Lady of the Moonlight

No one knew when the war had started. It seemed to have always been. It was a stream of constant battles between the vampires and werewolves. No one could really say when or how the initial conflict began, but an eye for an eye was a proverb both sides followed almost religiously. Authorities had been called countless times to break up the riots. They stopped coming.

The crows and ravens were the messengers of violence. The smart folk knew to stay away from where they flocked; the clever ones bribed them with food for safe passage. The birds took no sides. They only served whoever best served their desires. They watched. And they waited.

The vampires trusted the ravens. The werewolves knew they could count on the crows.

Until one day they couldn’t.

The day she came.

Whispers spread ear to ear. Rumours. Who was she? Where did she come from? Why this school? She was one of the fae. A siren. An elf. A witch. Something else entirely.

Watching her glide by, her feet hidden beneath the hem of her skirts that trailed behind her, made everyone fall silent. Her eyes were dark and shadowed, her hair gold and ethereal, shining even beneath her hood. When she’d passed, everyone blinked a fog out of their eyes and wondered if she’d been real.

The birds flocked to her, an ominous murder foretelling some doom.

All the fighting stopped when she entered the fray. She always walked into the crowd boldly, and it parted before her footsteps like a mist. All breath was stolen from their lungs. Every head turned to watch her pass. When she was gone, they dropped their arms and walked back to whence they came.

All was silent.

The vampires and the werewolves, once bitter enemies, huddled together in fear of her. They cowered whenever a black shape soared over them and spoke only in hushed tones.

One night, when the moon was full and the wind was still, they gathered in the courtyard to confront her. She stood in the centre, head bowed and smiling as though she’d known all along they would be coming.

All the fire in their eyes went out, replaced by a sheer terror whipped up by the sudden gale that whipped around them.

She may have said something. She may have not said a word. All they knew was that she lifted her arms, calling the black birds to her on the wind. When they surrounded her, a whirlwind of nearly impenetrable darkness, she let out a cry.

And she was gone.


No one knows when the war stopped, or when the carrion birds ceased to flock here. In a single night, both were gone, replaced by a fog of memory long gone.


Writing Prompts Week 27: A Story Featuring A Song

Spinning, laughing, dancing
To her favourite song
A little girl with nothing wrong
Is all alone

She was like a spirit, the way she glided across the ground, her dress fanning around her like blooming flowers as she twirled. The field grass waved alongside her, giving rhythm to her steps. From somewhere, music played, carried on the wind.

Crooked little smile
On her face
Tells a tale of grace
That’s all her own

Humans didn’t come here. Only fairies and spirits. They watched her move with entranced eyes. She came here often, and they loved her. Sometimes one would try to join her, pull her into their own dance, but she payed them little mind as she made her own steps, humming her own tune.

Eyes wide open, always hoping
For the sun
And she’ll sing her song to anyone
That comes along

She always vanished with the sunrise, returning home and leaving her audience behind. They were left with the final notes of the music lingering in their ears. What magic did she possess to entrance the fae so well? None of them knew.

Writing Prompts Week 24: A Story that Ends in a Cliffhanger

The witches of the Three Songbirds Corner inn were a well known bunch. They were always ready with a spell or tincture for whatever happened to ail you, be it illness or ill fortune, and while witchcraft was technically illegal, none of the locals breathed a word about it.

Amelie specialized in warding charms. Everyone knew that if they were worried about an event, or thought there was bad energy around them, they could go to her. No two charms were exactly the same. Sometimes it would be a small glass jar filled with semi-precious stones, and sometimes it would be a sigil written hastily on a scrap of homemade paper. Moonlight was one of her favourite methods of charging the charms she handed out.

Lucia was a master at making ointments. Half the people in town didn’t even bother going to the doctor anymore for their complaints because Lucia could take one look at their symptoms and have something ready for them within the hour. “Take this three times a day, with your meals if you prefer,” they would tell their customers. Whatever problems they had would vanish within the week, usually, if not sooner.

Coren was very good with ghosts. No one quite knew why, but he had a way of speaking with them, and it was well known that he could simply walk up to a building and be able to tell you whether or not it was haunted. Some folks said he had one of his own following him around.

The three of them lived happily together, running their inn, caring for the townsfolk and sometimes even the people just passing through. It was a fairly quiet life, but it was a good one. Amelie and Lucia would go out to the woods in the afternoon to collect wild-growing herbs and mushrooms, and then Amelie would go again in the evening with Coren to trade with the fae and collect plants charged by moonlight.

It was during one of those evening outings that Amelie noticed that something felt different about the forest. It had an eerie chill to it that certainly wasn’t the wind. She hugged the iron nails in her coat pocket for comfort and looked to Coren. His face was stern, looking straight ahead as he watched around them for signs of danger.

“Do you feel it too, Coren?”

“Yes. Prepare tonight’s offerings. I’ll ask the fae if they know anything.”

Amelie nodded and did as she was asked, taking stock of what they had to give in a small burlap bag and setting out a small hand mirror and a slice of honey cake. She stepped back. Coren was better at dealing with the fae, Amelie herself knowing full well that she was easy fae-bait.

Usually they would find a small fairy or another of the lesser fae when they came to the circle of mushrooms. This time, it was something greater. A growing shadow rose up from the ground to tower over the both of them, wearing a bleached white mask and gloves, and a robe that seemed to absorb all the light around it. It was the most beautiful and the most terrifying thing Amelie had ever seen.

“You call us at a dangerous time, humans.” The figure spoke with a voice that never seemed to emanate from itself. It was layered, constantly shifting pitch. One moment it sounded like a venerable man, and the next it sounded like a young girl.

“We call you as we do every night,” Coren replied after a moment’s hesitation. “We wish to know why the forest feels uneasy.”

The figure turned its head, as if regarding the two humans before it, but its face did not change. “Surely ones such as yourselves should be able to divine such answers on your own. What have you to offer for wasting my time?”

Amelie stepped forward then, offering a small vial filled with a bright copper-coloured substance. “Red from the hair of a traveler.”

The being reached long, elegant fingers to pluck the vial from Amelie’s hand and regarded it. “A very rare colour. Very well, you have earned your answer. The land is changing, locking away its magic. Humans have declared a war on our ‘heathen’ kind, and so we shall fade into obscurity.”

“And what will become of us witches?” Amelie asked, stepping forward again. Coren flinched at her sudden demand, and she realized too late that she might have been rude.

The figure looked down at her with a disdainful gaze. “You do not have enough to give for such an answer, and you would do well to learn your place, human.”

Amelie shrank, biting back an apology.

“Your offering, however, is enough to afford you this as well. Leave while you still can. Loyalty is easily forgotten in the face of oppression.”

Coren and Amelie both bowed to the figure, neither being surprised that it was gone when they looked up again. They shared a glance, then turned and ran out of the forest as fast as their legs would carry them.

Lucia could tell something was wrong when they arrived back at the inn. They said nothing, and instead ran up to the attic to fetch their luggage while Amelie and Coren rushed to close the inn.

When morning came, everything changed.

Writing Prompts Week 19: A Story Set In A Theatre

Duck beneath the fallen beam and creep around the rubble at the entrance. This was a familiar path. Past the long abandoned popcorn stand, around the hall. There was only one door still useable on the first floor.

Entering the theatre hall, a lone person was in view. He sat alone at the middle row, watching the abandoned stage.

“I knew I’d find you here.” Continue reading

Writing Prompts Week 14: A Story from a Villain’s Perspective

They were a tenacious bunch, she had to admit; more-so than most, at the least.

How many before these had given up before they’d really even started? She’d lost count of all the so-called heroes she’d watched through her scrying pool that had been turned away by the man at the gate, who offered a handsome sum of gold to turn away and forget their mission. A fair few who got past him were often frightened off, if not eaten, by the various carnivorous pets that lived in her enormous garden. Some managed to make it past the great thorn hedge that surrounded the moat, enchanted to show whoever looked into it that which they most desired.

This group had made it past all those previous obstacles and actually inside the tower. She watched with a cat-like fascination as they crept past traps and battled her spiders, then turned away, bored, as they began scaling the webs.

“It looks like you finally have some heroes to rescue you, my dear.”

A young man lying across the couch looked up from his book. “Must I go back? It’s been so lovely here, and I don’t want to go back to being the princess.”

“Now now, you know it’s all part of the plan,” she said, extending a hand towards him and leading him towards a large, guilded cage. “When your parents become overbearing and try to make you wear dresses and court other young men again, you just slip this poison into their food at dinner. They’ll waste away, and when they’re gone, I’ll return to you and I will have the means to make you as you were always meant to be.”

“And you’re certain this will work?”

“Of course. You’re the royal heir to the throne, after all. Why would they suspect you of being in league with the ‘wicked sorceress’ who kidnapped you in the first place?”

The two smiled at each other, and then she vanished. The heroes came to free their lost ‘princess’ and never suspected a thing.

“And now we wait.”

Writing Prompts Week 5: A Story Set in London

(Sorry this one was late. I had a bit of a week and didn’t remember to write until I was too busy to get anything done on time.)

Amelia never particularly enjoyed riding the tube. It was dark and crowded and far too difficult to get anywhere with a loaded suitcase. She did enjoy the Charing Cross Library, however, and the tube was the fastest and arguably easiest way to get there from her house. The bus was far too easy to lose track of oneself on with the passing scenery and quiet radio.

Finally, Charing Cross Station. Amelia wasted no time hanging about the underground and went straight for the surface, taking the familiar path to the library. There was an air of calm inside, settled gently over the room like a fluffy blanket. It smelled like old sealing glue and wood. Perfect.

The familiar shelves stood tall as Amelia wound her way around them. There was one book in particular that she was looking for. It was a musty old tome, bound in leather and string. Open it too quickly and the velum pages might just tear themselves out. It was with an air of reverence that she plucked it from its shelf, carrying it ever so gently to the lecturn.

With delicate touches, she turned the pages. When she reached the one she’d been looking for, there was a reverent pause. A deep breath. Fingers traced the air just above cryptic runes. Muttered words beyond comprehension.

The room hummed with electricity, and all the books on the shelves burst into life. Creatures strange and wonderous flowed from the pages and danced through the air around Amelia’s head. Unicorns, dragons, harpies, chimera, and all manner of other beasts weaving to and fro on an invisible path, whispering into her ears.

A thousand stories told in a single day.

Writing Prompts Week 4: Tale Of Three Siblings

Taylor was the oldest, always running ahead and the first to trip and skin his knees because he never watched his feet. He was gangly but not quite yet tall. His sandy hair stuck out in every direction no matter how hard his mother tried to comb it into submission.

Gavin was the middle child. His growth spurt hadn’t started yet, and his cheeks still held onto their youthful chub. He preferred to walk slower than his brother, hanging back to make sure Elizabeth didn’t get left behind.

Elizabeth was the youngest by a few years, still dressed by her mother in lacy ribbons and little black shoes that snapped on and made clicking noises when she ran across the floor. Her hair came down in a mess of curls, which she often complained would get in the way.

They saw themselves as adventures, exploring every nook and cranny; first in the big old house they lived in, then in the back yard, and then in the surrounding neighbourhood. Gavin had dozens of maps drawn out in his room of the various areas they’d been.

The only place left uncharted was the woods on the edge of town.

It was an old forest, untended for years and full of large gnarled trees. Their parents had always warned the children against wandering within its bounds, lest they be spirited away by fairies or darker beings. That wasn’t going to deter Taylor, however, and naturally his younger siblings would follow after him.

Elizabeth chased after her eldest brother, dressed in pink overalls and hair tied up in poofy pigtails. She was determined to not be left behind, no matter how many big roots tried to get in her way. Every so often, she’d pause to pick up a pretty stone or a fallen leaf and shove them into her pockets.

Gavin meandered at the back of their little group, eyeing the trees and mentally counting his steps. He didn’t like how the shade felt.

They wandered on for perhaps an hour, perhaps more. There were trees and scattered patches of flowers, large stones rising out of the ground and packed dirt beneath the covering of leaves. Shafts of sunlight would filter in the few gaps in the canopy, making the air look like it sparkled, especially where the light would fall upon the flowers.

Taylor stopped at one of the larger oak trees and put a hand on the bark. It was very old and some of the branches drooped so low that one could pull themselves up to sit on them. Taylor did such, kicking his feet in the air as he surveyed their surroundings. Gavin watched mildly as his brother began to climb the rest of the tree, up and up and up, all the way to the top.

“There’s just so much green!” Taylor called down. “It feels like I’m floating!”

Gavin made a face and turned to sit against the tree’s trunk. He still felt uneasy, though he couldn’t quite figure why.

And then it hit him.

“Liz? Lizzie?” He jumped to his feet, looked around in every direction, even ran around the tree a few times. There was no sign of their little sister. He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Elizabeth!”

No response.

Taylor came swinging down from the tree. “What’s wrong, Gavin?”

“Lizzie’s gone! We need to find her!”

And so the boys ran around, calling out for their youngest sibling. It felt like hours were slipping by as they searched, paying little mind to where they were going. Gavin was the first to realize they were lost. Taylor fell to a crouch and began muttering.

“Please let her be safe. Please let us find her. Please let us get out.” Over and over he repeated those words while Gavin tried to get some bearing on where they were.

“What wrong?” A tiny voice asked behind the boys.

Both heads whipped around to see Elizabeth standing there, smile on her little brown face and dirt caking her overalls, completely unharmed.

“You idiot!” Taylor shouted, throwing his arms around the little girl. “Where were you?”

“I follow fairy parkles. See? Pretty flowers!” Elizabeth held up a tiny bouquet of bluebells and flashed her brothers a toothy grin.

“You shouldn’t wander off like that, Lizzie,” Gavin chided. “We thought we weren’t going to find you again. And now we’re lost.”

“Not lost.” Elizabeth pointed in a direction. “Miss Grover house that way.”

“You already got out?” Gavin asked, shocked. Elizabeth just nodded and began leading the way.

Sure enough, they soon emerged from the forest onto the road right in front of Miss Grover’s house, one block away from their own home.

They didn’t tell their parents where they’d been or what had happened. Later that night, Gavin could have sworn he heard his sister talking to someone in the room next to his. A strange light seemed to hover by his window, then disappeared.