C.E. Dorsett's Blog, page 3

Noble Sacrifice: Chapter 7: Too Good to be True

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Moriah awoke rested, at ease with her life in a way so foreign to her. She refused to open her eyes. Yesterday, she discovered the world of magic and mystery she’d longed for all her life. What if she opened her eyes and found it was all a dream?

She stretched out under the perfectly comfortable sheets in a bed someone must have enchanted to encourage deep, dream-filled sleep. This wasn’t her bed. None of her friends made enough money to afford such nice sheets.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and gazed at the intricately interlaced wooden ceiling. The freshness of the air greeted her, and she couldn’t help but smile. It was real. It was all real.

Everything about this place was magical, including the shampoos and soaps that they had provided for her to get ready for the day. Even the water in the shower seemed to wash her concerns and cares away.

As usual, Moriah woke up before her friends, or at least none of them were downstairs by the time she got down there.

Sister Lydia sat with another sister at the table when she got downstairs. Steam rose from the fine porcelain tea cups and sparkling forks and knives rested on their empty plates.

Each sister read her own leather-bound book without title or cover image.

It surprised Moriah to see an Asian member of whatever order the sisters belong to. In the world she came from, religion often broke down along racial lines so to see them sitting peacefully together warmed her heart.

She didn't know what the protocol was. Should she join them, sit at another table, or attract their attention. The only thing she was certain of was that she didn’t want to irritate or annoy them, so she just stood at the bottom of the steps and waited for them to acknowledge her.

Sister Lydia glanced up from her book and waved her over to the table. “This isn't a restaurant, you don't have to wait to be seated.”

Moriah’s cheeks burned hot, “I didn't want to disturb you.” She walked over to the table and sat opposite the sisters.

“I don't think that would be possible.” Lydia smiled and put her book down. “Technically, my only duty today, is to look after you and your friends.”

Without asking for it, a plate of eggs, bacon, and buttered biscuits with strawberry jam appeared in front of her. It was exactly what she craved. She glanced around to see where it had come from.

“The domovoy here are good at their jobs,” Lydia said. “You are new here, so they wanted to impress you with your favorite breakfast. Did they get it right?”

Moriah took a bite and nodded.

“That's good. The first night I was here, they picked up on what I thought would be appropriate for me to ask for instead of what I actually wanted. So I ended up with a bowl of plain broth.” Lydia chuckled.

“For my first breakfast, they made me a hamburger and french fries, because all I could think about on the way here was trying more American food.” The other sister said without a hint of an accent.

“This is Sister Luna Shin.” Lydia said. “If you like, she can show you around after you finish breakfast.”

Sister Luna giggled. “I am not used to living in a cloister. I miss meeting new people.”

Moriah smiled. “I would like that.”

Moriah poked at the eggs on her plate. Were they chicken eggs or something else? They tasted rich and buttery, unlike anything she had ever eaten. She’d never had breakfast that good in her life, but didn't want to embarrass herself by asking too many questions.

When she finished eating, Sister Luna agreed to show her the convent’s library.

The sunlight burned her eyes as Sister Luna guided her across the courtyard. Strange birds sang from the trees, songs she’d never heard before. Beautiful melodies that raised her spirits.

Opposite the dormitory, the library towered over all the other buildings within the ancient stone walls. Through the large oaken doors, they entered a small foyer that opened up into an enormous labyrinth of shelves and stairwells leading up into rings of books and shelves going all the way up the tower.

At the ceiling, luminous shapes marking planets, stars and constellations floated freely. She recognized many of the symbols from the astrology books she’d read. The others intrigued her.

Everything smelled of musty, old paper and aged leather. Tables and chairs covered the main floor. Light flashed from a few sisters here and there, studying ancient tomes and testing incantations.

Luna stopped, spun around, and asked, “is there anything in particular you’re interested in reading about?”

Moriah glanced around at all the books in the tower. “How do I choose?” She didn’t know how to answer that question with any word other than everything, so as she too often did in an unfamiliar situations, she kept quiet.

A mischievous glint twinkled in the corner of Luna's eye, and she smiled. “I know something that I think you will love.” 

She led Moriah to the back of the tower and pointed up.

Moriah’s breath caught in her chest.

A painting of a brown-skinned angel with a white blindfold and dress hovered over a flooded classical city. The wing on the left was black with shadows, and the right wing shown with vibrant red and black feathers. Between her hands, something red glowed brightly.

“Who is that?” Moriah asked.

“Amaresh.” Luna said reverently. “That was the day she tried to use the stone of heaven to save Talan tesh from the wrath of the deceiver.”

Moriah reached up to the painting. She didn’t touch it. That was the last thing on her mind.

The blindfolded angel’s expression stoically defied the horror unfolding around her. Flames crackled and hissed as they licked the surface of the flood water. 

People screamed in the background as the angel chanted. Her voice a rebellious melody standing in the breech between life and death. 

Amaresh turned to face Moriah and smiled.

Moriah jumped back.

Luna was gone. 

“Can you see me?” Moriah asked.

Luna emerged from the stacks of books. She stopped and examined Moriah. “Are you alright?”

Moriah had no words. She struggled to make a sound only to hear herself say, “are the paintings alive?”

Luna grinned. “Not always. They move, but sometimes, they take on the life of their subject. Why? Did you see something?”

“Everything.” Moriah said, shaking her head slowly as she dragged her attention from the painting.

Luna flashed a tight but friendly smile. In her arms, she held what appeared to be a book made of glass. She set it gingerly on a nearby table and pulled up two chairs.

“I think you will need one of these.” Luna patted the seat of the chair next to her and waited for Moriah to sit down. “This is a question book. I still love reading them. This one is about history.”

Luna opened the book, but there was nothing in there except for the distorted surface of the table.

“Now, you hold it with both hands, and ask a question.” Luna said.

Moriah grabbed the book with both hands and formulated the perfect question in her mind. But what constituted the perfect question? Should she ask about the covenant she’d heard them talking about last night, or the painting she struggled to drag her attention from?

The glass frosted as if filled with a cold liquid, and words and images appeared as if inscribed on paper.

Tiny figures stood before the stylized form of living mountains. As they moved, the mountains took on an increasingly humanoid figure.

The letters resembled calligraphy from an illuminated manuscript, but she didn't recognize all of them. 

She must have had a strange look on her face, because Luna pointed to the offending letters and explained what they were.

With a little practice, Moriah found it easy to read. It was a story of a terrible war against a dragon called Nyx, and how two Giants foresaw a second war coming.

Moriah slumped back in her chair and gazed with amazement at the magical glass book. “I can't believe they were able to cover up all of this.”

Luna smiled. “My father always said, that's why they invented the dark ages, so they can explain the loss of all that history.” 

“Everything else before that, they said it was a little more than myth in legend.” Moriah shook her head. “How many people know that this is our actual history?”

“Probably not too many. Lies are easier to spread than a conspiracy is to maintain. Most likely, they believe the lies, and no longer have to work to suppress the truth.”

“And the sad thing is, they would write me off as crazy if I tried to tell anyone about any of this.” Moriah gazed longingly up at the portrait of Amaresh among the flames. “Does this thing have her story in it?”

After reading about the adventures of the blinded angel, Amaresh, for hours, Moriah’s thoughts pressed on her mind. Everything she learned in school was wrong. Well, not wrong, but different in the details. This history showed her a world that she hoped, dreamed, and prayed for all her life. Her muscles tightened in her chest and her blood slid like cold, dull blades in her veins.

Like a silent prayer, she whispered, “what is magic?”

The book responded with three words, “connection and passion.”

Moriah closed the book. Those words were so simple, too simple. It must have hid the genuine answer.

“Luna.” Moriah sighed her name as she failed to let go of her anxiety. “What can I do to ensure that they will let me stay.”

Luna tilted her head to the side and repeated the question to herself. “Just tell them you want to stay, and sign the covenant. I can get you a copy of it if you want to read it.”

“It can't be that simple. No one just offers you the keys to the kingdom without wanting something in return.”

“Please don't take this the wrong way, but what could any of us possibly want from you?”

Moriah blinked a couple times.

“Not to be rude, but it's going to take time for you to learn how to use magic properly, for you to become a member of society in full. Until then, and I'm sorry if this sounds harsh, but what use would you be to any of us?”

“You see, that's exactly the point. I am of no use to anyone. So, why would they let me stay?”

“Because you wanted to.”

“Really? That's all it would take?”

“And you would have to sign the covenant. I really don't understand why you were having such a hard time understanding this.” Luna scratched absentmindedly over her right eyebrow.

“Because where I come from, when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.”

“I don't understand what you mean by too good to be true. Do you think all of this is too good to be true? This is just our life. This could be your life too, if you want it.”

Moriah stared into Luna’s eyes and watched the fires of life glimmer within them. It was remarkable that she couldn't understand what it meant for something to be too good to be true.

She smiled, but the fear lingered within her that somehow she just wasn't good enough. How could she deserve to live in a place like this?

Luna touched the back of her hand lightly before taking it into her own. “You are safe here, or at least as safe as you can ever be in this life. Don't worry about it. There isn't a test. No one is going to judge you on account of your past.”

What a foreign concept? “Then how exactly will I be judged?”

“Is this some kind of game? What are the rules?”

Moriah leaned back in her chair. Luna really didn't understand her. It wasn't the magic that made this place so strange, but the attitudes of the people here.

Moriah squeezed Luna's hand before withdrawing her own. “No, it's not a game. It's just going to take me a while to let that sink in. I'm not used to being treated, well, I don't exactly know the word for how you're treating me, but it's different.”

“Honestly? I think that might be the word you're looking for. I don't have anything to hide. We don't have anything to hide. So we don't have any need for the lies that you've grown up with.”

The first time she was called a child of the lie, it felt like an insult. It was as if they were saying something bad about her parents and grandparents. She felt like they were judging her.

Now, it appeared so much more descriptive. All of her worries, doubts, insecurities were centered around how she was going to save face in front of the strangers so they would allow her to be one of them. She didn't want them to think she was a fraud.

Maybe she was more of a child of the lie than she ever could've imagined before they pointed it out to her. Every moment of her life, she had to judge the nature of the people in the room, and adjust her behavior to fit in, or at least not to stand out too much.

After a lifetime of worrying about what everyone else thought about her, how was she supposed to just flip a switch and not care anymore? Was it even the right thing to do?

Honestly, how could one simple word change in meaning so much in such a short time? She never thought she was being dishonest, but she rarely let people know too much about her. She changed how she acted so she would be safe, never too loud, never playing into the stereotypes that others expected.

Some of that came easily to her, but she well rehearsed the rest, taught to her by her parents and her friends, who just wanted what was best for her.

It was impossible to believe that life could ever be quite so simple, but she hoped that it could.

The simple, seductive idea that she could just be herself, and not have to look over her shoulders, or worry about who in the room might wish to do her harm, or at the very least wish the worst upon her, was inviting.

Despite all of Luna’s protestations, such a world really did sound way too good to be true.

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Noble Sacrifice: Chapter 6: On Dragon's Wings

River circled in the air above the Trivian Convent. Mother Soteria’s ever-watchful eye tracked them in their ever widening gyre.

The frosty night air whispered of possibilities, and the endless gaze of the moon bored through them to their very core. There was so much to do, and the order was all important.

They flew toward Rowich. They should inform Michael about the accommodation reached over the three wrecca who wandered into the wild.

A flare of frustrated indigo flame jetted from between their razor sharp teethe and ran in rivulets down the deep blue scales of their face, along the full length of their neck to their shoulders where their enormous bat-like wings spoiled it into whorls of shimmering darkness.

No wrecca eye would see them. Their native draconic form blended too well into the night sky.

The last thing they wanted to do was talk to Michael tonight, but if they didn’t, he would intervene. His highness had no business in these affairs and needed to be driven back before he set his sights on a new puzzle to solve.

From above Blackwood Abby resembled a castle. But then their family wouldn't have anything less, would they? Its tall stone facade stood in defiance of the large open field around it, and the neatly manicured tree line that made almost a perfect square.

Nothing about this place was natural, but that was rather the point.

River landed on top of the tower that housed the Salian order. Transforming back into their human form, their clothes manifested out of the shadows into which they were sent.

They walked down the spiral staircase onto an open observation level of the tower.

Michael stood at the window, his long black hair moving in the breeze. “I'm surprised you sent them home so quickly.” The insincerity of his words undercut his deep voice.

“Mother offered them asylum, they accepted, there was nothing I could do that wouldn't violate the covenant.” River adopted the most businesslike tone they could manage.

Michael sighed. “I wish you wouldn't call that fallen priestess mother.”

“It is her title.” River said, wanting to spit fire at their older brother, but not desiring to fight right now.

Michael spun around and glowered at his sibling. "I know that, but that doesn't mean you have to call her that when she's not around. She offered them asylum, did you say?" He rubbed his square jaw and shook his head slowly. “What could have inspired her to do something like that? The Trivian Folk are not known for their hospitality.”

River glanced at the papers in their brother’s other hand. “Are those about the deathless?”

“Yes. There's nothing but rumors and speculation. You know as well as I do, that our father killed him, and lost his own life doing it.”

River nodded, and turned to the source of the footsteps making their way up the tower.

A short woman, with a round face, silver eyes, and ebony glasses climb the steps and smiled at the siblings. Her long hair faded from black to bright green at the tips. “I really do you need to close the books on today's adventure. What has been done with the exiles?”

River smiled at the book wyrm, and said, “Everything's been sorted out as best as can be, but I will be making regular visits to the convent to ensure that nothing goes wrong.”

Jules' eyes widened. “So, they're staying?”

River nodded. “It seems they have been granted asylum, and from what I have seen I think there's every chance that they will accept the covenant.”

“You can't know that.” Michael said. “At best, the fallen will do everything in their power to add to their numbers. It is, as always, up to us to make sure that everything runs smoothly.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” River said in a huff. “We all signed the covenant. We are all bound by it. I am getting tired of you and mother looking down at the others like you do.”

“I can't speak for our mother, but I don't look down on anyone. Unlike you, I take our responsibilities very seriously.” Michael raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips.

River rolled their eyes. “That's it, listen to me, your lordship, you may not like the way I fulfill my responsibilities, but I don't neglect them. I do things my way, and you do things your way. Your way isn't always the best, or the only way. And the sooner you see that, the better relationships you'll have with people other than your reflection in the mirror.”

Michael didn't respond, but turned around and stared out the window again.

River trudged down the steps, away from their brother. If only they could walk away from the position and the responsibilities they were born with.

Jules followed them down into the tower. “Is it wise to challenge your brother like that, especially in front of one of his subordinates.”

“He may be in charge of the Salian Order, but you are in no way his subordinate, and the sooner you and the rest of the people working here realize that the better.”

Jules giggled and put out an arm to stop River from walking. “So are they the ones we were looking for?”

River flashed her a look that clearly read, “this is not the place or the time for that discussion.”

“I was only asking because I didn't know if I needed to file another report with the others.”

River and Jules walked silently down all the steps to the ground floor and out into the vast open space behind the tower. They stopped before reaching the tree line.

Pulling their attention away from the edge of the forest, River stared up at the moon for a moment, desperate to tap their hopes down. “Yes.”

Jules peppered them with questions, but River acted as if they didn't hear any of them, and stood like a statue gazing endlessly at the night sky.

“If you want to be helpful,” River said with a touch of nostalgia in their voice, “You can reach out to the other members of the circle. Let them know I will be in touch soon.”

“You know, if you weren't so damn secretive about all this, we might help you.”

River smiled at her. “I know, but some things require a personal touch, and others are hard to explain. I'm not trying to keep you out of the loop. There are just some topics that I'm not good at talking about.”

“But you are talking to someone about them, right?” Jules asked.

“A couple people familiar with the matter. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine.”

Without saying another word, River leaped into the air and shifted back into their draconic form.

The cursed earth spun beneath them, threatening to return the damnable sun to the sky. Night never lasted long enough to please them. They needed to take flight. Anything to race away from the thoughts pestering their mind. No matter how fast or how high they flew, they never escaped the concerns that preyed upon them in those moments of weakness.

They were like dreams, no, like the memories of childhood dreams barely remembered in the corners of their mind. If it wasn't for the fact that they knew what it was like to be haunted by ghosts, they would compare it to that as well.

It was a ghost after a fashion, but one impossible to share with anyone. On a couple nights, he even contemplated flying into the sun and allowing the light to burn away everything they were or ever would be.

This was not one of those times.

They considered racing towards their sister’s home, but they didn’t want to share this moment with anyone, not until they understood what was going on.

The cold air crackled with a dewy freshness, warning of the impending sunrise.

They didn’t even realize when they arrived home, walked into the house, or went downstairs to their basement. Stretching their wings out, they curled up into a circle on the collection of large cushions they laid out all over the floor so they could sleep in their true form.

Their eyes adjusted to the abject blackness of the space and relaxed. It felt so good to be in their den, but they knew they had to watch this feeling carefully.

Unlike the other members of their family, they didn't allow themselves the luxury of servants, so the house was empty except for the vagrant spirits who found homes wherever they could.

They calmed their breath, and focused their thoughts. Everything had to be perfect, nothing could be left to chance. It wouldn't be long before they were invested with their title, and what remained of their long life was taken by the mountains of responsibility that would be added to them.

Life was complicated enough with their work for the Salian order, and the two secret societies they had sworn themself too. If they counted their family, that would make it three secret societies.

While they knew other dragons, they weren't close enough with any of them to know whether or not all draconic lineages operated like theirs. Somehow, they doubted others had to put up with the layers of secrecy, and nonsense that the Blackwoods set up around them.

Was life in the family like this before their father died? Sev always talked about him like he was some kind of carefree fae that happened to be a part of their family. River had never met a dragon as carefree as the one that existed in their sister's stories.

This is the price they paid for being born into the night slayers family. People treated them like everywhere they walked was holy ground, and everything they did was right and just.

Their family was anything but right and just. It wasn't like they were a bunch of criminals, but they all played in their own ways on the outskirts of what was right. If the truth ever came out, it would be such a scandal.

The image of reporters interviewing their mother made them laugh. They wondered how many of those interviewers would get roasted alive rather than her submitting to their questions.

River nestled into their bed and told them selves over and over again for today was a good day. They allow them selves to drift off to sleep.

How Goth music changed my life and made it better

In 1990, two things happened that would change the course of my life forever. One. I heard the Nine Inch Nails song, Head like a Hole, for the first time . The second thing that happened was I told my friends that I liked it.

Up until this point, I had been a kid of the eighties and early nineties. I liked a lot of the hair metal and a lot of the pop music that was around at the time. But there was something about the sound of this song that just drew me in and made me want to hear more.

And so when I told my friends that I had been listening to Head like a Hole, they were like, oh, You like that? Have I got something for you. This Is when my world of music expanded and changed, and I got into a lot of genres I had never thought about before. I started listening to punk music, had a friend introduced me to the Dead Kennedys, and TSOL. The True Sound of Liberty. And the more he realized that I liked that band, especially songs like. Darker My, Love, the more he started introducing me to other bands like Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cure, Sisters of Mercy, and eventually, we got into the really amazing goth music of Christian Death.

There are so many bands I could list here. There's so many bands that I could talk about that really helped foster this change in my musical taste. And it's hard to say exactly what it was about this music that called out to me. It may have been the atmospherics. It may have been the tone. The sarcasm that's most of the singers delivered their lyrics with.

It's hard to say exactly what it was that drew me first into Gothic music, but I can tell you what held me there, and what converted me into the scene and into the subculture. And that was the album Rise by Nosferatu . still to this day, one of my absolute favorite albums.

From it's haunting intro track, to the title track Rise, Lucy is Red, I fell in love with the sound, the storytelling, this world that was being open to me. The more I got involved with the music, the more I got involved in the scene. The more I started dressing the part, playing around with the makeup.

What I found in goth music was a community of like-minded individuals that had a sarcastic view towards life, a morbid curiosity, and who joked about death.

I always find it funny when I hear people talk about goths and goth music, because they tend to confuse us with other scenes and other crowds. And I get it. The aesthetics are similar. But that's all that they are, aesthetics. Goth music is an umbrella term for a whole bevy of sub genres from coldwave to shock-a-billy, and everything in between. . It arose from the post-punk scene and took a lot of its cues from the New Romantics.

Whether you believe the genre started with Siouxsie and the Banshees, Joy Division, or Magazine, there is one band that was at the forefront of the sound, and that was Bauhaus. Most people that have any familiarity with the goth scene, are familiar with them from the haunting sparseness of Bela Lugosi’s Dead, to She's in Parties, to the myriad beautiful albums that Peter Murphy did after leaving the band.

There's a haunting quality about goth music and it speaks to something deep down within you. It's not about telling our stories. It's not about connecting to real feelings.

Goth is a dark fantasy world, where monsters lurk in the shadows, where technology is out to get us and to rob us from some of the simple joys of life.

It's a genre that refuses to die, and continues moving on even to today with bands like. Vision Video and Male Tears. Though they aren't together anymore, O Children is one of the best goth bands of the last, maybe 10 years. Disco Dancers Dead is a quintessential goth track that if you haven't heard it, you need to check it out. It's a good entry point into the genre .

And it's hard to explain exactly what the music is, because, like I said, it's an umbrella term for a lot of different genres. Shock-a-billy is rockabilly, think Elvis if he was a regular guest, on Elvira's show, talking about all of the splatter flicks and creature features that were coming out.

Cold wave takes on the aesthetics of new wave music, but. It makes them more distant, more echoing more haunting, and of course, more synthesizers. And I would be remiss if I didn't point out if you wanted a really good example of this genre to check out the Frozen Autumn's wonderful song. I love you, but I've chosen synthesizers.

And in that song, you get a sense of what I'm talking about. This sense of humor that pervades the Gothic music, from Christian Deaths. Jesus, if you love me, where's the sugar.

To the sarcastic love songs, Spectre (love is dead) by Christian Death.

There is. Just a macabre tongue in cheek humor that fills. All of the music. And unites the scene together.

Now, if you ask two goths to define goth music, you will get four to five different answers, and that again is a problem because it's not one genre. There are many debates as to what actually constitutes a Gothic genre. And I feel like I should say since I started out talking about how my entry point to this world that led me to goth music was Nine Inch Nails, Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson are not goth. They may share a certain aesthetics, especially in their early music videos. But. They have nothing to do with and no connection to the musical aesthetics, and goth is after all a music scene.

When I first started thinking about writing this post, it came about because my friend, Megan McCarthy who writes is writing a post about her love for Emo, and my initial ideas for this post were, quite scathing of Emo because. Goth and Emo are both very different genres of music and they're often confused for each other. Again, because some of the visual aesthetics are the same, even though the lyrical content and the just style of instrumentation is so different. And so I have grown to have a distrust and a subtle dislike upon hearing about any emo act, or emo band. I'm getting better. I'm not as bad as I used to be about it, but it persists and it's still there.

The biggest problem that I faced in writing this essay was asking myself, why does it matter?

There are so many ways I could have approached this. I could have broken out the dynamics of the music and done a tear down of all the genres. I could have listed all of the bands that you should check out and I will list some I've already listed a few.

But I think the most important reason for me to write something about goth music is just to say how much it's meant to me. Not just the songs. While, there are some songs that have over the years taken on a very special meaning to me.

Time of Legends by Nosferatu

Black Planet by Sisters of Mercy

Almost anything Rozz Williams ever recorded for Christian death.

The music and my love for it is important, but what goth really gave me was a sense of community.

In so many ways goth music works like a shibboleth, if I mention a goth band that I like or a goth song that I really, really love, and I see somebody respond to it, while we may not be best friends forever, I know that we have certain things in common, and this is somebody I want to talk to. In fact, I've made a lot of friends over the years that way.

Or people will be talking about music and something that they really love, or obscure bands that they're into that most people haven't heard of and I'll bring up like Clan of Xymox or Alien Sex Fiend, Virgin Prunes. And amongst people that are not in the scene, they start geeking out about the names of quite a few of these bands. But when somebody reacts knowingly. I know that I can have a conversation with them.

We probably share certain aspects of our sense of humor in common. We've probably read a lot of the same books, watched the same movies, and have a similar taste in common. That goes beyond just that band.

Got music is a scene after all.

And that sense of community has been so important for someone like me who has a hard time making friends. I am not a big fan of talking to strangers. I am fairly introverted and don't like putting myself out there. And to have this kind of a shorthand, where I can just mention something in conversation and see where my people are. I've done this with other things too, with Star Trek and Star Wars and some of the other literary and film and TV franchises that I am fond of. But goth music has been much more consistent in bringing my attention to people that would become valuable, and integral parts of my life. People that I would talk to for years, decades. Build longterm relationships and friendships with.

And I'll forever be grateful. To this dark, moody and broody genre for bringing that to me. Because it seems like such a paradox that a music genre known for its obsession with death and murder, and vampires, and demons, and dark stories. Would be able to bring people together, and to bring them together in ways that are so fulfilling. But it happens.

Now don't get me wrong, not all goth scenes are perfect, or good. And there are a lot of toxic goths out there. There are toxic people in every scene. But to this day, my love of all things, goth and Gothic, has not only inspired my art, brought comfort in the darker times in my life, brought me humor in the good times, and brought me friends. When I needed the most. It's been a gift.

And if you're not familiar, maybe you should check it out. It's not for everyone, but if it is for you. You know what? We might have more in common then you think.

Noble Sacrifice: Chapter 5: Words from the Window

Ellis struggled to take their eyes off River. Sister Lydia gently tugged on their elbow to encourage them to follow her. As they turned away, a frigid emptiness broke within their chest, hollowing them out. 

They and their friends followed Sister Lydia as she led them across the courtyard as strange eyes judged them for crimes they didn’t understand. They entered the largest building, into what must have been the common room or the dining hall of the convent.

Whatever words Mother Soteria and River Blackwood had to share were not for their delicate ears. After all, why would they be interested in their own fate?

Why did these strangers care about their future so much? No one who didn’t know them should have such strong opinions about them. If they really wanted to help, all they had to do was explain the options to them, and then trust them to decide for themselves, but that seemed to be one of the few things beyond their ability.

Sister Lydia waved her hands with a flourish. Gas lamps flickered to life on the walls and candles ignited in the center of various tables around the room.

The interior of the convent lacked the expected austerity of a religious community. Soft cushioned chairs covered in luxurious burgundy and gold fabrics sat around square and circular tables with no high table or place of honor, obvious to the eye.

Sister Lydia showed them to a table in the back of the room farthest from the door and the stairs.

Ellis sat to the left of Moriah, Peter on her other side. Lydia sat opposite them and kept her eyes on them like they were vipers that might strike at any moment.

“I apologize for all of this.” Lydia said, slightly lifting her hands from the top of the table. “I should have wiped your memories and sent you home.” She squinted. 

“Why?” Moriah asked.

“You don’t belong in the middle of this feud.” Lydia said flatly. She glanced at the door. Her upper lip curled. Her voice deepened. “It’s too old and boring to subject anyone to it.”

“I understand nothing that’s happened since we found those statues.” Peter slapped his palms on the table. “We were on a hike, and now we are in a cult compound waiting for strangers to decide what is going to happen to us.”

“They aren’t a cult.” Moriah snapped at him. “We walked off the edge of the map. That’s on us.”

“And now we might never get home.” Ellis said. Their breath caught in their chest. Dizziness twisted their vision. For a second, they forgot where they were.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Lydia asked. “We learn all about your world in school. I mean, if I had a choice to leave a world built on lies and deceit, I would jump at the opportunity.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter asked.

Lydia frowned. “For starters, you didn’t know magic existed before you ran into Graycek, did you?”

The three shared a glance and sighed in unison.

“I always hoped.” Moriah said. “But no. Magic only existed in fairy tales.”

“I am sure the fae had something to do with that.” Lydia said with a strange look on her face, somewhere between disapproval and amusement.

Ellis straightened up in their chair. “You mean fairies are real too?”

Lydia nodded. “Fairies, dragons, giants, you name it, and it is probably out there somewhere. That is what I am talking about. You know nothing about the real world.”

“How?” Peter said. “Look, I love a good story as much as the next person, but all of this is an illusion. Smoke and mirrors and flash paper. None of it is real.”

Lydia leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers in front of her face. “I felt the same way when I heard about your world. You don’t have healers. People go hungry, they die of exposure to the elements. You live in a nightmare world, and you want to hold on to that instead of accepting the truth right before you.” She took off her mask, revealing her striking features and brown skin. She was in her late teens or early twenties, like them. “If you want to suffer for the rest of your lives, rejoin the rest of your exiled people. Mother Soteria is offering you a chance at a better life.”

“If you can do all those things, why do you let us suffer?” Peter asked. “How are you any better than we are if you have the power to save so many and don’t?”

Lydia sighed and set her mask down on the table. “What do you want us to do? Conquer you? Force our way of life on you? How would that be just or right? Our people have fought against each other and on the same side since the beginning. We just stopped fighting and let you all have that nightmare you call life.”

“Which is why the age of heroes and legends ended...” Ellis said. “Your people exiled us and magic disappeared from our stories.”

Ellis didn’t want to leave their friends, but if Lydia told the truth, they had to know. Her promises sounded too good to be true, but they begged investigation. If Mother Soteria and River Blackwood decided to cast them out, they would beg to stay.

“Exactly. It wasn’t easy. The elders argued about it for centuries, but they were so tired after the last Great War, they just didn’t want to fight anymore.”

“So you chose to let us suffer.” Peter said.

“We didn’t choose anything.” Lydia said. “We sent our heralds to invite everyone into the covenant. Your ancestors chose not to join.”

“Or had someone else make the choice for them?” Moriah said.

“Not exactly.” Lydia said. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is.” Moriah said.

“If you stay, I will explain it all to you. But there’s no point getting into it if you are just being sent back to the wrecca.”

“We have to stay.” Ellis said. “If they cast us out, there is nowhere for me to go.” They shook as tears welled up in their eyes. “There’s no room for people like me in the world we grew up in.”

“You belong with us.” Peter said. “To hell with the people who don’t bother to get to know you before they judge you.” He scowled at Lydia when he said that.

“I am just tired of being judged.” Ellis wept.

Ellis just let the tears flow. Peter and Moriah did their best to console them, but they were tired of consolation. They just wanted to live their life their way, and if these people offered even a chance for that, they had to take it.

Despite their fear of opening up to the flood of emotions that tormented them since they were a child, eventually the tears dried up. The pain wasn’t gone, but they just didn’t have any tears left to cry.

In the awkward silence that followed, minutes felt like hours, and Ellis lost all sense of time. They couldn’t believe how long Mother Soteria and River Blackwood argued about their fate. 

Lydia offered them and their friends their own rooms for the night. She said the argument would have to be over by morning no matter the outcome.

What choice did they have? They agreed and were led to separate rooms.

Like everything in the convent, the interior was lush. Ellis’ room was nicer than any hotel they’d ever stayed in. The bed was soft and firm and seemed to cradle them with a mother’s love.

They laid in their bed and stared out the window, hoping Peter and Moriah would be alright in their rooms.

Someone tapped on the window.

Ellis jumped back.

River sat on their window sill rapping with their knuckle on the glass.

Ellis took a deep breath, got out of bed, and opened the window. “Have you made your decision?”

“Nah. Mama is still lecturing me, or at least the image of me.” River grinned mischievously. “I thought I would learn more talking to you.”

“Me?” Ellis stepped out of arm’s reach. “Why me?”

“You aren’t as sure of yourself as the other two, so you might be more honest with me.”

Ellis couldn’t argue with that, no matter how much they might want to. They weren’t as sure of themself and never had been. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me your truth.” River said, like the question should mean something.

“I was born in Middletown, Maryland in 1976...”

“No, no.” River interrupted. “Not the facts about you. Tell me something true.”

Ellis turned away from the window. “You might as well send us away because I cannot imagine a world where I would fit in.”

Ellis returned to their bed and sat facing River.

River smiled at them and nodded slowly. “I know that feeling all too well. Among the wrecca I would be considered a freak, a monster. My own people don’t see me much differently. I thought you wanted to stay.”

“More than anything.” Ellis sighed. They would not break down crying again. “I just don’t know what to say to make you let me stay.”

“Maybe you don’t have to say anything.” River said. “What about your friends?”

“They are the only people who ever treated me like a real person instead of an oddball. They never made jokes at my expense. They accepted me for me.”

River clapped their hands. “At least you found somewhere to belong. I don’t see anything abnormal about you, except your lack of charms, amulets, and talismans. You do have enough jewelry on to make up for it though.”

Ellis scowled at River. “Was that a complement or a cut down?”

“Neither.” River said. “It is rare that I interact with anyone who isn’t Sith Thyrsa. I suppose it is refreshing.”

“Who isn’t what?”

“On the path of the Giants.” River smiled. “What I hear you saying is that we don’t really have anywhere to send you back to.”

“I am not magical.” Ellis said. “So I could never fit in.”

“I don’t know about that.” River said. “My dear, everyone learns magic. Even the Rephaim, have to study the arts. Power is inherent. Mastery is not.”

Something in the way River said mastery sent chills through Ellis’ whole body. It was akin to how a lion might say hunt.

“So you are willing to teach us magic?” Ellis asked.

“I never said that.” River squirmed on the windowsill. “But I do think that at least you might benefit from staying here. If you want to?”

“People will look for us. Aren’t you afraid people might uncover your little hideout?”

“Not even in the slightest.” A wicked expression cloaked River’s face. “We can cause people not to think about you for your time here. No one will miss you, and if you choose to go back, it will be like you were never away.” River pursed their lips. “I can only imagine the look on Mama’s face when I agree with her.” They hopped off the windowsill and disappeared into the night.

Ellis leaned back in the bed. Nothing that happened tonight made any sense, but then, life didn’t much these days. There was something about River that felt familiar. Maybe it was just that they were as gender nonconforming as Ellis. After all, they never met someone else who wasn’t a boy, wasn’t a girl. What did Lydia call them? Unbound.

Ever since they graduated high school, they just went about their life from day to day doing what was expected of them. They didn’t correct people who caricatured them, went to work, earned money, and did whatever was expected. They never imagined as an alternative, another world that could take them away from the doldrums of life. Even with magic, how different could life really be? More complicated? That went without saying, but the simple banality of living wouldn’t go away just because they could work wonders, would it?

Something in Ellis changed since they talked to River. Were they bolder? It was hard to tell, because that was a word that didn’t fit them well, or at least it hadn’t.

It wasn’t that no one had ever asked them what they wanted before, or actually seemed to care about the answer. Peter and Moriah cared and often asked for their opinion. What was so different this time? 

River’s silver eyes were hard to read, but there was something about the way they looked at Ellis that caused something to stir.

If only it was something as simple as lust or desire, that would have been easy to understand. This was something far deeper, more elusive. Words failed them.

Ellis had no idea how much time passed. The comfortable bed lulled them to sleep not long after River left. At some point later, a gentle knock on the door woke them up.

They sat up in bed and stretched the sleep from their limbs.

Lydia peeked her head in. “Mother Soteria and River Blackwood have agreed on you fate. Please come with me.”

Ellis repressed a giggle. River told them already, but they didn’t want to give up the game.

Peter and Moriah stood in the hall, waiting for them. By the look of them, Peter slept while awaiting their fate. He really could sleep through just about anything. Moriah took time to braid her raven hair in pigtails and fidgeted with the ends impatiently.

The three of them followed Lydia back down the steps, along the corridor and out into the courtyard.

Mother Soteria stood with River beside her. The other sisters watched from their windows in the surrounding towers.

“River and I have reached an agreement.” Mother Soteria proclaimed. “You will be allowed to stay here with us, where we will teach you your lost history, and take you on some trips into Ashborne and Nightfall. Then you will be offered a chance to accept the covenant or return to your former lives with the memories of everything that happened here erased.”

“And if we don’t want to stay?” Peter asked.

“Shut up.” Moriah said, shooting him a scornful glance.

“We are not jailers.” River said. “If you don’t want to accept this offer, then I will take your memories now and escort you home.”

“Do we have the right to discuss this first?” Peter asked.

“What is there to discuss?” Moriah turned to face him. “Think about what we’ve seen tonight, and what more there is to learn. They are offering us magic. Real magic. Why wouldn’t we say yes?”

Peter grimaced like words beat against his lips, trying to escape, but he wouldn’t let them out. “If you are staying.” He said through his teeth, “I am staying.”

Moriah turned to Ellis, who just smiled back at her.

“I knew you had good taste.” Moriah smirked. “It’s agreed then. Do we have to sign anything?”

“In blood?” Peter said under his breath.

“Not unless you choose to stay.” Mother Soteria said. “Unless you have something against her, Sister Lydia will lead you back to your rooms, and we will begin in the morning.”

“And I will return tomorrow night to check on your progress.” River said with what sounded like a rehearsed menace in their voice. They motioned to Sister Lydia, who walked over.

River said something that took Mother Soteria and Lydia aback.

They whispered among themselves feverishly. Mother turned and looked from Peter to Moriah to Ellis, then said something to River that made them laugh.

“What do you think that’s all about?” Moriah asked.

“They are probably devising ways to torture us.” Peter said.

“You can’t believe that.” Moriah said. “Except for Graycek, they have been nothing but generous to us.”

“Is that what you call this? They have threatened us and locked us in a tower like a fairy-tale princess.”

“I don’t mind being treated like a princess.” Ellis said, “It is better than being treated like trash.”

Peter stiffened his back. “Who’s treating you like that?”

Ellis raised their palms to calm him down. “It’s not one person. It is everyone. Moriah and I are excited about this, so just let us be happy.”

“I don’t trust them.”

“Then don’t trust them.” Moriah said. “We don’t have to trust them, not yet. We just need to give them a chance to prove themselves. I want to see what else they have to offer before I decide one way or another. Is that too much to ask?”

Peter shook his head.

“If you're ready to head up.” Sister Lydia said behind them.

Ellis smiled and nodded at her, then watched River turn and walk into the dark night. They disappeared into the shadows.

The spectral form of Graycek rose from the ground and danced around them, singing a dirge with only the words “Fresh meat” in it.

Sister Lydia led them back into the tower with a fresh spring in her step.

When they reached the floor their rooms were on, she said, “I had a sleeping draught brought up for each of you. If you choose to drink it, you will wake up refreshed no matter how much sleep you got.”

Ellis thanked her, walked into their room. For a split second, they thought they saw a black cat sitting on the nightstand next to the cup. They drank the cup of purple liquid and sat the cup back on the nightstand next to the bed and remembered nothing until morning.

Noble Sacrifice: Chapter 4: Pawns

Ellis helped Peter and Moriah to their feet, and they followed Lydia through the dark woods. Nothing made sense to them since they found those statues.

The dead Graycek danced in a mad circle around them, singing the melody of an ancient children’s song in a language Ellis didn’t know.

If this were a prank of some sort, the level of commitment was beyond anything imaginable.

They didn’t speak as they followed the mysterious, flying nun, who landed when they reached a paved path up to an old stone building atop a hill. A high stone wall with a wrought-iron gate surrounded the odd circular building which loomed over them. Unlike any church or cathedral they’d visited, this building welcomed them like a long-lost child returning home.

It was just their luck they ran into a cult in the forest who would probably sacrifice the three of them to their pagan gods.

Past the ornate wrought-iron gate in the circular wall, they entered a courtyard. A group of nuns stood in a V in the center before the carved wooden door of the main building.

The iron gate clinked shut behind them.

At the point of the V, a skeletally thin woman with her face covered waved them closer with a boney hand.

“Mother Soteria,” Lydia said. “These are the wrecca who violated the wild.”

“Thank you, my child.” She responded with a spectral voice that had a rich British accent. Or was it Irish? “Welcome to our sanctuary, sweet children of the lie.” She bowed graciously toward them.

“They claim not to know how they passed through the barrier.” Lydia said.

“As I expected.” Mother Soteria said.

Her voice made the hairs on Ellis’ neck stand up like a heavy thunderstorm approached.

“I am much more concerned with what to do with you.” Mother Soteria continued. “I should take your memories and send you on your way. The Salians would do as much, but their ways are not always ours, are they sisters?”

“We serve the will of the Great Mother.” The other nuns said reverently in unison.

“But if you passed through the barrier, you may not be wrecca, so it would be wrong to return you to the ranks of the exiles who raised you.” Mother Soteria stepped toward them. Each footfall matched an odd clacking sound. “One of you is male, so we should call Father to judge him.”

The other nuns laughed.

Ellis didn’t get the joke, but it was apparently a good one.

“For now, you know that magic exists and things really go bump in the night.” Mother Soteria said, raising her hands flexing her hands to mimic a cartoonish monster. “The question is, do you want to know more?”

“I’ve studied Hermeticism and Rosicrucianism.” Peter said.

The nuns laughed harder.

Mother Soteria’s laugh chilled Ellis to the bone.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Mother said, still laughing, “I mean real magic.” She waved her hands and whispered something under her breath and a ball of fire burst into life between them, hovering about a foot off the ground. “I’m afraid your Hermes and ours are very different people.”

Ellis wiped the sweat from their forehead. Whether it was from the heat of the flame or fear, they couldn’t tell.

Mother Soteria clapped her hand, and the fireball exploded.

The flames licked at the tip of Ellis’ nose.

When the light faded, the remnants of the fire burned away the religious garb of the nuns and Mother Soteria, and they resembled a crowd of girls at a Goth Night, all black leather or lace or velvet with shining silver chains and spikes.

Mother Soteria wore a black Victorian dress trimmed with white lace and a blank, expressionless porcelain mask covering her face.

On closer inspection, that wasn’t a mask. She painted her face stark white with black around her eyes, outlining her cheeks. On her forehead, she wore a circlet with a red metal circle with a silver T in the bottom half, and twisted black horns that curled from her forehead to point behind her.

Ellis fought the instinct to run screaming. None of this could be real.

Peter retched.

Moriah stood tall, grinning.

“None of this surprises you, girl?” Mother asked.

“I always knew life couldn’t be as simple as they say it is.” Moriah said. “I always wanted magic to be real, but nothing I’ve tried ever worked like that.”

Mother laughed and clapped her hands together. They made a sound like a struck wood block. “Then you may be one of us.”

“I don’t want to be a nun.” Moriah said.

Ellis couldn’t believe what they saw or heard. Sure they wanted to live in an enchanted world, who didn’t? But this was too much.

“Stay with us then.” Mother said. “Why go back to your other life?”

Ellis shook their head. “People will miss us?”

“Only if you want them to.” Mother responded.

For a second, Ellis swore they saw her cold demeanor crack as she smiled for a fleeting moment.

“Are we your prisoners?” Ellis said.

“Better ours than the Salians.” Mother said. “They would make you forget everything and send you away. We are offering you a new life. Besides, I was unaware that an unbound like yourself could be a prisoner.”

“Unbound?” Ellis asked.

“Not a boy, not a girl.” 

Something stirred in Ellis as she spoke.

“Don’t worry, child, you will like it here. Our way of life is different, but will probably be more to your liking.”

“It is not just different,” Graycek said in a mocking tone. “It is better. A life of magic and mystery, filled with spooks and monsters.” He cackled.

“I’m in.” Moriah said.

Peter whipped his head around to stare at her like she slapped him.

“You can’t be serious.” Ellis said. Monsters and ghosts weren’t their idea of a good time or a better life.

“Do you want to forget everything we’ve seen tonight?” Moriah asked.

“A lot of it.” Ellis said, glancing at Graycek.

“If Moriah’s staying,” Peter said with a waiver in his voice, “Then I am too.”

All eyes fell on Ellis. 

“I can’t leave the two of you here.” Ellis surveyed the strange surroundings. “We set out for a crazy night, and this counts, I suppose. Fine. I’ll stay.”

“Really?” an androgynous voice said behind them.

Ellis started and spun around.

A tall person in a white asymmetrical tunic and black jeans leaned on the gates with their arms crossed. Their red hair burned in the Moonlight like fire. “I don’t think that you have the right to keep them here.” They said in a knowing tone. “I could allow it, but only because it would irritate my brother to no end.”

“Childe Blackwood.” Mother Soteria said. “I am surprised you came instead of the Salians.”

Childe Blackwood cringed at her words. “Call me River and save all that Lord and Lady shit for my brother, sister, and mother.” Fire flickered in their solid silver eyes. “Michael wanted to send them, but I was bored and a little human hunting sounded fun. You broke my heart finding them first.”

“I found them.” Graycek said with a flourish, a bow, and a wave to an imaginary cheering crowd. At least Ellis hoped they were imaginary and not just invisible to them. “So sad they are not food for you. Maybe you should hunt somewhere else.”

River laughed. “You know I wasn’t going to kill them. Mama would be ever so pissed at me for that.”

“Unless you shared their sweet, sweet human meat with her.” Graycek said.

“Let me in so I can assess them.” River said, suddenly serious.

Did they actually eat human flesh? What kind of place was this?

“So sorry, but we granted them asylum, and they accepted.” Mother Soteria said.

River smirked and shook their head slowly. “You can’t believe they are children of Gramarye.” They said. “They are not related and the odds for three orphans finding their way home is highly unlikely.”

Mother Soteria walked to the iron gate, then said in a seductive tone, “They are children of mother Lilith, and if they haven’t fallen for the lie, then they have a claim to their birthright.”

River rolled their eyes and sighed. “You are claiming they came seeking asylum? Lady Blackwood won’t buy that for a second. Besides, you of all people know they are not true children of Lilith. If they were, I would smell the ashes on them.”

“No, dear Childe, I am saying the Great Mother drew them here, and have the right to learn of their birthright and choose to sign the covenant or forget everything they have seen.”

“Birthright? Do you have any proof they were to raise Trivian? I doubt it.”

“Do we get a say in any of this?” Ellis asked.

“Not if you want to live.” Graycek intoned in a song of warning, “At least, not yet.”

“We should.” Moriah said. “And we have. Mother told us we could stay. If we are the children of the lie, what does that make you?”

River grinned. “Well said, but I don’t think you truly understand what you are asking. If I let you stay here, even for a while, it will be so much more work for us when we send you back.” They stopped talking and looked at Ellis. Their eyes flared. “Besides, it isn’t your decision, at least not yet.”

“It isn’t yours either.” Mother said firmly.

“Mother,” River said with a silky, inviting tone, “You can’t expect them to accept the Trivian way based on what they see in your convent. Let me take them into Ashborne or Nightfall. There they will encounter the varieties of human magic.”

“Including drycraft.” Mother spat. “They will be fine here.”

“All humans practice drycraft whether or not they admit it.” River grinned. “Are you afraid they will reject your Great Mother if they see the alternatives?”

“Not at all.” Mother’s voice was calm and measured. “What more could you offer them that we couldn’t? Besides, I thought we weren’t in competition. Doesn’t the covenant say something about us all having to get along? I simply don’t believe you will give them a chance to be free.”

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When support feeds our sense of inadequacy

I've had a bit of a hard time lately. It's been not the best kept secret in the world. My. Podcasting has dipped and I've been talking a whole lot about how this is hard, that is hard, hollowness emptiness, ennui. But yeah, it's tricky sometimes to get past all of the chemistry in my brain and see the world as it really truly is .

I have some friends that are very supportive , and really trying to help me out right now . And my brain decided to interpret that as them having absolutely no faith in me. And that's a me problem. That's not as them problem and we're going to talk about that on today's episode, of Project Shadow .

Hello everyone. My name is Charlie. I'm a non-binary scifi fantasy writer, and you can find all my stuff over at projectshadow.com. And yeah, I'm going to have kind of a low key chat. With y'all today. I hope that I have some morals to the story. I hope that by the end of this, you'll see the path that I'm trying to walk through and maybe, just maybe if you're having a similar crisis of confidence, you will find something in this that'll help you out too.

Because I've made no bones about it. I have no self-esteem. Absolutely none. In fact, anytime I take pride in anything that I do, fear grips me and I am afraid that I have become a narcissist.

Yeah. Any thing that even resembles self-esteem gets interpreted by my brain as some form of vanity, and that's not a good thing. That's not how my life should be in. That's not how living should be.

And I know I'm not entirely alone in this. I've talked with quite a few people that. Have similar struggles. With how they interpret. Events that happen around them. And that this lack of self-esteem, of seeing our innate value and worth, is infectious, and it bleeds into every aspect of our lives.

The struggle is compounded this year as:, I don't want to rehash everything that I said in last week's episode. But yeah, this pride is hard and it's such as this pride month. It's the last couple years have been really hard. And it seems to just be getting worse and it seems to be getting harder. And I mean that on so many levels, I mean that professionally, I mean that in my personal life, my health. And just society seems to be crumbling around us in this weird apocalyptic nightmare that we're going through. We're not addressing any of the issues that actually matter, and, instead freaking out over whether or not drag shows should happen. That just feels like something from a bygone era that I thought would be gone by now. But here we are.

In this place where I have a very kind and supportive friend group. I have both friends in the town I live in. Not many, but some. And I've made some very good friends online and we've built a very good community for each other. And we're very supportive and helpful, one for another.

And lately, there's been a part of me that has felt that the support, care, and kindness I get from these friends. Is just pity. It's just them in the kindest way that they know how offering to do things that they know that I am just incapable of doing for myself. That I am just so bad at life and living that they have to do things for me.

And I know that's not the case. This is definitely a me problem. This is the depression that is trying to reassert itself in my life. This is the depression that is trying to take me down again. And so it's trying to frame all of the acts of kindness, of love, and support that are aimed at me into something other than what they are, so that it will have more control over my life. And sometimes, in the grip of it, it is really hard to see that. Sometimes, when it's so viscerally grabbing me, it is really hard to see through it's lies.

Even strangers who make polite comments, my initial reading of them lately has been something condescending, or something bad.

The good thing is that I've learned to see through that. I've learned that this is a tactic that my brain uses when the depression is trying to set in, and truly get a grip over me . And I know that like with everything it will pass .

It is something that comes up and it goes away. It's like the tide. And right now, the tide is rising. Because with all the stress and everything else in my life, it's been triggered. Also recently I had somebody just pass through and, hit all of my PTSD triggers one after another really quickly. All on like a. 10 15 minute time span. And, that jingled up a lot of things that still haven't settled back down. A lot of unprocessed trauma.

And. What I've realized through all of this is that the advice that we're generally given to just let go it's not always the best way through .

It's very hard, sometimes, to see what is right in front of you. We have this misperception that, what we see in the world around us is the actual world around us. And it isn't. It is on a slight delay because there is a delay in the brain between when the optical information hits the brain and when it's processed. Also how that information is gathered leads to distortions. We may or may not see the full color spectrum. We may or may not see the full event. Our eyes are constantly darting around and the brain is interpreting what it's seeing and filling in the gaps. The world that we actually perceive, the world that we see with our eyes, is not necessarily the world outside us. And I don't mean that in kind of some kind of a, spiritual way. I mean that in a quite literal way.

Our assumptions have a lot to do with how we perceive the outside world. And those assumptions are tainted by a lot of different things. Our mood can affect the way we perceive and interpret events. Our physical comfort can also do that. It doesn't help that while I'm going through all this it's moving into summertime, and so there are a lot of fronts going through that are causing all of my muscles, and joints to ache.

But all of those perceptions get mixed together in the brain to produce what we call reality.

And once you come to accept that what you are perceiving is not in fact reality, but your personal interpretation of it, your subjective interpretation of it, then you're getting. Better. At actually interacting with what is real. And that's a whole topic that we could go into on a completely other day, but not right now.

And so where I've come to is going back to this concept of oscillation.

I've made no secret out about how I am a Metamodernist. I am fascinated by a lot of the ideas in metamodern theory. And how it actually describes the world around us, as well as, how we participate and interact with it, and oscillation is one of those things that is so rooted in metamodern thought. And I don't see a lot of people really talking about it. At least not outside of those boutique Metamodern salons, where we gather around in our dark corners and talk in, very long-winded, academic terms.

Oscillation is hopping back and forth. Oscillation is in a lot of ways, what replaces, dialectical thinking, which is what happened in postmodernism. And see there, I did it. It's all these $20 words. Let's try to simplify that just a little. Okay.

A modernist had an ideal, and interpreted the entire world in accordance with that ideal. It is the way the things are. It's how things shall be. That's what we are going to do. We are going to impose our will on to the cosmos. Yeah. That didn't really work out so well.

The post-modern came along and accepted not necessarily Hegelian dialectics cause there are very specific form, but except that the idea of dialectics. So there's this thing on site a there's this thing on site B. And that's our thesis and our antithesis. And what we have to do, if we're going to be all smart, and brilliant, and get to the other side is we're going to figure out the synthesis. What's that thing in the in-between that's going to get us there. And the apex of this kind of dialectical thinking is the triangulation of the Clintons. If the right's over there and the left is over there. Let's pick this point. It's somewhere in between and we'll call that the center. And we should be able to get a little bit of the people from the and a little bit of the people from the left, and that should be enough. And it worked for Bill. Didn't work so well for Al Gore or any of the other Democrats that tried it after. It definitely didn't work that well for Hillary. But that triangulation. Is the basic mode that a lot of postmodern thought has taken. Where we try to take the middle ground, we try to find between the fight between the thesis and the antithesis would try to find that thing that comes out of the middle, between the struggle between the two.

Oscillation is different. Oscillation kind of gets into this whole realm of spectrums and spectra. All the different ways that the world can be seen. And it says that we don't have to take a side. I don't have to decide today with our I'm going to be an idealistic, modern person, or if I'm going to be a sarcastic, ironic post-modern person . I can oscillate between the two.

Now, this doesn't mean that I'm wishy-washy and I just flipped back and forth. It's that I start to see this spectrum between just bleak sincerity and empty irony. And it's like the plus and minus ends of a battery. So I can draw power from it . And the power that I'm drawing will put me on one side or the other, maybe a little bit more this way than that way. It's a field In which I can play. It's a place in which I can find out for this situation right now, am I going to be. Ironic or honest or some mixture in between.

See it's beyond the simple relativity that you had in post-modernity. Where there's no right, there's no wrong. dot.dot. There's really no answer after that. There's just, there's no right. There's no wrong.

But with oscillation, we see both of these poles as sources of power, sources of energy, sources of thought that may inform the situation modes of action that might in fact be the way forward, but instead of having to pick one or the other, instead of being either or, like you would in the modern era, or both, and we would be in, the postmodern era. We find ourselves in this place where it could be both neither, either and. And until you start actually doing this, it may sound confusing. It may sound so paradoxical. And you know what it is, but paradox is a huge part of our lives.

So if I'm here to tell you that my self-doubt and my self esteem are a spectrum that I oscillate between, they're both places that give me power. The problem is I spend most of my time over on the self doubt side. And self-doubt really, isn't a bad thing. Self-doubt helps to keep you from thinking too highly of yourself, from becoming vain and narcissistic, and keeps you from ignoring the problems in what you're saying, doing, working on. There's a healthy kind of self-doubt that we can cultivate within ourselves that isn't self destructive . And it seems true with self-esteem. Self-esteem is not just vanity. It's not just puffery. It's not just thinking highly of yourself. It's valuing what you're doing.

And when you start seeing these is the spectrum that creates this plane. This field on which we play. Yeah. Sometimes it's okay. To say, I know the sentence isn't exactly right. It's not the way it should be. I know that line really isn't where it should be, but. I kind of like the aesthetic. It's okay to do that. It's okay to have so much self-esteem in what we're doing that we just accept it's flaws. And move on. But it's also okay to have a certain amount of self-doubt , and to sit back and go, well, no. I don't think I'm confident enough to say it that way. I don't think I did this exactly the best I could, maybe it should be revised. It should be edited.

But when we talk about oscillation, I love this word. I love this term oscillation cause it reminds us we have to oscillate. We have to go back and forth. We have to play on the field.

It's kind of like if you're playing soccer or football, if you're in the rest of the world that's not the United States, if you're playing football, and you just want to stay on one end of the field. You don't want to actually go out and play.

And I know what you're saying, because you're probably seeing what I say. Right. Well, in this analogy, then you, what you don't understand is I'm the goalie. No, no, no, no. You're not the goalie. You're out on the field. There are times to be a goalie. There are times when we do need to hold our ground quite firmly. When it comes to the spectrum between fascism and anti-fascism, I'm a goalie. I'm on the side of anti-fascism and I am not getting out on that playing field. There's no game to play. My goal is to block fascism every time it tries to score.

So, yeah, sometimes, sometimes, yeah, play the goalie. But in most of the things in our life, we actually need to be out on the field. We actually need to be out there playing. But we convince ourselves way too often that we need to be on one side or the other.

And I'm not arguing for some kind of enlightened centrism here. There are some things that, yes, you should be on a side. Human rights. Yeah, I'm going to block everybody who wants to take away basic human rights. LGBT rights. Feminism. Now feminism still has a plain field because I can see some of the points that most feminists make, but if there not being intersectional, If they're not looking at race and gender identity, sexuality as part of how they're looking at, feminism, if they're not looking at socioeconomic class and all of that, I pretty much play on one side of the field. Like I'm not all the way over in the goal, playing goalie. But I'm not really going to cross midfield cause Intersectionality is important.

And that's the power of oscillation is you start learning where the poles are. You start learning, where is this field of power? Where is this field of energy? Where are the limits.

And so as I'm struggling with my own self doubt, one, I need to learn to see the strength that I can find in it. Very few of our emotions are truly 100% bad . Some are bad. My desire for self-annihilation that it gets some time, that's bad, that's bad. But generalize self-doubt, yeah. I need, some of that, I need to constantly be challenging myself and. Wondering if I could do better in my fiction, in my podcasting, in the way that I deliver a philosophical idea or an artistic one.

I need to be challenging myself all the time on those things.

But it's also a good thing every now and then to go across midfield, cross across that center line, over to the other side and maybe have a little steam.

Maybe, let myself look at something that I've done and be proud of it. And go, yeah, I did that.

But always with that check in my mind of, have I gone too far?

Not so much so that it's controlling or limiting or. Isolating her breaking me down. But. Just enough to keep me from running around thinking that I'm so great and I can do no wrong because. Yeah, none of us are so great that we can do no wrong.

And that's really. What I've been learning lately, is this really intense struggle in me, to always be on just one side, and not to see the other side of the spectrum. Or that there is a spectrum in between this huge playing field that, you know, what might have more than one axis. We may be playing on a two dimensional field where there's also a left and a right, not just a forward and a back. We may be playing on a three-dimensional field where there's also an up and a down. There may be all kinds of intersections that come in to play, where we learn where we need to be at any given time. But it's not ever a fixed point, unless, you're dealing with fascists, or racists, or sexists, or homophobes or transphobes. You know, the general maybe people shouldn't exist for an innate characteristics people. Maybe we should control people because of innate characteristics people. You know the ones. Yeah, no, the people I'm talking about.

And when you start understanding oscillation, when you start understanding this back and forth, this give and take, this playing field that exists before us, it really helps navigate life because you don't have to pick a side all the time. You don't have to be mad that you're on the wrong side or fight to be on the right side. Cause maybe, right now in your life, the site for you to be in somewhere. In between. Maybe you're slowly drifting over to the side that you want to be on. But in most situations, there's actually a large and varied series of options that we hide between simply naming the poles. Simply naming the goals on either side that overly binary thinking that gets us into trouble. All the time.

So, yeah, that's, that's how I'm going to get through this. Yeah, I want to be independent. I think we all want to be independent to a certain degree and those of us who are in indie publishing definitely have a bit of an independent streak. Also, when you have chronic pain, you feel like you're putting people through a lot, just because you can't do things sometimes because of the pain. When you have chronic depression, you also feel like you're. Being a burden to people a lot. And just because people are helping you, and either ways that you find actually helpful or ways that are well-intentioned, but wrong for you. As long as they're well-intentioned, as long as you can have a dialogue with them. As long as you can have that understanding that there actually trying to help. And not just trying to insert themselves in your life cause I think they're better than you. Yeah maybe their support isn't so bad. Maybe them trying to support you is not their way of telling you that they have no faith in you as a human being, or you as an individual. Maybe, you should stop being so self serious. And yeah, I keep saying you, but I'm really the you I;m talking to . I don't know. I might be talking to you too. And if so, Here we need to get over ourselves. .

That's the struggle that I've been having lately, and that's where I've ended up here.

I hope that this has been able to help you in some way. Thank you so much. For your time.

Don't forget to share this with anybody that you think would, like it, or need to get this lesson in their own life.

You can find. All my work over at projectshadow.com.

And until next time, don't forget to have the fun.

Bye.

The Noble Sacrifice: Chapter 3: Prayers in the Chapel

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Sister Lydia Talbot kneeled in prayer with her sisters around the solitary red candle. Her knees pressed into the hard, cold stone floor of the convent. Shadows stretched from the high pointed windows over her and her sisters in faith. The leering moon sought a glimpse of the sanctum.

Luminous golden butterflies emerged from the dark skin on the back of her hands. They encircled them as they said their prayers to the Great Mother to protect the village from the villainy of the liars who lost access to magic centuries ago.

She’d grown up away from the technological terrors of the unsotha, or wrecca. These liars, exiles, refused the honest path of the giants. Her people didn’t abandon their faith either, but they still pledged themselves to the covenant. They weren’t liars, and greed was a vice in short supply among them. Lydia imagined the cruelty of the wrecca world as clear as any nightmare she’d ever had.

To her right, Sister Rayvinn, who practically glimmered in the soft candlelight, manifested silver braids from her hands to weave the community together. On her left, Sister Ines summoned forth a shower of cleansing light that rose through the air to heal their people. 

The flame of the red candle between them turned black. Each of the sisters finished their last incantation and listened reverently.

“Sisters.” The spectral, accented voice of their Mother Soteria caused the black flame to flicker as it carried her voice into the room. “Three wrecca wandered into our lands. The Salian Guards of Blackwood Abbey have been alerted, but it would be better if we investigated their presence first to discover how they made it past our defenses. Sister Ines, check the strength of the barrier. Sister Rayvinn, speak to the leshy. Sister Lydia, go to the Shrine of the Manes and find out what they know.”

Lydia choked down her desire to protest her assignment and intoned with her sisters, “As you wish, mother.”

Mother Soteria wouldn’t punish her for speaking up, but it was unnecessary to make a fuss. The Salian Guard would show up before too long, so she didn’t have too much to fear from the wrecca. Besides, she had magic and could defend herself from whatever they threw at her.

She stood with her sisters and donned her simple white porcelain mask. She nodded at them and left the chantry to retrieve her broom. Strictly speaking, she didn’t need it to fly, but added to her wimple, scapula, and tunic, it would complete the image of a witch the wrecca made for themselves. Intimidation was a valuable first gambit when interacting with the exiles.

A promise weighed on her heart, another obligation that she brought with her to the order. If any of the exiles were ever to return, she swore to send a message.

Energy crackled from her hand into the wood of the broom, and it floated at waist height before her.

Lydia sat on the broom like she would on a ledge. She whispered a prayer to the winds and kicked up into the sky. Flight was freedom, even if she had to pay the cost for it. Sure, later tonight, her muscles would ache down to the bone, but it was worth it.

She flew in a spiral high above the convent, and whistled the secret song into the night air, giving it enough magic to carry to the ears who needed to hear it.

Arising like a soft crescendo, the heavy beat of dragon’s wings approached from the west. Her green and black scales glistened in the moonlight.

Lydia smiled. 

The book wyrm, Jules, flew toward her with the fae Orla riding on her back.

Orla’s face shone silvery white like the moon. She whispered the words and wove with her fingers the web of light between them so their words would carry without having to shout.

“May the peace of the blinded angels find you well,” Orla said, as if they were sitting across from each other at a table in a quiet room.

“And may their sacrifice ever live on through us.” Lydia lowered her head as she spoke. “Three wrecca have made it into the wild, and I was told if this were to happen that I needed to inform the order.”

Jules puffed out a cloud of smoke. “I am sure they know already, if this is that, but we will pass along your message.”

“How am I to recognize if they are the ones?” Lydia asked. Dragons and fae were not the ones to seek simple answers from. Nothing the order did was ever simple, either.

“The standing order doesn't say.” Orla said in a businesslike tone, then added colloquially, “But you would think if they really wanted us to find someone, they would give us more details, wouldn't you?”

Lydia laughed. “Well, I suppose it wouldn't be much of a secret society if they didn't keep secrets even from us.”

Jules laughed, and flames flashed into the air below Lydia's feet. “There are many rumors about shadows haunting the night. Some say that the deathless has returned.”

“Why can't people except that deathless has finally died?” Lydia rolled her eyes, remembering the tales of the battle of winter’s end.

“Maybe because he's called the deathless for a reason?” Jules made a smoky hiss that anyone familiar with dragons new as a sign of sarcasm.

“After all, how many times has he been reported dead?” Orla said.

“But they found a body, and it hasn't moved, this time he is really dead.” Lydia said.

“That is not dead, which can eternally lie…” Jules said, adding a deep chested echo to her voice.

“But this time I assure you, the deathless has truly died.” Lydia shook her head. “So you truly know nothing about the wrecca we're supposed to be keeping an eye out for?”

“Only you do. Did you find it odd that they keep bringing it up at every briefing? If it was so important, what aren't they telling us?”

The Blinded Angels, like most secret societies, compartmentalized the information they held and sought, so only a few beheld the complete picture. Unlike their counterparts, they weren’t ancient, arise alone with the wrecca nation in which they were founded. How many secrets we kept in their vaults?

It made no sense for the order to fixate on the fate of a particular exile. The only reason that possibly made sense was that they were trying to revive one of the old hunter's guilds, but there hadn't been open conflict between the magical and non-magical world since the 1940s. Hopefully, the mistakes of the past were not about to repeat themselves.

“I would keep an eye out, though, if I were you,” Jules said in a hushed tone, well as muted as a dragon could be. “If chaos really is brewing, you will want to stay as far away from it as you possibly can.”

“What exactly do you mean by chaos?” Lydia asked.

Orla glanced around to ensure that they weren't being observed. Light flickered in her eyes and she extended her vision far beyond what she could ordinarily see. “There has been a great concern growing in the county court. We're not entirely sure what it entails, but I can say with some certainty that the dark gentry no something they're not telling the rest of us.”

“They are not even telling the other dragons.” Jules said. “I don't know. It's not strange for dragons to keep secrets from other dragons, but this is different. I've had a very close relationship with Severina for ages, and every time I ask her about it, she changes the subject.”

“Do you think it's just a bit of a family scandal or something more?” Lydia asked.

“Well, I know most of the family scandals, and if this is one of those, then it must be quite a doozy if they're hiding it even from me.” Jules spoke with the solemnity uncommon to her.

“Come to think of it, Mother Soteria has been rather cagy about something lately. I just thought it had something to do with the elders that we keep in the crypt.” Lydia struggled to remember the situations she was referring to. “There are more sarcophagi from the old country scheduled to arrive soon, but I refuse to think they would smuggle anyone dangerous into the country.”

“They don't have to be dangerous,” Orla said, “just someone who isn't supposed to be here.”

This was the one thing that Lydia hated most about being a part of the blinded angels, all the secrets and innuendo.

Mother had done nothing, really, to make her suspicious, and yet here she was doubting her. All things being equal, she never would doubt someone she would become so close to. In times like these, though, all things were no longer equal.

Lydia thanked Orla and Jules and watched them fly off to deliver her message.

If nothing else, she's done her duty, and what else could I ask from her. It was just difficult to live up to her obligations when she didn't know what all they truly wanted from her.

Flying over the stone walls of the convent, she headed toward the wild, keeping mindful of the wyverns recently spotted in the area. They would be difficult to see against the night sky, but sound of their wingbeats should give them away.

Just ahead of her, Graycek’s cackling laughter scared the birds from their roosts.

With a shake of her head and a silent sigh, Lydia descended between the tree branches to the shrine.

Three young people sat in a circle with their backs pressed against one another, shaking with fear as the lanky di inferi Graycek danced wildly around them.

Lydia hovered over the statues of the blinded angels and said, “Stop that, Graycek. You’re lucky I arrived before the Salians, they might have banished you back below.”

Graycek stopped on the spot and curled his lip at Lydia. “Oh, that would be so much worse than being here. I stopped them from running so we could deal with them our way, would your rather I let the leshy have them?”

Lydia responded with a stern gaze before turning her attention to the wrecca. “Now, the three of you must not speak except to answer my questions. Don’t lie to me, and do not try to drag me into your lies. Do you understand?”

The three wrecca passed a frightened glance between themselves, then nodded.

“How did you get here?” Lydia asked.

“On foot.” The male almost snarled at her.

“How did you get past the barrier?” Lydia said.

“We didn’t see a fence or a sign on the path.” The woman said.

Lydia landed before the third person, who hadn’t said a word. “What is your name?”

“Ellis.”

“Well, Ellis, my name is Lydia. Do you know how you got past the barrier?”

“We just wanted to have a picnic, and got lost.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think you did.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I need you to follow me. Mother Soteria needs to speak with you.”

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This Pride is Difficult

This Pride is Difficult

This pride feels different. This Pride isn't like the ones that we've had before, where we were free to party and celebrate and give into the corporate overlords that just want to make money off of us.

This pride, we are under attack.

500 bills have been put into legislatures to limit what trans people can do. Drag bans are proliferating across the country. And yeah, it looks like the courts may come to our rescue, but we can't rely on the courts. This year, Pride needs to be a protest, and we're going to talk about that on this episode of project shadow.

I didn't really want to record this, but here we are. Hello. My name is Charlie, and I'm a non-binary Scifi fantasy writer. You can find more of my stuff over at ProjectShadow.com which is, actually, where this podcast is now being hosted from. Hope everything is going well with the transition there.

Yeah, I haven't been recording podcasts a lot lately. And a lot of that has to do with just everything going on.

It's hard for me to focus on any one topic, when I feel like we as a community are being ripped apart, torn apart, [00:02:00] and destroyed, from the inside, out from the outside in, from every angle that. Anyone can find to come after us.

It's been a hard time.

And I know a lot of us are feeling that.

It started with all the mass shootings.

It was hard to make a podcast and talk about this TV show that I liked, or this movie or this book, when people were literally dead on the street, and a school, and a mall, and the synagogue, and the nightclub.

It was hard to bring that spirit and energy that I really like to have on this podcast, and talk about all of the things that I love to talk about with all of that going on. [00:03:00] It felt frivolous hollow. Like I was somehow mocking the dead.

So I said nothing.

And then the attack, on our rights started, and it was even harder to talk.

In my state, right now, it is. Illegal, for me to transition.

Illegal. I can't do it. The doctor would get in trouble. See, I'm autistic and, you can't provide gender affirming care to autistic people, and nobody really knows what that means. Can I get laser hair removal? Is that gender affirming care? Is it not gender affirming [00:04:00] care.

Would it be gender affirming care if I were not trans. What does that mean? What does any of that mean?

And that's taken some time to think about, and deal with. I don't feel safe going out of the house. I don't feel safe in the community.

I can't afford to move. I can't afford to live anywhere else.

I have too much debt from the business that needs to be paid off.

Yeah, I don't know what to do.

I don't know what to say.

And that's been a big problem with the way that I've handled a lot of these issues over the years.

I always wanted to have something to say. I always wanted to have [00:05:00] an answer.

Something that I could offer that would make things better.

And so I stayed quiet.

And that silence is hurting.

That's silence is breaking me 'cause now. I have guilt. Now I have. This overwhelming guilt that is washing over me because I haven't been saying as much as I want to. I have this guilt washing over me because I haven't done, anything, and it hurts. It hurts so much. And I wanted to record this podcast [00:06:00] because I know a lot of you are also feeling this and I've gotten to this point where it's okay not to have answers.

It's not okay. We have to find some way to fix this. We have to find some way to make things better, but it's not our fault. If we don't know what to do.

It's not our fault. If we don't see a way forward.

It's okay.

Other people are also working on it. The world doesn't rest on our shoulders and, eventually, we'll get to where we need to go. Someone won't figure it out there. There's a lot, a lot of big brains out there, struggling through these same issues and looking for the answers. So I have faith that we will get [00:07:00] to a good place.

And I know this sounds like a downer, and a dark topic and a dark place to be in, and it is.

I'm not going to lie. I'm not going to sugarcoat it, 'cause, that's not gonna help any of us.

We have to except what we can and cannot do.

The one thing that I can't do anymore is remain silent.

I don't know what that's gonna look like. I don't know if you've been over to the new project shadow.com. Lately, but I have been writing essays about art, and protest, and pride, and the sense of hollowness that I have been struggling with. I've also been putting [00:08:00] out stories over there. If you want to check out either the Shadow Phoenix Saga, or Blinded Angels, they're both over there.

Yeah, it's a struggle. Right now.

And every time I talk to people, it's a struggle because they're feeling it too .

But I think the real catalyst for recording this episode and the reason I am here talking to you all today is I was asked this week to give a talk about Pride to a predominantly cis-gender straight audience.

And of course I said yes, because if I didn't do it I didn't know who would, but it hurts.

It hurts to talk.

Not because the audience that I have or the people that I'm going to be talking to or anything other than accepting.

But, for so long, for so many [00:09:00] decades. I have been in this. Loop.

I feel like I'm in one of those episodes of Star Trek, where they get caught in a time loop. And they've seen and noticed that they're in a loop and they know that they're in the loop, but they don't know how to get out of the loop.

And unfortunately, I don't have a Data with me that can figure out how to get out of the time loop.

But for so many decades of my life, I've had to justify my existence. I've had to explain to people why I deserve dignity. Just basic dignity. And to be left alone .

And you know what happens when you have to explain to people why you should just be left alone to live your life. You're not being left alone to live your life.

And it wears on you.

I know a lot of you feel that too. [00:10:00] I know a lot of us are struggling with this pain right now. A lot of us are dealing with this anxiety, this constant fear of what's going to happen.

And also this just dread of having to explain everything again. Oh, so here's the gender spectrum. Here's the sexuality spectrum. There's a difference between sexuality and gender. In fact, a sexuality is a lot more complex than you think it is. There's the aesthetic spectrum. There's the romantic spectrum. There's the I want to make love to you spectrum.

Yeah. We all have a script by now. Unless you're, particularly young.

And we've developed over the years that we can just go [00:11:00] road blind, and just recite it off the top of our head.

Just recite it. Just say the things that we know that people need to hear, because we've had to say it so many times before.

But there was a riot outside of a. School board meeting in Glendale, California, over whether or not they should declare. Pride month, in LA county, in California.

In California.

And I lived in California long enough to know that it's not a monolith out there. But. All right. Like people were attacked. Three people went to jail. And of course it's the usual suspects. The proud boys showed up and various other fascist groups showed up and instigated [00:12:00] violence. Terrorist violence.

And that's I think what has this most shaken? Terrorist violence was used against Target and target has capitulated. Threats of terrorism were used against Bud Light and they capitulated.

Threats of violence. I've been waged against children's hospitals.

And no one's calling it what it is, it's terrorism. These are terrorists .

They are enacting violence against a civilian population to achieve political aims. That's the basic definition of terrorism. But because we've accepted the framing of the culture war, this rubric that well, there's two [00:13:00] sides and you have to respect both. No, no, no. See, it's a culture war over whether or not you should be abstinent or be more sex positive. .

That's culture.

Culture is what fashion we are going to love, support wear. That's culture. Music taste is culture. Whether or not humans have a right to exist is not a culture war.

You see it, wasn't a culture war issue.

I'm not even going to go into it. This is not a cultural war.

You, I don't care if racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia.

Queer phobia. ACE phobia.

I don't care if any of these things are a [00:14:00] part of your culture. It's not a culture war issue. because that means that there are people that you should be listening to on both sides. And there aren't both sides to this issue. There aren't two sides to. I believe that these people have a right to exist. and I believe these people have to be eradicated.

One of these is genocide , and the other one is respecting basic human rights. And that's not a culture war issue. And it doesn't have to be treated with kid gloves. You don't have to respect any genocidal fascist point of view, or perspective, and I don't. Well, no, no, no, that's not true. I was going to say, I don't understand why the media would do that, but I do understand. I do because the culture war [00:15:00] exists to distract us from the real issues that are going on. As long as we're talking about this dangerous music or this dangerous dance trend or, oh no, there are sharks in the ocean. We're not talking about the existential threat from climate change. We're not talking about how the billionaire class is robbing us all of our wealth so that they can have more numbers. Because honestly, after a certain point, wealth is just numbers and it doesn't matter anymore. It's meaningless.

But number go up. That's all they care about is number go up.

And we're going to notice that our numbers are going down, but their numbers are going up, so instead of letting us realize that, let's weaponize, whatever we can. Who's the marginalized group of the week .

And it. If it [00:16:00] works. They double down. But of course they can't come across as just abjectly racist, sexist. Queer phobic. They have to dress it up. It's a cultural war. We're just covering the culture war. How can we know who is right. This group is saying that black people should have a right to live and exist. This group says that we should just police them all and throw the ball into prison because they're racist. Who's to know who's right. Well, it's easy to know who is right. The genocidal, racist people are wrong. The sexist people are wrong. The queer phobic people are wrong.

Basic morality, humanity. Ethics.

I know it's a gauche term nowadays to say compassion because it feels so overused because it's the [00:17:00] one thing that we're lacking.

But we need compassion one for another. We need to be able to stand up and speak up for our siblings, sisters, and brothers. And if we're not going to do it, then we're lost.

That's the thing right now. They need to divide us. They need to divide us really hard. That's why Abigail Schreier wrote her book. And Joanna Rowling is doing all of the things that she can to make our lives a living hell internationally. It's pure evil. If you can divide women from queer people, then it's easier to take away both women's rights and queer rights. If you can divide people on race, then it's easier to take away the rights of the people that you don't want to have them.

And that's the trick. [00:18:00] That's the thing that's being done to us right now. Oh, no, there's drag queen story hours where drag Queens put on wholesome drag, and. Basically play a clown, and sit down and read kids a book, maybe dance while lip sinking one of their favorite pop songs.

Oh, how scary.

But of course they have to make it scary because if it's not, oh, we might notice what they're actually doing, what they're actually up to. And I know this sounds conspiratorial and it sounds like I've got my tinfoil hat firmly placed on top of my head, but that's the way it is.

We have to stand up. We have to speak out. We have to realize that this is what they're doing. It's divide and conquer. It's the oldest book in the [00:19:00] art of war. How to win, against your enemy divide and conquer. Get the women's scared of the gays. Get the men, hating the women, get the men hating the gays.

Hazzah. Now you have an army of disaffected men who hate women so much, that women can't stand to be in their presence that are now upset, that they can't have all woman. Oh, look, ready-made army.

The oldest trick in the book. It's the oldest trick. It's the only trick that they have. And they're using it again and they're using it successfully and it infuriates me.

But I feel like a broken record cause I say this all the time.

Nobody listens and nobody cares.

We just move on. I'm not saying that you don't listen. I'm not saying that you don't [00:20:00] care. But that. cisgender, heterosexual group of people out there that hegemonic whiteness. That just believes that it's right, because it has a liberal lean. They're not listening.

They don't want to listen because if they actually hear. The pain in our voices. If they actually see the harm that's being done to us, our country, our world, our environment, it would shatter them, and make them have to get off the fence, and have a position.

And the scariest thing for anyone who has a comfortable life. It's having to have an opinion . What if that comfort is [00:21:00] taken away from you. What if that comfort is an illusion . What if that comfort is built off of the pain and suffering of others. Oh, no. I can't see that. That would be bad.

And so they turn away, or they convinced themselves that it's just the culture wars.

People are getting hurt. People are dying .

We can remain silent, and let them win.

Or we can find the ways that for us, a safe to speak out.

This pride is hard. This pride is hard cause honestly like the rest of you, I just want to go and dance and sip some alcoholic beverages and maybe partake of other legal substances that are [00:22:00] present around the country.

But yeah. No this year, this year, we have to fight. Like we had to fight last year, but nobody listened. And the year before that, and nobody listened.

We have to shout so loud, they hear us.

And maybe, just maybe. Actually take the time to listen.

And want to be doing that in a couple of different ways.

One. And would we be doing this podcast again, over on sub stack. If you're hearing the sound of my voice, then you have already had your subscription moved over to sub stack. So don't worry about that. You're good. But you could always go over there and subscribe. You'll get an email. Every time I post a new chapter of a story, a new essay or [00:23:00] a new episode of this podcast, the Non-binary Writer, or any of the other things that I do.

And yeah. Maybe. If you can, think about supporting me over there with either a monthly or an annual donation. I say donation, it's a subscription, but it really does help me , carry on. Times are hard right now, and I know they're hard for all of us. If you can't afford it, don't do it. If you can only afford a one-time donation, check out my Ko-fi at ko-fi.com/cedorsett.

But yeah.

We're going to get through this. We're going to find a way through this. And, I'm going to find a way to bring some joy. Back to my life and hopefully to yours. Yeah.

We can't do this alone . We have to do it together. That's the other nice thing about the [00:24:00] sub stack, because you can join the chat over there. And we can actually talk about things. Make plans. And you can tell me what stuff you'd like me to talk about on the podcast and the blog and everything else.

All right. Thank you for listening. I hope you enjoy the podcast.

And until next time. And I know I say this at the end of every episode, and hopefully now with everything going on, you understand why.

Don't forget to have the fun.

Bye.

The Noble Sacrifice: Chapter 2: The Inferi

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The specter glowered down at them from the top of the angelic statues, in a perverse mockery of everything Ellis ever thought or believed about the world.

“Th-thank you.” Ellis stammered, gripping onto Moriah’s arm.

“What are you, really?” Moriah almost whispered.

“What?” The inferi pantomimed shock. “How rude is that? I didn’t ask you what you are. Granted, I doubt any of you would know how to answer that question, anyway. I am Jeffry Graycek, but if you call me Jeffry or Jeff, I will take your soul here and now. As to what I am, dear girl, I am dead.”

“Liar.” Peter found his voice, even though he hadn’t stood back up. “The dead are gone. There’s no coming back.”

“So true.” Graycek clicked his tongue and shook his head, “but I went nowhere, fool. My children made sure of that. Thank the Great Mother, I suppose, but I would have liked to be asked if I wanted to hang around after the end.” He pointed at the plaque on the ground. “That is my grave. You can dig me up, if you like, to see if I am still there.” 

His mouth broke open into that nightmarish, unsettling, oversized grin. He hopped into the air and hovered over the blindfolded angel statues. “The real question is what to do with you all. Mother Soteria must know you are here by now. I should keep you here until the Trivian Sisters arrive, but I would love to see the look on mama’s face when she finds out you escaped.”

Ellis stood still. Years of bullying taught them to always keep an eye out for aggressive movement.

Moriah giggled nervously. “Then why don’t you let us go then.”

“Maybe I don’t want to?” Graycek said. “Perhaps I want to have you for my own.”

“To do what?” Peter asked.

Graycek made a sound between a sigh and a moan, and silently clapped his hands so slowly it was like the surrounding air resisted the motion. “Oh, there are so many things I could do. Maybe feed you to a beast, divide you body from soul just to see how you would react. Or perhaps I could just stare at you to see what mischief you bring upon yourself.”

Ellis steadied themself. “I doubt you will do any of that.”

“And why is that?”

Ellis shivered under the inferi’s icy gaze. “You said you were a god? Who would worship someone so cruel?”

Graycek laughed derisively. “That is a title, a figure of speech. No one worships me. I am a servant to my community, which you are not a part of. Some might even say you are a threat to it, and that I should treat you as such.”

“We are no threat.” Moriah said.

“Aren’t you?” Graycek hopped onto the ground right in front of her. “You come from the kingdom of the son of chaos, the domain of the lie. We have worked hard to keep your poisons out of our land.”

“We are from Maryland.” Peter found the strength or courage to stand up.

“Yes, I know.” Graycek spun and ran up on Peter in the blink of an eye. “Do you think I care what you call your homeland? Those are just words. I remember life among your kind. The greed and hatred, you are nothing but a danger to yourselves and others.”

“We are not a threat.” Moriah said. 

“Oh,” Graycek sang out and fainted backwards, throwing his arm up to his forehead. “We wish you no harm.” He rolled through the ground and emerged again, right at Moriah’s feet. “Now, why don’t I believe you? Is it because I remember the witch-hunts, the hatred in the eyes of the men who murdered my parents, or is it because you grew up in a world where truth is a commodity bought and sold like cattle, and treated just as kindly in your abattoirs of greed. Don’t think you can trick me. I have seen what you are capable of.”

“We’ve never harmed anyone.” Ellis said.

Graycek slunk around Moriah and stood nose to nose with Ellis. “Is that because you haven’t had the chance yet, or because you haven’t felt justified enough to carry the act out? Don’t think you can fool me, playing innocent. You have no idea how old I am, how much I have seen. I know your kind well.”

Those words cause something to snap inside of Ellis. “What the fuck do you mean by, my kind?”

The inferi grinned a ghastly glare at them. “If only you knew, but it is not for me to say. I am not your educators, teaching is not what I do. And more is the better for you, because I would claw that foul little mouth right off your face.”

Courage, or blind foolishness, took over Ellis. “I doubt you would touch me. Since you're not the one in charge, your masters would not take kindly to you for doing so.”

Graycek clapped his hands. “Well said, child, well said. But I have no, masters as you put it, but it would be a pity to deprive myself of the spectacle that a wrecca in the wild would provide.”

“What did you call them?” Moriah said with a fury in her voice that would've warned any normal person to stay quiet.

“A wrecca, an exile, you foolish girl. That's what you all are and what you should all remain.”

The specter laughed and danced in a wide circle around them, so quickly there was nowhere for them to run or escape. “You see, children, once upon a time your kind was asked if they could stop being greedy, and stop lying, just for a while. I asked them to be nice, and they refused. They thought it would be better for them as they continue to hoard the things that they believe brought them wealth and power. Fools, fools, a lot of them were fools. And so you were exiled, kicked out of the real world, to live in squalor that you're kind loves so much.”

The specter’s laughter turned into an echoing howl that reverberated through the forest and shook more leaves off of the trees.

“I don't try to say that you've never heard of such a thing. Because, of course, they lied to you about it. Lying is what your people do best.”

“So you're saying that everything we ever knew was a lie.” Peter said, crossing his arms.

“Oh, yes, lies, lies, and more lies.” The specter laughed and cackled as he continued his dizzying dance around them.

The air grew colder, and other eyes watched them from the darkness. Some were hungry, but others just curious.

“So, what are you going to do to us?” Moriah asked.

“Me?” Graycek stopped in front of her with his hand over his mouth and a shocked expression on his face. “Silly girl, I am going to watch. I don't know what they are going to do to you. I don't even know which fae is going to get you. Can't you just be quiet and enjoy the drama of the situation? Soon, you may be dead, or sent back whence you came. Who is to know and who is to say? But I promise you that if I had my way, your skin would adorn all of the trees, and your soul would be mine with the greatest of ease.”

“And what is stopping you from having your way?” Peter asked.

“Only my desire to see what the others will make of you. Will they get here before the hunters who have your scent arrive and tear you limb from limb? Or will the dark lord lock you in a tower to find out how you circumvented his protections? Or will Mother Soteria make a feast of you for all of the village to enjoy.”

He clapped his hands and somersault it backwards through the air. “There's so many outcomes. The fun will be seeing which one comes to fruition.”

“Is all of this showmanship supposed to be scaring us?” Moriah said with a bored, disaffected tone.

“No. Trust me. If I wanted to scare you, you would know. Honestly, all of this is meant to distract you. To keep you busy and buy time for the others to get here.”

“What others?” Peter asked.

“Haven't you been listening? Well, I suppose even if you had, your simple little mind wouldn't have comprehended any of the things that I have told you, and I have told you more than I should have.”

Ellis ignored the specter and returned their attention to the statues. That same angel called out to them. His name was on the tip of their tongue. They didn't know why. They had never studied angels, or angelic folklore, but somewhere deep down they knew that angel.

They shook their head. The specter still taunted them, but he wasn't a threat. But whatever in the statue that called to them was.

Oroiael. Was that the name of the angel, which is a series of sounds forcing themselves together in their mind. The more they repeated the word, the more it felt right. Oroiael, Oroiael, but where have they heard or seen that name before?

It didn't roll off the tongue easily and didn't sound like any of the names he remembered from the Bible stories they’d read as a child.

While the statue didn't move, Ellis was sure that it acknowledged its name when it was spoken.

Its blindfolded face stared at them through the cold stone, driving all the other thoughts and fears away.

Ellis searched the air for a hint of the angel’s voice, as if certain it tried to speak to them. That was stupid. Statues didn't speak to people. And spirits didn't rise from the ground to torment people, either.

Rubbing their eyes, they wondered when they would wake up from this strange dream. None of this could be real.

They lived their life uncertain about almost everything, their gender, their sexuality, where they fit in the world, what they wanted to do with their life but this one thing they were sure about: there was no such thing as magic.

Ghosts didn't exist. None of this was real. They were having a dream that persisted for far too long. When they woke up, they would tell Moriah and Peter about it, and they would laugh.

They just didn't understand why they hadn't woken up yet. Usually, the moment they realized they were dreaming, their eyes popped open.

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