Sern

The temple is a small, squat affair in the center of the village, unassuming and rather drab.  The most interesting thing about the temple is the large courtyard it surrounds.  At the center of this courtyard is a tree, possibly the largest in the world, certainly the oldest, and the small temple gives the impression of containing the tree, protecting it from the world.  Or perhaps protecting the world from it.

The courtyard is never empty.

The courtyard, and the holy tree at its center, is a gathering place for the vast majority of the village, because it is the most comforting place to be, filled with the prayers of future parents wanting children, new parents offering their gratitude for their children and exchanging advice, and children, running and laughing, brown skin made darker by the sun, black curls bleached yellow by the same.

The future parents are the primary concern of the priests in the temple, as the future parents are the most likely to go without food or sleep, praying to the tree and the ribbon they've tied to it for a child.  In a few weeks' time, if they are both devoted and truly want a child, the ribbon will adorn the oblong red fruit that will bow the tree's branches.

In that oblong fruit will be the beginning of a young child.  When the fruit grows to the proper size, a priest will carefully harvest it, cutting the stem above the ribbon marking parentage, and the parents will take the fruit home to begin the work of feeding energy into it, and the young child within.

Assuming that the fruit does not wilt due to lack of attention or toxic environment, it will gradually shade to blue on the outside, then grow larger and larger for five months, at which point, it will actively take the energy it needs from its parents, rather than passively receiving, and in a final burst, it will bloom into a rainbow-colored flower, vividest bright blue on the outside and deep, blood red in the center, where the new baby will lay, crying and wanting its parents.

Most parents keep the ribbon and flower as a memento for themselves and their children, all parents return to the temple courtyard, to offer their thanks to the parent of all, holy Casern, who has granted them their new child, and also to seek advice from each other, as well as the head priest.

Because the new baby will be a combination of the parents' energies, its young body and mind will be an amalgamation of the parents.  It is not uncommon for parents who have sustained disabling physical injuries to pass those disabilities, or a portion of those disabilities, to their children, and it is just as common for people born with such disabilities from their own parents to pass their inherited disability on to their children.

Similarly, parents with certain mental states frequently produce children with similar mental states, or, more commonly, children whose mental state is some unique combination of the mental state of the parents.

Such a variety of bodies and minds offers children, and their parents, the chance to learn and grow, and it is not uncommon to hear children exclaiming to their parents and peers about prosthetics or wheelchairs they have encountered that they like, or for children, deaf, partially so, and hearing alike, to make up hand signs together to describe things they encounter until they learn the true sign for it, as well as for children, blind, partially so, or not at all, to come up with words for their own experience.

The childrens' games, of course, naturally vary based on the ability of the group gathered, and either have audible, visual, and tactile components, or depend on teams, to accommodate for varying levels of ability and disability.  Lessons about the world with the priests, of course, are similarly crafted, though most children learn the vast majority of what they know from their parents and peers as they grow, from work and play, as well as from socializing in the courtyard, modeling what they experience from that environment.

On any day, the head priest will see many couples and triads of parents, some female, some male, some mixed-gender, offering advice for how to handle this aspect or that of parentage, reassuring nervous parents that their child's fruit is the right color for how long they've been home, so on and so forth.

Xe is very good at xir job, and xe enjoys it greatly, enjoys talking to people, meeting people, and, of course, watching the children grow up around the temple grounds nude as the day they were born in the tropical heat, variably investigating the physicality of a sex they don't have yet.

All children, of course, are born without sex, much like holy Casern, and they will be given four chances to try different anatomy as they age, depending on what they encounter in their studies that they are curious about, or based on what they are told.

Some children will first try a sex they are fairly certain they don't want for their first choice at 12, and change for their second choice at 15.  Others will choose the sex they think they want at 12, and try the one they think they don't want for their third choice at 18 before changing back for their final choice at 21.

Others are indecisive and switch back and forth, while some know what they want and make their choice immediately, never varying it, and still others find themselves surprised by how much they like or dislike a certain sex and change or maintain their decision accordingly at each decision point.

All such decisions affect how childrens' bodies grow and develop, because changing sex doesn't eliminate the effects of the prior decision they've made, and some children will choose no sex at certain decision points, depending on how they want their body to develop.

Some children, like many of the temple's priests, choose no sex for more than one decision point, precisely because they want to serve holy Casern, or else because being without sex is familiar and comforting to them, though most choose a sex at least once.

One child, to the high priest's vague surprise, chooses no sex for all their decision points, even though their parents are all strongly attached to their sex, and most of their peers are strongly interested in one sex or another.

Xe finally understands when xe prays to Casern, and that child, now an adult, appears before xir with a faint, pleased smile, standing before the massive statue of Casern, resembling the deity incarnate.

"Oh," xe murmurs, surprised by this development, earning a wider grin in response.  Xe falls on xir face, humbled and honored by the incarnation of holy Casern answering xir query for more information, as well as for the honor of having raised and taught said incarnation for all these years, though there is only one reason xe can think of for them doing this, at this stage of xir life, "I am ready for the end, whenever you shall deem it right to take me from this life, holy one."

"I know you are. But you have much work ahead of you."

Xe looked up to see Casern's genderless young incarnation give a slow twirl, turning to look up at the statue they stood below, "And I have much to learn yet."

An Ode to the Unsung Hero

An ode to the unsung hero

You've seen him here before

Last week?  He was here.

Last month?  That was him.

He's got three things planned for the next event

And seven events planned for all next month.

(He's skipping something four and a half months from now,

In favor of something he likes better

But he knows half the people who are going.)

Five different events across five different interests

He's been to every one

It'd be annoying if he wasn't so charming and fun to be around!

He knows everyone and they know him back

So he always knows what's going on

Because they all know if they ask, he will always come

If he's not working on it and it needs to get done

Both will change so fast your head will spin

And he knows everyone, so if he's already working on it:

"If I give you a ride, you'll help, won't you?"

"There's free food and free fun if you put in a few hours."

"I found somebody for your department."

"I found somebody."

"I know somebody."

"I can ask someone."

It's his mantra, his motto, his mode d'emploi

And everyone knows him

So we all forget

He's doing so much at such high speeds

He's helpful

He's useful

If he's doing it, it will get done right.

What he needs is what will get it done.

But what does he do in the downtimes, the lull

Between the end of this event and the beginning of planning for that

Who cares for our hero?

We all care (or we mean to) when all his things go wrong

But he's good at not letting us dwell

"I'll be fine."

"It's alright."

"It could be better, but let's worry about this first."

He hides behind his usefulness

He's very good at that

And sometimes he even says he can't

(Usually because he's already got something planned)

But even a hero needs a break

A shoulder to lean on

Someone to remind them they are important

For who they are as much as what they do.

White Allies

I had the racism argument a few weeks back. You know what I'm talking about. The one that happens when black folks think they can hang out with groups of white people. It always seems to start with some white person, usually one who's younger than me, saying something that I know is racist. Every now and again, it's the other black person in the room.

Sometimes it's the second or third time they've said something like this since I've met them, usually it's the second or third time that day, or they're the second or third person I've heard say something like it that day, and I'm just tired of hearing it in that space.

Frequently, I already don't like them, so I know in advance that I won't care if they never speak to me again, but just as often, it's just so blatant to me, even though it might not be to the other white folks in the group, that risking the friendship is worth not having that said in my hearing. I can't control what people say when they're not around me, but I do my best to not care, as long as it's not said around me, just because even if they don't think about it anywhere else, they're thinking about it with me.

Either way, I have take a deep breath because ok, it's time to say something. I never want to, because I always know how the argument's going to go, and it's never anywhere good, but I can't let it slide, because it will stick in my craw and ruin my time in this group. And that's assuming the argument doesn't go badly enough that I find myself completely sick of these people and feel that I have to leave what is suddenly an unsafe space for me to be in.

Then, I usually take half a second to look around the room, see who else is around, and usually, there is only one other black person in the room, and I can generally be guaranteed they won't be helpful to me in the coming argument. Even though it's incredibly frustrating, I understand why they behave the way they do.

I begin this argument knowing that I can lose friends, or even entire groups of people for speaking up, and not everyone is comfortable doing that. More than that, I begin this argument challenging everything I, and the other black people in the room, have been taught by the news, billboards, commercials, television shows and saying that we deserve to be noticed and appreciated.

By challenging what's being said, I am saying that I have a right to not only contest the premise of the conversation, but the person saying it. I am saying that I have a right to exist and take up space in the group I am in. I am saying that I will demand more than the “honor” of existing in a tiny corner of white spaces, that I will demand equal space for myself and, by the law of racism that refuses to take me as an individual and forces me to be part of a unit, for blackness as well.

And that's difficult to deal with, especially for black people who understand that my actions will reflect on them, while simultaneously hoping that by setting me away from them, by either intense argument or half-hearted protest, they can keep exactly that from happening. It's difficult for them to see me drawing attention to myself and my differences, when all they can do is hope they will go unnoticed long enough to reap the better crumbs of overflow, when they get the constant message beaten into them that they will be given more for protesting less.

I can't really fault them for it, even though I might want to, especially after spending half an hour arguing someone down over semantics only to realize that I've not only forgotten where I was before I got interrupted, but that the person I was originally arguing with has quietly excused themselves from the space, and didn't hear the last five things I said.

I think I could honestly deal with having the same arguments with white people, over and over again, repeatedly ostracizing myself and losing friends, if I knew I had someone in my corner, or, at the very least, if I didn't have to worry about how other black people would make the argument more difficult for me.

But to be honest, this isn't about black people upholding their own oppression, it's about the fact that I had the racism argument a few weeks back, and not like I've ever had it before. It's about how different it was, how refreshing and relieving it was to have the departure from the usual argument.

For background, I am part of a Homestuck group chat, on Skype and on a Homestuck-specific site called MSPARP. I'm unemployed, so I don't really have anything better to do with my time right now. I've voice- and video-chatted with these folks before, so I knew I was in a room full of white folks, with one other black gal. This was where I had the argument.

Before the argument, I was having a Homestuck-specific argument with this one white guy. For the Homestucks reading this, the point of contention was "Did Vriska help Tavros?" He fell on the side of "Vriska wasn't trying to help Tavros, but Tavros needed to learn the things he did to survive Sburb," I fell on the side of "Just because Tavros learned from Vriska's abuse, it doesn't mean she helped him, as helping implies that she was not abusing him." He eventually stopped arguing against my points, so I'm chalking that one as a win for me, but that conversation is one for another day.

So we're coming out of that argument, both of us shaky from getting so emotional, and I was talking him down, because I think he'd rarely ever been so emotionally invested in an online conversation that it got his adrenaline going, whereas I've done this before, on multiple occasions. Somebody said something that registered to me as something I couldn't let pass, though I can't remember what it was now. It might have been about Ferguson, but I am honestly not certain at this point.

What I am sure of was that I had to say something, and I didn't like this person, so I was ok with the thought of them not talking to me anymore. I typed up my response, and threw it out into the conversation, receiving one of the stock answers I'm accustomed to getting from every white person, but from another person joining the argument, at which point, I wearily typed up a counter, mentally preparing myself to leave this group if other people joined in against me, as it was already two against one. Then I realized I wasn't the only one who'd said what I'd said. And then I realized who said it.

The white guy said almost the exact same thing as me, at the exact same time.

I'm sure you can imagine how shocked I was, that this white guy I'd just been arguing with was saying the same things as me. And he was a teenager! I'm 25, and he was a teenager! I was suitably stunned, because white male teenagers tend to be worse about handling racism than white male adults. He kept going in the same vein, and I was so relieved, I truly don't even have words for it. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, like I didn't have to risk losing my place in this group by saying "That is problematic, and I don't want it around me."

I know vanishingly few white people who I can trust to listen to me when I say "This is problematic, and here is why." He is the first and only white person I have ever met who I felt could help me carry the conversation, who I felt knew what the problem was, why it was a problem, and how to talk about the problem without minimizing my voice and my presence.

And when I was finishing up the conversation by griping to a white girl in the group about how no one listens to black people, especially black women, arguing our own case, because we must be trying to bring race into it, or something along those lines, but white men get lauded for it, he went "Ohshit, I'm sorry, did I make it seem like I was trying to win awards for fighting with you?"

He hadn't, amazingly. I let him know he hadn't, and that I was just making a point. But just the fact that he heard a criticism that could have been directed at him, and checked in, asked if he had done it or not? Just the fact that he didn't brag that he hadn't done such a thing or cry out that it wasn't his fault, that things just went that way? It was so novel, and such a relief. It made me trust him more than I have ever trusted another man, before especially a white one.

I've gotten to the point that I ask white people what they know about critical race theory before I even have a discussion about race with them, so I know if they even understand the basic premises I am working from. Very few know about it, and even fewer are willing to hear me when I say it is actually true. So the support was an incredibly unexpected, amazing relief. It felt so good to feel like I wasn't shouting into the white supremacy alone, that I had help, at least for that conversation, in that group.

My original intent was to direct this to black people, to say "This can happen, and it's awesome," but unsurprisingly, I realize that my audience must be white people. Any black person who's experienced this already knows what it feels like, and any black person who has never experienced it can never understand until they do.

So to white allies speaking up about racism: Educate yourself, and speak up when you've learned how to speak on topics that come up, especially in spaces with very few people of color in them. That goes double for when another white person is arguing with a person of color in a space that is mostly white, because that person of color has already fought an uphill battle to open their mouth. Even though it's nice to have another person of color speaking with us, the tragic but true fact is that we all know white people will listen better and longer to another white person saying the same things we are.

Also posted on Feminspire.

And Baby Makes Four

**This story features non-graphic mentions of rape, attempted rape, kidnapping, slavery, and PTSD.  If these story elements are upsetting to you, please be forewarned that they appear.**

When Lady Tori of Tremaine Castle first saw Etra, she was instantly enthralled by the woman, tall and a bit sickly from overexertion, but with elegant hands and flowing robes that changed color before Tori's eyes.

Etra was the traveling storyteller, come to the Tremaine from distant lands and her stories were magic, brought to life for children and adults alike with illusions so vivid, Tori could taste them, feel them, smell them.

Etra gave herself the role of the wise witch, and Tori was suddenly transformed into the brave knight Etra had endowed with the weaponry to retrieve the clever princess kidnapped by filthy barbaric northerners, played by a beautiful merchant named Janelle, who was just as confused about her sudden change in role, but who, like Tori, played along.

Tori fought a dragon, huge and bitter with age, hot breath transforming her black globe of curls into a flaming halo of death, while Janelle used science to discredit the evil young wizard before his savage king.

Tori outwit a troll, at the expense of bruises that lasted for days, and she truly felt those days, dragging heavy armor and heavier feet ever forward after a princess all her comrades assumed dead, while Janelle made friends with female housestaff who taught her how to keep the envious wizard from exacting his vengeance by way of nightly visit, and used what she learned to thwart the evil wizard until he gave that tactic up

Tori navigated swamps and climbed mountains, and when she reached the princess, she had truly fought for her lady, while Janelle had fought just as hard, navigating treaties with the king with wit and determination, and nightly assassins from the evil wizard with powders and poisons hidden in her long ropes of hair.

Janelle came to Tori's side, the princess as triumphant as the knight, and the wise witch who narrated their adventures declared them victorious and deserving of the happily ever after due any princess and her knight.

It was a terrible shock for both women when the illusory framework serving as their twinned stories dropped away, leaving Tori down on one knee before Janelle's travel-worn shoes, a soft, warm hand between her shoulderblades.

The hand slowly, hesitantly withdrew as Tori lifted her head, looking past the round of Janelle's belly and ample bust to the softness of her face, where she saw the desire and devotion she felt, only partially leftover from the tale, reflected in Janelle's deep brown eyes.

Tori stood, but a cloud crossing the sun caused Janelle to glance towards the sky, reminding both women that they'd lost half the day to this silliness.  Tori's time could and would be made up at the expense of Tori's night, but Janelle's was her livelihood, and her way of having food and a place to stay the night.  As apology, Tori invited Janelle to stay the night in a room at Tremaine Castle, and the look on Janelle's face assured Tori that whatever room Janelle was to be in, she wanted Tori to be in it as well

Etra, haggard and worn from her entertainment efforts, staggered over to the pair, her wide smile lit from within as she praised both women for their roles in her story, praising their passion and enthusiasm, confessing that she extended the tale farther than she usually did in deference to their commitment to their characters, long fingers and elegant hands once again catching Tori's attention as Etra concluded by informing the pair that it was the best performance she'd done in years.

Tori invited Etra to Tremaine Castle for the night as well, the interested arch of Janelle's brow informing Tori that Etra had caught Janelle's attention as well, even though Tori strongly suspected Etra would only sleep.


Tori and Janelle were both pleased and delighted when Etra accepted the invitation, but though the women made their interest known, and Etra seemed to reciprocate, by the time the meal had ended, they had watched in awe as Etra consumed enough food for five women to replenish energy lost, and was forced to sleep off her necessary gluttony alone.

With Etra comfortably ensconced in her bed for the night, Tori and Janelle retreated to Tori's quarters, where Tori discovered that Janelle was witty and achingly sweet, while Janelle learned that Tori was devoted and astonishingly lonely, and the women bonded over their shared experience in Etra's story, and more.

Neither much minded Etra's absence, though when they fed each other fruit and sweet-tasting breads over lunch, to help each other recover from a night as interesting as their day, they were saddened to learn that Etra left early in the day, but with promises to return to them someday.

Janelle remained with Tori for more than a month, learning the lady of the castle and being learned in turn, but soon, she was forced to return to parents and siblings that missed her and needed her to take care of them.  Tori sent gifts of food, cloth, and toys home with Janelle, happily accepting freely-given promises to return.

Janelle craved travel and frequent change of scenery, so even though she had Tori's patronage and love, she continued her work as a merchant, selling and trading far and wide.  She visited Tori often, occasionally bringing her family to join her, until soon, Tori considered Janelle's family her own, a distinction they accepted with pride.

Before long, the people of Tremaine considered Janelle and her family as much a part of Tremaine Castle as their Lady Tori, because rather than exploit Tori's kindness, Janelle's family found ways to help and improve Tremaine, and its lady as well.

Years came and went, and though Tori and Janelle sometimes thought of the storyteller who'd brought them together, they were happy together, even when Janelle's absences left Tori aching for her love, and Tori's refusal to travel left Janelle aching in much the same way.

When Etra returned to Tremaine Castle, it was shocking and unexpected, the tall woman deathly ill from escaping slavers she met while in the distant, cold north, her spirit deeply poisoned by the iron that had burned her body in reaction to the magic it possessed.

Etra had needed somewhere safe to return to, and Tremaine Castle, so far from the cold of the north, and home to at least one person Etra remembered wanting her presence, seemed like the perfect place to come to, even after so long away.  She was, of course, quite right.

Tori tended Etra while Janelle, having traveled widely, explained to Tori that the northerners were prone to kidnapping any woman capable of magic and attempting to use said woman to obtain magic for their daughters, born of a northerner and a southerner, as the northerners had no magic of their own.

Etra could not get pregnant, and would have thus been useless to the northerners.  The only reason Etra was able to escape was because her captors did not realize her powers extended beyond illusions, which were merely what she was most skilled at, and she was able to use it to return to Tremaine when they set her loose in their snowy woods, with intent to hunt her like an animal.

It took a long time, but between Tori and Janelle, they were able to restore Etra's body to health, and though Etra's mind had suffered from what she'd endured, Tori and Janelle learned how to navigate those painful places, to make Tremaine Castle a safe place for Etra to be.

Etra tasted of Janelle the first time she kissed Tori, and it was an old, familiar flavor combined with a new and exciting one that made Tori fall in love with both women, all over again.

Soon, though, even love and old fears could not curb Etra's wanderlust, and with Janelle as her companion, Tori felt she needn't worry too much about where her lovers went or how long they were gone, though the days without them were long and slow, causing her to turn to Janelle's family, now Tori's as well, more and more.

Janelle's niece, Dana, was clever, and she loved Tremaine as her own, so Tori began grooming the girl to be the new lady of Tremaine, waiting every day for her lovers to return to her when she was not occupied with such grooming, and the matters of Tremaine that so occupied the bulk of her time.

It was a joyous day in Tremaine when Lady Tori's loves returned home, both glowing with pride in work well done, each their own, and both fiercely missing their shared love.  And share they did, occupying the rest of Tori's night and much of her next day, showing her how much they'd missed her.

After only a few days with Tori and Janelle, Etra soon insisted that she was ready to set out for her next adventure, even that she'd stayed too long, to both her lovers' dismay: Janelle, because she'd only just reunited with her family after time away, and Tori, because, like Janelle, she didn't want to see Etra leave so soon.

For their sake, Etra stayed another week, and then, she was gone again.  The next years were hard on Tori, for Etra could not be kept home for longer than a few days at a time, not returning for months at a time, and Janelle frequently got itchy feet before Etra returned, and would often leave Tori without either of her loves for weeks, sometimes months at a time, especially if they left at the same time, though she still saw Janelle most frequently.

Things changed when Tori got pregnant.  She had made her desire to have children known to both her lovers, and while Janelle had no desire to be pregnant, and thus took measures to ensure Etra could never give her one, she had assured Tori that if a child came along, she would be happy to dote on that child as one of its mothers.

When Tori learned she was to have Etra's child, Janelle promised to relay the message to Etra when the two travelers' paths inevitably crossed, as neither was prone to using backroads or obscure routes, for no people could be found there to support their work.

Tori was six months along, her belly beginning to swell when the women returned to her, together, for once in a rare while, and Tori was relieved when both promised to stay close until the baby was born.

The next few years were blissful for Tori, who needn't pine for her lovers' presence while they were away, only seek them out in her home.  Janelle, more accustomed to remaining in one place for longer periods, handled the time rather easily, learning some of what her niece knew, and some of what the rest of her family had learned to help Tori as Tori's pregnancy took a toll on her, and Etra's illusions and tactics from distant lands helped Tori and the people of Tremaine in still different manners.

Etra was less content with her restiveness, and took long rides throughout Tremaine to learn and entertain the people, sometimes with Janelle, and sometimes alone, though when the baby was born, she doted on the child as much as Tori and Janelle.

The child was named Morgan, and when Morgan was old enough to walk and ride a horse, Etra insisted that an expedition was necessary, taking Janelle with her and Morgan.  Tori had never been more terrified in her life, but when Janelle eventually brought Morgan home, explaining that Etra had continued on alone, Tori was relieved her child had returned healthy, as well as a little saddened that life had returned to what it once was, even understanding that her life smothered her Etra.

Fortunately, Etra returned home more often, frequently to sweep Morgan away, sometimes to bask with her family, Janelle and Tori and Morgan, the four of them all together.  As Morgan grew, Etra was also able to enjoy more intimate time with her lovers, staying home longer to do so.  Janelle, of course, also resumed her traveling ways, often taking Morgan with her, and Morgan would frequently leave with one traveling mother and return with the other.

Tori laughingly resigned herself to the fact that she had a family of wanderers, and when Morgan struck out alone, Tori had a third party to await the return of, with reunions being happy affairs, and occasions when they were all together, usually Morgan's birthday, even happier.

The love of Morgan's life turned out to be a northerner, to terrified shock and awe, but the tales of love Morgan carried back were enough to sway Janelle and Etra, the frightened Tori resisting for a long time, out of memory for pain caused her lover.  It took visits from Morgan's new family to convince Tori that, if nowhere else, Morgan was safe with them.

Even so, Tori did everything she could to tempt Morgan's new family to Tremaine, where her child would be close, and the dangers posed by the northerns would be minimized, but their home had been with them for centuries, and Morgan wisely pointed out that Dana, training under Tori's tutelage, was better-suited to look after Tremaine than the wanderlust-filled Morgan.

With a heavy heart, Tori traveled from Tremaine for the first time in her life, to attend Morgan's wedding.  The trek was frightening, remembering the experiences Etra had endured, and being amongst so many northerners was disorienting, but with Etra, Janelle, and Morgan to show her the way, Tori found the trip enjoyable, leaving Dana to do what she had been learning to do for decades.

Tori was happy to return home, and though she was sad Morgan was so far, the distance and the travel exhilarated Morgan, who visited often, frequently with gifts and messages conducted from Etra or Janelle as Morgan's route crossed theirs.

The years passed, and the travels of Etra and Janelle slowed, fewer trips out happening each year, those trips lasting shorter and shorter periods of time.  Tori wanted to be happy, but she knew it was because her lovers were becoming less and less capable of doing what they loved, which saddened her greatly, because it was their passion.

To their pained shock, Etra was the first to pass, burned out by her powers, and though Tori tried to console Janelle by traveling with her, Tori could not travel with Janelle as Etra had traveled with Janelle, and Tori soon gave up the effort.

Tori was the next to pass, her life of dedication to Tremaine having finally taken its toll on her body, and she was buried beside Etra.  When the grief-stricken Janelle followed her into death a year later, she was buried on the other side of Tori, the way the new lady of Tremaine thought it should be.

Morgan mourned the deaths of three mothers, but time softened the most painful edges, and Morgan left Tremaine in the most capable hands it could be left in, allowing the Castle and its surrounding area to flourish, until noone was left alive who remembered the Lady Tori, the Illusionist Etra, and the Merchant Janelle, who loved each other so.

We

The dead of winter

When the earth sleeps.

That is our time.

The height of summer

When the sun seeps.

That is our time.

When flowers grow

And marshes bloom.

That is our time.

When trees all die

Shrouded in gloom.

That is our time.

Our time is now.

Our time is then.

Our time is how.

Our time is when.

You dare to speak

Of things unheard?

Soon you'll see

Your way is absurd.

We dance without you

We stop alone

Our hearts are not true

Though we roam

Far from what you value

Far from what you know

Is the path that suits you

Is the path that glows

No more do we wander

No more do we wonder

The beast is here.

There's nothing to fear.

For Once

So, I was talking to a friend of mine last week.  Without going into too much detail, he's in a living situation that is very much not ideal for him or his personality type, in addition to the fact that he's been dealing with some emotional issues for the last few years that have contributed to everything being truly untenable for him.

Over the last few months, he and I have been talking a lot about him, his life, his goals, and he's gotten started doing a lot of things he's really happy about, kind of moving forward, into a new stage of himself and his life, and overall, I'm really really proud of him, how much he's progressed towards his own goals, and how much he's grown.

Unfortunately for him, when he began living with the people he's staying with, he was very damaged, mentally and emotionally, and he needed a safe haven.  He's grown past that point, but because they first met him when he was that way, they're stuck in old patterns of dealing with him, and he doesn't really know how to break free from those old patterns, especially because there was a change in the living situation that made him think the relations would change in a certain way, and it really didn't, so it's upset him, and he's a bit bitter about it, which I understand.

He's been staying with these people for something like ten years, which is shocking to me, because the only people I've lived with for ten years were my parents and my brother, and my parents are seven years dead, while my brother and I haven't seen each other in three or four years, because I was a jackass at him and now he doesn't want to talk to me.  His perogative.

Either way, my friend has known and been around these people for years, and he needs a change.

The reason I'm talking about my friend, is because he's planning on moving out, moving on, and I would really like to move in with these people when he does.  I stayed with them for maybe two weeks, earlier this summer, he reports that I have gotten rave reviews, and to be completely honest, I really enjoyed being there, and I was shocked at how different the household was from what my friend had been reporting to me.

That'll teach me to forget people have personal biases.

But either way, I really enjoyed being there.  I may have gotten special treatment, being a guest and all, but what I experienced may have been roughly the norm for how they handled things.  I don't know, really.  It didn't hurt at all that I had my own money at the time, which my friend doesn't, and which I won't, if I go back to them.

There were two things I didn't like about being there, one of which is fixable, the other ignorable.  But it really brought home to me how different my friend and I are, because everything he hates about being there, I really loved.

I love being coddled and invited to things and doted on, and that kind of thing drives him bonkers.  I also have different ways of dealing and interacting with people that he doesn't have.  They're a bit more difficult for him to deal with than for me, but also, he's been living with them for years.  There's history there that I don't have.

Currently, I'm staying with my aunt and uncle.  I love them, they are chosen family who have chosen me back, and I wouldn't be who I am today without them.  Even so, they are not coddlers.  They are not doting.  They aren't particularly attentive, and I'm the only one in their house who needs them like I do.

They're a bit harder-edged, and I certainly needed that when I was younger and stupider, but I have been working and struggling and toiling so hard for so long, I feel like it'd be really nice to be with someone who would dote on me and take care of me, not pressure me about work or making money, just let me do my own thing, but still engage me socially, invite me to do things, all that kind of thing.

God, even talking about it makes me feel spoiled rotten and selfish.

But when I was there, I did feel spoiled and cared for.  I didn't feel like I was being selfish or taking advantage of them, because every time I tried to be frugal, the lady of the house would keep asking me, "Are you sure you don't want more?"  Like, fuck yes, of course I want more, but this is on your dime, so I'm not going to accept more, because I'm perfectly ok with what I've got, and more would be gluttony and selfishness.

I always feel like I'm taking advantage of my aunt and uncle when I ask them for things or need things.  It might be because I'm emotionally attached to them, or because when I first knew them, they were direly poor, and it was an issue, I don't know, I just know that I do feel like I'm taking advantage, and I feel anxious and afraid, because I need things, and you said I'm allowed to want things, so why are you yelling at me or making cruel jokes that I know you don't mean to be cruel, but still feel cruel, and it's just.  A lot.

I do love my aunt and uncle, and I would never abandon them, because they've helped me so much, and I do love them dearly, but much like my friend needs to get out of his house, I need to get out of this one, and I would like to go somewhere where I'd feel like I was being doted on and cared for.

Everyone grows up and moves on, and things are so difficult, and I think it's not so wrong to want it to be easy.  For once.

The Sea, the Moon, and the Figure on the Beach

The sea is a booming rush against the sand, the rolling rustle of moving waves, the breaking crack of them hitting the beach.  The salt air stings your nose and sand crunches under your sandal-clad feet, the cold night air making you shiver as the spray spatters your skin.

You aren't normally the type to wander the beach at night, but you left your favorite towel earlier in the day, when the sun was high and hot on your face, quickly drying your sodden curls as you collected your things to extend a chance meeting with a friend to a nice dinner together.

It was only after you returned home to unpack your things that you noticed the towel's absence, because it has your initials monogrammed on it, lovely blue on green in Lucida font, one of the first indulgences you ever bought yourself, and valuable to you for the nostalgia.

You are rather lost in your search, unable to remember where you were sitting in the warm daylight when faced with cold moonlight, and wander the beach.  Though the night is cold, the wind chilling your still-damp hair at the roots, the night is crisp and cloudless, a full, heavy moon lighting your way, the air smelling of salt and life.  If you weren't searching for your towel, it would be a lovely night for a walk.

You notice someone laying half in the surf on the beach, some yards ahead of you, though all you can make out from this distance is dark skin, sodden black curls, and...something wrapped around their legs?

Then they shift, and you see rich green cloth, of about the right size and shape to be your towel, so you advance to investigate, hoping this nighttime swimmer has found your towel, rather than having rather logically brought their own.

When you get closer, you realize that it is indeed your towel that the swimmer is looking at, face down on their stomach as they investigate it, long, huge hair blocking their face from your view.  You think, for just a moment, that they have a skin-brown towel wrapped about their legs.

The crunching of your sandals through the wet sand catches the swimmer's attention, and in a sudden flurry of movement, they flip themselves onto their back, clutching your towel to their chest, pointing their legs at you.  Well, not legs.  A tail.

As you look at the sandy brown underside of their tail, shading into the darker brown you noticed when they were on their belly, you can't deny that you are looking at a half-fish person, one who is threatening you with a surprisingly pointy-looking crescent-shaped tail.

A mermaid?  Or merman?  You're not really sure, to be honest.  Their face is beautiful in an androgynous model sort of way, but the rest of the human portion of their body that is not concealed by your towel provides no gender markers you can identify.  They could be a slim, beautiful young man, or an underdeveloped young woman.  It doesn't particularly matter, you decide, because they have your towel.

You shift forward, reaching out for your towel, and they one-handedly scrabble backwards, leaning back to lift their tail higher, clearly in some sort of threat, before beginning to scoot back and back into the water, bubbling out sounds that resemble an extended death gurgle, ending with a high, fluting noise.  They can't move very fast, and certainly not towards you, but it's pretty clear they're frightened.  And still clutching your towel.

"It's okay-" you begin, in an attempt to calm them, soothe them into returning your towel, but they hiss and lift their fin higher at you, almost flat on their back, and still scrabbling backwards, away from you.  It looks, in all defiance of better reason and common sense, very sharp.  You don't want to be cut because you tried to talk the fish-person down when they weren't interested in listening.  They probably don't understand english anyway.

You watch, curious and bemused, as they use their free hand to kind of scoot and shuffle towards the water in a fishlike flopping motion, as they don't seem to have any kind of waist that would allow them to bend and move more gracefully, or more easily.  Their unreasonably long hair occasionally catches their hand and fingers, tripping them up every now and again, but they eventually make it into the water, staring you down until they reach water deep enough for them to swim off, with a darted look back at you.

They take your towel with them as they swim off, and though you like that towel, you find that you don't mind so much, because in exchange for its loss, you saw something noone else ever has before.  At least, not in recent history.

The Power of Three, Multiplied by Three

The children spin

His hands grasped in hers

And they laugh together

A joyous sound

Stomping feet

And gasping breath

Maid and youth

Children yet

Now she protects hearth

While he defends home

Danger kept away by him

While she ensures

There is something

To keep the danger from

They spin no more

Not together

Her whirl is a dervish

His a destruction

She repairs the pieces

Of his shattered soul

He covers his jagged edges

Because forcing a defense

Against her protector

Is too much to ask

Of one who defends

From so much

Mother and warrior

A united front

Divided

As skill and strength allow

He is too weak

To repair her cracks

He can only sand

Her damaged edges

Like the weathering of time

Against a mountain front

What she needs she takes

And then demands more

And he gives and he gives

For someone must

Be strong enough

To squeeze their child's

Rightful due

From a world

That would

Try

Deny them

And he knows

Beyond a doubt

It can't be him

His strength abroad

Is weakness here

While her strength is strength

Everywhere

Now they neither

Spin nor defend

Instead they watch their child

Who spins and spins

Spinning alone

Happily

The joyous laughter of ages past

The stomp of feet

Come to their door

Sage and crone

Know what they see

The dawn of the new child

Whole and complete

Neither youth

Nor maiden be

Yet both in one

For all to see

The new child is bold

The new child is brave

The new child weeps loudly

The new child fights fiercely

Both at home and abroad

And when they return

To hearth and home

Such as they find it

Or as they've made it

They bring gifts of words

They bring gifts of song

They honor the aged

As they pass on

As they progress

Child

Adult

Wizened themselves

They'll grant the gift

Of they road they've passed

For though they are all

Combined in one

They can never truly be either

A crime to some

And as the new child

Becomes the aged one

They remember their past

And the love they've known

The new dances have three

A sight they've never seen

Maid

Youth

Child

All spinning together

To honor everything

In between

They watch with pride

And delight in their heart

Knowing there are more middles

To be found

They are a model

Their middle is not wrong

Not a crime

Merely unacknowledged

Forced to the edges

By fears taken on

Unintentionally

Or forced on them by others

Who want to claim

They know best

And they spin alone

Once again

To show how it's done

They fight one last battle

With the hearth they've earned

They use what they know

To make it last

They protect their hearth

They're the only one who can

Even though their hearth

Extends beyond their home

They give the trios dancing

Chance to become adults

So they can make space for more middles

With wonderous results

They do not see the new children

And those after that

But they do not need to

In order to know

That those children will be protected

By those whose hearths extend

Far beyond their homes