Once Upon a Tryst

[Berkeley, California. Modern Day] The sun assaults my vision, even through my closed lids, as it filters through the slats of very expensive-looking redwood blinds. I rub my eyes, blinking awake. I always feel a little out of sorts when I wake from my dreams, but today is worse than usual. When I reach above me to find my glasses, I realize that the headboard does not have a shelf. As I continue to blink, I also remember that I didn’t wear glasses last night, but contacts that I forgot to remove and would be a pain in my ass to remove later. My neck is sore, and I notice my pillow is lumpier than usual. As I sit up and rub the sore spot on my neck, memories from the night before start to slowly flood their way back into my brain. The house party in Kensington. There was a large house with a pool and a huge yard with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. There was a fire pit and really strong punch. Embyr left me alone with a handsome young man with golden hair and a shirt with

[FAYE]I can’t think. I can’t breathe. A panic attack is approaching, and I need to get out of this room. This is all too much to process.“I need to go.” I rush to the door. Embyr had given me a ride here, but it was all a downhill hike and not even a mile to my apartment. I didn’t even care, to be honest. It could have been ten miles and I wouldn’t have cared. I just couldn’t stay in this room any longer. “Faye, wait!” my mother stands up. I can hear her stiletto boots on the floor behind me. Before she can move any closer, I open the door and run down the street in borrowed sneakers three sizes too small. The T-shirt is long enough so I don't have to worry about my bare legs. I’m wearing some clean gym shorts Arthur found that were close enough to my size to stay on, so I’m not even flashing anyone. Plus, this is Berkeley. I doubt this is the strangest thing anyone has seen on a Saturday.I hear heavy footsteps behind me, the careful strides of an experienced runner. He catche

[The Watcher]I stand outside her apartment, watching her through the windows. She doesn’t notice me, because I do not wish to be seen. I’ve been watching her for a while now, for a very long time. I had noticed Queen Mab’s powers were weakening again, as they do every few decades since her extended reign, and I knew that I needed to hurry this time to find Morgana before her assassins did. She thinks none of us know, but there is a growing number of us who are watching and waiting for her to return, the Queen Who Was Denied, The Queen of Night and Shadows, the Goddess of Rebirth, Morgana.As with all fae creatures, we are immortal in a sense. Not only do we live exceptionally long lives, but in the unfortunate case of one of us dying, we are reborn within our bloodlines, and reincarnated as one of our kin. But very few bloodlines are still pu

[Devona]I morph into my raven form. On my breast, a handful of singed feathers are still smoldering. I send a small bit of energy into my chest, but the damage does not repair itself. I am unable to alter my form.Fuck, as the humans say. I cannot return to court like this. The Queen would not approve. And nobody wants to anger the Queen. Also, if she didn’t already know, this would confirm the truth.Her powers are awakening.If I hurry, I might still find a way to convince the queen she is no threat, just a small elf-touched girl with no promise of being queen. At the height of my power, I could slip in between realities as easily as taking off a cloak. Now I needed to travel through a Way, like an elf-struck mortal drunk on too much Faerie wine. When the future Queen of Night was killed before her time, her death was pinned on me. I was stripped of most of my power, and it is only by the “mercy” of the queen in her “generosity” that I have regained the ability to take original

[Faye] A woman sits before me on a simple bench of dark wood, polished mirror bright, gleaming in the moonlight. Her long nails, tapered to points, tap against the hilt of the sword that lay across her lap. It is a grand sword, a ruby the size of a robin’s egg set into a steel pommel. A blue glow emanates from the sword blade, reflecting the moonlight into her face, casting it in a sharp, ghostly relief. She is draped in black leather armor, molded to her form as a second skin. Her hair is an inky red, like cut gemstones, or congealed, dried blood. She is watching me, and as I look up her eyes rest on mine. She has eyes the color of lavender and crushed violets, ringed in amethyst. Her ears, pierced in a constellation of gems and golden hoops, end in a high, tapered point. In some ways we share a resemblance, only her skin glows from an inner fire in a way that is otherworldly. Where her arms are bare, I see the edges of elaborate tattoos--serpents twisting up each arm and bands of