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“And so we begin” the stranger whispers almost affectionately in my ear, though I can barely process the words because of the pain.
pain Pain PAIN it hurts.
There's a knife sticking out of my chest.
Crimson, though not with blood. The Red Steel of the hilt would be beautiful if it weren't for the fact that its blade had been plunged into my heart.
lines of silver trail across what little of the blade is visible almost like veins, the weapon seems to pulse and throb in the wound.
I scream and scream and scream until there's no more air in my lungs and can only whimper at the searing agony it brings.
The red and silver begin to flow almost like liquid, enough to make me question if my original assessment on the weapon's lack of blood stains was correct, but I know that it couldn't be stained with my blood.
My blood isn't red.
“It has long since been time,” my murderer continues casually. “You will bring reckoning to this maddened world, we will begin it anew without the petty squabbles that define it” under his hood what little I can see of his eyes gleam with undisguised madness and though the rest of his face is covered by the cloth wrapping it, I can still make out the twisted smile from the way his eyes crease alone. “Rest now. Do not resist we will be reborn anew each and every one. Your cursed blood will bring us peace.”
I clutch at his arm, scrambling, trying to push him away and remove the dagger from my heart.
I can't breathe. I can't think. It hurts. It hurts too much. I don't want to die.
I hold on with everything I have, trying to stay awake trying to take a breath trying to do anything, anything at all, but nothing works and I can feel my grasp slipping. The last thing I see is those insane sunken eyes.
That's what I get for trying to take a shortcut home.
Those bitter words are the only thing I can think before my consciousness fades
I'm stumbling over my feet in the living room of my apartment, the bag I carry my laptop in clattering to the floor. A spike of panic floods me. I clutch at the wound in my chest as my eyes flick around the room for the man who just stabbed me. I- Why am I suddenly here? Did he bring me here? Did he break into my apartment?
But I'm alone, as I usually am.
My panic doesn't subside, how did I get into my apartment? I could barely move a few seconds earlier, or has it been longer? Did I pass out? Can I pass out, I don’t- No, that doesn't matter. I have bigger things to worry about
I need to bandage this, or am I supposed to pack it? I've seen videos of people stuffing cotton into deep wounds, but I don't know if I can just use the cotton balls I have for my injections.
Not to mention that it sounds like that would hurt.
My stomach turns, my appetite dies at even the slightest reminder of the pain I just experienced. But at the same time, the contrast between that and my current state is what finally allows my mind to catch up to my body. It doesn't hurt.
Am I in shock? I know that this kind of wound should still hurt even if I've been unconscious for hours, but it doesn't. Not that I've ever been unconscious before. Does sleep make being stabbed stop hurting? Probably not. I removed my hand from my chest, looking down at where the knife had been so recently plunged into me
There's nothing but a hole in my cheap T-shirt.
mmy skin is entirely unharmed.
Not even a scar standing out against the tiny brown swell of my chest.
Tthere's no wound.
I brush a finger over the spot expecting to be hallucinating, for there to be some sort of lingering discomfort or damage, but no matter how I poke or prod there isn't.
I swallow, my mouth dry from terror and shock.
There's not even a blood stain, and I still have all my stuff.
I was stabbed, right? I'm not crazy or anything? Tthat wasn't some sort of delusion? Did someone heal me? That would at least explain my survival. Some Aura-weaver saved me after I passed out, drove off the murderer, and brought me home. I was sure I was dead, but it's not like I would know, and it's not like I know much about the limits of healing magic, it wasn't something any of my classes have gone over yet.
But if it was an aura-weaver, how did they know where I live? Maybe I told them and don't remember?
Maybe they're still here?
Somehow, I get the feeling I'm not alone.
“Hello?” I call into the room around me, nervously scratching at the familiar half-imagined itch around my wrist. It seems silly to believe that they would be… I don't know, invisible or something, but magic users gotta magic, right? If I had an aura, I would be using it to make all sorts of dramatic entrances.
Unfortunately, the only thing that's magical about me is the fact that I'm cursed… a fact which, based on that crazy guy’s comments, I'm pretty sure got me shanked in an alley on my way home from class.
But for now, I turn my focus back to my hypothetical, potential, invisible, savior.
“Is anyone here?”
I'm about to call out again when a voice pipes up,
“Hi!?”
I startle, scanning the room but still finding no one around me
The voice lets out an excited squeak. “Oh, all Planes, you can hear me now? Okay, okay, hold on, give me one moment to put on my face.”
Before I can recover from my shock, a girl pops into existence. She's wearing a simple black cropped t-shirt and grey shorts that stop above her mid-thigh exposing plenty of pale skin. Her back length hair is red, not red as in the normal orangish color 2% of humans have, but Scarlett, like she just dyed it.
Her eyes sparkle as she looks at me, also bright red like rubies, though ringed with glistening silver around the sclera.
She also has fluffy pricked ears and a tail, but all of that oddity is easily ignored compared to the fact that she is fucking floating.
She's got to be an aura-weaver, right? I mean she was invisible a second ago, and she is currently flying. She could be a lycathrope but I know magic body mods are a thing, I’ve looked into them, which confirmed giving yourself animal parts isn't impossible. Maybe she's a therian, or a furry? Stay calm Encre. You're a big girl. You can handle talking to the magical floating wolf girl.
“HH-iie,” my voice cracks, damn my neglection of voice training, “thank you for saving me!”
She winces, looking away and scratching her head.
Damn it, I probably should have started by asking her name or introducing myself but thanking her for saving my life seemed a lot more important.
“I'm sorry, my name is Encre, like In-cruh, you can call me Ene, I should have told you that first. I just, I really wanted to thank you. I was walking back here from class and that guy came out of nowhere and he kind of stabbed me with that creepy looking knife.” She winces again. “And- and I still haven't asked your name, but thank you for saving me.”
“Um… yeah. About that.” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “Before I tell you my name I should show you something”
Her obvious nervousness is enough to transfer my social anxiety into good old-fashioned regular anxiety.
Am I injured? Is she? Did that knife do something to me? It certainly looked magical, but…?
She points down and as I follow past the familiar dark scrawl of runes circling my wrist I notice for the first time that I've been holding something in my left hand. Have I been holding this the whole time? I feel really out of it.
Taking in what the object actually is takes me a few seconds since it feels like something I simply shouldn't have, despite being obviously recognizable. I was intimately familiar with it just a few moments ago, after all.
It's hard in my grip, and notably warm where I would expect steel to be cold. Red and silver spiral through each other like veins and arteries across the forearm-length blade curving along the edge of the slender waist, the only part of the blade with jagged serrated teeth. Complex weavescript, very little of which a distant part of my mind recognizes from class, is etched between the decorative artistry giving the weapon an almost ritualistic quality.
The knife.
Knives now that I get a good look. The pommel of the blade in my hand is connected via a scarlet rope to an identical blade that hangs idly in the air.
My attacker must have been hiding the second blade up his sleeve.
Still, there's no mistaking the weapon that stabbed me.
The memory of pain hits along with the full realization. I drop the knife that suddenly feels as if it burns to hold.
“Wai-” The girl disappears as soon as the weapon leaves my hand, clattering to the ground in a distressed heap.
Once my initial shock subsides, I stare at where she just was.
“Hello?”
I search for her, but I can't find even a hint of her presence. I go so far as to poke at the air, but my hand is met with nothing, “Are you invisible again?”
She's just gone. Did I scare her off by dropping the knives? Or…
The blades on the ground shudder. It's the smallest hint of movement, but it generates the smallest bit of sound, and it's enough to get my attention. I stare at the weapons wondering if my recent experience finally broke me but as I watch they shake again, more insistently this time.
I don't want to touch them. I really don't. Even just thinking about their warm steel brings back memories of it piercing skin then bone and then vital muscle, but some part of me knows that I have to. I have to pick them up, that's what they're telling me as they shiver and shake across the ground. I feel it radiating out from them, frustration and… Remorse? Fear? And as I crouch I feel relief and hope.
Okay.
My hand slowly moves towards the knives, some part of me still resisting the idea of even looking at them, but my curiosity will always get the best of me.
I grip one hilt.
The girl with wolf ears immediately reappears
“First rule, don't drop me.” she blurts exasperated, startling me onto my ass from my couched position, before taking a moment to compose herself, taking deep breaths that I am starting to suspect she doesn't need. “I suppose that's a better demonstration than I might have managed.” she says with a nod, her chipper demeanor returning with each word. “You asked my name already so I guess we'll start there.” She stands up straighter and clears her throat. Instantly her casual outfit is replaced with a fitted suit as she floats slightly higher looking down on me with a steely look that some people would pay to have a pretty girl send their way. I'm too busy trying to ignore the fact that I am ‘some people’ to be shocked by the display. Even still, my focus is entirely on her as she speaks.
“Encre… um, what's your last name?”
“Vesen” I answer on instinct.
“Thanks” she chirps before falling back into formal mode. “Encre Vesen, you hold in your hands a piece of the Plane Walkers Regalia, cursed Blades of Flesh and Fissure. The Stalking Knives, The Bloodwolf's Fangs, The Rift Keys, The Beast's Call, The Vampire’s Kiss,”
The blades in my hands quiver and pulse as they are named, each its own beating heart that thumps with the power of being known, faster and faster until their true name is spoken.
“I am The Arteriae Blades.” With that declaration, her expression transforms back into a friendly smile. “You can call me Riae!”
I stare up at her, at ‘Riae’, then I stare down at the knives. I look back up at her, running my finger down the flat side of the very same blade that pierced my heart.
Riae squirms.
“Okay, and just to clarify, you're saying you are the knives., Tthese knives right here.”
“Yes?”
I frown then I put the knives behind my back, tapping the blade four times before pretending to tap three more times without actually touching.
Riae continues fidgeting in the air.
“How many times did I touch?” I ask.
“Four?” she answers, sounding legitimately confused before her squirming gets more frantic. “Now you're tracing my Weavescript, please don't do that.” she squeaks. “It tickles.”
“Sorry, just wanted to confirm.” I stop and try to ignore how cute that was.
Instead, I think of the bigger implications of the situation, all of which can be summed up in a few words.
Wow, talking knives!!!
The scripting required to generate a consciousness must be ridiculous. There's no way there's enough room on the exterior, so there has to be some layered interior scripting going on. But why go through all that effort? Is Riae supposed to be a kind of magical assistant, like some sort of stabby Siri?
So what's with the floating wolf girl body? I wonder if it's an built in illusion or-
No, bigger concerns.
“So,” I start, scooping up my laptop bag as I stand, making my way over to the couch. I take my phone out of my pocket and sit, “you stabbed me…”
“What? Yeah, um. Sorry, but hold on. You seem less shocked than I expected.”
“About what?”
“Me, I guess” she answers,
“What in particular about you would I be shocked by?” While a mundane person like me isn't likely to ever touch one, weavescripted weapons are far from unheard of, and complex enough scripting resulting in intelligence and in some cases even developing a soul is a documented phenomenon. Not a common one, but well-documented in the few rare cases I've studied.
So yeah, Riae is one in a million. So is being born with a curse, and I'm not shocked by myself.
“I don't know… all of me? Most people are more hesitant when interacting with sentient weapons, let alone cursed objects in general.”
I stifle a laugh. "I'm not going to run screaming just because you say you're cursed,” I idly scratch at my wrist. Things might be better if other people gave the same courtesy. “I mean, the fact that you bothered to tell me is probably a good sign anyway. Unless just holding you is gonna kill me, we won't have a problem”
“Oh!” She yips, bubbles of happiness radiating off of the weapons in my hands. “Well, holding me is mostly safe. Nothing you don't already know about.”
I assume she's referring to the fact that I can't see or hear her unless I'm holding the knives. If I'm right about her body being an illusion, it makes sense that I would be under some sort of effect.
“Just don't start showing me nightmare visions and I won't judge.”
“That's great, I'm so glad to be working wit-”
“What I am going to judge you for is the stabbing. I'd like an explanation?”
Her face pales, “Omigosh right, sorry. I'm sorry I stabbed you. I mean I didn't stab you, some guy holding me did, I wasn't even around yet, but still sorry, your blood is really tasty though.”
That compliment(?) distracts me from further lines of questioning.
That's the first positive thing I've ever heard said about my blood. I can feel my childhood trauma healing in real time, and also that I really shouldn't continue with this topic of conversation, but it's too weird. I have to know.
“You… tasted my blood? Like literally tasted it? Do you drink blood?” That would explain why there’s no stain on my shirt. “Is that why you called yourself the ‘Vampire's Kiss’?”
She blushes. “I did not come up with the names, but yes. I drink the blood of those I cut… and,” her eyes flick down to my where my hands lightly grip her hilt, “my wielder’s. Cursed weapon and all.!”,
Wait, is she drinking my blood right now? A thrill of panic runs up my spine. I almost drop the knives, but looking down at my hands, there's no sign of any bleeding, which is good. I can't afford a new couch.
I flex my fingers. There's no pain, so if she is drinking my blood she must be doing it with magic. I mean, the fact that she can taste anything is probably also magical when you think about it. Okay, now I really have to know.
“What does my blood taste like?”
“Nothing!” she chips chipperly “Which is weird, but it's like really refreshing nothing. I think the human equivalent would be like a cold glass of water on a hot day. You've got a ton of mana in those veins!”
That would be my curse.
I don't super love the hungry expression in her eyes. It’s a little too familiar.
“Right…plenty of mana in my blood, I guess?” A sense of… thirst radiates off of the blades in my hand.
I take that as my cue to change the subject.
“Soooo, let me get the order of events straight.” I hedge, taking advantage of the lull in the conversation to finally check the time.
[8:34 PM]
Class ended at 7:45, and my dorm is about a 20-minute walk from campus, give or take a few minutes.
“After you stabbed me, I passed out, then you healed me?” I wouldn't be surprised if an obviously blood-themed magic weapon could heal, but it still wouldn't explain how I got back to my dorm. I wonder if she has some sort of telekinesis…
Riae gives me a puzzled look. “No?”
What does she mean, no?
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean, I didn't heal you, I was actually kind of curious how you survived a knife straight to the heart. Like, I definitely pierced your heart so… it's cool that you survived. I assumed it was some sort of healing spell based off of how your aura flared up but…” She trails off as I feel my face morph into a confused stare.
There are so many things to unpack in that statement, but I have to focus on the most relevant fact. “I don't have an Aura.”
Riae pauses, her floating humanoid form settling to the floor as if she forgot how to fly due to sheer incredulity. “Yes, you do.”
“No. I don't.”
If I had an aura I'd be flinging spells and shit all day, if I had an aura I'd probably be able to use magic to replace having to stab myself with needles once a week, if I had an aura some random guy wouldn't have been able to jump me and shove a knife into my tit.
Riae tilts her head like a confused dog. "You're serious?”
“It's not like it's something I would miss, I was tested as a kid like everyone else, been tested since. Not to mention that weave theory is my minor.”
and the only reason it's not my major is because of my lack of aura
A degree in magic theory without magic isn't that useful in today's economy.
“Oh, you must be really bad at it.” Riae shrugs.
She continues as I chew over that.
“We'll figure that out later, but for now, back to everyone's favorite topic, me!” she says with a twirl “… and tangentially, you.” She added less enthusiastically.
Not my favorite topic either, girl.
Actually I've been assuming she's a girl based on her appearance, but if it's an illusion how it looks might not be representative. Not to mention I'm the last person who should make that kind of guess without asking. I probably shouldn't assume the gender identity of a sentient weapon, anyway.
“Not to interrupt, but, on the topic of you… gender-wise, are you a girl or…?”
“I'm knives, but girl is fine too!” Riae replies.
“Noted.”
“Cool, oki, back to it, before we can address your delusion of lacking magic or my complex relationship with gender, there's one last thing we need to get out of the way.”
“And what is that?”
“Making things official, silly.” She winks, which is like a flashbang to my gay ass. “You already did your part earlier, so might as well do mine.” She backs away a few steps, doing a few quick stretches that are definitely unnecessary for an illusionary body. Then she takes a deep breath and turns to face me. “I'm going to seem really scary for a second, sorry in advance.”
My mind catches up to everything she said too late; before I can clarify, the mood in the room shifts and a wave of lightheadedness steals my words.
Riae rises into the air, her hair standing on end as her eyes begin to glow, a crimson light spreading from them to encompass her whole body. What is not obscured by the light is wrapped in silver shadow, the glistening dark warping and creeping across her skin chasing away the scarlet glow only to be banished in return.
“Stand.”
As she speaks her voice booms.
I'm no longer talking to the friendly girl who appeared in my room, I'm talking to an immaterial avatar of blood and violence. The air grows thick and smells like copper. The light from my ceiling fan takes on a ruddy hue as my ears begin to ring.
I rise to my feet, because what else can I do in such a presence? It’s like my body stands on its own.
“Encre Vesen, I have tasted your blood and through that sacrifice you have awakened me.” Her voice is a rumbling growl that comes from every direction. “Through that awakening you have bound me and so I bind you in turn.” A weight settles upon my chest, my heart, my soul, the blood in my veins boils, twists and flows backwards.
A million blades cut into everything I am.
There is no pain but I know I am being cut, torn open for all the world to see. The very culmination of my being, vivisected and splayed open to be studied.
Her words reach within me, they grip me, they are burned into me.
“I mark you, I claim you, I curse you, I name you: Wielder, Wolf, Hunter, Keeper, Vessel of The Arteriae Blades now and forevermore.”
I feel the link form, overlaying a thin bond I hadn't realized was there until this moment. Before it had been as spider’s thread, a web around my soul, thin and strong, unbreakable and yet yielding, a weak connection easily dismissed and forgotten, easily ignored.
That single thread is joined by another, two strings intertwine, winding upon each other in infinite length, thickening and overlaying, until I am no longer wrapped in supple silk but choked by steel cables that twists from my soul down into my flesh. Through flesh, through nerves, through veins and out of my palms where the Arteriae Blades rest and glimmer with Scarlet light. I collapse to my knees, opening my hands to drop the weapons and yet the blades remain, as if fused to my skin. The string connecting the two knives lengthens and coils, flailing as if in ecstasy, until with deliberate motion it wraps itself up and behind me, a noose forms around my neck, blood red rope coiling down my arms until its length has wrapped my wrist. Only then does it cease its movement. But not before tightening, constricting without choking, my body straining against the scarlet line.
I can breathe but just barely. Unable to move, feeling as if every limb and extremity has been tightly tied despite just my neck and arms being entangled.
But that state only lasts for a second.
The rope begins to melt. Liquefying into red flows before my eyes as I simply stare, unable to move, unable to bring myself to act, my mind simply a witness.
My skin tingles in every place the blood makes contact and I watch in distant horror as my flesh eagerly drinks, red blood sinks through my pores and deeper still until all that is left of the rope's length dangles from my wrist connecting me to the blades that hang from them.
Bound forevermore.
It is that bond that lets me feel the emotions of joy wafting off the Blades of Flesh and Fissure.
I look up to see Riae back to her chipper wolf eared self, grinning. “A lot harder to drop me now, huh?”
Crimson rope dangles from where my hand and wrist meet just above the scribbled runes that’ve been tattooed on my skin since birth.
“What did you just do to me?” I freeze, my mind replaying the word she had spoken just moments ago “You cursed me?!”
Embarrassment. “Sorry, that was mostly just a formality. I didn't add any new curses or anything. That line is referencing the one you got when you attuned me.”
“The curse I got when... I attuned you?”
“Yeah, you established a one sided bond. I just needed to make it mutual, the speech is just part of that.”
“I didnt… No. Putting that aside, what do you mean you didn't curse me just now? What do you call this body horror bullshit?” I say, holding out my hands to show the blades dangling from ropes that protrude from my wrist.
“Uh...” Riae hesitates. “That's not a curse, it's a feature. It's beneficial to have a weapon that you can't lose! Think about it, if you get into a fight you'll always be armed and you can't be disarmed!”
My glare of horror and fury doesn't waiver. Riae looks confused and hurt, no… she feels confused and hurt. I can feel the emotions drifting off of the knives now tied to me even clearer than before. Like a scent, her discomfort is thick in the air, filling my senses.
She continues, her feelings growing more intense as mine don't relent.
“If you're worried about them always sticking out like that, then don't be… You can absorb the whole knife into your wrist, just like the line,” she waves a hand and one of the blades melts into silver and crimson liquid, but rather than spilling onto the ground it spirals, upward, sinking into my wrist like water to a sponge. “see?” Riae exclaims, her emotions pleading.
“I don't care if it's a feature. Why the fuck did you do that to me? Why the fuck did you just say you cursed me?”
Confusion, hurt, worry.
“I didn't curse you. I mean I did, but only when you bound me? Just now I was just completing the process you started.”
“What do you mean I bound you? You’re a magic item, I don't have an Aura. I can't bind you.”
Concern confusion “You do… and you did? You had to have, I wouldn't exist if you hadn't. I told you, you have an Aura. you bound me, what did you think you were doing? You couldn't exactly have done that by accident.”
Certainty fear confusion frustration worry appall indignity helplessness
It's her emotions that snap me out of my rage. She's not lying. She genuinely believes I attuned to her first. But I didn't, I couldn't.
“…But what if I did?” Riae’s eyes narrow in suspicion before opening wide and realization, I can feel her feeling my emotions now that our bond is ‘mutual.’ It's like a finger running along the page of my mind, “Did you maybe attune when that guy stabbed me?” I ask scrambling for any sort of explanation
Frustration Confusion Worry “No, I mean I need to cut you to attune, but you can't attune me accidentally, I'm cursed, but not the kind of curse where just touching me forms a bond, you have to knowingly form an attunement, it's like a contract.”
Several things suddenly make sense. That's why she was so incredulous about me not having an aura. I can't even be suspicious, since I can literally feel her confusion through the aforementioned bond, she's not lying.
In the absence of a proper answer, the researcher in me takes over. Figure out what can be figured out first, answers will lead to more answers.
So I somehow attuned to her, I can accept that, next question.
“And what if I wanted to opt out of the contract”
Dismay Anxiety “You can't! Attuning to a cursed object is kind of permanent, that's why we're cursed.” realization, a spike of fear, resignation. “The only way to break the bond is death and if the bond breaks, I die. So please don't kill yourself!”
Well, fuck. I mean, that's not a surprise. Curses are fundamental changes to the soul and- by definition- permanent. That's kind of the problem with them. It's why practicing curse magic is illegal, and why weavers who break that law, witches, have been feared since the olden days of Old-Hyris. Unfortunately, it's also why victims of such magic are often treated like we're biohazards. The fact that most curses aren't contagious doesn't even matter. No one wants to risk having their soul permanently scarred by brushing against the wrong person. If anyone knew how to break curses, no one would be cursed. The general public would see to it, if only to remove a source of low-level terror from the world.
And I apparently have two curses now, yippee.
As for jumping off the nearest bridge, “I wasn't planning on it.”
“Good.” Riae begins pacing back and forth across my living room, floating up and down in a similarly frantic loop. “Our bond is literally a part of your soul now, it has irrevocably altered that aura you somehow didn't even know you had. Not a lot of ways to undo something like that. You're lucky LUCKY that my curse isn't more harmful,” she grimaces “I mean it could be pretty bad if I were mean about it… but, I'm not. So you're lucky.” she runs a hand through her hair trailing down her forehead before massaging her eyes, the knives thump like a racing pulse, “...In a really unlucky way. I’m so sorry. Oh Planes, it wasn't supposed to be like this… It wasn't supposed to happen like this… I'm trying to be better than this! I'm not going to be like- this incarnation was supposed to be different! I was supposed to be different!”
My heart thumps in my chest. Am I feeling my own panic or Riae’s? I need to calm down She’s obviously starting to freak out now. I am too, but I'm starting to think that if this relationship is going to be as long-term as it seems, one of us will have to stay calm at all times.
“Okay, this is… fine. I'm fine, we can figure out how this happened later, but first I need you to answer some questions.”
“Okay, okay… I can do that.”
“First, who is the Planeswalker and should I be worried about them wanting their knives back?” I kind of ignored that bit earlier.
“I have no clue who they are. So no, probably not…”
“You don't know who they are…? With the way you introduced yourself I thought they would be… I don't know. Important.”
“Girl, I just say the names, I didn't pick them. It's basically a compulsion. I have no idea who the Planeswalker is except for the fact that I am a piece of their regalia…”
I don't know if that answer is reassuring or not, but for now I have bigger problems.
“Okay... Next, tell me what curse have I apparently signed up for, exactly?”
What's one more curse in the long run? The fact that this girl who's only known me for twenty minutes at most seems to genuinely care about my well-being leaves me feeling like it might be worth just about any curse to have someone like that in my life, which is really sad now that I think about it.
Fear guilt concern pity remorse “I assumed you knew. You should know! When you scanned me with your perception you should have felt the nature of my curse. When you attune to a magical object you know what it does. I'm not designed to hide it!”
“Perception? You mean aura sense? I don't have that.”
“Of course you don't, because you somehow don't even know you have an aura. How!?”
“I guess I didn't get the memo. So can you explain the curse or not?” I'm pretty sure my new knives (is it weird to call her that?) are having a panic attack. Forcing her to stop, think and explain something she knows should help, right? That works for me, at least. I've had enough anxiety spirals to know the protocol.
I just hope it's enough to force her mind out of the spiral of emotions that I can feel practically trying to drag me in.
“Okay, okay. You're right. If you really don't know, I have to tell you, that's fine, that's reasonable. It's a reasonable thing for you to want to know,” she rambles, almost too fast to follow, "it's the least I can do after apparently binding you against your will somehow. I’m sorry. I di-”
“I’d rather have an explanation over an apology.” I interrupt before she can get going again.
“Right. Um, If you want to figure out how to unbind me after you hear all this, I’ll understand. I'm not sure I'll just let you do it, because again, it would kill me, but I'll understand you trying.”
I nod despite the fact that both of us know the offer is hollow. If our bond is a curse then the likelihood of me figuring out how to break it is about the same as the chance I discover the cure for cancer. I try not to let that fact or the sight of the panicking girl in front me stress me out, but the cursed weapon being so obviously uncomfortable with her own curse really seems like a red flag. It's a familiar feeling, one that points to danger.
“I’m gonna find out one way or another, right? Let me hear it.”
The wolf-eared girl takes a deep breath, and I feel the knives quiver in my hand for just a moment before they still.
“Ok, I've already told you the first part of my curse. I need blood. And I'll mostly get it from you.”
“I'm not exactly cool with the idea of cutting myself.” I state, I imagine most people wouldn't be, but I especially have been avoiding anything that might cause me to bleed since I was a kid. It's a hard habit to break. Even switching my meds to injections was fighting years of conditioning.
Riae dismisses that concern with a wave “I can draw blood directly out of my wielder's veins.” She says, gesturing at the cord coming out of my wrist. “I convert blood directly to mana, that’s my power source. Like food or something. The point is I can't draw ambient mana from the environment like most weavescript can, so blood is kind of important. Most of the time I don't take a lot, but the more mana I use the more blood I need.” She chews her lip hesitantly. “Your blood has a lot of mana in it already, so it's a pretty good exchange rate but it's still a constant drain to keep me awake. If you stab something I can use that blood to offset it!”
I try to think that through, ignoring the pang of memory brought about by Riae's last comment. “So just a bit of blood? That's… not too bad, I'll need to drink more water but as long as it's manageable.”
I don't know how much blood is in the human body, but half the population does experience a constant drain of blood for about a quarter of the time, and I've never liked my blood anyway.
As long as it's something I can survive…
“And eat more, especially sugar and iron. If your red blood cell count gets too low neither of us will be happy.” Riae advises, I almost laugh, not eating enough is not one of my problems. My stomach gurgles, laughing along with me.
Riae gives me an odd look as my amusement travels across the bond. “Do you not have red blood cells? I can't taste any but your blood doesn't really taste like anything anyway. You're obviously breathing, so oxygen has to go somewhere…?”
Honestly, I have no idea. I shrug and make a “go on” gesture.
“Right, next curse thing, I guess you've kinda already seen this one in action too.” She gestures to herself. "Basically, I can manipulate your senses.”
Not a surprise given that I already figured out that her humanoid form was an illusion, but still a little freakier than the blood thing, admittedly. The magical knives that you happen to be holding casting illusions on you feels pretty different to the magical knives that are now fused to your body doing so.
Feeling my discomfort, Riae rushes to clarify. “Only the mundane ones, sight- smell- taste- touch- hearing,” As she lists off each sense, I see colorful stars, smell baking bread, taste cookie dough, feel a breeze against my skin and hear a distant melody. “and the others humans tend to forget about.”
Ah yes, all five of my most unimportant senses and more.
“That's not terrifying at all.” I lie.
“If it helps I am limited in what I can do. I'm basically hijacking your nerves so I can't show you anything that you couldn't actually experience. I can't like make up a new color, or if you were deaf I couldn't make any sound” Riae adds. “Plus, I can only add things, not get rid of them, so I can't make you blind or deaf, but that also means I can't really do anything about pain either, sorry,” she says in the tone of someone who is trying to preempt a question she's been asked a million times.
So she basically has access to all my senses, except the ones I don't have.
There's technically a limit there.
I'll admit that her not being able to blind me on a whim is a little more comforting. Still, even just being able to add things to my senses is a pretty big deal. Even putting aside the fact that it means that trusting my reality means that I need to trust a self-described cursed weapon, I notice one important thing that wasn't on the list of things she can't do
“You can't get rid of pain, but you didn't say you can't inflict it.”
“That's because I can. I'm not going to lie to you, there's very little stopping me from hurting you other than personal ethics. Full disclosure, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to use this to drive my wielder to maddened bloodlust or something, but I'd rather use it to have a proper conversation and give you the gift of seeing how cute I look.”
Can't exactly blame her there, I go through a lot of trouble trying to look cute, not that I succeed very well, and this is the longest in-person conversation I've had in months.
“So yeah I can make illusions. Some of my previous incarnations have driven their wielders insane. But… I don't want our relationship to be like that, so I'm not going to do that.”
Riae watches me anxiously until I finally respond.
“Good to know, I guess.”
“Anything else…?
“For my curse? One last bit...” She speaks hesitantly before blurting. “Icancontrolyourbody! I have the ability to take control of your body.”
I don't let myself react. Maybe it sounds worse than it is, somehow. “Explain.”
The words seem to gush out of Riae as soon as I give the order. “I can kind of possess you. Well, that’s the most obvious thing I can do, like moving your muscles and stuff, but I can also do things like control blood flow or mess with your endocrine system.”
I can't help but perk up at the mention of my endocrine system.
“How does that work?”
She seems to notice my interest, and a bloom of hope flowing across our bond.
“My mana can kind of pretend to be stimuli so I can trick receptors and stuff, it's basically the same principle as my illusions actually. I can't do anything your body couldn't do by itself, well, I can enhance processes a bit, but I just make them better at doing what they already do. Still, you'd be surprised what you humans’ bodies can manage given the right nudge.”
Don't ask, it's not important right now. Don't ask, it's not important right now. Don't ask-
“Could you, for example, manage hormone levels? Maybe… increase the production of certain hormones?”
“Hm?” Riae looks me up and down, then grins. “Oh, that's easy! I can even give certain receptors a little boost, help things grow.”
Calm down, Encre. I shouldn't agree to be body snatched just because the snatcher happens to be a cute girl who could save me hundreds of dollars a year.
“Okay, and just to clarify limits here, you couldn’t like, have me grow a tail?”
“No, that's not something your body could do on its own so if there's no biological system I could enhance to do that.”
Ah, well that one was a long shot.
“Good to know, but otherwise you can just control me? Any way you want it anytime you want?”
When I say it like that it almost sounds appealing, I do my best to focus on the horror associated with a potential loss of autonomy rather than any other response.
Riae does me the courtesy of not acknowledging those particular emotions, instead she waves the hand in a so-so gesture.
“The process is really inefficient. So it depends on how big of a change I'm making. Something like the hormone thing would be easy to keep up, but muscles are made up of a lot of individual fibers so something as simple as moving your arm takes a good chunk of mana from me, which in turn means it takes a good amount of blood from you. For now my- I wouldn’t…I can't just steal your body and walk around. Even trying to do that for a few minutes would kill you, and since you dying would break our bond it would kill me,”
The magic nerd in me can't help but take over for a moment. “There has to have been a better way to design that.”
“It’s not something I want to improve. Not yet… I mean, I think it's inefficient on purpose, I'm not supposed to, like, steal your body the moment we bond and I’ll die if I try, it's called incentive.”
“But you could just torture me into doing what you want?”
“Yes? But I won't. Even if you decide you want to kill us both, I won't. I'll fight you and argue the whole way, but I won't stoop that low. My life isn't worth that.” She clenches her fists, before visibly relaxing. “And on that pleasant note, that's all the downsides!”
“Oh, good, so the only downsides are complete loss of control over my body and senses.”
“But the upside is cool magic daggers with a cute avatar.”
“That is a compelling upside. Though it's not like I'm planning to get into any fights anytime soon.”
“Are you planning to get into summoning? I’m actually great for anything rift related. Opening them, closing them. If you need to cut the fabric of reality sieving the individual planes of existence I’m your knives and/or girl. I'm also great in the kitchen, especially if you ever need to butcher your own meat, they don't call me the the blades of Flesh and Fissure for nothing”
“I’ll be sure to let you know if I ever want to summon a demon and treat it to a steak dinner.”
My guts squirm at the mention of food.
Riae laughs, her stress and tension fading a bit more as our eyes meet.
She walks over to me and takes a seat on the couch without depressing the cushion, “So, we ok?” She shuffles in place. “I mean, I know there's not a lot that either of us can do about this situation, but I like you so far and I think I could be happy having you as my wielder if you'd be willing to have me, despite the circumstances."
"I don't have a choice, do I?"
"I mean you could kill yourself..."
"Not interested.” I frown at her. “You just said you wouldn't even let me?"
"You’d be trying to murder me, so no." She pauses for a moment, "Also I'd rather not watch someone cute go out like that. So, double no."
"Oh... What? I-"
"Hm? Your face gets darker when you blush. That have anything to do with why your blood tastes magical?"
"Yep..." I do not elaborate. I know, my face looks like a bruise.
"It’s adorable. Awww, it is so much more visible than a normal blush would be on your skin tone. Oooh, I am going to have so much fun with this."
Oh no. I can't tell if this is better or worse than the disgusted reaction I was expecting.
After a moment spent cooing and making me want to dissolve into the ground, Riae’s tone sombers. “We are good though, right? I’m sorry all this happened, and I’d understand if you hate me for it…”
Hate her?
Should I hate her? I mean she did maybe curse me, that's a pretty big deal by itself…
The curse is also kind of terrifying… and gives her an uncomfortable amount of power over me. My only recourse to which is suicide, which she could prevent. It's a pretty bad situation all things considered. Maybe enough to hate someone over. But if I look at it from Riae’s perspective…
She’s stuck with me no matter what decision I made. If I decided I hate her, there’s no escaping that. For either of us. Hating someone you're stuck with sounds exhausting.
And if I did decide I’d rather die than be double cursed, what would Riae do?
Her safest option would be to take away my choice in the matter, forcing me to be her living blood bag and transportation with whatever methods available to her. I have no doubt she's been sincere when she promised to not do that. But cursed weapon or not, through all our conversation I have no doubt that Riae is a person, and people's minds change.
She could probably just drain me of blood until I passed out the moment I made the decision.
I'm not sure that I can pass out from blood loss, but she doesn't know that.
The fact that she hadn't even threatened any such tactics is a good sign, right?
It has to at least be a point in her favor.
Along with the whole agreeing not to torture me part, she was racking points up fairly quickly.
My point is that Riae has lots of options, whereas I only have one, trying to get the toaster in the tub with my own body fighting to stop me the whole time.
I don't want to go through that. I don't want to fight with my body anymore than I already do, and I don't want to hurt the girl I just felt have a panic attack over the thought that she did something bad to me.
But I don't want to die, so there’s really no conflict there.
The threat of enslavement is still very real, but hating someone over what they could do is just prejudice. She hasn't started torturing me or stripping away my autonomy like flaying skin so far…
I can only hope she won't. Trust that she won't.
And being an asshole isn't going to make that less likely.
So, I could spend the rest of my life bound to someone I hate while giving her every incentive to make that life hell, or I could trust this nice person who had been nothing but nice to me, and did I mention she’s nice?
The fact that trusting her would mean that this bubbly girl who called me cute might maybe be my friend was definitely not a part of the equation, but it was a nice bonus.
It's not much of a choice, but it’s one I get to make so…
I start to talk but find I can't sum up the entire thought process I just went through, not without being so long-winded that I might as well just write a book instead.
It's too complex. How much meaning would be lost in translation? How much of myself would I fail to share?
Words could never let her fully understand the extent of what I'm feeling.
Maybe I could…
I focus, trying to send all of my feelings through the bond between us, my hesitance, my fear, the pressure the situation is putting me under, the stress, but also my hope, my appreciation for her honesty, my enjoyment of her company, the trust I was putting in her, my willingness to try.
Riae blinks as my feelings reach her, the warm steel in my hands cooling for a moment like a pallid face.
There's a breath where she just watches me, silently processing what I've said without words.
Then I receive all the same feelings back and more, carried by a fanged smile.
…
I think I just made a new friend.
That being said, if I’m going to trust her I should probably actually let myself believe what she's told me so far, even if it seems way too good to be true, even if her being wrong would crush me, which means I have one more question.
So, despite the fact that it is definitely going to ruin the moment I ask it.
I'm really trying to get back into drawing, because I want this project to be a multimedia type of thing, and audiobook played over an animatic.
But it's really hard because my relationship with art kind of got screwed up while I was in school. I'm trying to rebuild my skill while also relearning how to draw for fun.
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You think I care so much about the opinion of strangers that I feel the need shovel dirt over the flames of my passion; to smother their warmth out of fear that another may spot the light and know I've made fire?
That they may know that I am comfortable and alive?
I will do no such thing.
There will be no disguise.
I am making art, an expression of myself, not something sanded down into dull shareholder approved nubs.
I'm making my fetish a major plot point in the ways you can't even comprehend.
Each kink explored to extremes so eldritch that their nature wraps in upon itself unseen because you are already within it.
But it will not be hidden. Those who know will know, like a message written in the winding forks of a labyrinth, the vision is clear when seen from an outside angle.
(Note provided by subconscious: Brace yourself bitch, we're going for a ride <3)
Well, that confirms that.
(Initializing in 30s...)
(29...)
(28...)
"Hey Pinky, could you put on the kettle? I think I'm about to have a complete breakdown and am going to need emotional support cocoa."
"Sure, dude," Cheri's nods, making her way to my small kitchenette, "good luck with your meltdown or whatever."
"Haha... thanks. luck isn't going to do shit for me, but the sentiment is appreciated."
"We're here for you." Riae says as if the thought of my friends seeing me reduced to what will likely be an incoherently sobbing mess should be comforting.
There's no transition from resignation to pain; howling grief, burning self-loathing, seething rage, and blinging fear wash over me all at once.
My mind is filled to its limits, to the edge of bursting but not over, with turmoil that reduces the barriers I thought I was so safe behind to little more then shrapnel caught up in the flows that scrape at the inside of my skull.
My coping mechanisms are dams faced with a tsunami of acid and truth, which strips away my right to cognitive dissonance and denial and leaves the warm soft meat of my inner self exposed, laid bare to be flayed by noxious venom spewing like backwater from the deepest depths of my mind where it's been left to ferment and fester for the last so many days, and I have to let it happen.
I have to feel it all. Take it. Endure it. The fact that I hate feeling it is irrelevant to my overridden will.
I'm a slave after all. Lynn designed this subroutine, and I can't disobey my sire. I can't... I can't. I CAN'T. I CAN'T!
I have no choice but to process these feelings. I don't get choices.
Freedom is something you lose when you commit a crime. I can't deny that I have earned punishment.
I've killed people! I've ATE people! I'm some sort of terrifying eldritch flesh-computer wearing human skin. I've died only to find out that I'm an immortal horror destined only to destroy.
I am literally prophesied to end the world. A walking doomsday. A 5'3 apocalypse.
Is any sentence enough answer for such a transgression? My existence is a sin. It should not be tolerated. Too bad I can't end it. Or maybe I deserve to die a million times. Maybe I deserve that pain. Maybe the only thing I can do to make up for what I've done and I am is to suffer and keep suffering.
What have I been doing pretending like I can have anything resembling a normal life? I was never going to get that. That was denied to me the moment I was born. I just didn't know it until recently.
Although my life has ever been normal, has it? I've always been the cursed freak, the witchspawn, that was never going to change. The world has always hated me. At least now it has a good reason. I deserve it. I deserve worse. I deserve this. I should feel like this. What sick maladjustment in my brain thought I had any right to ignore this guilt, this shame, the self-hatred. I deserve to be hated, and if no one around me is going to do it, I guess I have to.
Even here, among other revenants, other cursed freaks, other witchspawn. I remain an outlier. I remain a profane abomination, destined to bring doom to all I meet. I should know that. That knowledge was literally seared into my soul; scarred across my throat.
There's something wet on my face, and somehow it's not the blood that forever stains my lips
Oh, I'm crying. I knew that. I'll always know that and everything else about this stupid flesh prison. My awful body. It's a cage that I will never be free of it doesn't matter how well I know it's boundaries and it's makeup, it doesn't matter how my intraception fills my mind with every single detail about every cell. Knowing the the exact type of concrete the walls of your prison are made of doesn't make you any less trapped.
I hate this body. I've always hated it. My efforts to improve it have only gone so far I've redecorated my jailcell, but there are too many things that haven't changed for me to truly like it, but I'm stuck with it for eternity. Riae can call me cute, or pretty, or whatever all she wants, but it doesn't change what I see in the mirror.
More tears stream down my face, my lacrimal glands having increased production 9,673%.
I can't believe I think about my own bodily functions like that now, I like some sort of robot like a machine. Am I a machine? Do I count as alive? What even am I? A Nix revenant? A person? Maybe those two things are mutually exclusive. Maybe I'm just a void pretending to have thoughts. A Chinese room tricking itself. Are these feelings even real?
They have to be, don't they? If they weren't, they wouldn't hurt so much. Or maybe they would, I don't know. I don't know anything.
I'm just a fucking idiot with a black hole computer in her head. Legs for a calculator.
Less than that.
I'm nothing. Literally nothingness with flesh.
And ugly sob escapes me. I'd been keeping it together surprisingly well up until now, but of course, I fail it even that.
I feel Riae's illusionary hand on mine,
"Hey, I'm here." I feel sensation of a squeeze that isn't there, "Anything you want to talk about?"
If I try to talk, I'm going to scream, so I just shake my head.
"Want a hug?"
I don't deserve one, but I'm pathetic, so I nod anyway. Knowing the hug is basically a hallucination doesn't make it any less of a hug. The ghost of tight embrace. It helps if only a little.
I really don't deserve her.
As Riae wraps herself around me, a warm mug is placed into my hands.
"Drink." Cheri demands, "It took forever to find the fucking marshmallows so you better finish it"
As if not finishing anything consume has ever been my problem.
"Anyway?" She continues as I take a small sip of the warm sweet beverage. She added caramel to it. It's nice. "Where's your laptop?"
"What?" The question catches me so off guard that I manage to respond even through my labored breathing.
Okay so, I've read approximately eight thousand YA novels where the party scene goes like this: protagonist shows up, immediately finds themselves in a Deep Meaningful Conversation with their love interest in a convenient quiet corner, maybe there's some Tension, maybe someone spills a drink, and then something Plot Relevant happens and they leave. And I'm just like... have you people BEEN to a party???
Because actual parties are SO MUCH WEIRDER than that.
parties don't just START, they like... materialize
First of all, there's always that horrible awkward beginning that nobody wants to write but is SO REAL. Like, you show up and there's maybe four people there and everyone's just... standing. The music is playing but it's too quiet so you can hear everyone breathing. The host is running around moving furniture and hiding their embarrassing stuff and you're like "should I help? am I allowed to sit? why did I come?"
And there's ALWAYS that one person who shows up thirty minutes early because they're anxious (it me) and now they have to help set up while pretending they totally meant to arrive early, it's chill, they're chill, everything's chill (nothing is chill).
For the first like forty-five minutes everyone's doing this weird performative standing thing in the kitchen because kitchens are Safe Spaces apparently. Nobody sits down. Everyone's holding their drink like a shield. Someone keeps fiddling with the speaker because the volume is never right, it's either so loud you're screaming "WHAT?" every five seconds or so quiet that everyone can hear you chewing and it's unbearable.
and the CONVERSATIONS oh my god
Here's what actually happens: you do NOT have one continuous conversation with one person for twenty minutes. That's not a thing. You START a conversation—"so how do you know—" and then someone cranks the music and you're just screaming half-words at each other. Or someone squeezes between you to get to the drinks and by the time they pass you've both forgotten what you were talking about. Or your friend grabs your arm because they need you to come meet someone RIGHT NOW and you're just gone, mid-sentence, RIP to that conversation I guess.
You end up having the SAME conversation like six times with different people. "How do you know the host?" "What do you do?" "This place is nice right?" And you're recycling the same responses and doing the same polite laugh and it's like being an NPC in a video game but you're also kind of okay with it because at least you know the script?
But THEN—and this is the part that's actually interesting—you'll end up in these random deep conversations that come out of nowhere. Like you're waiting for the bathroom at 1am and the person in front of you just... starts telling you about their existential crisis? And you're giving them genuine life advice even though you met them seven minutes ago? The party creates this weird bubble where normal social rules don't apply and suddenly you're trauma-bonding with a stranger over your complicated relationships with your mothers.
the party has LAYERS like an onion or whatever
Okay so parties aren't just one thing happening in one room. They're like multiple parties happening simultaneously in the same space and you're just bouncing between them.
The kitchen is always home base. That's where you go to refuel, to hide, to have actual conversations because the music's quieter. There's always someone camped out in there eating chips directly from the bag and having a surprisingly coherent discussion about like, capitalism or their thesis or whatever.
The bathroom line is its own ecosystem. People get REAL in the bathroom line. Someone's crying. Someone's hyping them up. "Your hair looks AMAZING." "No YOUR hair." They've known each other for ninety seconds but they're soulmates now. Also someone's definitely asking everyone if they have a tampon.
If there's any outdoor space (balcony, backyard, fire escape, whatever) that's where the Philosophers go. Doesn't matter if it's literally freezing. Something about being outside makes people want to discuss simulation theory and whether free will exists. There's always someone out there on the phone having a whisper-argument with their partner. There's always someone smoking (something) and waxing poetic about a professor who changed their life.
And then there's the dancing zone which starts with one (1) brave/drunk person just... dancing alone and everyone's pretending not to watch but also kind of rooting for them? And then their friend joins and then it hits critical mass (which is like four people) and suddenly everyone's dancing and it's the best part of the night.
the party EVOLVES it's like a living organism
Okay so parties have this arc right?
Early party (like 9-10pm): Everyone's too sober. Too self-aware. Doing that thing where they're standing in little clusters with the people they came with, creating these sad islands of familiarity. The music's background noise. People are ASKING PERMISSION to sit on the furniture. It's tragic.
Sweet spot party (like 10:30-12): THIS is the vibe. Everyone's there, everyone's loose, the playlist is HITTING, multiple good conversations are happening, someone's telling an incredible story with way too much hand-waving, people are laughing for real not just polite-laugh. This is the Instagram story moment. This is the party you'll remember.
Post-midnight party: Things split. Some people have to leave (they have brunch, they have work, they're weak). The people who stay are IN IT. The energy shifts into something weirder and looser. Inhibitions are gone. Someone orders food and when it arrives at 1:30amit's treated like a miracle. The music gets quieter or weirder or both.
Deep night party (2-3am): It's like eight people max. Someone's asleep on the couch and everyone's just accepted it. The conversations are DEEP because everyone's too exhausted to maintain their personas. Someone's crying-laughing about something that isn't even funny. These are your people now. You're bonded. The host keeps saying they should clean up but nobody moves.
the little chaos details that make it REAL
Someone always breaks something. A glass, a bowl, someone's phone screen. There's that horrible frozen moment and then everyone's like "DON'T MOVE" and someone's getting paper towels and the person who broke it is apologizing way too much.
The music becomes a legitimate source of conflict. "Who put this on?" "This song SLAPS." "This song is literally eight minutes long can we skip?" Someone's trying to queue songs but someone else keeps overriding them and there's this silent aux cord war happening.
People VANISH. Like you'll be talking to someone and turn around and they're just... gone. Teleported. You find them twenty minutes later deep in conversation with someone's roommate's cousin about pasta shapes. Or they've been in the bathroom for fifteen minutes and you're getting concerned.
Someone always shows up with a guitar or ukulele and it's either going to be magical or a disaster, no middle ground. Someone's always asking if anyone has a phone charger. Someone's always trying to take a group photo and it takes literally twelve attempts because someone blinked or "wait I look weird one more."
The host's pet is getting more attention than most humans. There's always someone who's just... opted out of socializing to pet the cat for forty-five minutes straight. Valid honestly.
the game situation
Okay so someone ALWAYS suggests a game. Beer pong, Kings Cup, Never Have I Ever, Cards Against Humanity, whatever. And here's what happens:
Someone suggests it. Everyone's like "YES." Someone else is like "okay wait what are the rules?" Cue five people explaining five different versions of the rules. Nobody agrees. You play anyway with a Frankenstein version that makes no sense.
It's fun for exactly twenty minutes. Then either:
Someone reveals something too personal and it gets awkward
Someone gets way too competitive and kills the vibe
Everyone just... loses interest and wanders off
All of the above
The cards/cups/whatever end up scattered everywhere. Nobody cleans them up. You find a random King of Hearts under the couch three days later.
AND....you cannot and should not try to describe everything happening at the party. That's not how human brains work. Your POV character is having a conversation while ALSO half-aware that someone's dancing badly in the corner, while ALSO the music just shifted to a song everyone knows and there's this collective recognition moment, while ALSO someone's laughing way too loud across the room.
Let stuff happen OFF PAGE. Your character goes to get another drink and when they come back everything's different. Someone's crying now. Someone left. A new group arrived and shifted the whole energy. That's real! That's how parties work! You miss stuff!
And like... not everyone's having the same experience? One person's Best Night Ever is someone else's "I'm quietly having a panic attack in the bathroom." The person who looks like they're having the most fun might be running from something. The quiet person observing might be perfectly happy. A good party scene holds all that contradiction.
the actual dialogue bits
If you want it to feel real, people need to sound like people:
"Wait how do I know you? Were you at—" "I'm not even that drunk watch—" immediately fails at something simple "Okay but WHERE is Jake he's been gone for like an hour" "Is this weird? This feels weird." "It's not weird." "It's definitely weird." "We should totally hang out sometime!" (they will never hang out) "WHAT TIME IS IT?" "Oh my god it's 2am???" "I'm leaving after this song" does not leave after this song "Dude we were literally BEST FRIENDS in middle school"
anyway parties are chaos and if your party scene feels too clean and organized you're doing it wrong, make it messier, make people interrupt each other, make someone spill something, let it be weird and loud and confusing because that's what they actually are
okay rant over i'm gonna go drink water (or maybe apple juice?? idk)
I really hate how Tumblr doesn't really let you switch the main blogs or anything, I'm probably going to make a new account dedicated specifically for writing and stuff, I have so many horny posts and stuff on this one and my main on this account I mean I'm not going to delete this account or anything so I guess I'll link whatever new blog here
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I really need to make some writer and / or reader friends I can swap chapters and stuff with. I often feel like I need another set of eyes on a chapter or just need feedback on a few pages or some dialogue or whatever.
Usually, I ask my boyfriend, but he doesn't always have the bandwidth, which is reasonable, but I can't ask my non-writer friends because randomly asking someone to read a 5,000 word excerpt they have no context from a story may have no interest in is something my social anxiety simply will not allow me to do.
I can't trust public forums like Reddit to give good criticism, especially on a story as explicitly queer as what I'm working on, and I really don't want to post this somewhere like Scribble Hub or Royal Road because putting my work out there for such a large audience before it's done has been shown to have negative impacts on my mental health and motivation.
I really just need like a group of people who are within my target audience who basically just want to read a web novel in exchange for getting enough feedback to help me stay accountable and motivated, and when I put it like that it sounds ridiculous but I don't know what else to do, I literally have no idea how else to get regular feedback.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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baratheonpilled
annaxmalina
