Ink-Singer

a galaxy void of stars is no galaxy at all, and yet here I Am and here you Are, here with all our tears glittering around us… were we simply too blinded by the brilliance of our own stars to see ourselves for the galaxies we are? tell me, darling, what do you see? for clearly, I am blinded by my own ~ s p l e n d o r ~

dance with me in this breeze scented with warm sunset cinnamon; let it play with your sweet baby hairs and loose little tears and tiny little worries until the dying light seeps into your soul and you transform now a half-wavering creature made of twilight and faerydust shimmer me, my darling! I want to be your rainbow sherbet girl: the moon dirt to your faerydust, the dusky grey dawn to your burning embers almost-night-light, the sharp newborn starlight to your heavy-bloody-deathless light catch my scent of cedar and citrus on the rain-speckled wind and follow me, humming-skylark-songbird lover of mine let’s waver together amongst the trees and remind the deciduous ones why pines rule them all when your lovely-sweet-sharp scent surrounds me with a crisp kind of warmth, all I can think of is h o m e

Bathed in the russet and rose light of dawn, Elekindra City shines as bright as a crown jewel. Castle Elekindra glows golden in the warm, low-angled light of daybreak, its ivory spires glittering coldly high above the rust-colored stone of its high walls. The towering mountains to the north, still mostly cloaked in darkness, loom in the distance like misers while the glimmering sea laps at the city’s feet. It’s rare for me to get to see the city like this - soft and beautiful in the warm dawn. Usually I’m up well before the night has even had a chance to turn grey, but today is different. Today, I will finally become a full-fledged officer of the Elite Guard. Today, I will become… a new me. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and suddenly I’m impatient for the sun to find its heat. Elekindra is hot at the best of times, and usually the cooler night is a welcome reprieve from the oppressive heat of the day. Today, there is a chill in my bones that I can’t seem to

The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee washes over me like a wind-driven cloud as I step through the front door of my apartment, and my heart flutters, a flighty, fragile thing in my chest, at the realization that Ellie is already here. In an instant, my dark, contemplative mood of only a moment ago melts away, and a helpless smile spreads over my face as I make a beeline toward the kitchen. Dropping the sheaf of papers the Queen had given me onto a side table in the hallway, I rush into the kitchen, barely registering Ellie’s start of surprise at my sudden appearance, and then she’s in my arms. She freezes for a moment, startled to stillness at my unexpected appearance, but then I feel her soften, the tension leaving her on her next exhale. She turns in my arms and nestles her head snugly under my chin, one ear pressed to my chest, her arms tight around my waist. I bury my face in her thick, soft auburn curls, filling my lungs with her familiar, comforting scent. Something within me

She froze as she pushed the door all the way open and could finally see what - who - was inside. Three pairs of bright blue eyes - so bright that they almost appeared luminescent - stared back at her from the inky darkness of the room. A shiver swept up her spine as one of the figures - still only a vaguely person-shaped shadow to her weak human eyes - slowly rose from its crouched posture near the floor and straightened to its full, towering height. The move seemed somehow predatory, as if the way they’d risen so slowly had been calculated to scare her, and she fought the urge to retreat a step. The other two figures blinked slowly at her, and in the brief moments when each pair of eyes disappeared, her heart skipped a beat in primal fear. Somehow, she expected them to be much closer to her when they reappeared, but thankfully her mind was simply playing tricks on her. She was not prey. So she took a step inside and closed the door behind herself. Enclosed in a dark room, alone

It isn’t often that I’m floored by the appearance or temperament of a new horse, but then again, Rain is not just any horse. The dark dapple-gray filly is sleek, fine-boned, and beautiful. She arches her slender neck and prances forward on long, well-formed legs, acting more like a racing star or a flashy show horse than simply the mount of an allegedly low-ranking Elite. I have my doubts about the truth of that particular detail… The filly’s trainer had just told me what he’d heard, but I find it hard to believe that a newly-graduated Second Class Elite would have the sense to choose a horse this good. Either they had been brought up knowing horses or they had somehow gotten very, very lucky when they’d surveyed the herd of unpartnered three-year-olds and pointed out this horse. Or some greedy officer was telling people that Rain was for a new recruit and in fact planned to keep her for themselves. Not that it matters to me, either way. I’m just a groom. A groom in the main

Liira coughs and splutters as the soldier pours the horrid, gritty concoction down her throat and forces her to swallow. The sight of his huge hands - still gauntleted, as if he’d just come from fighting a pitched battle - tangled in her hair makes the rage rise to a fever pitch within me. I can feel the drug starting to affect me as it creeps through my veins, dulling my senses, calming my sense of urgency, and tugging at my eyelids. I force myself to focus through the haze and lock my gaze on the soldier and his thrice-damned hands. A ripple of magic, weak as it is, flashes toward the soldier in the blink of an eye, and I watch in grim satisfaction as his hand loosens its hold on Liira’s hair. He slumps to the floor beside her, almost falling into her lap as he collapses beneath the weight of my spell. Now we’ll all just have to hope that Liira didn’t actually swallow any of the drug. Or, at least, not very much of it. I hang limply from my manacles, breathing hard and trying

A warrior to the bone, my life has always been steeped in the bitter dregs of war and violence. And yet I find myself here, a scant decade from completing my first century of life, playing the gentle caretaker as I watch over two newborn younglings while their parents are away. The two younglings are impossibly tiny, especially compared to my adult male bulk, and they squeak and growl as they play a game of chase between the pieces of eggshell detritus scattered about the otherwise tidy nest. As I lay there on guard, my long, lithe body and tail curled protectively around the circumference of the nest, I can’t decide if their tiny cries are irritating or precious. I flinch when one of them pounces on my tail, and I barely manage to hold back my snarl of displeasure before it rips past my bared teeth. As it is, they are frightened away by my curled lip and the warning rumble in my chest, but are not deterred from turning their attention back to their playmate and continuing the game

“So now I jump at shadows, every interaction makes my heart pound, and the mere sight of blue eyes makes me start hyperventilating,” I finish. Tossing the brush into the grooming box in the corner of the stall, I sigh and rest my forehead against Rain’s withers and tangle my fingers in her mane. Breathing in her clean, horsey scent, I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and try to fight the wave of tears threatening to wash over me. When I look up, Rain is eyeing me with concern, and she turns to nuzzle my hair with her gentle lips. Her concern is the last straw, and I lose it. Collapsing to the strawed floor in a boneless heap, I gasp and sob and keen until I’m sniffling and definitely dehydrated. Rain stands guard over me the whole time, periodically sniffing at me or playing with my hair or whuffing her sweet hay-breath over me like a comforting hug. When my tears finally run dry, I look up at her with swollen, itchy eyes and smile a wavering smile. “What would I do without you?” I