Fungal Halo

They say there are powers—unfathomable and unnamed—buried deep within the earth. Boons and banes and spirits and seductions call to the ambitious, but I’ve never known of someone actually finding one until now.

What does one say to a dark sorceress on the cusp of her victory?

I killed that that thing weeks ago, but it stalks me still. Deathless, breathless, and sleepless, it could be an unparalleled tracker were it not lacking the cunning of an experienced hunter like myself.

The warrior who kicked down the door looked immediately familiar, though I’d never seen her before. Hers was the face in the mirror, the mold from which I was cast, the one my maker could never let go of.

As long as I’ve been here, Miss has always been something of a scavenger. Head of a diminished house, she makes her forays into the world in search of suitable replacements for what this place has lost.

Though she used to build us herself, I’m taught, before the heartbreak of loss became too great to bear.

My tits ache, pressed against the hard wood of the pier I lie on. The irregular splash of salt water leaves my clothes just damp enough to unpleasantly stick to me.

Physical discomfort fades into the background. It’s high tide, and the thing kissing me grips my attention.

Her fingertips trace your cheek while you avert your gaze, looking down and away, suddenly not ready for this. Her lips brush yours, and you let your eyelids drift shut again.

Your heart pounds in your chest, stubbornly insisting on heat and movement, fear and longing.

I remember Emilia. I could have loved her, but in the end her heart was set on another.

I gave her everything—all my hate and all my power—and we would have had the world if she hadn’t thrown it all away for that foul priestess of hers.

A bolt of light streaks through the air, faster than the human eye can track, aimed unerringly for my servant’s heart. A blur of motion intercepts it, and with a sharp crack of sound, the magically charged arrow is deflected to the side.

Good puppet. Well done.

There’s tremendous power in the words-never-written.

I wake up, and right away I can tell that something is very wrong.

I lurch upright in a panic, scanning a room that should be familiar—that can’t be familiar—but I can barely process what I’m seeing as real.

Somehow I’ve been sent back to the turn of the last century.

The touch of a hand at my waist guides me down the hall. I know the path by heart, but still she keeps me close and uses gentle pressure to lead me in a turn down one corridor or another.

“Whoso pulleth out this sword of this doll, is rightwise witch of this house,” your friend reads aloud.

The blade bearing that inscription has been rammed through the body of a doll lying, limp and tragic, on an otherwise empty altar in front of a dilapidated house.

My fingers intertwine with my sister’s as we approach our destination. We are dressed for the occasion, bright smiles painted on perfectly sculpted faces, wearing dresses of sumptuous crimson cloth with sable lace and gold accents, complementing the beauty of our bodies.

The two of us carry our witch to the house of its rival. Hidden from sight, gliding across our bodies, it roils with expectant energy and restless teeth in the shadows that play across our limbs and trail behind us.

“Astonishing! Where you come from, they really let humans pilot your own mechs? Just, what, with your hands? Operating buttons and levers like a carnival ride?”

They crowd me, far more curious than I ever expected a bunch of human-shaped machines could be.

The water churns with the thrashing bodies of countless swimming parasites. It’s hard to get a good look at them like this. All I can pick out is a handful of individual details—tendrils, rows of tiny teeth, beady eyes. I have to put my arm in there and let one choose me.

The knight was a hero once. The princess called her that, at least, before sending her on this quest.

“We all miss Reisa,” my friend told me. “And we all want to see that bastard pay, believe me, but this is too much.”

The edibles came on stronger than I thought, but it felt nice to just let myself lean on my friend’s shoulder and melt into the couch.

The way it usually goes is this: you take your vitamins, you draw the door on glass, you speak your goodbyes, and then you slip through to the other side.

Then your life is hers to play with for a while, and oh, how her pleasure makes you smile!

A coven must guard itself against the interloper that brings infectious false magic into its midst.

When it adopts a young thing that appears to have the gift, it is a kindness. When it later dumps the same girl into a pit to rot, that is also a mercy.