“Come, my primrose. I want to hear of your adventures since our last meeting.” The Great Mother says, turning towards me. If I didn't know better, I would think it was simply a grandmother’s genuine interest in my life. I know it is a command disguised as a request. A pretty face on a power move. I dutifully follow her. Until I have control, I must be obedient. My brother is still in the pack house. He is there without me to shield him. We walk towards the edge of the crowd. Red-robed figures are scattered around the bonfire, some close to the fire bathed in light and then others right along the edge of the bonfire’s reach. Their faces cloaked in shadow, keenly observing and murmuring within their small groups. Politics. Something Kai seems to abhor but I find entirely necessary. In order to survive within a system you must understand how the system operates. No one knows this better than my mother, who has willfully hidden and taken so much from me. She follows behind me, somehow e
“Who would have thought a little half breed would be able to achieve in so little time what we have been working toward for centuries?” The Great Mother laments as she stares into the dancing fire. The fire dances in her eyes as she speaks. “I feel my line’s power within you, tainted by the stench of wolf.” I feel Theia’s anger building in the pit of my stomach. I work to suppress my anger rising up my throat like bile. “Such stupid creatures. Ruled entirely by emotion and brute strength.” The Great Mother continues. “Hopefully your witch half is enough to give you some sense, although Rhea is your mother.” I shift uncomfortably in my chair. My fingers curl into the smooth leather, well worn and discolored from the centuries of use. I school a cool and detached mask on my face. I have my own list of complaints about my mother, I have no space in my heart to be bothered with hers. “Wolves are fickle creatures. So easily swayed by lust, rage, and jealousy. Perhaps it is their short
“We learned about fables today.” Dmitry squeaks perched on a stool by the cutting block. I sweat profusely stirring sauces and soups on the stove. The mad dash towards dinner. “What is a fable?” I ask. “A story that teaches you something.” He ponders for a moment his answer. A little cherub face deep in thought. “A truth. A lesson for life.” He smiles in satisfaction. “What did the fable you read today teach?” I ask as I pour the soup into the tureen for service. “The first was a story about a fox and a crow.” He begins. “The fox eats the crow and it teaches you to not trust foxes.” I blurt out in response. “No.” He answers flatly. “The—““Crow plucks the fox’s eyes out and you learn that crow’s are a bad omen.” I interrupt. “No. You might be a good cook, but you are a terrible guesser.” He laughs. “Might?” I ask. “How will my ego survive such a blow?” I mockingly ask. “Ok. The fox and crow have a tea party and it teaches you to be friends with everybody.” I say confidently.
“You should thank the Goddess for my preparedness!” The Queen’s seamstress says as she measures me and scribbles in her notebook. “Making a wedding gown in three days time is insane enough, but to add so many additional pieces? Unthinkable!” I stand on a pedestal in front of several mirrors. The seamstress has a mess of curls pinned on top of her head. Pencils are skewered through, both functional and practical. Straight pins line the edge of her collar, ready to be plucked and used as needed. The measuring tapes are draped around her neck like loose scarves. I am to have tea with the Queen. From her energy I suspect the Queen will not care how unreasonable the request is, I am to be dressed appropriately no matter what. “I can sew.” I offer. “If you need assistance I can be an extra pair of hands.” The seamstress stops and stares at me in the mirror. “You are to marry a Prince, m’lady. You can do no such thing.” She says kindly. “We have to make at least three gowns for meals plus
“You must always have a connection to the earth.” My mother declares. She holds a blackberry cane in her hand. “The bramble provides protection, the berry sustenance, and when you are older, wine.” She giggles. My mother is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. The sunlight follows her, as if Helios himself uses the golden rays to highlight her beauty. Her golden hair, looking like a crown of gold, regal and elegant. Even now, on her knees in the garden, her face flecked with dirt and sweat, she is ethereal. A painting worthy of display. I hope to have even a drop of her beauty in me. “Planting is a sacred ceremony.” She says. “Yes, mama.” I squeak, my baby voice not yet gone. Before Dmitry was in my mother’s womb. Before my father was gone. Before. “Never take the creation of life for granted.” She says as she holds the crane in her hand. “We call to the Northern Spirit. To the Guardian of the soil and earth. Hear our call!”I giggle. Mama always has strange ways of sayin
“What. Are. You. Doing?!” I whisper yell from behind the partition. “Are you trying to get me killed?!” My body shivers and I am unsure if it is from cold or rage. Potentially both. “Come on now, kitten. Don’t come at me with your claws.” Kai drawls. “I only want to play nice.” I peer around the partition, aware of my nakedness. “This isn’t a joke, Kai. I’m to be sealed in the temple to the Prince. If they scent you,” I pause, unwilling to finish the thought. “I will be lucky to be a nun.”“Tell me, do nuns pray on their knees?” He asks coyly. He laughs at his own entendre. “I wasn’t born yesterday.” He retorts. “I know how to mask my scent.”“When exactly were you born, gramps?” I tease. I inhale deeply. It isn’t so clearly detectable. I smell Monica’s scent lingering. Cleaning chemicals. Fabric. Dust. Wood. Peppercorns. The smallest hint of peppercorns. “Your mask isn’t impenetrable.” I say flatly. “Werewolves have superior senses.”“Superior?” He huffs out a laugh in disbelief. “
Only the wealthy have space for massive libraries. The books themselves are all independently expensive of course, but the real luxury is space. Space to devote solely to storing paper. Building furniture specially and specifically designed to hold books with no other utilitarian purpose. Temples never seem to have a limitation on space. The rooms used to house the priestesses are all modest and small. All other areas are massive. Massive hallways, cavernous sanctuary, and this impressive library. A system of ladders and walkways, quiet reading nooks, study tables with lamps, and where the queen takes her tea. My gown hugs my body perfectly. The dress a simple A line with three quarter length sleeves. The soft fabric is a rich berry purple with blue undertones. Small blackberries, gooseberries, and boysenberries are embroidered along the bottom hem of the dress. Small heels are on my feet. They feel alien to me, I am used to walking on flat feet and prefer to do so. My natural gait,
“You must sit still as a great tree, rooted and observing all around you.” My father whispers as we sit perched in a blind. “Even trees bend to the will of the wind.” I whisper, smiling at my profound thought. He chuckles softly at my bold retort. “You must listen first, my child. Learn the world before you begin to be a critical observer.” “Shouldn’t you also be silent?” I ask with wicked innocence, my youthful smirk revealing the jab. My father grumbles in agreement. In the early morning just as the sun begins to rise, I see only glimpses of his face cloaked in shadows. The glint of his eyes. The whites of his teeth when he flashes a smile. I spot the herd. I pull out my bow and get into position, ready myself to spot my mark. A large doe makes her way into the meadow first. Her timid stare searching for possible danger. “Never take the lead doe. She is the matriarch. The one that keeps this group tethered to one another.” My father murmurs. His voice so low even I strained to