Rhetoric and Logic

The last of the academic drawings I want to show

My partner is around 200 (she lost count during the "Great Binge" in the early 1900s) and we've been together for 5 years.

Things have plateaued in the last 18 months because whenever I try to talk about our future she uses her dark and inevitable fate as an excuse to end the conversation.

She claims that she's cursed to wander the world forever, because of a broken geas. In fact I'm pretty sure she's as long lived as she is because her grandma is a Trow. Terrible row when I brought that up.

How do I talk to someone who thinks I, a mere mortal, could never understand them, and is there any way of proving the whole "fate" thing is horseshit and a defense mechanism?

Hello,

Thank you for reaching out, that sounds like a very difficult situation to be in. It's clear you care a lot about your partner, but it's very natural that the behaviour you describe frustrates you.

Whatever the cause or causes for the difference, relationships of all kinds between individuals with wildly varying lifespans always come with special challenges. But then, so it is with all relationships. The way we see it, whether your partner is subject to a geas or not is less important within your relationship than the fact that you have a desire for commitment she seems to reject. And while that is something we see a lot within couples where one partner is much longer lived than the other, because a (near-)immortal life comes with a lot of loss and grief, it is something mortal couples struggle with just as often.

There is a peer support group called (Im)mortally Founded that meets on various of our locations at different times. If you'd like to find people (in the broad sense of the word) that might have struggled with similar challenges as yourself, this could be the place to find them. But our online resources also includes a registry of verified professionals who provide (couples) counseling, and for whom we can vouch that they have shown the necessary experience with the occult and commitment to the welfare of the supernatural community.

Whatever you decide, please don't hesitate to drop by, with or without your partner!

"I do hope they get along," one dragon said.

"Are they talking?" said the other.

"Heads close togeth- Oh!"

The Night Embrace by Iren Horrors

"Hello, Harper."

They nearly flung themself backwards, barely managing to stay on their feet. The vampire’s expression was amused, but not quite easy. There was an edge to his expression that he was trying to hide. Perhaps he was hungry, but asking about it would do no good.

“How do you know my name” they demanded instead.

“I pick things up,” he replied casually.

“Yeah?” they glared. “You just happen to pick things up, perhaps while you just happen to do things like stalking me home?”

“Oh come on,” he protested, pulling a face. “You known I can’t actually follow you inside.”

They hesitated, momentarily distracted. “That’s real?”

He snorted. “Obviously, or we’d be a lot harder to catch.”

Harper halfway expected him to reveal some hidden purpose now, to ask some question or make some kind of demand, but nothing came.

“I am not showing you to my front door,” they remarked dryly.

His expression changed for just a moment, but instead of answering he replied: “I have a name too, you know, but you never bothered to introduce yourself.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” they sneered, taking a few impulsive, combative steps towards him. “I should have made time for etiquette in between testing a string of people for sudden anaemia and diagnosing the actual goddamn problem.”

“Ouch,” he drawled, but he suddenly wrinkled his nose slightly, sniffing involuntarily. “You’re wearing juniper berries?” he asked incredulously. “Who teaches you this stuff?”

Harper crossed their arms. “I pick things up.”

A wry smile touched the vampire’s lips. “No trouble believing that was real, hm.”

“Better to err on the side of caution,” they returned snidely.

“Right. I will take that as my cue to leave.”

“Wait,” they started as soon as he turned away. “Are you alright? Did you come here to ask about blood?”

He stood still for a long moment, his back still towards them, before whirling abruptly around. “Do you enjoy this, Florence Nightingale?” “Do I— what?”

“This push and pull you do. Do you enjoy it, or can you genuinely not help yourself?” Once again they stood staring at him, uncertain whether to be insulted or merely at a loss.

“You can’t, can you,” he said with a breathy laugh. “You think you need stuff like this”—gesturing to the little pouch of berries worn round their neck—“to keep me from harming you, and somehow you can’t stand even the possibility

“Just because I don’t want you to hurt people, doesn’t mean I want you to go hungry.”

“I am never not hungry,” he replied abruptly. “And I wasn’t hurting people.”

“You—” They took a breath. “You and I have different definitions of harm.”

“And different definitions of ‘fine’, probably,” he replied with studied indifference. “But I am, fine.” He turned away again and rapidly disappeared into the dark, until only his voice reached them one last time: “And it’s Lysander, by the way.”

All my New Yorker covers

They are all available on the Condé Nast Store where you can buy prints, cards, and other merch. I get a royalty from this.