July 6 2026

LadyRainStarDrago AKA Teresa “Amehana” Garcia

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“You have the most exquisite heartache.” His voice touched her ear softly, followed by fingers brushing hair off her face. “You should take better care of yourself though. I doubt you deserve to choke on your own sorrow… delicious as it is.”

Her eyes turned to the voice as she flinched away from the warm fingers sweeping the hair from her face. Deep brown eyes met hers, set within a majestically owlish face framed by wild white curls of moonlight. The scent wafting off him were the scents of the woodland night – the stars, the cedars, the oaks, the moonblooms and dangerfruit flower-vines – and something richer and deeper that pulled at that pain filled spot within her soul.

“I won’t harm you, and you’ve obviously been harmed enough, little meadowsweet.” He smiled gently and settled beside her on the lush grass, then looked up at the moon where it rode the sky above the oak glade. “But I will stand guard while you pour out your pain. Forests aren’t safe at night, you know, little meadowsweet.”

“Pointed ears. Pointed teeth. Owlish features. Surely fae.” She thought to herself, processing the interruption. She disliked the beauty, how soon she found herself attracted to someone other than the faithless lover she’d dealt with.

His eyebrow rose and the nostril she could see in his profile flared. Another thrill in places she didn’t want thrilled. A slow smirk from him and incline of his head. The night grew colder as the moon continued along her course through the gems of the starry ocean.

“So, tell me about this lout. Name, description, what he did. What you’d like done. His fears. I very much dislike someone so tender and innocent being in such pain.” He removed the green, heavily embroidered, jacket he wore and carefully arranged it around her shoulders. “I can’t let such deep wrongs go unaddressed in my territory, you see, even if I wasn’t already inclined toward you.”

To her surprise she found the story tumbling from her lips as he tucked her under his arm? Wing? Things were fuzzier than they ought to be. Time bent and his scent, warmth, and eyes occupied far too much of her mind. She fought it, but the harder she fought the gentler his smile and the closer his face.

“You… You’re feeding… On me...” She rasped weakly at the end, much closer to his lips than she wanted to be.

“On your heartbreak, my dear. Not you. It’s been awhile since anyone bungled into my glade with any real troubles needing righting. Don’t worry, I’ll make this worth your while.” The caress on her side soothed her far more than she wanted. “Just release it all to me. I’m very a very hungry fae. I’ll not besmirch your honor though… not unless you invite me.” He chuckled at her blush, inhaling appreciatively. “I’d prefer to know you several days more first before that though. It’s been some time since I’ve had other offerings too.”

She rasped, annoyed at her response to his jests.

“Good girl. The spunkier the better. Now then, you must be exhausted after such an evening. You might fall ill if I let you sleep out here. How about I take you somewhere with a nice, soft, warm bed? Hm? When you wake up, all this nonsense will be over, and life can start anew.”

She clung as he scooped her up. “How… am I in your thrall so easily?”

“Well, little meadowsweet, you did say ‘I wish someone could help me’ before you collapsed here with that chunk of hair. And here I am. We can hash out what to actually call each other tomorrow. Tonight you ought to sleep while I do a little hunting after I’ve tucked you in. I’ll borrow your trophy, too, if you don’t mind.” He winked and smiled warmly as he carried her through the hidden door in his oak. “Can’t leave a lady alone in her despair, can I?”

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So many people like to write about elves and elven princes. I wanted something a little more... possibly Druidic this time. Where is the line between fae and deity? I felt like blending a little male tree spirit and a little owl together too.

Today's chosen prompt was “You have the most exquisite heartache.” – by WindySilver https://flashficmonth.wordpress.com/2026/07/05/ffm-links-6-july-2026/

Also posting to all the usual places.

July 4th 2026

LadyRainStarDrago AKA Teresa Amehana Garcia

She glowered at the small green orbs that now assaulted her plate, knowing as they fell from Cooky’s ladle that she would have to allow them to do the same to her palate and her gut. Woe to the unfortunate sisters who would be subjected to tonight’s flatulence performance in her shared cell.

Sister Mardra hid a sigh of relief on discovering that a scoop of peas was not the only item served for dinner tonight. It had been done many times before. What was the occasion for two proteins?

More importantly, what was it?

She let her feet flow down familiar paths to her habitual seat. First, the potatoes and cabbage. Next, the creamy mystery meat, served over a healthy and surprising helping of French Fries. Truly divine, blessings to whatever kind soul had donated the beastie to their ancient nunnery. The Sisters of the Trumping Silences were temporarily saved from… the peas. The source of their trumps.

The Abbess watched the sisters with her slate eyes, lingering lightly on Mardra. Mardra placed a large spoonful of the pustulating peas into her mouth and chewed with exaggerated gratuity. Mardra had no doubt those who revealed their dislike of the sacred legume were spirited away into the winding passages beneath the nunnery. Trying to eat them all proved as difficult as usual. Thankfully, she had also been equipped with some French Bread… Mashing them up she spread the peas on the bread, also succeeding somewhat in masking the taste.

The Legend of their own Labyrinth was often whispered among the sister after lights out, particularly the mysterious link to the alligators of the Everglades and what legendary item of provenance they guarded.

Perhaps, whatever it was, would eventually free them from the peas.

Sister Mardra had just finished the last bit of her peas, distracting herself by mentally rerunning the scene wherein Anakin Skywalker had his limbs rather forcefully – she smiled at the pun – removed from his keeping. A soft clatter cut through the silence.

A suspicious wooden dish sat beside her own, bearing a yellow dangerfruit, lemon, and lavender flan concoction that normally would have been met with excitement by any of them. A treat? Again, what was the occasion?

Wait… What was the occasion? Her eyes narrowed, focusing more on the delicacy, then following the arm that was still withdrawing.

The Abbess.

“Sister, it is due to your diligence in tending the wounded on the paths that bring us such unaccustomed plenty this night. It is fitting you receive the first serving of pudding.” Her voice, coarse from disuse other than the soft prayer chants, was difficult to decipher at the distance from her ear. “See me in my chambers after Martins.”

She nodded a reply and ate her pudding as ordered, but Sister Mardra hadn’t been aware that her stomach was capable of dropping any lower. What could the Abbess want?

When the time finally came, and after nearly getting lost in the maze of hallways and stairs yet again (despite all her many long years in the cloister), and a close encounter with a suspiciously steamy “chocolate bar” clearly deposited by the Abbess’s French Bulldog during one of its nighttime escapes helping the cats combat the mice and rats… Mardra finally stood before the simple wooden door.

Which was already opening, since the Abbess had been waiting impatiently for her to catch up. A bony finger pointed in, and she followed it to the seat on the bed slab she’d just been assigned. Not the best start, in her mind. Clearly, also not the best start in the Abbess’s mind, either!

“I am here, Abbess. What did you need of me?” Her eyes met the rheumy ones that were sinking to join her on the bed.

“I have noticed that the world seems to be calling you louder than usual.”

Her stomach turned over. Was this about the crying spat when the ski competition had been interrupted by commercials? Had she missed a pea, and this was how she would be dismissed?

“No louder than usual, to my knowledge. I have my work here, praying for the souls of all those who need better nutrition, roughage, and tending the wounds of those braving the alligators.”

“None know the dangers that await those who try to find what they guard.” The Abbess made the sign over herself, Sister Mardra following and bowing her head on reflex. “But no. I have seen a sign.” She pointed at the small wood sign. It bore Sister Mardra’s former worldly name. “The adventure party had it in their possession.”

She nearly threw up her peas. “Elia Schmitd shall unite and guide us to save the world from the Trump of Completion, with the Trump of Completion.” She read slowly, seeing the literal sign she’d been dreaming of for days. “But, what if I don’t?”

“Then I’m afraid the end of the world looks very wrong and messed up indeed.”

“What even IS the Trump of Completion?”

“That, we need you for.” The Abbess pinned her with a gaze. “Do you remember how you resurrected that man?”

“I… farted… While treating him. It brought him back.”

“And what took him out again?”

“Farting in the medical bay when checking on him...”

“Yes, and so, you must now go through the Sacred Tunnels and Steps of Solemnizations, exit out into the swamp, and go find yourself. It is time.”

“I can’t save the world. I’m just a flatulent middle-aged woman...”

“Save. End. All the same. You must discover how to trumpet the new age into being.”

“Can I at least get a night’s sleep first?”

“Of course.” The Abbess looked at her. “We are The Sisters of the Trumping Silences, not a company of young adventurers on their first Quest. In the morning, after outfitting yourself. See the Chambress in the morning for your provisions.”

“Yes Abbess.”

She left for her cell, trailing odiferous reluctance.

Yes, escapes instead of escapades was a choice.

Should I start tagging the short stories with the genres?

Edit: I forgot to include that this was done using the FFM challenge prompt. https://flashficmonth.wordpress.com/2026/07/03/ffm-links-4-july-2026/

Generators chosen Event Prompt https://flashfictionmonth.itch.io/flash-fiction-month-event-prompt-generator

Event: The end of the world looks wrong and messed up.

Tense: Future tense.

Genre restriction: Cannot be apocalyptic.

- by MinneWinne

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Campfire Tales Prompt https://flashfictionmonth.itch.io/flash-fiction-month-campfire-tales-challenge-generator

1. Whodunit 2. Each suspect narrates a portion of the story 3. French bread, french fries, and a French bulldog - challenge issued by ilyilaice

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Adventure Prompter https://flashfictionmonth.itch.io/flash-fiction-month-adventure-prompt-generator

Character: A thirty something woman, values solitude and peace, hates peas, her struggles with depression and anxiety have reduced her ability to deal with shenanigans and people. She cries at commercials but laughed hysterically when Anakin Skywalker got his limbs chopped off. - by NamelessShe Setting: An old nunnery, with a hidden maze of catacombs below it and mysterious staircases that don't lead anywhere. Or do they!? - by salshep MacGuffin: No one knew what the gators of the Everglades guarded, nor the dangers that awaited anyone who try to find out. - by Teela-Y

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Daily

LadyRainStarDrago AKA Teresa Amehana Garcia

July 2, 2026

The monastery cats were chanting again. What made it TRULY concerning was that it wasn’t Latin this time.

“Harae tamae, kiyome tamae, rokkon shōjō.” Nine meowtiful voices tolled from before the altar within the stone chamber and rolled out the doors, then over the garden. The strike of a staff and chime of a bell.

The priest poked his head around to peek in the open doorway. Just as he could hear, nine cats sat performing their calls. Before them lay nine deceased mice, recently caught, tiny black eyes staring glassily into infinity. No staffs. No bells. No incense despite the odor of catnip toasting away in invisible censers.

“Again, Brother Dwellyth?” the gardener came up the walk. Over his shoulder,at  he carried the hoe he had borrowed yesterday to cover his hoeing both at home and the kirk until he could replace his own.

“Aye, again, Michael.” Brother Dwellyth looked to his longtime friend.

“I still think you’re just working too hard.” Michael replied, his ginger hair gleaming beneath the sun’s light as he cocked his head just so.

“You hear it too.” Dwellyth passed a sweaty palm over his forehead and dwindling hair.

“Aye, but they are cats. You know how the cats here are.”

“Cats don’t speak human language.”

“Special cats, too much communion wine, not enough food, and studying too late at night. Some mysteries just aren’t meant for humans to know.”( Collapse )

“We’ll never get a proper Priest for long, though, if the cats keep scaring them away.”

“Do we need one? What is the offering today, anyway? More mice?”

Dwellyth looked at Michael over his glasses and sighed.

“Yes. I’m not ordained a Priest, remember? Also because of them.”

Michael shrugged. “You’ll think of something.”

The cats began another chant. Invisible paper whisks whisked away at whatever things the cats prayed against.

“I highly doubt my idea of just declaring this a cat-run establishment will work.”

“Is there really anyone left to gainsay you?” Michael smiled, his green eyes gleaming just a bit too cat-like for Dwellyth’s comfort.

As usual, posting next to my DeviantArt and other platforms. I'm having to play catch-up with posting. The bookmark files took up a lot of energy (and Monday I'll have to go over the hill to have them printed, as I am out of printer ink).

Linktree: linktr.ee/Amehana

LadyRainStarDrago AKA Teresa Amehana Garcia

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The mist rolls in over the hills. It would be so serene if you didn’t know what it brings.

The lookout sits in her tower, securing her corner of the compound. Whether the other three still retained their sanity, Hera could never be sure. It’s not like they met in the mess hall. No, they had all long ago taken to having their meals in their towers and coordinating among themselves who would be on watch when.

They were all that was left. All that still stood between their charges and what had taken the others.

Her eyes narrowed at a movement within the mist pouring into their arm of the valley. Behind her, she knew, another mist was rising from the creek. A flash of green, and her eyes focused on it.

A tendril? A tail? A head on a long neck?

Red spots glowed, and the siren song of vintage typewriters being worked at speed filled her ears.

Ah, of course. Today, they came.

Hydra. Their compound’s muse. Their nurse. Their God.

Her fingers itched, and she gazed into the visions flitting over her mind’s eye, scrying the mists just as ancient fortune tellers and Druidic bards once had long ago, far across the sea. Her hand drifted toward the silent alarm. It was time to release them.( Collapse )

The writers emerged from their cages, starved for sustenance and inspiration. It was time. Time to feed. Time to dream. Time to write. Only through the protective veil of the written word could the wisdom and folly Hydra sang and projected be safely allowed to come before those normies still used to traditional vanilla stories who hid in the labyrinth below.

Hera smiled. Things eldritch soothed her. She was going to hand on to this gig as long as she could, shepherding those writers seeking to dabble toes in waters outside their more comfortable genres. Other things stirred in the mists too. Zombies were not the way they used to be written of… Hydra would likely feed well on those who chose not to brave the new world and cling to the old way of things.

Writers’ Valley was a weird place, but she’d never felt more at home.

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Viva Hydra! It's Flash Fiction Month! Pretty cool to see one of my suggestions made it in.

This is posted here, my Patreon, and will be mirroring to my Livejournal, Dreamwidth and DeviantART as well. If you like my art and writing, point your friends my way, and poke at my Patreon.

Linktree: linktr.ee/Amehana