from ‘Nefastus Venereæ’ (Wicked Loves)
“Gold give us, God forgive us,
And from all woes relieve us;
That we the treasure
May reap of pleasure,
And shun whate’er is grievous,”
Category: Færie Story
Faerie is a perilous land, and in it are pitfalls for the unwary and dungeons for the overbold.
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The realm of the [faerie]-story is wide and deep and high and filled with many things: all manner of beasts and birds are found there; shoreless seas and stars uncounted; beauty that is an enchantment, and an ever-present peril; both joy and sorrow as sharp as swords.
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In that realm a [person] may, perhaps, count [themselves] fortunate to have wandered, but its very richness and strangeness tie the tongue of a traveller who would report them. And while [they are] there it is dangerous for [them] to ask too many questions, lest the gates should be shut and the keys be lost. (J.R.R. Tolkien)
Jewel the Pixie
Jewel…noticed a four-year-old of indeterminate gender in PJs and holding a stuffed something by one appendage.
“Are you a angel?”
“Uhm…no, I’m a færie,” Jewel told the (judging by the voice, probably) girl…“
“What kind?” The child’s chin just cleared the bottom of the mirror’s frame. She squinted at her reflection.
Jewel gave herself the once over and decided the truth would just have to do. “I’m the treasure seeking kind.”
The Lady
from ‘Nefastus Venereæ’ (Wicked Loves)
Beautiful. All I could think was—beautiful.
Puberty was some years off for me, but I knew things in an intellectual way.
This Lady brought home for me what some of those things must feel like.
The Custodians of the Incunabulum
from ‘The Fate of Stars’
John took careful steps toward the building, watching as rain shattered the mirrors of the puddles on the cobblestone path, golden worms of light wriggling in them.
Finally, a few feet from the door, he forced himself to look at the body recumbent on the steps.
It wasn’t Jane.
John took a quavering breath, realizing he’d been holding it for the last dozen paces.
It wasn’t Jane.
His twin must still be alive.
The Tale of Dævara and Bradwold, continued
from ‘The Fate of Stars’
Brad had never been gone more than three months before.
Something certain told Dævara he wasn’t coming back.
That meant he was dead or captive. There could be no other reason.
She tried finding him with the Syrat, but her emotions where he was concerned were so intense and conflicted, all attempts came to naught
After weeks of agonizing, Dævara made her choice.
She packed up, said goodbye to her friends, and went looking for her lover.
Dævara in the Silvergrey Sea
from ‘The Silvergrey Sea’
[Drago] backed away as Dævara stepped out of the mound of cloth and bent from the waist to retrieve it.
She took her time.
The diminutive whore’s backside was poetry in flesh. A waist that couldn’t have been larger than twenty inches offset slender hips to increase her bum’s apparent tumescence…
…she turned back to her client. Her eyes were sparkling liquid fire. Dark red tresses worked their way around her shoulders, their curling ends brushing the pale blue areolas that capped her small teats.
Lamplight caught the silver sparkles dusting her white flesh as she moved in a way that would have put serpents to shame.
She wore no jewelry.
She needed none.
The Tale of Dævara and Bradwold
from ‘The Fate of Stars’
Bradwold, tall and lean, had a weathered, angular face and was dressed in leather and chainmail, his square-toed boots plated with steel. A steel cap was under his left arm. Steel-backed gauntlets were tucked into a wide leather belt.
His eyes were a luminous green. Bradwold’s beauty was interesting until he smiled, then it was devastating.
Dæv felt a heat in her cheeks and upper chest that she hadn’t since those first heady days after her rebirth.
How Dævara Came to Be
from ‘The Fate of Stars’
Like the many lovers Dævara had taken in the says since learning she was becoming an elf, flying was a glorious sensory revel.
Air driven past with gale force furrowed the skin of her teats, tummy, and thighs like the fingers of a sadistic masseur.
The air chilled her to the marrow, forced her limbs to splay behind her.
The wind pushed its thumbs into her eyes, squeezing tears out.
Her hair flogged her back.
It felt wonderful.