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Fairies, treason and plot part two

The cave is surprisingly warm and not dark. The walls glow with a muted, otherworldly light that illuminates a narrow passage way. She follows it, all the while experiencing a feeling of de ja vu.  Eventually she comes to a branch. She chooses the larger passagway and finds herself standing at the edge of a large pool. Sunlight drifts down from an opening in the roof, pale rays mingling with the turqoise water, like spun gold over sparkling jewels. The vision is breathtaking. Sinking down to her knees, she cups her palms into the pool, filling them with the cool water and drinks deeply. She feels relaxed and rejuvenated in a manner that goes beyond the mere quenching of thirst. She suspects that the water, much like the cave wall, might have some unnatural quality. Now that she is calmer, she remembers the diary in her pocket. Taking it out, she opens it and detaches the small pen at the side. Are you there? She writes. Without her consent, her hand continues writing.
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Fairies, treason and plot: part 1.

She was having the dream again. Ethereal, even by dream standards: a nebulous swirl of colours-blues and greens, and music- lutes maybe and harps, both so interwoven it was almost like synesthesia. And always that feeling. Comfortable. Familiar. As though this cacophony of sound and light belonged to her. Or she to it.  And always, that moment, right before it can claim her (or she it) her eyes open. She wakes to light, muted, against a beige sky. The colours of this place are stagnant, dull. The sounds do not dance or inspire movement. It takes her but a moment to resolve them for what they are: the blinking 'fasten seatbelt' sign of the overhead, cold glass against her cheek black with night, the low rumble of engines and the slow snoring of a slightly obese lady next to her. She feels the panic rise as she becomes fully awake. A plane. She was on a plane. But how? What was she doing here? How did she get here? And where was she going? She takes a few d
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Muse

Life sucked. The damn pills couldn’t change that fact. They just made him happier about it. Or at least indifferent to it. The upside was that they were keeping him from driving his car full speed off the lookout point along the Lady Young. The trade off for his life, however, seemed to be career suicide. He sat staring at the computer screen, the blank page of the open word document taunting him. The empty whiteness glared with a harshness that made his eyes burn. Or perhaps it was the lack of sleep and the long hours staring at the monitor waiting for inspiration to come. The ringing of the phone did nothing to stir his stagnating mind. “This is Mike,” came his voice over the answering machine, “you know what to do.” The long beep was followed by the all too familiar rant of his agent, asking him where the hell he was and if he’d forgotten about his deadlines. A couple more rants, some expletives and the usual request for him to pick up the goddamed phone. Or at least write something
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Twillight’s Message

He walked slowly along the shore, listening to the low rumble of the ocean’s seductive song. White foam fingers crept up to him, touching his bare feet and encircling his ankles. Come in stranger, they beckoned playfully, come in and wash your troubles away. He stopped for a moment to admire the water, a rippling tapestry of regal blue that seemed to go on forever. But sadly nothing goes on forever. That was the problem. The end was near. Gazing out at the mighty sea that merged seamlessly with the sky on a horizon that stretched for eternity, it was hard to believe. But numbers did not lie. He had checked them again and again and again. And then he had given then to others to check. The scientist changed but the facts remained the same. Their sun was expanding rapidly. Soon it would engulf the world. Before that it would become hot, unbearably hot, too hot to sustain life. The world was ending and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Ironically most people didn’t know. Th
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Weavers

The sun set slowly in the west, melting into the blue fabric of sky and permeating its depths with streaks of orange and gold. The waning light of day seemed reluctant to go, clinging to the world just long enough to allow the two figures that sat outside a small hut, amidst the trees, to finish the work they had started Gabe watched patiently as her grandmother worked, needle in hand, weaving the tapestry in front of her. Picking up her own needle she slowly began to emulate the intricate movements the elder woman had performed, producing the desired patterns. “Excellent,” her grandmother replied, admiring the girl’s work. Gabe was a quick leaner, and quite skilled with her hands. Gabe beamed. She always enjoyed teaching sessions with her grandmother. The older woman had a great deal of knowledge and skills. Not only did she know the art of weaving, but she also knew a lot about plants and herbs and healing, another art which she had taught to Gabe. Often the v
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King’s Tourney

The sun sank slowly in the sky, recalling golden tendrils back to their heavenly domain. The night crept in, draping the cottage and the surrounding woods in her inky tapestries: doings that went unheeded by the inhabitants of the small house. Tessa sat on the floor of the cottage in silent meditation over an ornately carved basin, while her companion watched and fidgeted anxiously. “Well?” she finally spoke, her shrill voice shattering the silence. Her plump form rocked forward, trying to get a closer look into the basin. “Is he handsome?” In response, Tessa leaned forward. Her thick hair followed suit, framing a small, dark face in curtains of black silk. “Quite,” she replied, waving her slender hand over the bowl. The gesture caused the liquid in the basin to swirl slightly, then solidify, freezing in its midst the image of a face that had lain floating in its ripples. “See for your self,” the sorceress commanded. Her companion peered in eagerly, barely able to suppress her squea
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