bedding sets - Bing - Shopping - hot.onlinetoprealmoneygames.xyz

Synopsis: After hoodwinking Darkos, a holy priest, into escorting her back to her castle, Dark Enchantress Geela has one item left on her list: revenge on her ex-husband. With a confused Darkos in tow, she sets out. However, Geela isn't the only one with secrets. And Barney isn't the only old enemy who's about to get a visit.
Index ||| Previous Chapter ||| Next Chapter
Patreon ||| TalesByOpheliaCyanide
Geela sat in her cabins, furiously screwing magical latches into a pair of boots she’d been tinkering with on and off throughout the voyage. Darkos had wanted—no, demanded—that they stop at the next port for supplies. ‘Supplies’. Geela knew what he meant. He wanted to be able to walk without falling over. She understood, she really did. And she sympathized. Empathized, even, a sensation she rarely felt and rarely wanted to.
But she didn’t have to like it. Nor did she have to go ashore herself. So instead she fiddled with the instrument that, when complete, should help counter some of Darkos’s wobbliness. Given Darkos’s general deftness on land, she wasn’t dealing with fixing something internal. Providing him with a little stability should, at least, reduce his clumsiness to some staggering. Much better than having him scootch around the ship. It was a bad look for both of them. Besides, while Geela was more than capable of taking out merchants on her own, she was going to need him by her side when dealing with the twins.
As Geela finished an incantation on the laces of the boots, her eyes fell to the small satchel that she’d banished to the far corner of her room. The one she’d come to know as The Barney Bag. The one with the correspondences between her ex-husband and Nefaria. Darkos had, months ago, when they’d first started out, dreamt of a connection between Noire and Barney, and though Geela had since tried to dismiss the omen, she really couldn’t anymore.
She’d only read through a few of the letters but they made her stomach churn. The way Barney talked about her, the disdain, the mockery, the divulgence of personal secrets… It was enough to make her want to scream. It was also, apparently, enough to make Nefaria want to scream, as the woman had, several times, begged Barney to stop insulting Geela’s bedroom performance.
Barney,
Thank you for your latest update on how to spot Geela’s illusions. I’ve long been watchful of the couple that stops by so frequently with heavy suspicions about the Church of Celeste. With your information, I’m almost certain the woman is Geela in disguise. I’m speeding up my plan a bit and will continue to sow suspicion around the church. Let’s see if we can’t get her to break their faith ahead of schedule.
Meanwhile, there is something I must ask of you. Please please PLEASE stop giving me such in-depth descriptions of your ex-wife’s lack of proficiency in certain intimate settings. I cannot stress how little I care. As I do not plan on bedding her, these details literally could not be lower on the list of things I want to know. Please stop. I get it. You two have issues. I’m really not interested.
Cordially,
~ N. S. Keem
Nefaria had kept such detailed records that she’d even kept copies of her sent letters, which was endlessly helpful to Geela, even if it pained her to read them. She could only tackle them a bit at a time, but it had been a few days since she’d read any, so she really ought to…
But. Not today. She got seasick reading when the boat wasn’t moving. Besides, the sooner she got these boots working, the better.
They weren’t planning on staying at port very long, anyway. They planned to set sail an hour before sunset. The First Island Region was actually the smallest of the island regions, so even their capital city, Breezeport on the Island, was pretty tiny. With such a small city and such a short period of time, even Darkos couldn’t get in that much trouble.
--
“You said you paid for it!”
“I’m a pirate, lad! We lie and steal. It’s in our blood!” A series of explosive noises sounded as Geela watched Darkos and Saleman racing down the dock towards The Scilatia. “Just keep your little legs running!”
“My legs—” bang “Aren’t—” pow “Little!” crash.
Darkos could barely keep said legs moving as he and the burly pirate landed on the boat, about three minutes after their scheduled departure time.
“Geela! Get the boat going. Go go go!” Darkos panted the words before flopping down on the deck, beside a significantly less winded Sal.
“Poor man.” The pirate had a light blue bag slung over his shoulder and Geela cocked an eyebrow at it.
“What’s inside?” she asked, tapping a foot like a displeased parent.
Sal eyed the bag and then eyed Darkos, before smiling broadly. “The boy wanted to do some shopping. He likes his trinkets. I said I’d cover it.”
“That means pay for it.” Darkos’s words were a tad muffled given he was still facedown on the deck.
Geela rolled her eyes and looked up the ship at where Bob Grok was fidgeting with a spoke on the ship’s wheel, eager to get going.
“Alright, Bob!” she called up to him. “Let’s get this thing going!”
“Not so fast. These men— hey!”
Geela looked up from Darkos to see a unit of guards planted on the docks, their captain, the one who had spoken, looking furiously at the withdrawn gangplank.
“You can’t just— alright, stop your boat!” he ordered as the ship began moving, slowly at first, through the harbor. “Someone, stop them!” He started walking down the dock, never losing eye contact with an amused Geela.
“Something the matter, sir?” she asked, leaning on the rail so that she was spitting distance from the man.
“Your men stole several valuable items from the Artisan's Market!” The guard, saddled down by a good amount of armor, had broken into a jog, lifting his knees up high, to keep pace with the accelerating boat. “By the laws of the First Island Region—”
“We’re not in the First Island Region,” Geela said. “We’re not on the islands, after all.”
“You are still in our legal jurisdiction, ma’am!” His voice rose as he increased his gait to a run. “Our laws still apply.”
Geela scowled. “Well, I can’t claim to know too much about these legal minutiae. I tend to not pay much attention to them, personally. I can go below deck and do some research, but I fear by the time I get back up, we’ll be well out of your territory.”
He was starting to look panicked as the boat continued its acceleration and he was forced to sprint. “You must turn them over. Let me speak with your captain.”
Geela threw back her head and cackled. “Oh you poor, dear man. I am the captain.”
At this phenomenally timed revelation, the captain of the guards, eyes still fixed on Geela, reached the end of the dock and dashed right off. For just a moment, his eyes widened and bulged as he flailed through the air before landing with a great splash. His guards frantically began yanking their armor off as they dove in to rescue their misfortune leader.
A few stayed on the dock, shouting after the boat to come back, while Geela let out another peal of laughter.
“Let this be a lesson to you about dealing with pirates!” she shouted. “And consider yourselves lucky. Not every soldier who comes face to face with the Dread Pirate Ja’Eel lives to tell the tale!”
She wanted to add more, but they were too far away, and it would start to look embarrassing if she kept shouting when no one could hear her. So instead she waved and gave another laugh, before turning to Darkos, who was still face down on the dock.
“Well? What did you get?” she asked.
His voice, still muffled, wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the sound of the creaking boat, so she looked to Sally.
He grinned. “Well, you’re going to like some of these things, I think. Darkos got some specifically for you and your girl.”
Geela wrinkled her nose at the idea of Jane being her girl. “Eurgh. Probably another hat. Just show me the interesting stuff.”
This finally roused Darkos enough to pull his face from the floor. “No! I want to show her those over dinner. I’ve got a— remember? The presentation?” He eyed Sal dramatically before jerking a head at Geela.
Darkos really was a sweetheart. He knew how much she liked a show.
“Alright, alright, I’ll wait.” By now they were pulling out of the harbor and it had gotten dark out. “Dinner’s going to take a little longer tonight than usual. Mazy and Ru picked up some specialty items.”
“Making us some real fancy goop tonight?” Darkos sounded excited about the goop, something Geela could never quite manage. As good as it tasted, she just didn’t understand how the chefs could throw together tomatoes, pheasant, peanuts, coriander, noodles, fish sauce, shrimp, and bread and end up with grey goop.
Still, her stomach gurgled at the idea too. “I want to do a quick round before dinner anyway. Make sure everyone that I care about got on board.”
“Did the doctor make it?” Darkos asked. She knew he was still scared of the woman, but Doc Chop was an essential part of their crew, partly cause she kept them running and partly cause Geela had yet to find a way to investigate the woman’s enchanted prosthetics.
“Of course she did,” Geela said. “Heard her tapping around on deck earlier.” The sound of the woman’s left foot, which she’d replaced entirely with an onyx spike that ended in a fine tip, had been unmistakable.
Darkos shuddered. “I’d hate to meet whatever did all that to her.”
Geela exchanged an eyebrow raise with Saleman, who let out a burly laugh.
“You already have, lad,” he said.
Darkos looked startled at this. “Did one of the pirates… oh. Oh yikes.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yikes.”
Geela laughed, watching Darkos’s face as he slowly realized that every single one of Doc Chop’s modifications had been elective.
“Feels like that would hurt,” he said, voice quiet.
“Yes, well, I’m sure she knew what she was getting into.” Geela looked around the ship as the lights blinked on, one by one. “I suppose I’ll go to a round of the ship before dinner. Mazy said they’d be done just after sunset, which looks like it’s upon us.”
Sally squinted up at the sky as he reached down an arm to help Darkos off the ground. “Bit early, eh?”
Geela paused at this, looking around the boat. Yes. Yes, it did seem a bit early for sunset. She’d planned on leaving an hour before it grew dark, and while the two had delayed her slightly, it hadn’t been my more than a few minutes. They’d only been out of the harbor about ten or fifteen minutes.
Why was it so dark all of the sudden?
The shouts of her pirates, just a few at first, then more and more, louder and louder, pulled her attention to the right flank of the boat.
“Look, in the water!”
“Oh gods, it’s a whirlpool.”
“Idiot, whirlpools don’t work like that.”
“Something’s coming out of the water!”
This last shout was the closest to true. Geela reached the rail in time to see, only about a hundred or so feet out, the hull of a ship rising from the depths. With no time to lose, Geela raised a hand, triggering the transformation of her own boat. Whoever they were facing wasn’t going to catch her unawares.
“Man then cannons!” she shouted. “Bob, get them in place.”
By the time her transformation had completed, another ship had risen from the depths. Then another. And another. Soon a modest fleet of a dozen or so boats had risen up. They didn’t look much like The Scilatia, with its high masts and large hull. These ships were flat, low to the ground, with only their thin masts poking high above the water. They shifted in color as they made their way towards The Scilatia, camouflaging well with the sea.
Geela’s heart raced in her chest. It was time for a real fight, the one she’d been itching for for weeks now.
Atop the ship closest, stood a figure, near the front, holding onto one of the masts. As the boats grew closer, Geela pulled out her spyglass to make him out in better clarity.
The man looked to be in his late thirties, dressed lavishly in dark ruffles and a flashy hat, complete with more feathers than was really fashionably reasonable. His dusky skin was marked with thin, well-groomed facial hair, and he examined his nails disdainfully, even as the two boats grew closer.
“So that’s the void spawn?”
Geela turned to see the ship’s doctor by her side, staring intently at the oncoming armada. The bar that pierced the bridge of her nose emitted a sheen of light over her bronze eye.
“You can sense magic?” Geela asked.
“Through my enchantments. Yes. Yes, I can smell the stench of void magic as strong as on your frail friend.” Doc Chop fidgeted with a ring on her nose, nostrils flared. “He’s on one of the boats.”
Geela opened her mouth to say that she was pretty sure which boat Hari was on, when the man called out to the ship, his voice far louder than any natural human’s should be.
“Hail to you, Ja’Eel. And what brings you to my part of the ocean?” The ship was close enough that Geela could make him out without her spyglass, and now she saw the reason behind the doctor’s note.
Hari’s image flickered aboard the ship, as he spoke. It was an astral projection, a tear in the fabric of reality that allowed the man to press his soul through the tear, and to appear anywhere within a small radius of where he was.
“Can you tell which boat?” Geela asked.
The doctor shook her head. “No. There’s a mask. You can feel that I think?”
Geela could, actually. It was a feathery, smokey feeling, like cobwebs. Obscuration magic, a subset of illusions. Gross.
“Each ship has its own mask,” Geela said, as her eyes darted from boat to boat. “How many would we need to take down before you can identify the boat he’s on?”
The young woman fiddled with the bar, her pinkies tapping against them, a strange, whirring sound emitting as she worked.
“Wouldn’t work,” she said, after a moment. “My magic sensing is not that strong. The void magic, it’s just a smog over the boats. Would need a soul search. To pinpoint the location of an individual soul. That could break through the mask, yes?”
Yes. Yes she was right. Geela would need to search directly for Hari. They’d have to take down a couple of the boats in the meantime, weaken the mask, but searching for an individual’s soul would be targeted enough to pierce a breached mask.
So the plan was simple, then. Sink a boat, weaken the mask, search for Hari’s soul. Rinse and repeat until the obscuration was thin enough that she could see where he was. Then obliterate his boat and let him drown a fiery death.
Geela kinda liked it. It felt very high seas, very dashing pirate, very in line with the books her father used to read to her and Nelly when they were kids.
“Well?” Hari was close enough now that Geela could make out the thin wisps of hair that had escaped from the long black ponytail down his back. It wasn’t a bad look, so more likely than not, he’d let those strands of hair out on purpose. Oh, this man knew what he was doing. “I asked a civil question.”
“Get below deck,” Geela said to the doctor, voice quiet, lips still. “But pass a message to Bob to have his men fire as soon as they’re ready. Do not wait for my order.”
“As you order,” Doc Chop said, before vanishing from her side and limping off to the staircase.
“Ja’Eel—”
“Oh hush, would you?” Geela asked, tossing a lock of spectral hair over her shoulder, where it floated just an inch above her dress. “I’m trying to talk to my crew. Didn’t Noire teach any of its children manners?”
Hari blinked at her a few times, more amused than surprised. “No. I guess it was too busy teaching us all the crafts necessary to destroy the world. While you were busy learning—” he laughed, “manners, we were busy learning dark, arcane arts, the likes of which no mortal could ever contest—”
“Your sister died choking to death on a sandwich.” Geela sniffed. “I wasn’t all that impressed.”
“Well, Sinistrina was always—”
“Malevelo died in his sleep.” Geela picked at a nail, no longer looking at the pirate king. “That was after a sixteen-year-old girl crushed his energy crystal with a rock, sending him into a coma. Embarrassing.”
“His ambition was tempered by the need to harvest enough energy to bring the rest of us through.” Hari sounded annoyed now. “And he was—”
“Nefaria—sorry, ‘Fairy’—was eaten by a blood witch.” Finally, Geela let her eyes slowly look over the well-groomed, clearly-interested-in-theatrics void spawn. “I wonder how you’ll go.” A smile crept up the side of her lips. “Eaten by a fish, maybe? I think that would be fitting.”
Hari had just about had it with Geela, and he raised a fist in the air. A long spear of dark energy materialized in his hand.
“Super Void Death Spear… Atta—”
He almost got the word finished. Gosh, the boy was so close. But just as he wound back to throw the spear directly through Geela’s chest, the boat erupted with a series of explosions so loud that Geela was pretty sure she’d never hear again. And the worst part was that she couldn’t cover her ears as the cannonballs smashed into the ship a mere dozen feet away. No, that wouldn’t be a good look, and if this void spawn wanted to duel her in dramatics, she had to stay impassive.
Geela had definitely won this particular duel, and she allowed herself a sympathetic wince as a cannonball plopped through Hari’s outraged astral projecting, causing him to sputter out and vanish. The fleet, apparently uncertain of what quite to do now, began to tuck tail and run. As they picked up speed, still peppered by Geela’s cannons, and leaving their downed comrade behind, Geela sprinted down the length of the ship, til she had reached the very tip of the long bowsprit at the front of the boat.
“Hari!” she called, letting her own augmented voice echo out over the dark seas. “Where are you going, Hari? Not ready to play yet?”
“Curse you, Ja’Eel!” cried a voice back, cracking through the sky like thunder. “Curse you and your damned crew. We shall return.” With this, his fleet bucked and submerged, and within a few minutes, nothing left of the fleet other than the one sinking ship remained.
“Excellent,” Geela said, rubbing her hands together, eyes fixed on the spot where the ships had vanished. “We’ll be waiting.”
HUGE news everyone, for those who didn't see it on my subreddit...
GEELA IS GETTING PUBLISHED!!!
I've been working with a press over the past few weeks, negotiating a contract, but I signed the deal! Come April, The Extramundane Emancipation of Geela, Evil Sorceress at Large will be a traditionally published novel.
This has been a real goal of mine since I was ten years old. It honestly hasn't even fully sunken in yet.
I really owe you all a lot for your support, kind words, comments, reviews, and just for sticking with me this whole time, through two moves, a surgery, and so so so many more trials and tribulations.
I hope it's been worth it for you. I know it has been for me <3

Coronation Day [Chapter 14]

Previous | First
-----
Chapter 13 Art: The Flower of Alhamkara
Chapter 14: A Return (art to follow)
-----
A/N: I will start by saying that HJ 2021 will premier on the 21st, as I'm sure many are wondering. For those of you not on my patreon or discord who are curious about why there’s a chapter for Coronation Day today and not HEL Jumper, I spent the last part of the year gauging the desire within the community for more HJ versus spending a bit of time each month on other works. As a result of community feedback and my own personal desires, you can expect two HJ chapters each month going forward, along with a full length installment of either CD or some other OC of mine. I hope you’ll all give some of my other work a shot if you haven’t already. Happy New Year everyone, it's great to be back.
Special Thanks to Big_Papa_Dakky, Darth_Android, bloblob, AMERICUH, Ironwing, Mr_Polygon, Krystalin, Mamish, Mike, Vikairious, Sam_Berry, KillTech, LilLaussa, Daddy_Talon, Gruecifer, Gaelan_Darkwater, Konrahd_Verdammt, red-shirt, DaPorkchop, Benjamin Durbin, Siddabear, and everyone else supporting me on patreon.
-----
When Spot left Eina behind in the medical wing he’d expected the nerves, the shaking. He was going to kill other faunum in the name of the King and Queen. He’d proceeded to do so several times, in some cases brutally, like the animals to which they were all so closely related. What he hadn’t expected was the same sensations on the way back. The operation against the Oro had gone off almost without a hitch but the one casualty had been his partner, and he had no idea if Eina would still be waiting for him when he got back, if she would still be alive. Fortunately for his nerves, he, Idris, and his comatose partner were rocketing back towards the palace in a shuttle that, on the outside, appeared as nothing more than an ambulance. It was one of the best armed and armored ambulances in the kingdom, but nobody watching needed to know that. The remainder of the Sekhama were either still at the Oro’s base of operations securing evidence and ensuring a perimeter, or returning to the various military bases from which they deployed, using a randomly generated dispersal pattern to throw off those who might be looking at things they shouldn’t with technology they shouldn’t possess. If katana anti-air launchers were filtering down into the hands of street gangs, who was to say what else they had on hand?
“Spot,” Octavia got his attention in a low, almost fatherly voice. “I’m only going to say this once. You are a member of the Sekhama now. You will always be watched, scrutinized, and appraised for weakness or strength, just like the rest of us. Find yourself somewhere private if you need to mourn or deal with what happened tonight. Maintaining your health as a professional soldier is just as much your job as the actual killing of the Crown’s enemies. Am I clear?”
“Yes sir,” Spot managed to reply, feeling like he was forcing the words through a tightening rubber tube. With every second he was getting closer to an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, and what a third party observer would have described as an unhealthy obsession with a street whore. Idris Octavia was not that sort of observer.
“Good. There are those in the employ of the Matriarch who are skilled in the art of conversation and are as loyal to her as any of us are to the Queen or King. Or go to the heavy ordinance range. Both are fine.”
“But you said rookies aren’t normally allowed into the harem after their first mission. You don’t need to-”
“I have had this conversation with every single rookie since I assumed command of this force, Spot. The harem is not some street corner sex den where your brothers in arms get to fool around either by the grace of or for the enjoyment of the upper crust of society, though I understand well its appeal in that regard. You can get anything there from a perfectly brewed cup of tea to things unmentionable even in the corridors when you think no one is listening. Speaking to somebody about what you’ve seen and done is a far cry from getting your cock wet. You are not special,” the lion insisted gruffly, ensuring silence as the pilot radioed the cabin from the cockpit, informing them that they’d entered the palace’s direct airspace and were about to touch down atop the medical wing’s helipad. Spot had little time to reflect upon the Commander’s words as the side of the shuttle opened and he leapt out onto the tarmac, ready to assist the two medical staff who had accompanied Doc Oz in moving Tark’s gurney from the vehicle to solid ground.
“So you are the partner?” the doctor noted as he walked around to get a head on view of the shattered limb of Spot’s partner. “You removed the arm?”
“I uh, yes sir.”
“Commander Octavia, who was the field medic who saw to the injury?”
“Pteris. And if you could hold your evaluations until the sun comes up at least, Doctor?”
Oz waved him off with a feathered arm as the medical staff began wheeling the injured Sekhama to the elevator that would lead directly to the back end of the medbay, with Spot hot in tow. “I will only submit a complaint if they screwed up and cost our brave Sekhama here some amount of functionality in his new limb, Commander. Otherwise I suppose congratulations are in order?”
“You’re always a riot, Oz. Enjoy it while you can. We have a lot you’re going to have to sift through come morning and none of it is pretty,” Octavia explained, joining them in the elevator as the shuttle pilot threw them a salute and kicked his bird back into the air, bound for the palace’s vehicle storage and maintenance depot. The large, fortified structure was located well within the palace’s security perimeter, but distant enough so as not to ruin the experience of visiting dignitaries or other patrons of the crown. Spot watched it go, soaring gracefully over the palms and other greenery of the palace grounds before becoming naught but a dim light in the black night sky, faintly reminding him of the first time he’d been brought to the palace. That life seemed far away, as though something he could only remember through a looking glass. His was that of a Sekhama now, and all the grief and triumph that came along with it.
After a tense, silent ride in the elevator, broken only by the clicking of Spot’s shotgun bolt as the rookie did his best to remain calm, the doors opened and Oz went to work as bright, white lights guiding their way to an already prepared operating suite. Spot barely had a chance to look around the room before the medical professionals had passed through the sterilization bubble and began transferring Tark to the operating table. By the time he’d checked every bed visually and noted every single one of them was empty, pristine, and awaiting new patients, Oz was already determining his partner’s reactions to electronic stimuli via the protective artificial socket that had been fixed to the arm in the field. “Eina…”
Octavia inhaled a deep breath through his nose and placed a heavy paw on Spot’s shoulder. “Welcome to the other half of being a Sekhama.”
Spot did his best to control his lips and eyes, feeling the natural reactions tugging at him, willing tears to spring from his lids. “They’re dead, at least,” was all he could say, his voice parched and cracked.
“They are, Spot, by your hand. What you’re feeling right now is the bittersweet line between justice and vengeance. If you choose to cleanse your palate with some of the harem’s jasmine tea, I will meet you there.”
“Do you really give this talk to every rookie, sir?” Spot wondered as their heavy boots rang off the sterile, linoleum floor and they moved to observe the beginnings of Tark’s operation from a respectful distance. Octavia allowed himself to smile then, just a bit.
“Not all of my rookies fall in love with street whores, Spot. And before you snap at me as I know you so desperately want to… I find it reassuring that even in this line of work something so unreasonably hopeful can happen. If she is gone, be strong for that boy.”
“You have… I don’t know if I can do that,” Spot replied, clenching his fists so tightly the creaking of his gloves could be heard against the handle of his shotgun. Octavia crossed his arms over his chest and nodded.
“That’s why it wasn’t an order, Spot. You have thirty minutes. Otherwise, wait until after your next op or put in a request directly with one of the Matriarch’s staff to speak with one of her healers. It’s your choice.”
Spot lowered his head, closing his eyes as the lights from over head reflected up at him off the spotless floor. It felt a mockery in a way, light and dead. “I appreciate this, sir. I’ll be there.”
Octavia hummed approvingly. “Good, but ditch the shotgun.”
-----
“So, you’re the one? Hmmm, our Lady did always have an eye for quality and an unhealthy obsession with the underbelly of society. You are her diamond in the rough, I suppose. I assume you know who I am?” the matronly hyena demanded in a silken voice, walking slowly in a full circle around where Eina sat, straight backed on a plush ottoman in the middle of one of the several private chambers that made up the south wing of the glistening jewel of Alhamkara’s palace, the harem.
“You’re the Matriarch,” the cheetah replied in a weak voice. The hyena nodded, taking her chin between her fingers as she considered her from every angle.
“Oh they’ll like you, my dear. Meek and mild mannered with an alluring, voluptuous street body, with modifications to match. I know a few gentlemen and more than one lady who would pay dearly to spend a night with you if that is still to your liking. Ah ah ah now Eina, you cannot ever show fear or they will eat you alive. It is not wise to allow the clientele to believe they hold power here. That rests with you. So tell me little cat, why did you come knocking at my door the moment you were able to walk again?” Matriarch asked, sitting in a chair opposite Eina and crossing her legs one over the other. Her body was clad in a voluminous robe of the finest silks dyed a deep, earthen red and trimmed with gold. The symbol of the palace, the dawning sun, adorned the collar below her left cheek. The sight of her left Eina speechless for a moment. Her elegant dress was modest, covering her entire upper body, arms, and most of her legs when standing, but she understood how to arrange herself just so, ensuring a tantalizing glance of her thighs and calves when seated. The queen of the harem smiled at her, keeping her teeth behind her lips. “I’m flattered, my dear. Now introductions? Let’s start there.”
“I am Eina, my lady,” the cheetah replied quietly.
“And you’re quite honest. Not always a good quality but I demand absolute loyalty from those who serve me, just as is demanded of me by those I serve. Now, apart from my wonderful decor,” the Matriarch said, gesturing with a smooth sweep of her arm to the room around them. Sandstone walls, a rich dark wood bed frame, silks and pillows trimmed in gold, ornate hookah pipes and vases of rare desert flowers all set the scene where the wealthiest and most powerful might indulge themselves, and where Eina never in a million years dreamed she might be. “Why did you come to the harem, Eina?”
She stammered a reply. “I w-wish to repay her majesty, Lady Keiko. I am without s-skills, so I thought-”
“You thought that a dancer from an illicit brothel could just waltz into the harem and begin to serve as the Crown requires,” the Matriarch finished playfully, cowing Eina into silence. After a moment under her gaze, withering before her stern, mahogany eyes she looked away, feeling shame grow within her breast. “Honest and brave. Unpolished stones have no place in my collection, but I called you a diamond for a reason, your eyes not the least of them. I already know what you went through to get them and why, so we will not waste our time on such matters as your past. The kitchens would take you, Eina, as well as the other handmaidens. We could always use someone else to air out the bedding. You do not have to do this.”
Eina looked up at her again curiously, finding that the Matriarch had procured a thin, wooden pipe from somewhere on her person. The material was dark, almost black, polished to a fine sheen and inlaid with ivory. With practiced motions she packed the small bowl and lit it with a strike of her fingers, catalysing a reaction that sent a thin trail of haunting, blue smoke into the air. She puffed lightly, exhaling a vibrant, sparkling cloud of azure fumes. “I’ve only ever seen it so pure once in my life,” Eina remarked.
That comment actually elicited a reaction from the seasoned hyena as she cocked her brow ever so slightly. “Indeed? We do not serve anything else here, and we refine it ourselves.”
“I can only imagine what that would cost,” Eina replied wistfully, feeling her mouth begin to salivate as the smell reached her. “That is… utterly divine.”
“And your relationship with the substance is exceedingly complicated,” the Matriarch pointed out, removing the pipe from between her lips and allowing it to rest comfortably on one knee. “Perhaps that is the answer?”
“N-No! I would never… no,” Eina pleaded. “If I require it I was told to return to the medical wing.”
“And where is the fun in that?” the hyena chuckled, finally relenting. “Eina, this is but a taste of the sort of games that are played in my world. I admire your devotion to our Lady, but I need to know you can survive this place. If a client comes to anticipate your services, I cannot simply inform them that you are no longer available.”
Eina shook her head briefly, partially to clear the sinful smell of azure smoke from her nostrils and partially to contemplate the idea of not just being the piece of meat that was on duty that day of the week, to have clients in the true sense of the word, to be a service in demand. “Do all of your employees engage in my old line of work?” she finally asked.
“The dancing, or the sex in exchange for money?” Matriarch replied without a hint of sympathy.
“Sex in exchange for the ability to feed myself and my children,” Eina shot back after a deep breath. Her interviewer nodded her head curtly.
“I would like to make two things clear to you, Eina. The first is that your children will be cared for regardless of what happens after this conversation. They are innocent, and will be treated as such. The second is that sex is only one of the wide array of services I, my staff, and possibly you might offer to our clientele. And I personally hold both sides of sexual transactions to exacting standards of professionalism and pleasure. This is not the world you came from, Eina.”
“Then I will have no problem surviving it,” she replied, her human-like eyes narrowing in determination. She did not care how devious or brutal the palace’s guests were. There were rules within those mighty sandstone walls. At the Oasis, where money and muscle did the talking, there were none.
“I admire your determination, but that remains to be seen.”
“Then if you have the time, Matriarch, I’d like to tell you about the birth of my first child, Keiko.”
-----
“Elandri, they have you on night shift again?” Octavia demanded, approaching the vaulted double doors of wrought metal that led to the palace harem. The entire surface was lovingly detailed, depicting scenes both carnal and beautiful, and flanked by two of the harem’s ceremonial guards. They sported the same sort of armor worn by Idris for official functions, overwrought with expressive metalwork on large pauldrons and intricate embroidery in gold on deep navy tunics and skirts. Bangles of gold and shining metallic greaves adorned their lower legs, with each wielding a spear and a knife at their belts. They were there both to enforce and to entice, perhaps the only truly forbidden fruit within the harem and a reminder that impropriety would not be tolerated under the gaze of the Crown. The commander of the Sekhama stepped forward and embraced Elandri, the lioness returning the hug briefly before stepping back and running a hand through the close cropped, crimson ‘mane’ that ran down the back of her head and neck. Such female manes were rare but not unheard of in Alhamkara. Among the bloodline of the Octavias, it was practically expected.
“I requested it, uncle. And I’m well past the age you need to be intervening on my behalf around the palace, especially in matters as mundane as guard shifts,” she said in a soft tone, her voice nevertheless carrying a fair distance through the curved, stone hallways that made up the central elements of the palace.
“I would never!” Octavia protested, wilting quickly under Elandri’s keen gaze before smiling genuinely for the first time in more than a day. “How are things in there?”
“Plenty of room for your boys if that’s what you’re asking,” she reported. “The esteemed Lord Torando tends to mope about more often than not, but he keeps his dour thoughts to himself and pays well. I assume the operation was a success?”
“You know I can’t speak about such things openly. You’ll see tomorrow,” he replied calmly, knowing full well he’d answered the question regardless.
“Good, that’s good then. I have a message for you, by the way.”
“From the Matriarch?”
“Yeah, who else?” Elandri wondered, leaning against her spear. “She’s with a new girl tonight, so you’ll have to wait a bit.”
“New girl?” the Commander asked curiously.
“Don’t sound so eager, dear uncle,” his niece teased. The lion tossed his mane lightly and scoffed back at her.
“I don’t need to take that from you, whelp. But very well. I suppose once she accepts a new member she considers them one of her children in a way. I can wait for the rookie out here then,” Idris decided, leaning against the wall next to his niece.
“Rookie? You don’t usually let rookies in here,” she pointed out.
“I don’t, but this is a bit of a unique circumstance,” Octavia replied. “It was a mentally difficult operation, and if he dies on his next op I’d likely go to my grave regretting that I didn’t give a street urchin at least one taste of this place.”
“So that dog’s not so wet behind the ears anymore?” Elandri deduced easily. “Well good for him. Not sure any of the regulars will be that impressed by a rook, but there are always plenty of serving girls and handmaidens who’d jump at him.”
“I’m not sure how to feel about my niece appraising the sexual potential of my own troops,” Octavia chuckled with a shake of his head. Elandri joined him.
“Part of the territory, uncle. And you know well enough I’ve always wanted this job. So try not to treat me like the little girl you’d let ride on your shoulders?”
Her words had Octavia walking to the other side of the corridor, looking out through the archways of stone over the western half of the palace. The harem’s main room faced east, allowing the rising sun to warm its gardens and beds. “You will always be that girl to me, but you are a fine young woman as well. Just don’t run off with any of my boys and we’ll be fine.”
“You have that little faith in them?” Elandri wondered in surprise.
“No, just the opposite. I would hate for my grandnephews or grandnieces to come home one day to a world without their father is all,” he said with open remorse. His niece shook her head.
“How many times do I need to tell you that wasn’t your fault, uncle?” she demanded hotly.
“You’ve always been kind to me on that account Elandri, but there is plenty of blame to be placed on the shoulders of all parties, mine included. Enough about that, though,” he insisted as the firm footfalls of another individual could be heard from down the corridor. “Ready to have a little fun?”
“Best part of my job, minus the azure and baths,” Elandri said with a hint of eagerness in her voice. “Wonder who will catch his eye first. Bet you it’ll be Lycia. She loves herself a fresh cut of meat. Never understood why she doesn’t join up full time. Guess she enjoys the allure of being the outsider.”
“Then I’ll be sure to steer him in the opposite direction,” Octavia insisted as Spot slowed to stop in front of them and saluted.
“Sir,” he said respectfully. The commander looked him over and nodded in approval. The rookie had possessed the common sense to leave his bloodstained armor back in the armory. He addressed Elandri as well. “Good evening.”
“Ah he’ll get along just fine,” the lioness laughed. “Word of advice, kid, don’t stare. Surest sign of a newbie.”
“Oh stop it, Elandri. No one gets to just walk through these doors, and you know everyone who does. They’ll know he’s new. That said she’s right, Spot. Act like you’ve been there before if you want to return, and no matter what you do remember your place,” Octavia commanded without elaborating on exactly what that entailed. Spot nodded humbly, looking at his boots.
“I won’t cause trouble, sir.”
“I’m more worried about our esteemed Commander here if my dear employer finds herself busy,” Elandri ribbed her uncle. “So the name Spot stuck, did it? Well you don’t look a thing like you did when you first showed up. Have fun in there.”
Spot felt his heart catch in his throat as Elandri and her partner took a step towards the center of the doors, each grabbing a knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. They rapped twice, the clang of metal on metal echoing through the hallways and surely on the other side as well. As the guards stood aside the doors opened inward, leaving only a moment for Octavia to give his recently graduated rookie one final piece of advice. “Remember, you’re a killer. Most of them aren’t.”
Spot’s brow furrowed as he remembered the kick of his shotgun against his shoulder and the smell of blood. The sight before him had to have been its exact opposite, even before he stepped across the threshold. “So that’s what the inside of the central tower looks like,” he murmured, walking forward with Octavia as the guards on the other side of the doors bowed and closed the entryway behind them. Spot did his best to keep his face stern and rigid, but found it difficult as every one of his senses was assailed at once. Towering columns formed a ring from just behind him at each side of the doors all the way out to the far point of the central area of the harem. Those more cultured than he would have referred to what lay before him as an amphitheater, with a sunken performance stage in the middle surrounded by comfortable seating at every angle. Cushions that had to be worth more than a month of his salary were scattered about in a pattern that appeared haphazard, but each invited him to be seated at a perfect distance from other guests while enjoying azure hookah or simple flavored tobacco instead. He noticed both. Small tables were set up every so often to entertain groups of two to four, or individuals who might wish to take a meal along with their show. In the center of the amphitheater, or arena as far as Spot was concerned, a young gazelle clad in translucent crimson silks and gold jewelry danced to a beautiful melody played by a pair of wild dogs. The gentlemen were around Spot’s age, if he had to guess, and were dressed far better than he was. Their tunics and pants were done in the same crimson and gold motif that seemed to accompany all of the staff. Conservative and regal, they ensured the musicians were pleasing to the eye without taking away from the performer herself. Spot contented himself knowing he had them beat on musculature, at least.
Tearing his eyes away from the body of the gazelle, which he figured he’d be able to see forever in his mind’s eye, he noticed two smaller wooden doors to either side of him. They were both made of wood and designed to blend in with the walls. Spot figured easily enough that they were for the staff as one of them opened and a serving girl no less beautiful than the dancing gazelle stepped through. The hyena lass was carrying an opulent tray with a bottle of amber alcohol, a gilded crystal glass, a small chest of ice, and a mahogany box of cigars along with all of the necessary accoutrements. With practiced grace she moved down the stairs of the ‘arena’ and walked along the row to where her patron awaited her, a rhinoceros who had to be a commodity magnate of some kind or another based on his well tailored suit and carved horns, one of which bore a guild emblem that he couldn’t make out at distance. The rookie watched as the server went about pouring a glass for him over a single cube of ice, not wasting a drop, before cutting a cigar and offering it to him. The businessman leaned forward slightly, taking in the center of her cleavage left exposed by her uniform, as she struck a match and lit the cigar with a tiny, blue flame. What was perhaps most surprising to Spot was the fact that the older man dismissed her casually without so much as a second glance, much less a slap on the ass or some other unbecoming action that nevertheless would surely be permitted in that place. The smoke from the cigar carried up and away from the wealthy gentleman, wafting slowly away from the guests and out through the several open arches across the way.
“Damn,” Spot whispered, realizing just how large the gardens that rested beyond those columns had to be given the size of the room they were in and the fact that it clearly made up a concentric circle within the main tower. He noticed a well lit fountain at the center of well-manicured, branching paths, but the majority of the area was concealed from him, likely intentionally. He figured more than a few secrets had been shared in the ‘privacy’ of the trees and bushes there, to say nothing of the several rooms that made up the rest of the inner circle between the serving entrances, the grand corridors to the north and south, and the gardens to the east. He counted four on each side, each situated under one arch between two columns, and each of which was concealed by drapes and tapestries just as fine as the rest of the place. Some were dark and unused, while others were lit. One in particular caught his attention due to the fact that while obviously occupied, the occupants had only seen fit to close the thinnest of the privacy curtains. He wasn’t sure what miracle of material engineering allowed light and silhouettes through while concealing much of the sound from beyond, but little was left to the imagination regarding just what sort of carnal pleasures the occupants were indulging in. Given how few attendees were paying direct attention, with little more than a laugh or two shared between a couple of well dressed ladies eating delicate pastries one of the tables, Spot came to the somewhat horrifying conclusion that semi-public, if not downright public sex was a key feature of the harem. He tore his eyes away and rubbed the bristly hair on the back of his neck, wondering if such a performance ever took place within the arena proper.
“I’d say that’s a proper reaction,” Octavia chuckled deep in his belly. “Baths are that way, through the south corridor. Maybe make that your first stop? North is the main dining room. Unless you want your ear talked off by visiting dignitaries for hours on end, I’d avoid it.”
Spot nodded, but wouldn’t have been able to repeat Octavia’s words if his life depended on it. He was far too focused on an older hyena dressed in flattering, red robes escorting a young cheetah female through the space. She was dressed in the same clothing as the rest of the staff and had no tail. It was easy for the Commander to spot what had captured the rookie’s attention. He pursed his lips, impressed at the sight. “Well what do you know? Oz pulled it off.”
-----
“Try not to stare so much, my dear. You are not here to look at them; they are here to look at you,” the Matriarch advised as she led Eina from the northern servant’s corridor, which connected to the vast kitchens that kept the various guests of the harem sated, into the main chamber. The cheetah clutched her hands in front of her and bowed slightly.
“My apologies, Mistress,” Eina offered, returning her gaze primarily to her new employer. For whatever else it was worth, the Oasis had made her an expert on ignoring trouble, no matter how alluring. “I have just never seen such wonders before.”
The Matriarch tugged the corner of one of her lips into a smile. “You may just find yourself suited to serving tea yet. As you can see we have a performance hall, if you will. Currently the display is a more refined version of your old profession, but it can range from feats of strength and combat to sex and other displays of the flesh. As a server you will find yourself walking those stairs quite often. When you are finished with your tour today you will spend time walking up and down the stairs of the palace and you will be evaluated each day by other more experienced ladies or gentlemen of the harem. You will learn the preparation, presentation, and art of serving tea in the same manner. If your performance is acceptable, you will be permitted to serve the men and women who pay for and expect nothing but the best.”
“I understand, Mistress. Thank you for this opportunity,” Eina said quietly, doing her best to keep her posture appropriate next to the Matriarch, who comported herself as though she were in fact the reigning queen of Alhamkara. Eina supposed that within the harem at least, that might be true.
“You can thank me with impeccable service to our guests,” the Matriarch replied quietly. “Now then, allow me to show you the gardens. You will learn them as though they are the back of your paw so as to-” The Matriarch paused and looked out over the seating of the harem. After a second of silence she inclined her head politely towards a guest on the other side of the amphitheater. “Follow me, Eina. Speak only when spoken to and do not under any circumstances fail at the curtsey you were taught just now.”
It had felt like an eternity since Eina’s fight or flight response had engaged, sometime in a past life perhaps, but it came roaring back with a vengeance at the Matriarch’s words and tone. She’d been nothing but serious since Eina had met her, but there always seemed to be an underlying satisfaction and love for her job in everything she said and did. That levity was utterly gone, though her polite, welcoming smile remained as she led Eina around the circle to the stairway nearest the individual who had made eye contact with her. The man in question was a jackal with a serious face, dressed in royal purple with silver trim. She understood immediately as the Matriarch bent at the knee before him and lowered her head. “How may I be of service to you this evening, Lord Torando?”
The jackal looked past her and met Eina’s eyes instead, his gaze scrutinous and cold. She just barely managed to dip into a curtsey herself, not trusting herself to speak in his presence. “So, you are her? I expected to have to find you myself. She will accompany me to my private room,” the jackal said in an authoritarian, quiet tone. The Matriarch attempted to intervene.
“My Lord, she has only just joined us here and has not yet been trained to provide service in keeping with your status. Might I perhaps interest you in-”
“Last I checked, Matriarch, I remain betrothed to your princess, the Lady Keiko. She will accompany me, and I will not have you questioning my intentions again,” Tornado responded, his voice not allowing any compromise. “I know your rules. That you would consider me the type of person to break them is… insulting.”
Eina tried to keep herself from fainting, wondering if her heart and other organs would withstand the stress as the Matriarch salvaged the situation, bowing low to Torando with the same, pleasant smile on her face.
“It was never my intention to imply such a thing, Lord Torando. Please accept my humblest apologies as well as a bottle or box from the palaces reserves with my compliments,” she offered. He accepted the olive branch in keeping with diplomacy, though his expression did not mellow.
“Scotch. Second era, azure infused.”
“Would your lordship prefer Sunrise Distillery or Chateau Antares?”
“Antares,” the jackal replied immediately before standing from his seat, turning several eyes as he did so. Those eyes included two of the Sekhama, having recently entered the harem via the front entrance. “I will receive it when I am finished with her.”
“As you wish, Lord Torando,” the Matriarch replied, glancing once at Octavia and his rookie before turning to Eina. “It is a great honor to be requested by such a man. See to his every need.”
It wasn’t particularly difficult to interpret the Matriarch’s words as Eina curtseyed once more in due reverence. “It is my pleasure and honor to serve you this evening, Lord Torando. My name is Eina.”
“Come,” the jackal commanded with a snap of his fingers, leading her up the stairs and away from the central amphitheater. The Matriarch did not linger either, walking her way calmly to the nearest server and whispering something into her ear. That young woman stopped by a guard on her way back to the kitchens and conveyed the message, ensuring that Lord Torando would be ‘trusted but verified’ that evening. Meanwhile, Spot stood rooted to the ground as the woman he thought dead instead glanced his way for a fleeting second, just recognizing his face before being spirited away down the corridor to the wing of the harem that contained the baths and, among other destinations, Lord Torando’s personal quarters for the duration of his stay at the palace.
“Don’t so much as even follow her with your eyes,” Octavia growled threateningly, his hand on Spot’s shoulder as the rookie fought back his desire to move, to sprint. Stupid, youthful passions boiled to the surface as he realized that even without his arms and armor he could easily kill Torando. He wasn’t dumb enough to believe he’d survive the attempt however. The flame burned out just as quick as it had come, and he hung his shoulders instead. Octavia didn’t have the heart to tell him to not wear his emotions on his sleeve inside the harem. Not even he was that callous. “The Wise Ones seem content to both give and take away this evening,” he observed quietly as the Matriarch, no longer instructing her newest serving girl, slowly made her way over to them.
“I guess that’s what you meant by remembering my place?” Spot asked. The lion nodded.
“Our delights are their table scraps,” Idris confirmed as the Matriarch of the harem stood before them.
“Waxing poetic again, Idris?” she asked knowingly, offering him a fond smile before turning to Spot. “And this one was on the ground tonight?”
“He was. He was also the one who received your newest serving girl at the gates before her stint with Doctor Oswald,” Octavia supplied. If the Matriarch was moved by that tidbit of information she chose not to show it.
“I see. I trust you will enjoy what we have to offer here as much as your brothers,” she replied. “You have a name?”
“Spot,” the rookie replied, looking between her and Octavia as he pulled a blank.
“Spot? I’ll remember it. You may refer to me either as Matriarch or Mistress, my dear,” she clarified. “Might I suggest the baths? The Sekhama always seem to enjoy them.” He nodded, swallowed, and gave her her due in as level a voice as he could manage given how much life had thrown at him in the prior day.
“Thank you for welcoming me, Matriarch. If it’s all the same to you I think I’d like some fresh air. It smells a bit strongly in here,” he excused himself. It was true that the air smelled of azure, tobacco, jasmine, and other flowers, but she recognized the statement for what it was, glancing back at Octavia with an approving cock of her brow.
“The gardens are open to you, Spot. Enjoy your time here,” she offered, watching as the rookie turned and saluted Octavia silently, a hand over his heart, before beginning his walk around the central room, scrutinized by almost every pair of eyes in the place.
“Mmm, look at him, even keeping his back straight,” the hyena noted approvingly before turning back to Octavia. “Now, what’s got you so eager to see me, Idris, other than the obvious?”
“By humanity, I missed you,” he replied, a twang of need in his voice. She picked up on it immediately and placed her hand on his upper arm before escorting him towards the same corridor Torando has disappeared through minutes before. On the way she signaled one of her more seasoned staff and conveyed a handful of instructions to her. She crooned seductively at him. “There, now I can give you my full attention this evening.”
-----
Previous | First

An old guy hired me to manage his life-sized dollhouse, but some of the occupants are starting to freak me out

The ad was bizarre but straightforward enough.
Late fifties male seeks woman in twenties to manage large-scale dollhouse

Candidate needs to maintain a household of eleven Real Dolls by tending to the daily wardrobe, grooming, and other needs of the dolls.
Nothing inappropriate.
$250 paid in cash at the end of every shift.

A lot of women would be put off by that ad, but not me. Let’s just say, I’ve seen some shit in my life. I was finally starting to dig myself out of a trash pile of childhood trauma by getting into a good college, when the reality of tuition fees set in. I needed a part-time job to stay afloat, and creepy sex doll man would have to be it.
I tried calling the number on the ad, but nobody picked up. A few minutes later I got a text asking my name, age, and times of availability. Another text later, I was asked to start at nine the following day. I was surprised at the ease of the interview, if you could even call it that, but I didn’t feel like questioning it. Whatever the guy’s deal was, that was his business, not mine. As long as he didn’t breach any boundaries and paid me on time, we’d get along just fine.
I wasn’t stupid, though. I called my cousin Ronnie and told him what was going on and where I’d be the next day. Ronnie sighed but didn’t question my decision. We grew up with the same shitty guardians, and he knew I could handle myself.
“Just be careful, Lu,” he said at the end of the call, “pack the bag, okay?”
“Of course, Ronnie,” I smiled into the phone, “I’ll be in touch if anything happens.”
‘The bag’ was a backpack of essentials for any kid that was unfortunate enough to grow up in a neighborhood like mine. My bag contained pepper spray, a swiss army knife, drinking water, a couple of protein bars, and a cheap disposable phone with Ronnie’s number saved in contacts. I hoped for the best but prepared for the worst. Always.
I was at the given address at exactly 9 o’clock the next morning.
The house was breathtaking. A tall, asymmetrical two-story with whitewash walls and a multifaceted roof. The windows were different sizes and shapes, the panes a charming baby blue with glass that sparkled like morning dew on grass. I walked up the cobblestone path, admiring the clean-cut lawn and tulip flower beds that lined the perimeter.
Maybe this won’t be so bad, I thought, climbing the porch steps.
I couldn’t find a doorbell, only a large bronze knocker designed to look like some sort of horned creature, possibly a bull. It was as though the sculptor had chosen to make the beast in man’s image, the result being a grotesque blend of the two. I banged the knocker three times and waited. Nothing happened. I tried again. No one came to the door. I pulled my phone from my back pocket just as it received a message from the Craigslist number.
Go inside. The girls are on the second floor.
Whatever you’re into, buddy, I thought as I pulled the door open and stepped inside.
The entrance hall was everything the exterior suggested. Polished hardwood floors shimmered like glaciers on a sunny day. A needlessly large chandelier descended from somewhere far above my head. Quaint antique hall cupboards and paintings of flower pots tied the look together. It was all meant to be quite lovely but something felt off. The interior seemed almost too precise, as though crafted after the idea of an old Victorian home. The passing of time generally implied a dash of ruggedness, and this place had none.
A large-scale dollhouse, I thought, remembering the ad with a slight shudder.
I clutched at the straps of my backpack, straining to hear any hint of life within the house. There was only the slight echo of my sneakers scraping across the floor as I crossed the hall on my way to the grand staircase.
I lingered before taking the first step. It wasn’t too late to turn around and find something less creepy to do. Sure, the pay was excellent, but my gut was telling me there was something very wrong with the house. Determination and a hint of curiosity argued with my better instincts and won.
I walked up the carpeted steps.
“Hello?” I called upon reaching the second floor. No answer.
To my left, a door stood open, revealing an old-school parlor room. I stalled before entering, realizing that the distant concept of eleven life-sized dolls had been far more agreeable than the actual sight of them.
What can I say? The dolls were exquisite in a vacant, detached sort of way. Someone had dressed them in a variety of colorful nightgowns and bathrobes. Some faced windows, others were seated around a coffee table. All were positioned in poses that were meant to look natural. Their size was that of your basic, petite woman, with some evident variation in the hip and breast departments. There were blondes with blue eyes, sultry brunettes, a redhead, African Americans, Asians, you name it. One even had rainbow-colored hair and blue lips.
“Louisa,” a soft voice interrupted my doll-induced trance.
My right hand instantly went for the pepper spray as I whirled around in one swift, jumpy motion.
“Jesus,” I muttered, slipping the spray back in place, “You scared me, lady.”
The owner of the voice was a tall, thin woman well into her fifties. She wore a long, red cardigan that she buttoned over a lilac turtleneck and a full-length, plaid skirt. The entire outfit was so hideous that I barely even registered the fact that the woman herself was attractive for her age. She had a very dignified sort of face, with a dainty nose and knowledgeable eyes. A good amount of thick, greying hair was tied back in a low ponytail.
“My apologies, Lousia,” the woman smiled politely, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s Lu actually,” I mumbled, trying to compose myself.
“Nice to meet you, Lu,” the woman’s smile held, though her gaze sharpened, “My name is Mrs. Claymore and I am the mistress of Vanderley House.”
“First time I’ve been in a house with a name,” I replied, watching her face. Much like my surroundings, the woman carried herself in a manner of welcome, but it all felt a bit scripted.
“I believe my husband has given you the general gist of your duties here at Vanderley?”
“Well,” I surveyed the kinky mannequins lounging around the room, “The text messages mentioned I would have to watch the dolls.”
“Yes,” she spoke slowly as though addressing a small child, “You will be acting as the part-time manager of the household. In essence, you will be filling my shoes while I’m away.”
“I see,” I nodded, feeling uneasy.
For the next hour or so Mrs. Claymore took me around the house, showing me the different rooms and explaining my increasingly bizarre work tasks. Every morning, I was to change ‘the girls’ into their daytime outfits and carry them around the house, setting them up at their respective activities. I would learn the dolls’ names and activities from a chart. My shift would end around the time the so-called hygienist showed up to perform cleaning procedures on the dolls.
“If all that is clear,” Mrs. Claymore concluded, “I will leave you to your job.”
“Alright,” I nodded, struggling with my apprehensive feelings.
I let out a long breath as soon as Mrs. Claymore retreated downstairs. If ever there was a master at not asking questions, it was me. And yet, I had so many. Everything about Mrs. Claymore indicated that she was an intelligent, proper sort of woman, and I just couldn’t reconcile that image with the things she was saying. Was she unhinged? I half wished the husband had met me instead. A creepy old man with a sex doll fetish, while super gross, was something that I could understand and even turn a blind eye to. For the right amount of money, of course. But this? What the hell was this?
Walking back to the parlor room, I felt my resolve strengthen. Late morning sunshine spilled in through the sheer curtains, illuminating the dolls in a cool, gray light. Not a single speck of dust could be seen in the rays. The dead eyes of the dolls reflected my mood.
I studied the clipboard Mrs. Claymore had given me. It contained the aforementioned doll chart printed on a crisp, expensive-looking sheet of paper. Cynthia was the first doll on the list. With a flicker of dread, I stared at the tiny picture printed on the page. The photograph, while small and a little blurry, was clearly of a real person, not a doll. It showed a pretty redhead somewhere outside, with locks of hair lifted by a gust of wind.
I scanned the room, quickly locating Cynthia in a nearby armchair. The resemblance to the person in the picture was uncanny. I walked up to the doll and stared at her face, reaching out a hand to graze a cheek with my fingers. She was definitely a doll, not a person. Even so, the fact that her image was molded after a human being felt all sorts of wrong. I turned my attention back to the chart:

Cynthia - 21 y.o. - 5′7″/122lbs. - Biochemistry student - Plays violin - 11:00 AM violin lesson in drawing room - 12:30 quiet reading time in study;

What an oddly specific type of girl. Hardly your average boner inducer. Scanning the other five entries on the page disturbed me more than I could say.

Valeria - 20 y.o. - 5′7″ / 107 lbs - Athlete - Ballroom dancer - 11:00 AM dance lesson in drawing room - 12:30 yoga in downstairs hallway;
Gina - 22 y.o. - 5′6″ / 121 lbs - Barista - Cat lover - 11:00 disciplinary session in entrance hall - 12:30 quiet reading time in study;
Katryn - 25 y.o. - 5′5″ / 115 lbs - Nurse - Enjoys video games - 11:00 AM - dance lesson in drawing room - 12:30 yoga in downstairs hallway;
Angelique - 21 y.o. - 5′7″ / 135 lbs - Unemployed - Recreational drug user - 11:00 AM - double disciplinary session;
Madison - 28 y.o. - 5′6″ / 118lbs - Daycare teacher - Enjoys reading - 11:00 AM - dance lesson in drawing room - 12:30 quiet reading time in study;

My hands trembled as I finished reading the last entry on the page. There have been so many times in my life where I have felt helpless and afraid. While horrible, each instance had an identifiable source of danger. A drunken uncle, an abusive social worker, a school bully. It was easy to work through fear when you knew what to expect.
The place had me stumped. There was something very wrong about it, about Mrs. Claymore and her yet-to-be-seen husband. About the dolls that were meant to look like real people. I knew then that I should leave, but there was a part of me that didn’t want to. Call me the collector of evils, but I just had to know what sort of fucked up darkness lurked the serene halls of Vanderley House.
I left the parlor and located the closet, a room on the second floor which was dedicated to all eleven doll wardrobes. I’d caught a glimpse of it during the walkthrough, but didn’t get a chance to take it all in.
It was the size of a bedroom, with shelves of shoes, folded clothes, and hanging garments lining the walls to my left and right. The other end of the room consisted of a mirror wall. I stared at my small frame reflected in four distinct angles. A couple of jet-black curls fell loose from my ponytail and I tucked them behind an ear. I looked very pale, not unlike a doll myself. That thought sent a visible shiver through my reflection.
The shelves of the closet were an obsessive-compulsive dream come to life. Everything was sorted by clothing type and color. The chart hadn’t specified what the dolls should wear, so I trusted my better judgment in picking the outfits. There were few modern garments available, but there was a large variety of basics that would look decent on most people. I pulled some items from the shelves and went to pick out the shoes. Not many options there either, mostly pumps. I was about to head back to the parlor when another glance at the mirrors revealed a detail I had very nearly missed.
Though three of the full-length mirrors were visibly nailed to the wall, the one on the far right had no bolts in the corners of the frame. I tried wedging my fingers in the small crack between mirrors and pulling it, but that yielded nothing. After a second’s thought, I tried pushing instead and the hidden door popped open.
Inside was the first hint of the real Vanderley.
The mirror concealed a small, dusty room. A bare lightbulb dangled from a wire, revealing unfinished concrete walls and stacks of moving boxes. I approached the nearest box and looked inside. It was filled with clothes, but they were nothing like the garments in the outer closet. These were trendy crop tops, boy shorts, cocktail dresses.
A lump formed in my throat.
I opened more, finding high heels, hoodies, sunglasses, watches, trinkets. I had to stop myself then. There were a lot of boxes and I didn’t have time to ransack the place. Mrs. Claymore could find me at any moment, and I needed more proof of my growing suspicions.
I walked out to the front closet, closing the mirror door behind me. I did my best to wipe away the fingerprints that revealed my intrusion. I reached for the phone in my back pocket so I could call Ronnie, and found that it was missing.
Of course, I thought, reaching for the hidden zipper on the inner side of my backpack. I powered on the flip phone and auto dialed Ronnie. He picked up on the first ring.
“Code red,” I whispered into the passé gadget.
“I fucking knew it, Lu,” Ronnie reprimanded, “I’ll be there in forty, an hour tops. Keep safe.”
“Will do,” I promised, replacing the cell before picking up the pile of clothes I’d selected for the dolls.
Mrs. Claymore must have fished my phone out of my back jean pocket at some point during the walkthrough, but why? Was it to snoop on me, mess with me, potentially cause me harm? None of the answers quite fit the bill, but I had a feeling I would learn the truth soon enough.
I made sure to keep calm as I walked back to the parlor room. There was no use for panic, I needed to keep my thoughts clear. I set down the pile of clothes on the coffee table and approached Cynthia. I lifted her arms and pulled her nightgown off. Putting her arms back at her side, I took a step back and surveyed the dolls’ body.
There was no doubt in my mind that Cynthia was molded after a living, breathing young woman. While her body held true to the beauty standards of today, it was not perfect. Her large breasts hung low without the support of a push-up bra and there was a birthmark to the right of her bellybutton. Again, I felt the need to reach out and feel her, to make sure that she wasn’t alive. I placed my hand on her lean stomach. She felt plastic as ever. Room temperature, high-grade silicone, and yet.
There was an energy.
I’d had that feeling before in museums, on school trips where I snuck away from the crowd and stared at some old army general’s chair, or an early telephone set. I thought it was common, getting vibes from items, but Ronnie told me it wasn’t. I didn’t dwell on it much. To me, objects carried stories, just like people did.
So what was Cynthia’s?
I placed my other hand in her palm and an overwhelming sense of sorrow erupted inside me. The force of it made me fall to the floor, laying my head on Cynthia’s knees. I didn’t let go of her, I couldn’t. The doll was telling me her truth. One so awful that my limited imagination could only produce it in dull aches that ran through my body. The grief was insurmountable, and I let it flow through the both of us.
“What did they do to you?” I asked, choking back tears.
There was no reply as the immense darkness receded into heavy but manageable despair. It was then that I noticed the small tattoo on Cynthia’s inner left wrist. It was a black stencil of the bull-man I had seen on the entrance door of the Vanderley House.
I couldn’t waste time. I had to gather as much information as possible before Ronnie showed up.
I got up and started checking all the other dolls. Every one of them had the same tattoo. I picked up the doll chart, now fully convinced it was a list of victims. I needed to learn as much about them in the short amount of time I had left.
Cynthia. Valeria. Gina. Katryn. Angelique. Madison. They were all here. Each headshot contained a girl outside, not a doll. They were REAL, but were they alive?
I felt my breath falter as nausea threatened the scant contents of my breakfast. There were only six girls on this page. The truth hit me like a punch to the face as eleven sets of dead eyes stared at me. The link I always suspected, but couldn’t prove.
Until now.
With shaky hands, I unclipped the piece of paper and flipped it over. There were six more entries on the back, but my eyes instantly went to the last one on the page. Right there, beside a tiny, pixelated photograph of me standing outside Vanderley House that very morning, I read the following:

Louisa - 20 y.o. - 5′4″/115 lbs - ex tenebris lux - ex malo bonum - 11:00 AM - The Hygienist

A door slammed downstairs, and though I wished with all my being that it was Ronnie arriving early to get me out of this mess, the large Roman numeral clock on the wall of the parlor told me that it was far too soon to get my hopes up.
Heavy footfall ascended the stairs in a slow, confident stride. Echoes of the intruder carried through the house and into the parlor. I picked up the pepper spray and rummaged around my backpack for the swiss army knife. I slipped the spray in my back pocket and held the knife on the inside of my palm so it was out of view.
It was time for my appointment with the hygienist.
READ PART 2 HERE
^{This is part 1 |} ^{part 2} ^| ^{part 3}

The Dardeen Family Murders: No Mercy, No Motive, No Answers.

It was November, 1987, in Ina, the southernmost village in Jefferson County, Illinois. Nestled among woodland stood a mobile home, on a piece of land rented from a nearby farm. The mobile home stood for sale, not only because the family living within were expecting their second child and could use some more space, but also because they did not like staying in the area, as it had been becoming increasingly violent. Jefferson County had seen 15 homicide cases in the past 2 years.
Russel Keith Dardeen, 29, his wife Ruby Elaine Dardeen, 30, and their 2 year old son Peter had bought their trailer in 1986, after Russel had completed the training required for his job as a treatment plant operator. Keith got a job at a treatment plant, and Elaine at an office supply store in nearby Mount Vernon. In their free time the couple played in a musical ensemble in a local baptist church. They were looking forward to welcoming their second child, and had landed on either Ian or Casey for a name, depending on whether it was a boy or a girl. Shaken by the growing unrest in their area, Keith had become more protective of his family. When one night a young woman knocked on the door of his home, asking to make a phone call, he refused to let her in, later relaying the experience to a good friend.
On November 18th, a supervisor at the treatment plant became increasingly worried when Keith, who had always been a reliable worker, didn’t show up for his shift. He had not informed anyone of his absence, and calls to the Dardeen home went unanswered all day. Keith’s supervisor even went so far as to call Keith’s parents, but neither of them knew what had happened to their son either. Concerned by the supervisor’s phone call, Keith’s parents contacted the sheriff’s office and agreed to drive to Ina with their house key to meet the deputies.
What they found within the Dardeen’s mobile home was far worse than anyone had been ready for, and would scar them for years to come. Lying together in the mobile home’s bed were the badly beaten bodies of Elaine, little Peter, and the newborn baby. Elaine and Peter had been bound and gagged with duct tape, both beaten so severely that Elaine had gone into labour, and had given birth to a little baby girl. Their attacker(s) had shown no mercy, and had beaten the newborn to death as well. Both Elaine and Peter’s skulls had been fractured. They were beaten with a baseball bat that had been a birthday gift from Keith, to Peter, earlier that year.
Keith, however, was nowhere to be found. Neither was the family’s car. Not a hint of his whereabouts were found in the early hours of the investigation, and police assumed that Keith had killed his family and ran. A team was quickly assigned to search for Keith, but as quickly as they had been assigned, so quickly the team disbanded again, when the following day Keith’s body was discovered by some hunters, located in a wheat field not far from the family’s home. He had been shot three times, in his head, in the right side of his face, and in the left cheek. His penis had also been cut off.
The family’s car was located shortly after, outside of a police station, some 11 miles away from the family home. The insides splattered with blood, police concluded that Keith had been killed inside the car. While autopsies could not conclusively say the order in which the family had been killed, one thing was certain, they were all killed within the same 2 hour time span.
Fear in the already on-edge area grew even stronger as news of the violent murders spread, security systems and guns both saw a rise in sales, and the once welcoming locals now made sure to check twice if their doors were locked. It is therefor no wonder that local law enforcement responded with force, and a total of 30 full-time investigators were put on the Dardeen case. Despite interviewing 100 people, yet not finding any leads, investigators were set on finding the motive behind the gruesome murders.
One by one investigators eliminated possible motives: there had been no sign of forced entry, and not only a VCR and portable camera had been in plain sight, cash and jewellery had been up for grabs in just the next room. As far as the police could see, nothing had been taken from the home. Police turned to a possible sexual motive, due to Keith’s mutilation, but that too was dismissed. Neither had they found any evidence of an extramarital affair involving either of the couple, nor could they find anyone who had a grudge against them. They ruled out any debts, any problems, any disagreements the couple might have had, and slowly the well of possible motives started to dry up. Police did find a small bag of marijuana in the trailer, too small to indicate that either of the couple had been dealing, so that angle too was discarded.
Eventually rumours of a satanic cult ritual started floating around the little town, because of how brutal the murders had been, but police had not found any kind of satanic symbols, and dismissed these rumours. Furthermore, police were convinced that the couple had been chosen deliberately, and that the murders had been very personal.
Desperate not to let her son’s case go cold, Keith’s mother, Joeann, collected over 3000 signatures in an attempt to get the case featured on The Oprah Winfrey Show, but the producers turned her down, stating that the murders were too brutal for daytime television. America’s Most Wanted initially had a similar reaction, but in 1997 agreed to dedicate a segment to the Dardeen case, hoping to generate new leads on the horrific murders. This effort, however, turned out to be in vain, as no new leads were discovered following the airing.
In 2000 there suddenly came new life into the case, when serial killer Tommy Lynn Sells had confessed to the Dardeen case, and many more, following his arrest for the murders of two young girls in Texas. While Sells could be conclusively linked to 22 murders, he could not be linked to the Dardeen family. Not only were several details of his statements wrong, like Elaine’s position on the bed, his supposed story of running into Keith in a pool hall and being invited back to their home for a three-way with Elaine did not at all fit the very protective Keith that everybody knew. The details that Sells did get right had all been public knowledge and were things he could have easily picked up watching the news. Sells was eventually put to death in 2014.
Today, over 33 years later, the case is still unsolved, and any semblance of a motive is still missing. Keith’s mother has suggested several possible motives over the years, ranging from the idea that someone was forcing Keith to sell drugs, to Elaine having a possible stalker, or it being someone from her past, or perhaps even someone she rejected. Keith’s friend, the one who he had told about the young woman knocking on his door looking to make a phone call, wondered if perhaps that woman could somehow be involved. Police appear to either still be in the dark about a motive, or haven’t publicly shared it if they do have something, but either way, it seems unlikely that this case will be solved anytime soon.
Some notes and thoughts:
Clearly the marijuana was almost certainly for Keith’s personal use (since Elaine was pregnant.) Marijuana was looked upon very differently back then and Keith’s mother might have wanted to protect her son from judgement, which is why she might have come up with the “someone is forcing him” story.
Considering Keith’s genital mutilation, I’m not sure how exactly police ruled out any sexual motives. I couldn’t find anything concrete on that, please point it out if I missed it somewhere. There are a lot of articles about this case, all with varying degrees of info.
I do not believe Tommy Lynn Sells to be involved, I think he wanted to make himself look more prolific than he was, and perhaps try to avoid the death penalty by “cooperating” on closing several murder cases. But I did think that his “confession”was worth mentioning.
Wikipedia Link
Keith’s FindAGrave
Elaine’s FindAGrave
Edit to add some possible questions:
How did the killer(s) get to the Dardeen home, if they were able to drive away with the family car? Did they walk there? Was there a second person driving the killers’ car?
If this was premeditated, why did the killer(s) use a baseball bat already owned by the family? Wouldn’t it have made (more) sense if the killer had brought their own weapon? Does that make this a crime of opportunity?

[SP] Windfall

...something wasn't right.
Every time I'd go hiking I'd stare out at the rolling hills just beyond Windfall and wondered what was beyond them. Portia would tell me the village of Warwick was beyond those hills. And she was right. A quick Google search confirmed it. However, the problem was that none of it was real, not even Portia. In fact, I had no idea who this Portia was.
I could say she was a beautiful and kind woman who I fell in love with three years ago and asked to marry me, but this would be a lie. Well, not entirely. I did meet a Portia who was beautiful and kind three years ago, but our relationship ended when I learned her dark secret. Yet, somehow, I was now a married man living in an Old Queen Anne in the most picturesque town I'd ever seen.
Try as I might I couldn't recall any memory before Windfall. It was like the world beyond this town was a dream I once had. And while I wanted to believe that my life here with Portia was my reality--and trust me, I tried--my gut told me otherwise.
For several weeks these feelings stirred inside me. Once I even came close to telling Portia how I felt about our marriage, about her, but decided against it. I mean, maybe I was having a psychotic break or something. Therefore, I went about my usual routine. Four hours of writing in the morning followed by grabbing a beer at noon and sitting on our deck reading while Portia sat next to me lost in her phone.
But that vision of the past, and the feeling that I was living a lie kept eating away at me. Not even Camus nor Lewis could soothe my troubled mind. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Every time I looked at Portia I was hit with a bittersweet cocktail of emotion. I was happy to be with her in this wonderful house and town, but was I with her? It was during one of those noon hours that I decided to consult Portia.
“Have you ever felt like all of this wasn’t real,” I said.
“Man, not this again.” Portia sighed, taking a swig of her beer. “Do you want this not to be real?” She sat up on her lawn chair. “Oh, my God! Do you not want to be with me anymore?”
“W-what? No, that’s not it at all. I was--” I paused, and thought for a moment. “Wait. I’ve brought this up before?”
Portia nodded.
“When did I do this?”
“Like a month ago,” she said. “You were all like, ‘Portia, I feel like this isn’t my life. Like you and I are living a lie.’ Jeez, I thought you were going to break up with me. But you said you were just working on a plot for your book.” She looked at me. “Are you still working on the same book?”
“Y-yeah, still working on that book.” I lied.
“Okay, good. Because you were starting to scare me.” Portia laid back on her chair, and started scrolling through her phone. “For a minute there I was beginning to think you were tired of me.”
I chuckled. “No way. I love you, Portia. And there’s no other woman on this planet I’d rather be with. You’re the only one who gets me.”
“Damn right I am. No other girl would understand your weirdness,” she said, laughing. “And if you do leave me, I will haunt you from beyond the grave.”
“Ah, something to look forward to.”
We both laughed.
That was the thing about Portia. She really did get me. No matter what weird or random subject I started talking about, she would always humor me. So when I told her I loved her, I meant it. But the fact I’d shared my feelings of unease with her before scared me. I didn’t remember that. Christ, was I losing my mind?
“Hello, earth to Marcus,” Portia was saying.
“I’m sorry, what’d you say?”
“My God, Marcus, you really do live inside your head.” Portia smiled. “Anyway, Simon and his new boyfriend are coming over for dinner tonight. I’m planning on making chicken pot pie. But we need chicken, and can you pick up another twelve pack of Yuengling?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll go now.”

There weren't many people at the supermarket in the middle of a weekday, which made picking up the chicken and beer, as well as some snacks for that late night munch, a breeze. I couldn’t wait to get back home, pop open a beer, and help Portia start dinner. But as I closed the Range Rover’s gate, I couldn’t help but look over at the name of the supermarket. It was sprawled out in large purple letters. Absolution.
I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Absolution. What the hell happened to Shop Smart? I thought.
Confused and curious, I approached a man a few cars down who was loading his groceries.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said.
The man turned around. He was wearing a tuxedo, his face an abyss of shadow with twinkling stars for eyes.
“Ah, Mr. Cabrera,” he said. “Are you ready for the season of all natures?”
I took a few steps back, and ran for my Range Rover. The faceless tuxedo remained by his car watching as I turned on the ignition, put it into gear, and sped out of that parking lot.

When I returned home Portia was already in the kitchen prepping the ingredients for the chicken pot pie. I could hear her chopping carrots while listening to “Free Bird” and singing along. She must’ve heard me and known something was wrong because she dropped everything and joined me in the living room.
“Marcus, is everything okay?” she said.
“Y-yeah, I’m just checking for faceless men,” I said, peering through the window curtains.
“What?”
I turned to her. “Nothing. It’s just that, well--”
I told her about the man in the tuxedo with the universe for a face and, after hearing myself retell it, felt rather foolish.
Portia chuckled. “Oh, honey, you’re losing it.”
“It sure as hell feels that way.”
I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her close to me.
“Hey, someone’s feeling frisky,” Portia smiled. “Should we go upstairs? We still have time.”
“I just want to hold you right now,” I said, resting my head on her shoulder.
“Okay, but I think it’ll be more fun if we went upstairs.”
I smiled, and kissed her. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,”
“Since when has Absolution been the supermarket in this town?”
“The fuck?” Portia said, chuckling.
“Has Absolution always been our supermarket?”
“No. It’s Shop Smart.”
“It is, right,” I said. “I think I’m going crazy. I could’ve sworn I saw the supermarket name say Absolution.”
Portia laughed. “I’m pretty sure you lost your mind a long time ago. Come on. Bring the beer into the kitchen.”

The afternoon wore on without any more mention of supermarkets or men without faces. But the image of that celestial abyss haunted me; that man haunted me. He also knew my name, but that wasn’t too shocking. A lot of people knew my name and what I looked like, especially here in Windfall. I’d been interviewed on television several times when promoting my books. So, this guy was either a fan or someone I knew playing a joke on me. However, what he said echoed in my mind. Was I ready for the season of all natures? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Luckily, dinner kept my mind off that question, especially when Simon told us the story of how he and his new boy toy met. It was the same story Simon always told with all his boyfriends. Met at a bar. Hooked up. Woke up next to them in their apartment. It was at this moment that Portia and I would exchange furtive glances. We both agreed that Simon would end up alone if he didn’t get his act together. And as always, dinner with Simon ended in Portia arguing with him about his obsession with dating young men when he should be dating someone his age. I would just drink my beer and watch the argument reach its crescendo--Simon storming off with his boy toy running after him and Portia slamming the front door shut.
“Damn it,” she said, entering the kitchen. “He’s crazy if he thinks he’s going to find love by dating twenty-somethings when he’s in his mid thirties.” Portia grabbed a beer and took a long swig. “I swear to God, Marcus, that idiot is going to die alone.”
I didn’t realize it until that moment, but Portia had downed over twenty beers throughout the day. I had only downed five. That’s when the memory struck me. Portia and I in bed back at my old apartment in Clifford. It was there that she told me of her drinking problem. It was there that I had decided to help her the best I could and break up with her. I couldn’t help but wonder if that memory was real. Part of me knew it was but another part of me didn’t want to believe it. What the hell was going on? I thought. I felt like I was living two lives at once.
“What’re you thinking about?” Portia said, taking another swig of her beer.
“That Simon’s an idiot. And you’re right. He should be dating people his age.”
“That’s why he’s never going to get married,” Portia walked up to me. “Do you remember our wedding?”
I didn’t, but I nodded anyway.
“What was it you told me during our dance that made me laugh so much?”
“Ugh, you know, I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember,” Portia snarled. “Marcus, how can you not remember?”
“It must have slipped my mind.”
Portia’s eyes narrowed. “When did we get married?”
I flinched. “W-why are you asking me this now?”
“Oh, my God! You don’t remember that either,” Portia took another swig of her beer, and slammed the bottle on the table. “Where did we get married, Marcus, huh? Do you at least remember that?”
“Uh--”
“Holy shit! You forgot everything. What the fuck, Marcus. Did our wedding mean nothing to you?”
“Portia, that’s not true and you know it,” I said. “I honestly don’t remember. I’m sorry. Where did we get married?”
“You’re such an asshole, Marcus,” Portia said. “We got married in--” She paused, and thought for a moment. “We got married in--” She took a sip of her beer. “That’s weird.”
“What is?”
Portia looked at me, wide-eyed. “I don’t remember where we got married. And now that I think of it, I don’t remember our wedding at all.” She grabbed my hand, and started breathing heavily. “Marcus, why can’t I remember? Oh, my God. What’s happening to me?”
I pulled her close to me and rubbed her back. “Hey, it’s okay. I think we just had too much to drink. Let’s just take a moment to sober up.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“We should have the photos on Instagram,” I said, after a while. “We can look them up later.”
Portia pulled away from me, grabbed her phone and opened the app. She scrolled through her pictures, her hands shaking.
“Marcus, I can’t find anything on my account.”
“It’s alright. Maybe you posted it on mine.”
A quick scroll through my account yielded no results.
“Wait. Of course. We’re so dumb.” Portia chuckled. “We put my stupid ass sister in charge of photos. And you know she’s old school. So we should have the album upstairs. Come on.”

We turned every room in the house inside out in search of a nonexistent wedding album. Portia searched the house twice before joining me on our bedroom couch. Silence filled the room for several minutes before either of us could speak.
“Marcus, I don’t understand what’s happening here.”
“Me neither.”
“Do you remember moving into this house, into this town?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Same.” Portia fell silent for a moment. “Are we even married?”
I turned to her, and grabbed her hand. “Listen to me, Portia. Do you see this,” I raised our hands to display our wedding bands. “We are married. Look, I don’t know what’s going on right now, but what I do know is that I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Portia gave a wan smile.
I rubbed away the tears cascading down her cheeks with my thumb, and kissed her.
We spent the rest of the night on that couch in each other's arms.

The next morning Portia woke me up. While my eyes adjusted to the sunlight, and the spell of drowsiness dispersed, I could see Portia pacing up and down the room. She was muttering incomprehensible nothings under her breath.
I rubbed my eyes. “Portia, are you okay?”
“No, Marcus, I’m not,” she snarled. “I just tried calling my parents, sister, and brother. And guess what? I couldn’t reach any of them. Then I tried Simon. Same story.”
“It’s fine. They probably slept in or something.”
Portia shook her head. “No, something’s going on here. Something isn’t right.”
I had to agree with her. The feeling of unease returned at that moment with a vengeance.
“We have to go see my parents,” Portia said. “They have to know whether we’re married or not.”
I nodded, and hoped they did.

We started for her parents house in Brent, but when I searched the Range Rover’s GPS for their address I couldn’t find it.
“What’s wrong now?” Portia said.
“I could’ve sworn we had your parents’ place saved in this thing.”
Portia typed an unfamiliar address into the GPS.
“Kenilworth?! I thought your parents lived in Brent.”
“No, they’ve always lived in Kenilworth.”
I made a left onto the Windfall Turnpike.
“You sure?”
Portia stared at me, furrow-browed. “What the hell is going on with you?”
I remained silent.
A heavy fog started surrounding us as we made our way down the turnpike. The road and the scenery disappeared within minutes. Before we knew it we were driving in a dense cloud where not even the fog lamps helped. I reduced our speed from forty to fifteen. Good thing, too, because we were barreling toward a roadblock. If it wasn’t for the police lights flashing up ahead we would’ve ran straight into the police cruisers and SUVs blocking the road.
“Do you think there was an accident?” Portia said.
“I don’t know. It’s possible with this fog.”
The silhouette of an officer began to emerge from the mist. He sauntered toward us. His torso was exposed, revealing his name tag that read Aether. However, his face remained clouded. He tapped my window.
“Has there been an accident, officer?” I said.
“No accident, Mr. Cabrera,” Aether said. “Are you ready for the season of all natures?”
The cloud around Aether’s face dispersed. For the second time I was staring at a man with the universe and stars for a face. Those burning orbs looked at me, and only me, while Portia cursed and screamed. I put the Range Rover in reverse and hit the gas. I didn’t stop until the officer was swallowed up by the fog.
“Marcus, what’re you doing?” Portia said. “Turn this truck around and get us the fuck out of here.”
“No, I’m not going to let some freak in a mask scare us.”
“I don’t think that was a mask.” Portia looked at me. “Was that what you saw in the Shop Smart parking lot?”
“Yeah, the same one. And he asked me the same thing, too.” I said. “Season of all natures. What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Portia said. “But we should turn around.”
I shook my head. “We’re going straight through that roadblock.”
“What?!”
“Hold on to something.”
I put the Range Rover in drive and floored the gas pedal. The speedometer rose to fifty-five by the time we reached the roadblock. But instead of seeing the police lights and the man with the universe face, there was nothing. We raced through the fog for the better part of a minute before it finally lifted, revealing, not the lake that should have been there, but our neighborhood.
I stomped on the brake and stopped in front of our house.
“Portia, do you see our house or have I officially lost my mind?”
“If you lost your mind then so have I,” Portia cursed. “How is this possible? We were on the turnpike!”
I remained silent.
“What should we do,” Portia pulled out her phone. “Of course! No signal.” She turned to me. “Fuck, Marcus. What should we do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we should go back inside the house and see if we can make sense of any of this.”
Portia got out, and started for the house. “I’m gonna go use the laptop. Maybe we can contact someone via email.”
While Portia made her way inside the house, I walked over to the Range Rover’s gate and opened it. I pulled out the bedding and grabbed the rubber box I’d wedged inside the spare tire. I opened it to find the Beretta and one magazine containing five rounds. By nature I was a peaceful man. I’d no desire to use firearms for anything. But a close encounter with a violent vagrant high on God knows what outside Kit’s Keg Pub a couple years back, made the thought of a firearm a good idea. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but if that faceless freak showed up here he’d meet the barrel of my gun this time. I loaded the Beretta and tucked it into the back of my jeans.
Once I was inside the house I couldn’t help but feel like something was off. The place didn’t have its usual lavender scent that Portia perfumed the house with, but rather, it reeked of cigarettes and stale beer. There were also photos of Portia in a wedding dress with a man I’d never seen before acting as the groom. Before I could make heads or tails of any of this the man from the photos appeared.
“Who the fuck are you?” he said.
“I should be asking you that question,” I said. “The hell are you doing in my house?”
“Your house?” The man took a couple steps toward me. “You better get lost, brotha. You don’t want me to toss you out.”
Portia walked into the room, beer in hand. “Babe, what’s going on?” She looked at me, wide-eyed. “Oh, my God! Marcus! Is that you?”
“Portia, what the hell is going on here? Who is this guy?”
“Marcus, what’re you doing here?”
“I live here,” I said.
“Marcus, what’re you talking about?” She walked up to me. “You broke up with me a few years ago. I haven’t spoken to you since.”
My stomach dropped, and I started to feel lightheaded. “What?! No, you were just with me. We were on the turnpike with the fog, and the faceless guy, and then we ended up back here. Remember?”
“Oh, my. Are you unwell?”
I walked up to her and held her arms. “Portia, we’re married. We live here in this house. Here in Windfall.”
“The fuck!” Portia pushed away from me. “We’re not married. You broke up with me years ago because you couldn’t handle the fact that I’m an alcoholic.”
“Portia, no, we live--”
“Fuck you, Marcus,” Portia snarled. “You left me during the shittiest time in my life. I had no job, my friends didn’t give a fuck about me, and then I share my darkest secret with you hoping you’d understand. Cause, you know what, I thought you were different, Marcus. I thought you actually cared about me. But no. You left me.”
My heart was in my throat. “P-Portia. No. I-I’m sorry.”
“Too late for apologies,” she said. “Get the fuck out of my house. And don’t you ever come back here.”
A frigid cold ran through my body as Portia’s words settled. “N-no, Portia. P-please, I don’t want to lose you again. I love you.”
Portia, with tears running down her cheeks, slammed her beer bottle into the nearby wall. She held out the shattered bottle toward me. “Get out, Marcus. Get out!”

After I left Portia in our house with that stranger, I drove around Windfall for hours in silence. When the sun was beginning to set, I drove into Windfall State Forest and hiked the Bearclaw Trail until I reached Sunrise Lake--the spot Portia and I would sometimes hike to watch the sunrise. There was no one around. I sat there overlooking the still lake, the Beretta next to me.
I felt alone and scared. I had no idea what had happened. I couldn’t explain it with logic. The only thing that made any sense was that, somehow, I had lost my mind. Or, perhaps, I was abducted by aliens and was being experimented on. But I knew it wasn’t either of those. I knew I was living a lie. Portia wasn’t my wife. I broke up with her because of her alcoholism, and I felt like shit about it. I left her in terrible shape. I was afraid. I didn’t know how to handle that situation.
Or the current situation.
I had seen enough movies and read enough books to know that I was trapped here in Windfall. Hell, I’d written books where the main character was trapped in an endless nightmare until they realized there was no hope of escape. And it was at that moment that the character either woke up or discovered they were part of an experiment or worse. For a brief moment I wondered if I should take the Beretta and put a bullet in my head. Maybe jump into the lake and drown.
“It wouldn’t matter what you did,”
I turned around and saw Aether. The darkness of night had shrouded him in shadow, but I could see that he’d donned his tuxedo again.
“I knew you’d show up.”
“Ah, is that so,” he said, those stars burning bright. “Well, Mr. Cabrera, are you ready for the season of all natures?”
“Shouldn’t you be telling me that I lack the season of all natures?”
During my drive around town I had given that phrase more thought and remembered I’d read it before. Macbeth. Season of all natures. Sleep. I didn’t want to believe it but it explained everything.
“Yes, sleep,” Aether said. “You’re long overdue.”
“I’m dead, right?”
“For decades now.”
“And this is hell,”
Aether shook his head. “Not quite.” The man moved closer to me. “You’ve been awake in death. It’s an all too common occurrence with a heavy soul.”
“What do you mean?”
“A soul that remains awake in death creates their ideal paradise,” Aether said. “But in time that paradise becomes a personal hell. For you, Mr. Cabrera, your ideal paradise was living in a picturesque town of nostalgia with the woman you love.”
I stared out at nothing in particular. “I created Windfall. My paradise.” I turned to Aether. “Why did my ideal paradise turn to hell?”
“It’s not real. It’s a fantasy of your creation to hide the truth of pain in your heart. Such a thing can never be a paradise.”
“How did I die?”
“How you died matters not,” Aether said. “What matters is forgiveness.”
“I don’t understand,”
“You can never go to sleep and dream until you’ve forgiven yourself.” Aether tapped the ground with his shoe. A white glowing light illuminated a path that led into the forest. “You have until dawn to reach the summit of the Bearclaw Trail. If you’ve forgiven yourself you will be granted eternal sleep. If not, you shall repeat the simulacrum of your design.”
“I would be with Portia again…”
“Be wary, Mr. Cabrera, for each repetition of your simulacrum pulls you further away from your truth.”
“Wait, what does that--”
Aether vanished into the shadows. Only the illuminated path remained. I didn’t like what he told me in the end. It didn’t sound pleasant. And after spending the better part of a minute thinking about Aether's words, I decided it would be best to start the trek up the mountain.
The first mile up the mountain was uneventful. There was nothing but the sound of distant owls and crickets to keep me company. After a while I came across a small replica of my old apartment in Clifford. I picked it up and examined it. Through its windows I could see and hear a younger version of myself speaking to a friend, and was overcome with a paroxysm of emotions. I could feel the resentment and self loathing that coursed through that version of myself.
“I’m telling you, Marcus, the house is amazing,” said the ghost of the past. “It’s an Old Queen Anne, and it has so many rooms. Which is perfect for my wife and her parents.”
“That sounds great, man,” I said. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks,” The ghost paused. “Listen, we also have a guesthouse. It's a one bedroom apartment with space to kill. It’s yours if you want it. It’s much bigger than what you have here, and it’s in Kenilworth. What do you say?”
“Thanks, but no. Look, I’m working on a new novel and I know it’s going to sell.” I laughed. “Hell, I’ll probably buy a house on your block and we can be neighbors.”
“Yeah, that would be great.” The ghost grimaced. “Man, I know you’re struggling right now. Why don’t you just take the guesthouse and stay there until you finish your book. And then when it sells you can buy one of the houses on the block. I would charge less rent than what you pay now.”
“Look, bro, you don’t have to do me any favors. I’m good.”
The replica of my apartment crumbled in my hands.
I had forgotten about my friend and his offer of help. And I had forgotten his name.
As I tried to recall his name I noticed my skin began to crack. Not knowing what else to do, I kept walking along the lighted path.
It wasn’t long before I came across a podium that held a manuscript. I picked it up and read the title. Windfall. I couldn’t believe it. It was the first real novel that I wrote. I remembered being proud of that manuscript. So when it got rejected by every publisher known to man, I locked that thing up and never looked at it again. As I held those hefty pages in my hands I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d forgotten about it. The longer I held the manuscript, and the more I flipped through the pages, the more of the book I remembered. Ten years of my life were dedicated to it. I sacrificed so much time. And got nothing for it in the end.
Truth be told it wasn’t good. There was no soul in it.
The manuscript turned to ash in my hands.
My skin cracked more so that I now looked like a gargoyle trying to break free of it’s stone prison. Every step I took after that felt like knives stabbing every inch of my body. I wanted to stop walking to prevent the pain from getting stronger, but I was close to the summit of the Bearclaw Trail. Giving up now, I thought, would have been pointless.
I pushed myself until I saw her standing in front of me. She was wearing her Lynyrd Skynyrd hoodie, her hands tucked into the front pocket.
“Portia,” I said, feeling the pain of my cracked lips. “I’m so sorry for leaving you the way I did.”
A full body mirror emerged from the ground. I could see my reflection clear as day. Then that image faded into my apartment where I was in bed with Portia. She was turned over on her side, sobbing. I sat up and placed my hand on her shoulder.
“Portia, what’s wrong?”
“No, I don’t want to tell you,” she said.
“Come on, Portia, you can tell me.”
“No, you’ll break up with me,”
“That’s not true,” I said. “Tell me. What’s wrong? Are you not human? Are you a cat?”
Portia chuckled. “No, I’m not a cat.”
“So then there’s nothing to be afraid of. You can tell me.”
Portia turned toward me. “I-I’m an alcoholic.”
I watched as panic spread across my face. At that moment I knew I didn’t want to be with this woman anymore. I wasn’t the guy for her. I couldn’t handle that situation.
“I couldn’t handle that situation,” The mirror reflected my image once again. “It had nothing to do with you, Portia. I just didn’t know what to do. I was afraid. I was afraid to love.”
The mirror shattered into millions of illuminated pieces. They floated in the air like small fireflies. Then they swarmed Portia and clung to her skin until she had become a burning body of light. She glowed brighter and brighter until the entire forest and night had turned to day before shattering into the darkness.
Soon after I felt my cracked skin tear, which sent a burning sensation throughout my body that made me feel like I was on fire. I screamed for what felt like hours. When I could no longer scream I noticed the pain had ceased. In my agony I had somehow made it to the summit of the Bearclaw Trail. Standing there looking out into the dawning horizon was Aether.
“It would seem you made it, Mr. Cabrera,” he said, his back to me.
I walked and stood next to him. “What the hell was all that?”
“It’s designed to be a revelation.”
The sun was now peaking over the horizon, turning the night sky a tinge of purple.
“What does that mean?”
Aether turned to me. “Before a soul can sleep it must be awakened.”
The sun now rose into the crimson sky. A bright ray of light shot from the sun to the edge of the Bearclaw Trail summit. I could feel the warmth from that ray radiating through the cold air.
“What happens to a soul when it sleeps?”
“I don’t have knowledge of that,” Aether said. “That is for you to discover.” The man motioned to the ray of light. “You must cross the lighted bridge now so you may sleep.”
I started for the lighted bridge, but stopped before touching it.
“Have I been here before?”
Aether’s eyes dimmed. “You have. Many times.”
“Do you know if I’ll be able to sleep?”
Aether shook his head.
I turned around and started crossing the lighted bridge. The distance to the star wasn’t as great as I had thought it to be. As I got closer I could feel the warmth caress me and I could hear the singing of birds and…
…something wasn’t right.
Every time I'd go hiking I'd stare out at the rolling hills just beyond Windfall and wondered what was beyond them. Portia would tell me the village of Warwick was beyond those hills. And she was right. A quick Google search confirmed it. However, the problem was that none of it was real, not even Portia. In fact, I had no idea who this Portia was.

Certifried Crisp play-by-play pt 1

We open with Bee addressing the viewers, informing us that her father will be on soon to answer questions about autism and specifically autism in relationships.
She says he is “getting ready” and it will be a “show stopper”.
At around two minutes in, multiple dogs start barking. Mother Crisp walks by in the background wearing latex gloves.
The dogs are now barking so loud we can barely hear Bee assuring us that her father is certified by the National Autistic Society. She doesn't know where he is, but “everything is fine!” She asks people to invite others to join.
Two minutes thirty, Bee greets the viewers again. “Why are the dogs going mental?” Bee reads. “They're probably autistic, too.”
She then alternates between staring blankly at the screen and encouraging viewers to ask questions.
At four minutes fifteen, a mechanical hoist appears in the background. Bee shouts at a dog to “get off the table!” In an apparent attempt to excuse her father's lateness, she explains that “this is real life”, and stumbles over the phrase “hunky-dory” for slightly longer than is comfortable.
Bee is now being fastened into the hoist. Her father can be heard briefly in the background. Bee explains that she needs the hoist because she “cannot slide (herself) over”.
Five and a half minutes in, Daddy Crisp finally appears. He takes the camera. Bee tells us he has “brought down a whole load of papers”. Daddy Crisp says this is so he “doesn't go on a wangle”.
He says they are going to wait until Bee is in the bed to “start proper”. Bee can be heard giggling in the background.
Daddy Crisp holds he camera at an angle under his chin and stares down at the viewers. The ceiling and overhead light fixture will be the focus for much of the video.
He asks if anybody viewing (there are now eleven people) have autism. Bee calls “I have autism, daddy!” over the sound of the lift.
A few people have commented they or family members are autistic.
Seven minutes in, the lift is still going. Daddy Crisp informs us that he was diagnosed at “the tender age of forty-two” with Asperger's.
He starts giving what sounds like a somewhat prepared and very brief “talk” about the difference between High Functioning Autism and Asperger's. As he apparently walks around in circles, showing us the ceilings of several rooms, he starts on a ramble that eventually makes it around to saying “they” got rid of the Asperger's diagnosis because people with Asperger's couldn't get the care they needed, as they weren't autistic.
Eight and a half minutes in, and Daddy Crisp is now going on about the DSMV-5, how Autism isn't classed as a mental illness or a disability, but “has to be classed somewhere” so it's a developmental disorder.
We see more light fixtures and can hear something with squeaky wheels being pushed around.
Nine minutes thirty and Daddy Crisp starts talking about Hanz Asperger's “Little Professors” and, through a great deal of stuttering, tells us that lower functioning autistic people were sent to concentration camps during the Third Reich, but people with Asperger's were singled out to be the scientists and mathematicians of the future. Eventually he gets around to telling us that Hanz Asperger has fallen out of favor in recent years because of his connection to the Nazis.
Eleven minutes in, and he is rambling on about diagnostic criteria that are a “diad but really a triad”, how “social imagination” was removed from the areas of weakness because “people assumed, wrongly, that it meant people with autism have no imagination.”
Twelve minutes thirty and he's assuring us that, even though people with autism may be seen as selfish, they are just “self centered”. We see the closed access to the attic and are blinded by the ceiling light as he stumbles through a confusing, two minute explanation as to why some may see autistic people as being unemotional. He then tells us he is the opposite way, and sometime has trouble controlling his emotions.
Daddy Crisp belches and tells us he is on antibiotics that are making his “stomach gurgle, which has amused little Bernadette considerably”. Bee can be heard laughing in the background.
Daddy Crisp is now onto social communication, and Tony Atwood https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Attwood who he apparently saw lecture once, and likes to play a game he calls “Spot the Aspie” where he walks through the math and science departments and goes “there's one, there's one”.
He goes on about how hard it is for people with Asperger's and Autism to socialize, stumbling between sentences.
Seventeen minutes in he informs us that social media is great for people with Autism because they won't hug you or turn up at your house unexpectedly. Then he starts grumbling about the facebook term “friend” being ableist because it makes people with autism believe they are actually friends in real life, which leads them to being taken advantage of. He says Bee has been the victim of “both mate crimes and hate crimes and cyberbullying through facebook”. But it's great way to connect with people and form relationships!
Daddy Crisp has gotten himself somewhat back on track. Some people with Autism don't talk very much. Others talk to much about something they are interested in.
Twenty-one and a half minutes in, he informs us that Bee has “just had a pad change and a wash”.
“Dad!” Bee can be heard laughing wildly off camera.
Now Bee is back on camera. She tells us her dad is embarrassing as she laughs and grins at the viewer.
Bee and Daddy Crisp have a brief conversation in which Daddy Crisp says he has notes to “keep from going off on a tangent”. Bee, in the first true note of clarity so far, says “I think you already have.”
Bee assures us that she is OK and was just “being cared for, that's what we say”. “By Mum” Daddy Crisp adds.
Twenty two minutes in and nobody has asked any questions in spite of Bee and Daddy Crisp prompting. Bee decides she will ask questions and tells us they tried this last night.
Someone in the comments asks what Daddy Crisp's favorite color is. It's blue. Bee asks if he has a favorite type of blue. Daddy Crisp stares at the ceiling and then says “a little darker than this”. There is then a bizarre exchange in which the Crisp family has a discussion about whether the item in question is blue, purple, or mauve.
Bee tells us we'll never get anybody more entertaining than her dad.
Twenty four minutes in. Someone asks “what inspired you to be a dancer”. Bee asks if this is directed at her dad. The whole family is laughing hysterically at this point.
“What inspired me to be a dancer was, like, um, I was pretty much getting worse the way I was and I was looking for some motivation and from that I was inspired from other people and from that I became inspired by the actual motion of dance and it actually changed my life and it actually set me onto a path of something I can be proud of.”
Bee specifies “any questions for my dad” The camera is now panning back and forth between Bee and Daddy Crisp. They are reading the usernames of the people watching.
Twenty-six thirty and Bee introduces Mother Crisp. Mother can be seen wandering around in the background occasionally. Daddy Crisp says he is not part of the Instagram generation. Bee says this is why she is helping him.
Someone asks if anybody else in his family has tics or autism. He says no, but Bees brother has it, and he is not convinced Mother Crisp is neurotypical since she has some obsessions that will get “way out” sometimes.
“How do you let your child grow up? More adult things like relationships?” Someone asks.
“Well, that's the topic today.” Daddy Crisp says. He asks how old the child is (15) and says they have experience with that as their children are 21 and 23 respectively.
Mother Crisp asks what exactly the problem is, apparently the kid is becoming interested in girls. Daddy Crisp tells us that time of life is particularly hard for autistic boys, as they don't have the ability to understand the way girls think. He says girls are way more complex than boys. Bee disagrees.
We now look up at Mother Crisp and the light fixture, she asks if they have gotten any advice. The doctor apparently told them to give their kid independence. Daddy Crisp starts going on about how behavioral standards have changed for boys and girls in recent decades and apparently it is confusing for boys with autism so they get into trouble for their behavior toward women. He describes himself as “touchy-feely”. He tells a story about how his son was confused because he'd been told not to go up and hug strangers, then saw co-workers hugging someone who had just come back and was very confused. Why were they allowed to hug people and he wasn't?
Thirty-four minutes in. Daddy Crisp is explaining how people with Autism are more likely to make sexually inappropriate comments.
Mother Crisp asks if anybody is working with the child. She and Daddy Crisp stare into the screen expectantly until the answer comes up- occupational therapist and counselor at school.
“Occupational Therapist?” Mother Crisp asks, sounding mildly horrified. Daddy Crisp tells her that it's normal for occupational therapists to be used at school.
Now he wants to know exactly what kind of inappropriate comments the boy is making.
Mother Crisp says an occupational therapist can't help and they need to find someone who knows how to work with young people who want to be in relationships. “Counseling is OK, but it depends on what kind of counseling he's having”.
They have a fractured conversation about social skills.
Daddy Crisp suggests something called “Social Stories”. He then goes back to sexually inappropriate behavior and how he will 'rebel' if they try to quash his urges. He tells the commenter to message Bee so he can email her materials.
Around again to how not all behaviors are acceptable all the time and how that is confusing. We're not allowed to hit people, but professional boxers get paid to do it!
Autistic people are very good at being stubborn, he says.
ChronicallyAutistic has joined in the chat.
Daddy Crisp explains that he is not good at social media. We learn he likes Zoom better than Webinar.
ChronicallyAutistic has eaten dinner!
Daddy and Mother Crisp greet the viewers again. Daddy Crisp assures us that autistic people can be funny.
Bee takes the camera back and explains to her parents what the term “takeover” means.
Someone with “munchie” in their username is now watching. One of the other viewers apparently goes to their account to make sure they aren't a “hate account because (munchie stands for munchausens) and it isn't! It's a food account, so you're good.”
And here, thankfully, ends part one.

[I Got A Rock] - Chapter 3

Vidal’s strength made carrying all of the luggage an effortless affair for the two boys making their way across campus to the first year dormitories. They were a complex of highly angular buildings hinting at their military past. A bit of paperwork filled out later and the two had a dorm together, the administration preferring to pair students who got along rather than force strangers together that would later find themselves at each other's throats. Two students to a room with space for all but the largest familiars. All doors across the whole of the island were mercifully large enough for familiars of all sizes. A fact that Zyn was all too happy to rattle off as the two got settled into their room after Vidal had little trouble making it through the door..
“See, The Emperor started the tradition of having mage focused buildings be more accommodating to even the largest familiars, and given this was formerly a military installation it just falls to reason that-”
“Zyn, how do you know all this?” Isak asked as he set the last of his clothes in a dresser.
Zyn cleared his throat, setting Ozzy down in a darkened box he immediately scurried into. “Oh, planning to major in history and archaeology...two years down the road sure but, never too early to start on your dreams right?”
“Wha? No that’s awesome! Wish I had some idea of what I want to get into already...what do you think Vidal?”
“I do not think, I serve.” He said, staring at the door leading in.
Isak flopped down onto his bed with a groan, immediately finding how hard it was to stay frustrated while laying on what had to be the nicest bedding in the entire Empire.
“Eh, not bad.” Zyn’s assessment of the bed situation on the other side of the room divider was far more critical. To him it was at least as nice as his bed back home but nothing special. “Oh, almost forgot to ask.”
The drow stood and started rummaging around in his bags as he called out to the human. “How are you managing with the sun?
Isak sat up in bed. “The sun?”
“If I want to not feel like my stomach is turning inside out, I need a handy little amulet to deal with the sun.” Ozzy plopped down off Zyn’s shoulder and joined him in his search through luggage. “Now if I remember right, you humans do that thing...you know where you get darker, tanning?”
Isak had never considered that this was not universal, but it made sense in retrospect when not all species even had skin. “Mostly yes. The fairer ones...mostly just burn.”
Zyn looked up from his search and cast a worried glance over to his fair skinned friend. He seemed on the pale side, though he had seen paler? A different shade of pale? What color did this count as again? “We didn’t have a lot of humans in my city so-”
“The sun is an enemy to us both.” Isak said with a laugh, now seeing one benefit to the cloudy weather of The Wastes.
Ozzy held a small amulet up to Zyn, who retrieved it and cave octopus in hand as he walked over to Isak to present him with the gift. “For our enemy, the sun.”
Isak stared at the amulet, noting the simple decorative carvings and runic language. “Uh, what do I owe you?”
Zyn snorted. “I don’t have to spend the year with some stranger I’d probably end up hating who has poor hygiene. Don’t worry about it. You have good hygiene right?”
The human sat up fully, still not taking it. “I uh...I really can’t put you out like that.”
“Really it’s nothing. Protects against the harmful effects of the sun, you can even attune your familiar to it! Not that Vidal needs it but-”
“Ah, no just tell me how much I owe you and I’ll work on getting the money.” Isak said, brows pressing together as he knew this was far too good to be true.
Zyn’s smile faded. “Oh….ohhhh this must be a human thing. Well, one copper then.”
“Zyn that’s worth far more than-”
“It isn’t, now buy it for one copper otherwise I’m hitting you with frost until you’re too frozen to keep complaining.” He held it out again with a shake for emphasis.
Vidal made a grinding noise as he turned on the spot.
“It was a joke!” Zyn leaned closer to Isak, putting the amulet in his hand and whispering to him “It was mostly a joke. My thing is history not economics, now give me that copper.”
Isak frowned, retrieved a copper piece and handed it to the drow. “Sorry...I’m used to good deals being a trick…”
“If that’s what this is about then yes, I am tricking you. Into friendship.” Zyn said with a toothy grin, that immediately faded into horror as he saw Isak look increasingly worried. “That too was a joke! No strings attached!”
The human gave a sigh, followed by a weak smile. “I get it. And don’t worry about me. Old habits die hard, you know?”
“We made it into Black Reef Academy, take the opportunity for a new lease on life. Now, I believe we’ve got an early dinner to catch at the main hall.” Zyn asked, gently elbowing the human.
“Yeah yeah, go Sea Snakes.” Isak rolled his eyes. “Well, I suppose now that I don’t have to worry about bursting into flames-”
“Allow me to remain in this form and I shall deal with all possible combustion.” Vidal pointed a stone hand at Isak as it morphed from blocky fingers into a stone nozzle as water started to swirl about his arm.
The boys dove out of the way and took cover, Ozzy holding on for dear life.
“Short term goal, work on not taking everything literally.” Isak said, peeking out from behind his bed.
After talking down Vidal and convincing him that the combustion chances were no higher than normal, they were on their way to an early dinner with Zyn pointing out various buildings and rattling off what they had once been during The Southwestern Campaign. Even though this was likely to come up in history class, Isak could hardly deny Zyn the joy it seemed to bring him.
Midway through explaining that a sectioned off stone slab in front of the dining hall was one of the relics of a civilization that had vanished by the time of The Empire’s arrival here, Zyn stopped himself and spoke in a low voice to Isak. “Don’t turn around and be so obvious about it, but your girlfriend’s over there.”
Isak flinched and held up a finger to set the record straight. “She is not my girlfriend. I just...think she’s cool...and okay so she’s pretty...very pretty…never thought I’d be into tall girls...” His hand went from wagging a finger at Zyn to stroking at his chin while he stared at the ground. He shook his head to gather his thoughts. “My point is, she’s not my girlfriend. And even if I wanted to go for that and probably get shot down I would need to get to know her better.”
“So go ask her to join us at our table for dinner?” Zyn’s question was more of a rhetorical one, as indicated by the lost look on his face. “She said she wanted to meet up later.”
“Isn’t that too...I don’t know, soon? Too forward?” Isak asked with a shrug.
Zyn glared at the human. “Your attack rock prevents me from making certain partially joking threats, but if you don’t go ask her to join us now then Ozzy has more of a spine than you.”
Ozzy chittered away on Zyn’s shoulder, turning a dark red of indignation. Isak wanted to object, but knew for a fact he could not. He instead steeled his resolve and turned to spot that familiar tall girl of teal skin and black stripes with violet hair long and flowing. Surrounded by a small horde of rich students with their menagerie of exceptionally exotic familiars. Including no less than two raptors, of differing types, and a dragon.
Though he froze in place, Zyn gave him a reassuring thumbs up and a look over to Vidal reminded him that he was under roughly no physical danger. Just social annihilation. The group was on the move, and he had to act quick. His legs started carrying him closer before his brain was entirely certain of a plan. None of his spells were useful in situations where enemies had yet to be made. Vidal’s help was likely to get someone hurt. Which meant his old standby of using himself as a distraction and figuring out a plan along the way before he could remember what a terrible idea that was.
So he gave a large wave and called out to her. “Xoco!”
Isak was met with bemused looks from all but Xoco, who was giving a bright smile and looking almost thankful. “Well I really must be going now as you can all see, until next time!”
Xoco said to the bewilderment of all involved as she gave the tiniest bow that such a tall girl could manage and put her arm around Isak’s shoulder to drag the confused human off.
“Wha-”
“Sorry, I really needed to get away from them.” She said in a low voice as soon as they were out of earshot. Isak’s brain was still catching up with what happened, which left his voice on its own. “Yeah well, happy to help a friend?” He gave a smile that vanished into doubt as soon as it appeared. “You know, if you want to.”
She cleared his worries with a smile of teeth so sharp one might cut themselves just from the sight. “I would like that very much. Far better than having no friends here.”
“They weren’t friends then?” Isak asked.
Xoco gave a deep sigh. “No...just people wanting to know me because of who my family is and who their families are, you know how it is.”
Isak nodded along before stopping and looking off. “Uhhh, I don’t actually…”
“Oh!” Xoco’s confusion met with embarrassment before she gave another smile of razor sharp reassurance and gave Isak a small hug as they walked. “Even better!”
“...yeah?” Isak asked while feeling his face turn red.
“The last thing I want to do here is face the same plays at “networking” beneath masks of lies!” She said between gritted teeth, to which even Nelli roused from her place around Xoco’s neck to give an affirmative hiss.
Isak looked over to Vidal as the only one nearby on Xoco’s aimless walk for some means of support. Vidal only stared ahead, thankfully not identifying Xoco dragging him around as a threat. “Well...me and Zyn were just gonna have dinner. He might talk your ear off about the school’s history, but I haven’t heard him mention ‘networking’ even once. And me? Well, honestly just more of a listener. Got nothing cool to talk about. I mean Vidal is cool and all but I don’t know much about him...oh, as you can see he now has a water form.”
He pointed to the mass of rock held together with streams of water walking beside them, and to the changed symbol on his chest. “See that? New symbol! All I had to do was flick one of my tears on him!....they were happy tears….which were completely valid-”
Xoco laughed as she inspected the newest text. “I would cry tears of joy if I was in possession of such a wonder myself!”
Isak avoided all eye contact. “Mhmm! Oh hey look it’s Zyn let’s go meet him!” Isak said, desperate for the distraction.
The drow caught sight of the pair walking together, shooting Isak an amazed look and double thumbs up as her arm was around him. Isak had only a moment for his eyes to go wide and give the tiniest and quickest shake of his head to a now very confused Zyn before they finally caught up to him.
Zyn put on a good face right before Xoco turned away from inspecting Vidal. “There you are! Come on, I’m starving and dinner will be served soon.”
Though she finally released him, Xoco smiled at Isak and Zyn alike as they made their way into the dining hall for early dinner.
(Another chapter down, and the next is about halfway done. Thank you to everyone keeping up with this. I hope to have some cover art for this story soon though my usual artist already has a lot on her plate. Let me know what you think of the chapter!) (Edit: Boy, formatting really didn't like being copy pasted over here. I think I got all of it)
<< Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 >>

My daughter had a slumber party 3 days ago. She hasn’t woken up since.

bedding sets for boy and girl video

Contactless options including Same Day Delivery and Drive Up are available with Target. Shop today to find Kids' Bedding Sets at incredible prices. Sweet Jojo Designs Ivory Gender Neutral Boho Bohemian Baby Girl Boy Nursery Crib Bedding Set - 4pc - Solid Color Beige Cream Off White Farmhouse Chic Unisex Minimalist Tassel Fringe Macrame Cotton. 4.2 out of 5 stars 36. $139.99 $ 139. 99. Get it as soon as Fri, Feb 12. FREE Shipping by Amazon. Brandream Baby Girls Crib Bedding Sets Pink Purple Nursery Bedding Set Elephant Owl Floral Patchwork ... Boys & Girls Bedding - Kids, Teen & Baby Bedding Sets. Here at lux comfy bedding we have a wide range of boys and girls bedding sets and bedroom accessories.A lot of our featured comforters for kids are one of the best kids comforters reviewed in the market. Shop for coordinating boy girl bedding online at Target. Choose from contactless Same Day Delivery, Drive Up and more. Baby Boy Bedding Sets. Baby Girl Bedding Sets. King Comforter Sets Clearance. Queen Comforter Sets Clearance. Croscill Comforter Sets. White Comforter. Bed in a Bag. Daybed Covers. Down Comforters. Bed Sheets Queen. Duvet Covers. Bedspreads Clearance. Duvet Insert. Down Alternative Comforter. Purple Bed. Ads These results match your search query. Sellers participating in our shopping program ... Did you scroll all this way to get facts about baby bedding crib sets girl? Well you're in luck, because here they come. There are 7998 baby bedding crib sets girl for sale on Etsy, and they cost $117.45 on average. The most common baby bedding crib sets girl material is cotton. The most popular color? You guessed it: pink. Shop for bunk bed bedding sets for boy and girl at Bed Bath & Beyond. Buy top selling products like Storkcraft Long Horn Twin Bunk Bed and KID-O-BUNK by Disc-O-Bed with Organizers. Shop now! Honkaii 4Pcs Crib Bedding Sets for Boy , Zoo Baby Bedding Sets Neutral with Comforter Fitted Sheet Crib Skirt Blanket, Machine Washable, Suitable for 28 x 52 Inch Cribs,Nursery Bedding Set (Gray) 4.7 out of 5 stars 91. $45.59 $ 45. 59. Get it as soon as Wed, Feb 10. FREE Shipping by Amazon. Brandream Farmhouse Crib Bedding Set for Girls Sweet Daisy Floral Nursery Bedding Sunflower Blanket Set ... The unisex ocean crib sets are ideal gifts for baby bedding sets for boy or girl on Baby Showers Day, Birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving day. The best crib set certainly stands out from the crowd and will be loved by everyone. AFTER SALES - Thank you for choosing our toddler crib bed set. If you have any questions about the infant crib bedding set, please contact us by email and our service ... Wide collection of baby boy crib bedding sets. Find unique crib sets for boys to adorn your nursery. Pick designer nursery crib bedding or have it custom made.

bedding sets - Bing - Shopping

bedding sets for boy and girl

bedding sets for boy and girl - win

Hansleep Unicorn Kid’s Duvet Cover Set 3 Pieces, Ultra Soft Kid’s Bedding Sets for Boys and Girls with Zipper Closure (Twin, 68”x90”)

[44% off] Waterproof Fitted Crib Mattress Pad and Toddler Crib Mattress Protective Baby Crib Mattress Cover Sheets Protector Bedding Sets Breathable & Hypoallergenic for Boys and Girls

[38% off] Waterproof Fitted Crib Mattress Pad and Toddler Crib Mattress Protective Baby Crib Mattress Cover Sheets Protector Bedding Sets Breathable & Hypoallergenic for Boys and Girls

[20% off] OTOB 100 Cotton Brown White and Black Gingham Plaid Print Duvet Cover Set Simple Modern Geometric Grid Checkered Bedding Set for Kids Adults Boys Girls Teen,Soft Easy Care,Fade Resistant, King Size

CUDDLY CUBS Set of 2 Jersey Cotton Fitted Crib Sheets in Gray and Mint with Chevron & Elephants – TOP QUALITY Nursery Bedding for Boy or Girl, Ideal Baby Shower Gift

[The Extramundane Emancipation of Geela, Evil Sorceress at Large] --- Chapter 67: A Rather Theatrical Entrance