Yolanda and I alighted on the light elf terrain:Alien glimmers of the whitewashed, satin blue, finely featured elves, who towered over us in silken, slender forms, held out pearl gray mushrooms and glowing yellow fruits, circling us in a whirlwind as their crystal palaces and strange, arcane stone temples blurred as they fractaled.The tribe of Ljossalfar splintered like ice.Terrified, I looked up into Yola's arms. She put her plush eagle wings in a vice around me, the cinnamon and cloves of her skin darkening my vision. She cried out, as if a stabbing pain from the light of the dead - as the dark elves and light elves had spirits of the disir and alfar, our ancestors... transformed into something forbidden - was crushing her lungs and spine.Her flesh grew hot, and we both screamed.Suddenly, silence, and eldritch cold."Is this an initiation into the Land of the Dead, Helheim? Are we trespassing?"I kept my eyes shut, shrouded by

Yolanda and I woke up as dusk tinged the sky. Panicked, in her twisting wings, and soaked with gray sleet to the bone, I ruffled her muddy cheek, then pressed my ear to her godstone amethyst heart:The pulse had slowed to a crawl.The gravestones of runes danced with light elf ghosts, so transparent, they looked like fog. The arcane, alien figures did not look at us, eyes gutted and blind, salt in their mouth, for they were the dead.Skadhi's Bow was merciless above, and Mani's moon was a fingernail, scratching at the surface of the night. I sat and watched them, ageless, cast out - cursed. Yolanda stirred in my arms, and in silent remembrance, we watched the milky stars of Audhumla pour forth from the Great Mother Auroch's udders.We cross ourselves with Uhruz, rune of the ox.Yolanda had bitter grapes in her mouth. She spat out dirt and sand. Suddenly, I felt dry clay and earth on my own palate, and spat it out in repulsion."Look at our f

Yolanda and I followed the white harts through haunted, sicksleep glens, dales, and fjords. The birches moved like alfar, the ghosts of the light elves dancing. My pale Isa flesh was frozen to a dull green verdigris, like a copper pot left out in the rain. Yolanda and I walked hand in hand, guarding each other with her broadsword and my Isa dagger out, treacherous steps on autumnal frozen fall leaves crunching to release the spice of pine and wet soil.Yolanda hissed to the shadows, then her teeth chattered, her golden brown skin frosted to a light grimy blue. Freezing to death, after Jord’s heart.I watched the quicksilver white harts loose like darts in a tavern through the wends of woods. Their albino fur and gleaming red blue eyes reminded me of the prophesized god Lussi, who would overturn Eleleth. But that was such a tall tale, I could never imagine anyone but the might of Wotan overtoppling Eleleth’s reign!“Yolanda?” I gently aske

We boarded the Naglfari bone and nails ship, as Jarnja stood in her bestial form proud atop the prow. She blossomed like a boar bristle brush as she drank us in with lion eyes, bowing low like a dire wolf in service to her pack mates. Jarngrimr’s thick black lips quirked:“To what do I owe such a blissful occasion?” Jarnja inquired, her eyes glimmering like coals. “My dear Valkyrie, and my dearest shieldmaiden – Yolanda and Turiel meadowsweet – what is that in your palm, dear Turry?”Yolanda and I smiled, surrounded by our friends, family, and godborn Heith. We knelt, and in unison said: “Jarnja, will you marry us?”She balked, then began to weep: “You both truly love me, my troths?”We could not voice our feelings, so Yolanda and I Sang:“To Wotan’s Daughter”“Gift for a Gift”“You ask what pri

5,000 Years Later: The Snow King watches me on a throne of silver. He twines a thread round his fangs, then snaps it and spits it out. “Slit my gullet and stuff it full of pork pie. I’m starved,” he opines. His muscles ripple as he flexes biceps that could crush a giant’s skull. “My adorable little wife. Come and let me pamper you. Maybe you brought me food?” His ram’s horns shine in the mist.“I’m 6’7 and covered in gore from your labyrinth. I ran out of food a day ago.”“I’m 7’8. Hence, little lady, thou art tiny. And what’s a little blood to a man, Dia?”He snorts suggestively, a caged gnarl. I laugh at the silly sound.“You haven’t changed a bit in undeath, Lussi,” I observe.He smirks. “The siren call of the grave makes me stronger.”I study him: my husband dear an