This is no myth

The Faerie Bookstore is now open...

So, you want a story, right? That's why you're here?

Well come on in, take a deep breath and close your eyes. Enjoy the smell of book dust and vanilla incense burning faintly in the background. Hear pages turning and the soft sound of a cat.

Oh, did we not mention? We keep him around to guard the books. Or that's what we say, really, we just like cats.

But come, sit, enjoy yourself for a while. There are books aplenty here, stories of all kinds. You can find one if you want, one made just for you. It will be bound in soft leather and the pages will feel good against your hands. The ink mind be aged and fading a little but that's just because it's been a well loved book.

All our books are well loved here.

So come into our faerie store, come inside and say hello.


This is, as you might have guessed, a prompt call.

You give me three aspects of a story you want, things like you wanting an asexual main character, a setting in a rural town or a them that involves something being overcome. If you can think of other things, then feel free to list them too but remember, only three aspects of the story.

I will write it for you, ideally soon and you will get it.

Now, for the donation aspect:
$3 will get you an sample, post to your comment on this post.
$5 will get you the story emailed to you. It will probably be somewhere between 300 and 500 words, unless I am particularly inspired.
$10 will let you name the amount of words I put into the story. I may not hit the wordcount exactly but I will do my damnedest to try.

So, take a chance, leave me a prompt, let me tell you a story.

This is no myth

Breaking down.

It hurts.

That's all he can think of, all he can concentrate on. The pain, the feeling of being broken, torn apart, gutted.

Everything he is bleeds out, scooped out from within him and is spilled 9ouut so that he can see, it stains the table, stains the floor and their hands. He knows it's on their hands and he would be shaking if he could, he would be getting sick to his stomach if he had one.

But he doesn't, everything he did have is slowly being stripped away from him and soon he won't be anything, a shell, a husk, a mockery of what he had been before this.

They finish taking everything from inside him and he feels so empty, so lost. He can barely hold on, surprised that he's still conscious at this point, that he has remained to keep his awareness this long.

And then, when the knife starts cutting into him, he wishes for nothing but sweet darkness, nothing but the blessed unconsciousness.

He doesn't get it though.

Instead he feels the knife hacking away at him, slicing through his flesh as the carve him, make him into what they want, morph and distort and mutilate him.

he wonders if anyone would recognize him, if anyone would know what he had been before they got a hold of him.

He doesn't know and he doesn't really think he wants to.

Eventually they finish, get bored or decide that they're done. he doesn't know, he doesn't care. The pain is still there but it's dulled now. He's not sure if it's because he no longer can feel anything or if it's simply because things aren't as bad as they had been.

They put something warm within him, fire kisses him as they get it to balance within him and it almost feels good, the only thing in this sick ritual that does. It burns but he likes the burning, the warms. it's better than the cold metal of the knife.

Maybe that's all it is, something that's better than the alternative. He's stopped trying to figure it out.

They set him outside and it's only then that he lets himself fee again, really feel. His insides are exposed, the candle warming him in the chilled October night. Then he looks around, looks at the porches around him.

And again, he wonders why he was not given the ability to get sick, why he could not cry or break down or anything.

Because on every porch there was another like him, another pumpkin, broken down and mutilated in the name of a season, in the name of the Harvest.

His forced smile aches and he knows that they all ache too, that they would be screaming if they could.
This is no myth

Wicked Girls Saving Ourselves

This is how the story is supposed to go; Once upon a time there was a princess. She was beautiful and kind and good but not everything around her was. There were terrible things, things she needed to be rescued from but she could not save herself.

She waited and waited, praying for something to happen, someone to save her until one day a brave knight or price or huntsman arrived and stole her away from the tower, from the evil queen, from the dragon or witch or demon.

That is how the story is supposed to go, or at least, how they say it goes.

But not all stories are true.

Not all processes wait.

She never waited, she never bothered. She grew up in a strong house, a house where her mother taught her how to fight and her father taught her how to rule. She grew up in a land where no one was going to save her but herself, not out of cruelty but because they knew she could do it, knew she was strong enough.

So when the dragons come, she is the one who slays them, when the demons knock on her door, she vanquishes them. When the witches and thieves and tricksters come, she raises her sword and her spells and her hands and pushes them away, defeats them with everything she has in her.

Because she is not a princess who waits. She is not a daughter who sits passively. She is a wicked girl, a strong girl, a powerful girl. She will never be the girl who waited, who pined who wished and dreamed and wondered.

She is a princess and she carries her own swords and she saves herself.
This is no myth

(no subject)

She is a creature of the wood, no one denies her that. What they don’t know, what they don’t understand is that she *is* the wood. This is her space, the trees are hers, she knows what goes on inside herself, she feels it all.

She knows of the fae that make their home here, she knows of the animals who find shelter here. She even knows of the humans, the silly humans, those who disappear into her woods for a rush.

She knows it all.

And she knows when they cut her trees down, she knows when people trample across her flowers. She knows when the world becomes too small for her to exist and it pains her, it makes her sick and she cries.

The fae gather around her, tell her they will keep her safe but she doesn’t know, she finds it hard to believe.

But when the humans come, when they try and bring her down, it seems that things go wrong, not a lot, just little things that keep them from starting. Things don’t start, things break, things get lost. A thousand little things that keep her trees standing.

She smiles, absolutely touched by the act.

And if the humans deem her to be a haunted wood, a cursed wood, she doesn’t care because she is still standing, she is still alive and well and has her trees for people to take shelter in and her tall grass and forest floor for animals to run across.

She is alive and that is the greatest gift she could have ever received.
This is no myth

(no subject)

So she believes in magic? So what?

She sees no reason not to, sees no reason why she shouldn’t embrace the world for what could be hidden beneath the surface.

She embraces dreams and hopes and fears. She embraces shadows and light. She embraces the fae and the magic cats and the birds who sing their stories so sweetly.

She embraces the starlight and the moonlight and the sunlight against her skin.

She embraces everything as it is and as it could be, the embraces possibilities.

And she embraces the stories in you and me and the rest of the wrod, because those are magic too.

So she picks flowers and asks before she does and she walks through the woods with enough fear to keep her safe. She does all these things with an open heart and an open mind.

Because she believes in magic and always will.
This is no myth

(no subject)

He was in love with a gorgon, with someone who he could never look at, with a woman who captured his heart and made him fly and made him feel like no one had ever made him feel before.

And he had never seen her and she had never seen him.

But they loved it that way, their blind love, their colourless love. They saw tih their hands, with their mouths, with their teeth. They learned the curve of each other’s bodies, they learned what it was like to have each other memorized.

He never even tried to have a picture of her in his head because she was so much more than that, so much more than an image, than a face, she was the feel of skin on skin, the sound of her voice wrapping around hsi heart, the taste of sweat and blood and a thousand other things.

He didn’t seed to see her to know that she was beautiful and she didn’t need to see him to know that they belonged together.
This is no myth

(no subject)

And then they decided to stop letting the mirror keep them apart, they decided to break through the glass and say hello properly.

One slips through, and they embrace, wrapping their arms around one another and keeping each other close. It feels good, feels like a hug from your oldest, dearest friend and they both savour it.

They kiss and tell each other how good it is to see them, how nice it is to touch, to feel. They press their hands close together, press their palms against one another and can feel them falling into each other but they don’t care.

They want this, they want to be together, to be one. They’ve been apart for so long, pushed apart through the mirror, forced to live separately.

Yes, they were friends, yes they loved their lives but they’ll love this one more, they’ll be the girl without a reflection, the girl who steppe dthrough the mirror and become whole again.

And they, she, will be proud.
This is no myth

(no subject)

Let’s start with once upon a time because that’s how all good tales start. It’s a classic, it’s the way that our ancestors told stories, it may not be the oldest way but it’s a good way.

So, once upon a time there was a fairy.

But no, it wasn’t a fairy. It was a fae. It was a magical creature, tall and thin and mischievous and otherworldly. it had dark hair and dark magic to go with it but not too dark, never too dark. They aren’t evil creatures, they are just different.

They live by their own rules which are ancient and powerful and will probably long outlive ours.

So there was a fae and they were wonderful. They loved the world, loved the forests and the fields and the tall, tall grass. They were a woodland spirit, you see and these things meant a lot to them. The animals were their family and the trees it’s brothers and sisters.

Other fae lived with them, cared for the forest along with them. The woods, in return, sheltered them and loved them in return.

It was a good thing.

Humans rarely came into the forest, for they could feel the magic and were afraid. it set their teeth on edge, made the skin on the back of their necks prick up. They were frightened and they didn’t know why.

But not all humans were this way, not all of them feared magic.

There was a girl, small but strong and very, very brave in her way. She was a dreamer, a writer, a storyteller. She told stories with her friends, and told them to herself. She read books voraciously and reeled in the tales they told.

She went into the forest because she knew there was something there, something interesting, something waiting for her.

And the fae watched from the trees curious to see how far she would go. No one had dared enter their forest in years and only then, they seemed to be brave hunters looking for prey to stalk. This was different, this was new.

They liked new.

The girl kept moving forward but saw nothing to be afraid of. There were foxes daring across her path and, every time she saw one, she made a wish. Nothing scary though, nothing to send people running the way it did.

Until one of the fae stepped out of the trees, a smile on it’s face.

@Come with me,@ they said, their hand extended. @Come with me and I’ll show you something wonderful.@

And it was then that she could feel it, the power, the magic, the wonder in the forest. She knows the rules, knows that you don’t go with strangers but a part of her wanted to go, wanted to damn all the rules that she knew so well and just run.

So she did.

And the fae took her to a ball, all set up in her honor. She danced with them, spun around in a world she barely knew actually existed. She ate food that tasted better than anything she’d ever had before, heard music that moved her to her very soul. it was amazing.

And a part of her knew that, after that first moment, after the second she took the fae’s hand, she was doomed, that she could never leave the forest again.

But she didn’t care because there was magic here, there were stories come a live, there were balls and magic and music and a world she’d never been to before.

So the girl, shedding her human identity, put on the name of Ella and embraced her fate, all the while dancing and singing and telling stories.
This is no myth

(no subject)

It’s an old city which means it has old ghosts. It has them form ages past and where there are ghosts, there are other things. They gather in the city streets at night, in the alleys, in the dark places.

But some of them choose to gather in the light. Some of them want to be more than the creatures hidden in the dark, the ones under your bead, the ones in fairytales.

Some of them want life, they want new stories, they want homes beyond the ones they are given.

So they reach out, explore the new world and try to settle in it. They know that, if it doesn’t work, they always have their old homes, for the darkness always welcomes it’s own back but some of them want something new, want something to explore.

So they go into the light of the day, into the markets, into the parties and cafes and the lives of the humans around them.

And maybe they won’t stay, maybe they’ll find that the life in the light isn’t for them but if they never try, they’ll never know.