Fungal Halo

The heroine swoops in toward the site of the explosion, keeping an eye out for—ah, there she is. Her great nemesis, striding through the destruction, catches her eye at the same time and grins widely. "Ah, there you are! Fireworks always were the best way to get your attention."

Drink from the pool in the deep woods. Find your vision blurring, brightening, twisting and colorful. Your steps grow unsteady as you quest for a warm spot in the sun in which to lie.

Do not wake. Put roots down. Stretch your limbs and bloom into a beautiful home for fairies.

I haven't seen the ocean in so long. I barely remember it any more. I barely remember myself.

I grew up there, you know? I miss having access to fresh seafood everywhere.

Out here, in the middle of the continent, it all tastes lifeless, somehow. Definitely missing something.

"I am not an angel."

Her claim is hard to accept. Her snowy wings, delicate complexion, and shining halo make such a denial an absurdity.

Even if the look in her eyes is not at all the flat certainty of an angel acting in accordance with her Purpose.

She wraps her arms around me just like always, tilting her head to one side, offering me her delicate neck.

We've done this countless times, but she still gives a tiny shiver of anticipation as my lips touch my favorite place and my fangs pierce deep into my thrall.

It was all over. The forces of light victorious. The Dark One banished to wait for another turning of the cycle to clash with another destined Hero generations from now.

Still the Priestess grieved her love, the Hero who gave her life to win this victory.

Your angel is so sweet, so pliant, with her collar around her neck. Such a wonderfully docile creature since you learned how to leash her more firmly than even her halo.

The defiant warrior swinging her flaming sword is long, long gone now.

The low creaking sounds of wood and the lazy rocking motion tilting the doll's head side-to-side in a slow, gentle rhythm made for soothing sensations.

At least they did so in a vacuum, and the doll was trying her very best to exist only in that perfect vacuum.

It seemed like a nice date at first. She cooked you an elaborate meal, she shared such interesting stories, and the way she looked at you with those arresting eyes made you squirm in your seat.

Then she told you that the pie had been poisoned and all the doors were locked.

A bar isn't home. It doesn't feel like home; it can't be home. That's obvious, though, isn't it? Hardly an observation worth stating at all except to call attention to just *how* far from home it feels.

She's so fucking infuriatingly vain, isn't she? Whatever the topic, whatever the context, she thinks everything is about her. And if you try to make it about anyone else? She'll find a way to twist it right back around to herself.

You can't stand her.

Divination is not prophecy. You must understand the difference if we're to get along.

No, no, no, this is not a matter of an oracle's condescension for your practice. I'm sure your cards and carved stones and whatnot have their uses and guide you well.

They just don't hurt.

With a thumb, you push the hissing tooth into soft, tilled earth. Sadly, you hold little hope in your heart for it to sprout.

In a bygone age, the soil had wealth great enough to support the growth of anything at all, and gods grew like weeds here.

Now? It's thin. Weak.

That the planet was haunted would never deter the executives running the galaxy's biggest mining corporation, of course. They weren't the ones who'd have to go near it.

No, they just send their most disposable employees there. Us.

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

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.