my Omphalos is one of the others. Except my husband’s shop is here. How did that happen? 

Christopher: I’m not sure. Omphalos is a place where things come and go, depending on whom experiences it. Other versions of Omphalos have come to the one I lived in, even if it’s just to trickle in, bit by bit. A house here. A ruin there.

Meggie: Yes, that explains a lot. 

Christopher: This doesn’t surprise you.

Meggie: Well, I’m slow. At least most people think so. Being slow means I don’t rush to figure things out. I take my time. Surprises don’t pop up as suddenly on me as they do on people who are faster. 

Christopher: That’s an interesting interpretation of slow. One which makes me suspect you’re not slow at all. 

Meggie: Hrm, my husband doesn’t suspect anything. (A smile creeps over her face.) He knows I’m slow. 

Christopher: Your husband?

Meggie: Gryluxx. Sometimes he’s a man. Sometimes he’s a raven, but he’s never particularly pleasant. Not if he can help it. 

Christopher: I’ve noticed. I’ve met your husband in both forms. He tried to command me, bind me against my will. 

Meggie: He does that. He’ll grab and take anything he wants. Even if what he wants objects.

Christopher: I wonder that you married him. 

Meggie: I didn’t object. Not that he gave me time to. Some people might hate this, but I found it…exciting. (Her smile turns sly.) Even alluring. 

Christopher: He’s fortunate to have you. Many wouldn’t find that alluring at all. Including me. 

Meggie: (nods) That’s what my sister says. She thinks Gryluxx forced me to marry him. 

Christopher: Did he?

Meggie: He didn’t give me time to object. I found his lusty impatience…invigorating. (Her smile turned into a grin.) It made me want…need…to meet him halfway. And I did. Again and again. 

Christopher: (flushing) Um, yes. 

Meggie: Guess I’m making you uncomfortable. Talking like this makes a lot of people uncomfortable. Aggie and I love to, but she doesn’t like Gryluxx.

Christopher: Aggie? Is that your sister?

Meggie: (nods) Angharad. She lives in my Omphalos. (She looks down the street.) I don’t see her cottage here. That’s distressing. 

Christopher: You’ll probably go back to your own Omphalos when you’re done talking to me. That’s how it works in the Cauldron. 

Meggie: Oh. We’re in a Cauldron? Are we about to be cooked?

Christopher: In our scribbler’s imagination. 

Meggie: (giggles) That’s funny, but it makes a strange sort of sense. Aggie would laugh, too, but Gryluxx wouldn’t. 

Christopher: From what I’ve seen of him, probably not. 

Meggie: Anyway in my Omphalos, our Omphalos, Aggie comes to visit a lot. These visits are nicer when my husband isn’t there. He and Aggie always fight. Usually about how abusive my husband is. 

Christopher: Towards you?

Meggie: Towards everyone, me included. He’s got a nasty habit of poking at everyone’s sore spots. 

Christopher: You don’t mind?

Meggie: Sometimes I enjoy being poked. Especially by him. (She giggles when he blushes again.) You’re really pretty when you blush. You remind me of Leiwell and the twins. Not to mention Mel.

Christopher: You know Leiwell and the twins?

Meggie: They live in the Old Cottage in my Omphalos. Come to think of it, the Old Cottage is right about where this shop is. What is this place?

Christopher: The Navel. The center of all things bizarre. It’s my mother’s shop. 

Meggie: That’s interesting. Too bad the Navel isn’t in our Omphalos, but I’d miss the Old Cottage if it wasn’t there. 

Christopher: So would I. 

Meggie: Huh, that’s right. You speak as if you know Leiwell and the twins. Not the Old Cottage. 

Christopher: We’ve met on the other side of the door. 

Meggie: You’re a shadow? (She backs up a step.)

Christopher: Yes and no. I was trying to live a life a little more real in my Omphalos. I knew Leiwell and the twins before they came to theirs. 

Meggie: Amazing. I can remember very little of my life before I came to my Omphalos. Mel remembers much more. 

Christopher: (frowning) Mel?

Meggie: She lives in my Omphalos, too. With Juno and Jupitre. 

Christopher: And Hebe?

Meggie: Who’s Hebe?

Christopher: I see. (He lays a hand against his heart.) That’s different here. 

Meggie: She has a little brother, too. Thomas. He may be even more unpleasant than Gryluxx. 

Christopher: That’s a frightening thought. 

Meggie: Yes, it is. There are lots of things about my Omphalos which are frightening. I try not to worry about them. 

Christopher: I wish I didn’t worry about them so much. 

Meggie: Well, you’re in the right place to wish if you’re Omphalos is anything like mine.

(To be continued next Monday…) 

Conversations with Christopher: Gryluxx

Shadows writhe in the dim light, stretching from the trees which strain, reaching out. You can hear them whisper. Whispering temptations to lure you off the path illuminating your way through the forest. 

One of the shadows breaks off, flutters down to the path. It’s a bird, a raven. Strutting prouding across the tiny pebbles as if he owns them. 

The raven spreads his wings, growing larger, larger, until he dissolves into a cloud of feathers. Only a man is left behind, a man dressed in black robes, He crouches upon the ground as if he’s bowing. Bowing and waiting. 

The air shimmers in front of the man. Christopher steps out of a the shimmer, a dreamy-eyed youth dressed in a black tunic, matching trousers, and boots. A stone shimmers around his neck, matching the colors mingling in his eyes. 

Christopher: (blinking at the man before him) I’ve met you before. You were Paul, Peter’s Paul. Or a part of him.

The man puffs out his chest. Around his neck is a half-silver, half gold disc with a demonic face leering out of the lines engraved upon it. 

Gryluxx:  I am Peter’s no longer. Nor do I care to have any part of that fool Paul. I am Gryluxx the Great, Gryluxx the Wise, Gryluxx the Keeper of Secrets. Including those of Seraphix! I am… are you even wearing clothes? 

Christopher looks down at himself. For a moment he’s completely naked. 

Christopher: Sorry about that. 

He closes his eyes. The tunic and trousers reappear. 

Gryluxx: (rolling his eyes) Surely a godling like yourself can do better than that!

Christopher: My godhood has always been debatable. 

Gryluxx: It’s not just debatable. It’s non-existent. You’re a shadow, a sprite, a demon whom a group of greedy fools decided to make their god. You don’t need followers. You need a master. 

Christoper: Do I?

Gryluxx: Exactly! I’m a powerful wizard! I also happen to be a good tailor. You’re in need of both.  To guide you, instruct you, and clothe you. 

Christopher: Is that so?

Gryluxx: Don’t take that tone with me, little shadow. You took on the role of not only Happily Ever After, but Seraphix, God of Balance. That’s too much for slender shoulders which could fade away at any moment. 

Christopher: I didn’t know Seraphix was the God of Balance. 

Gryluxx: See? What were thinking, playing the part of a god you knew nothing about?

Christopher: (rubbing his eyes) I wasn’t playing. I was in a temple. I was caught by Dyvian. He hailed me as Seraphix. As did a lot of other people. 

Gryluxx: Not me.

Christopher: (blinks) No, not you. You and Damian were accused of being unbelievers. Or was it you and Leiwell? It’s like a dream I can barely remember. 

Gryluxx: It’s part of the scribbler’s story she’s written. Your story. 

Christoper: Are we giving away a spoiler? 

Gryluxx: Given how strange our story is, I don’t see how we can spoil anything. (shakes his head) You were carrying a rock which you planned to hatch, like an egg! 

Christopher lifted the stone hanging from his neck and studies it, raising an eyebrow. 

Gryluxx: Not that rock. You claimed Leiwell’s brothers would be born from it. 

Christopher: (frowns) Danyel and Tayel…yes. 

Gryluxx: The mythic shenanigans you godlings get up to in the shadows! Carrying babies in your thigh, inside a stone, it’s beyond bizarre. 

Christopher: I thought how children were born in many worlds was a bit strange.

Gryluxx: Bah! You’re talking nonsense. There’s nothing strange about birth. The only strange thing is that too often women are the ones that give birth and women are plain weird.

Christopher: You think so?

Gryluxx: I know so! They’re always smiling at you in a vacant way, pretending they’re not talking to people who don’t exist.  

Christopher: (blinks) Really? I haven’t noticed that. (considers) Well, maybe our scribbler does.

(I look up from my keyboard, feeling a bit miffed.)

Gryluxx: Not her! I’m talking about my wife! (He turns his glower on Christopher.) Why am I talking about my wife?

Christopher: (bemused) I don’t know. Why?

Gryluxx: You’re a lot like her, you know?  (gives Christopher another fierce glower) Look at the way we’ve wandered off topic. You need a master, little shadow. All you do is wander around. And here you are with yet another stone. 

Christopher: Yes. (He strokes the pendant. Blue, green, purple, and pink glow faintly.) I can see Danyel and Tayel running through the garden. Damian sitting there painting. (He withdraws his fingers.) They’re gone. I guess it’s only when I touch it. 

Gryluxx: Like and unlike the stone you carried before. It may have traces of the twins and Damian within it. Maybe other people as well. Your own former selves. (A greedy glint enters his eyes.) Give it to me. I’ll make proper use of it. 

Gryluxx makes a snatch for the pendant, trying to tear it from Christopher’s neck. 

Christopher steps back, putting a protective hand over the stone. 

Christopher: It was a gift for me. I’m sure of that, even if I’m not sure how I came by it. 

Gryluxx: Let me have it. Let me touch it. I’ll find out. I’ll find out all its secrets. 

Christopher: (backing up another step) Just what are you up to? Why are you so interested in this pendant? 

Gryluxx: It’s connected to people close to you. It’s connected to you, little shadow, the demon who plays godling. That makes it interesting, even if you’re not a god. You’re meant to be controlled. Your possessions are meant to be controlled. 

Christopher: You think you’re the one to do it?

Gryluxx: Paul is a fool. Peter is too intoxicated with passion to wield you properly. Gabrielle is too bound by her own rules. Dyvian is a slave to his obsession, no longer how lordly he pretends to be. Jupitre and Juno are feeble ghosts of what they once were. The other Followers of Seraphix are too weak to count, even that spawn of Duessa’s. 

Christopher: And Duessa herself? What about Damian? You can’t accuse them of being weak. 

Gryluxx: A couple of spiders, spinning their webs. I’m a bird as is Peter. Spiders are our prey, no matter how much he might play the gallant fly. 

Christopher: Is that what you think Peter is doing? Playing?

Gryluxx: Oh, he’s always playing. That’s why he got attached to you.

Christopher: And you. 

Gryluxx: I’m no longer bound by Paul’s heart, even if I stole a feather from his wings. (lifting his chin) I hav my own goals.

Christopher: And what might they be?

Gryluxx: That’s for me to know, little shadow. (He wags a finger reprovingly at Christopher.) Dreamy-eyed demons shouldn’t question their masters.

Christopher: You’re not my master.

Gryluxx: Oh, yes, I am! I’m binding you. You obey me now!

He steps forward, waggling his fingers in a menacing way. There’s a puff of pink smoke around his head. 

Gryluxx: (coughing, waving it away) Bleah! Wrong color! Any way you’re mine! Kneel before me!

Christopher just looks at him, looking like he’s caught between amusement and annoyance. 

Gryluxx: Why aren’t you kneeling?

Christopher: I don’t wish to. I’m not yours, Gryluxx. If you ask something of me, I might do it, but trying to bind me and force me to obey you is just rude.

Gryluxx: It. is. not. rude! (chest puffs up in outrage) This is how wizards have bound demons for ages!

Christopher: Maybe I’m not a demon. 

Gryluxx: Oh, yes, you are! (He stabs a finger at Christopher.)

Christopher: Maybe you’re not a wizard.

Gryluxx: How dare you! I told you, I’m a great and powerful wizard!

Christopher: Maybe the spell just doesn’t work on me. (He starts to fade.)

Gryluxx: Wait, where are you going? (He brandishes his medallion.) I’m a Follower of Seraphix! If you’re truly the god Seraphix, you have to do what I wish or I won’t believe in you!

Christopher: (right before vanishing completely) I didn’t think you did.

Gryluxx: Oh, I see. This is a test of faith, isn’t it? You’re testing me. You’re punishing me for not believing in you. Well, you won’t get away with this, godling!  I’ll find you! I’ll catch you! If not you, I’ll get your so-called Eyes and Hand! Not to mention your Voice!

Nobody in the Forest answers. The path remains empty. 

Gryluxx: Maybe I believe in you a little. Come on, that has to count for something if you’re a godling. Right? Come back. Talk to me. I’ll even let you fondle my medallion. Come on, don’t be so uptight! Forgive your wayward follower and return to me. Please?

Nothing but the faint snicker of the shadows whispering in the breeze answers. 

#QueerBlogWed: The Cat and the Goldfish

On November 30, 2022, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Words prompt involving a goldfish, a tall plant, and a proposition.

This poem was the result…

“Oh, goldfish, I have a proposition.”

Said the gentleman behind the tall plant

Twirling his tail and whiskers

A picture of all that is elegant. 

“Why not leap out of that bowl?

And into my magic paws? 

That bowl is your prison. 

You should not be subject to its laws. 

Why you could be a mighty shark!

In an ocean wide and vast

Terrifying all the other fish

Each watery morsel your repast.”

The goldfish considered this

Freedom to swim where they wished

To inspire in others who lurked around

As the cat inspired in the fish.

“Sir, all you offer me is freedom 

The loneliness of waters deep

If I were to fall into your paws

You’d gobble me up before you could peep.”

“Why, I never would!”

The cat affected an injured grace

My humans give me plenty to eat

Here I am offering you space!”

“Space you may offer

A moment’s joy

Before you swallowed me whole

Better enjoy a shorter swim

Even if it’s just within this bowl.”

“Fool fish, you disappoint me!

You could have been a shark!

Fine, stay small, I’ll let you be

In the bowl without remark.”

“No, sir, you will be back,”

Said the goldfish with a coy flick of tail

“I’ve seen you watch me with that hungry eye

You’ll try again without fail.

There may be magic in your paws

We are still a cat and a fish

I’ll admit, there’s excitement in the games we play

Even if I won’t grant your wish!” 

Like my style of whimsy? Here’s a link where you can find my published works…

http://www.amazon.com/author/kstrenten