poetry · writing

Have you found the door yet?

Have you walked through to the realm of improbabilities?
Have you drank tea with the sister of the marshal of the kitten parade?
Have you seen the valley of green lavender filled to the brim with song and sweetness?
Have you seen the honeysuckle maidens as they unfurl their sheets and sit upon the golden waves?

It is close.
You may travel by night or day.

At night, the sparkling stardust will dance before you in greeting as you walk through the door, and step upon the rolling hills.
At day, the sun and moon will hold hands and bow before you and lead you to the alchemist’s garden.

In her garden there is no green lavender. Only roses the color of a baby dragon’s fire.
She snips and grinds the thorns into a powder which turns river water into sweet wine.
If you collect the fallen petals and feed them to a dragon hatchling, the hatchling will belch up rubies and sapphires.

Have you found the door?

The alchemist is waiting and she has prepared wheat crackers and lemon cream for tea.
The alchemist is waiting for you to bring her a new basket.
Woven by the hands of a wood nymph after a long nap. They do better work when well rested.
She will fill the basket with roses and discarded dragon hatchling eggshells.

In time, fire stones will be made.
In time, she will teach you all she knows.

Have you found the door yet?

Walk through. The alchemist is are waiting.
Walk through. You have much to do.
Walk through.

writing

“I mean, if I had to state a preference, I’d say don’t set us all on fire.”

“I mean, if I had to state a preference, I’d say don’t set us all on fire.”

“Oh please. Look how tiny it is. At best, it would only set one of your pants legs on fire.”

Leana looked upon the bundle wearily while Winona looked upon Leana, clearly amused. The baby dragon was on sleeping on the table in front of them, snuggled in a pile of blankets.

“It’s an important part of their development, we’d be depriving her otherwise.”

The fire stones sat in their enchanted bowl of stone where Winona had gathered them. Their warmth belied the terrifying intensity they contained.

“I agree. It’s just, the hatchling can barely walk, shouldn’t we wait until they have more control of their faculties?!”

Winona continued to argue the cultural importance of using fire stones at a young age while completely disregarding Leana’s points that it occurred only in flocks where it was a necessity to have them out of the nest & hunting sooner.

The young hatchling yawned in its sleep and burrowed further into its nest of blankets.

Its power came from ice. The fire stones would do nothing.

writing

Matara and the Unbearable Party

Matara Beverly was sick of all this nonsense. Another royal baby celebration that was an excuse for the court to show up and show out and a way for the parents to discreetly squeeze every local fairy for as many blessings as they could without looking like the greedy jerks they were.

Now, of course, she knew most of the royals who threw these baby parties weren’t INHERENTLY jerks, these crappy baby parties were tradition. But these jerks at this party? Yeah, the food was good but not worth dealing with their nonsense. They actually had everyone RSVP their gifts! They sent out a parchment and you had to reply with the blessing you were giving so they could approve it!

I sent a missive four times. They rejected the gifts and blessings of turning earrings into trail mix, power to consume rocks for sustenance, and the ability to make themselves fall asleep at will before they finally accepted ability to remain unharmed from spontaneous combustion. I admit that I was willfully divisive.

It’s a lovely party I suppose. Though the baby seems to hate it. That child is getting fussed over and it is most definitely making them fussy. Their nanny is doing her best the poor girl.

The blessing section of the festivities couldn’t begin soon enough. There’s the usual good looks, cleverness, song, charm… then it goes into the more nuanced and specialty gifts such as dance and the ability to mimic any bird call or cat noise they hear. Of course, the poor child is crying throughout all this. They must be in their crib for all this. Not to assist with any magic mind you, it’s only because of tradition that the child is out of the comfort of their nanny’s arms and has to deal with the face of every fae.

That child would coo whenever it was held properly but seemed to dislike beds, or perhaps just disliked parties and needed the emotional and physical support. The child’s parents and many members of the court looked either embarrassed or irritated at the baby’s spectacle. Which is silly. It’s a baby. They cry.

At last it was my turn. I intended to give my blessing and skedaddle out of there as quickly as possible. I’d much rather prefer to be at home, reading a book, curled up by the fire of mystical flames.

The child still cried as I approached, when upon them I decided to hang propriety and picked them up. I held the child and whispered soft, encouraging words until they had calmed down. The child was actually rather sweet, just in no mood to attend such a party, which I greatly understood. It made me despair that I could not find a way to spare this child all the future gatherings it would be forced to attend. As royalty, and a member of such a large and prominent family, there would be many such gatherings. I could only sympathize.

“Ah. I can’t make it so you never have to deal with such things, but I can give you the power of a short reprieve perhaps.” I whispered so softly that no one but the child heard me. “Now. If ever you need it, or if ever you merely want it, a good ten minutes to yourself might be in order, even if in a crowd, you and all that is necessary for your time, will not be seen or heard. Invisibility and quiet, when wanted, is indeed a great blessing.”

I kissed the baby upon their head and put them back in the crib. Straightening up, I readjusted my cloak before speaking, “Well. That’s that. My blessing is given and I am off.”

And indeed, I was gone before I could be roped into another game of musical chairs.