There’s just something about Ayla, isn’t there…
In which the witch is questioned by the angry father of the missing princess…
“Where is my daughter!? Tell me at once, witch! Speak!”
Nive’s father thundered the question and demands at Ayla, but unlike his subordinates, Ayla did not respond to his threats with any kind of fear. Instead she met his gaze with a clear eye and simply shrugged. The interrogation had been going on for hours and hours and had mostly consisted of a fair bit of shouting and threats to do things worse than shouting which did not eventuate.
The king seemed reluctant to lay so much as a finger on the witch, nobody did. Ayla stood in a small clearing of humans all of whom had their weapons trained on her, none of whom were willing to approach, much like a tribe of hungry mongeese banding around a particularly elegant cobra. She had not made a single threatening comment of her own. There was simply a thingness about her which kept her would-be attackers at bay for the moment at least.
*Just FYI, I am preparing to finish this book of Lesbia and will be removing and editing earlier chapters as I go. The final book will be published in a few weeks-ish, and will have additional scenes and a few changes from the online serial 🙂
My post earlier today and tongue in cheek comment about this being an improving sort of place made me think, and thinking made me make this cover for a book (which I have not written, and yet, in some respects, am always writing*.)
(*it would be remiss of me not to point out that I do not intend my writing to actually be improving. Looking to kinky literature for moral guidance is a dangerous dalliance at the best of times.)
I don’t usually weigh in on politics, because frankly, nobody needs my half-baked opinions when they’re looking for something improving to read (that is why people come here, to be substantially improved in one metric or another.) But the PM for the last five thousand years in NZ has just resigned because he’s kind of over it, so I have to re-post a compilation of his best and most compelling arguments.
There’s nothing like being on home ground, is there? Any troublemaker knows that home turf is the best place for launching attacks of the fiendishly brattish kind. You may not be able to step into the same river twice, but you sure can splash around in it.
“There you are, girl!”
A sharp voice emanated from behind her just a moment before two pinching fingers descended on her left lobe. Nive turned to find herself looking into the long, thin face of a woman who had a rather dignified demeanor when she was not contorted with irritation. Her dark arched brows were halfway to her graying hairline, her lips pursed into a thin line. Nive knew this woman. Her name was Mrs Meansington, and she was the head of housekeeping. She was the one who ensured that the matters of cleaning and such were attended to.
“I told you to turn down the beds three hours ago. Where have you been?!”
Nive was utterly confused as to how she could possibly have been told anything, and tried to say as much, but she did not have a chance. Before she knew what was happening, Mrs Meansington had pulled up the rear of her skirts and began belaboring her bottom with the flat of her her long, bony hand.
An updates has happends!
Something I’ve been meaning to work on for some time, alongside the online stories I’m writing, is a history of Ayla. When we first meet Ayla in Over Witch’s Knee, she is already many hundreds of years old and has lived a full life. She is self-possessed and of a calm and at times, commanding temperament. She takes the thief Atrocious both under her wing and into her bed, regarding her initially as something like a cross between a student, a plaything, and a lover.
Much like Kira, Ayla is not necessarily a ‘good’ character. But she is well loved in spite of her flaws. So I think my next Lesbia book will tell some of the tale of her early years. There is some cannon backstory to her emergence into Lesbia, which you can read here: A History of Ayla , but I want to write a true narrative of the trying time which she faces after emerging from the prison of her youth into the mortal world of Lesbia.
Here’s a little of that tale in progress:
Ayla took her first steps into the world of the mortals, finding herself in a forest which was exactly the same as the one she had left, and yet nothing like it at all. Her gossamer robes were too light against the cold winds of the world of the mortals. She had never felt weather like this before. Her years in the prison were calm ones. Obsidian walls did not move, nor did the air inside them, lest it be fanned by some deliberate act. Out here the leaves and grass never seemed to stop waving in constant gusts and breezes, and above them the sky went on forever. It was foreign, this world, and the young witch desperately wanted to be back in the dark shadows in which she had been born.
It could not be. The prison which she had known as home had collapsed under an avalanche of hatred. Her mother was gone, taken by the walls. There was no going back to the elven realm in which she had been born a prisoner. There was only the way forward…. a way she did not yet know and could not begin to imagine.
but right now, here’s some fascinating geology from the recent earthquake, during which surface faults moved at 3 km/s and uplifted new landmass. Also, kiwi accent. So much aksunt.
Pretty sure we didn’t set the train tracks up to veer across the road, across what was sea bed until late last week, and under a massive slip. Perhaps the most unbelievable thing about this picture though, is the fact that you’re looking at the remains of what had been the major national highway in the south island. That was our good road.
So there was a large series of severe-ish earthquakes last night which sent us scrambling for higher ground in the wake of vague but ominous tsunami alerts and sirens which were activated about two hours too late, but blared until well past dawn to make up for their tardiness. There’s nothing quite like curling up in bed after a long night of evacuations with the horns of doom sounding in the mid-distance while being gently rocked by multiple aftershocks. Such a cozy feeling.
We’re fine though, so that is good. Lesbia to continue soonish.
Never cross a goddess…
“You,” she said in a voice which sounded like magma flowing from the caldera of an increasingly active volcano… “are trouble. Trouble is punished.”
“I don’t care if you punish me,” Nive said bravely. “I don’t want to be here, and I will not make it easy for you.”
There was a pause in which the dark lines swirled viciously across the goddess’ face, only her eyes remaining constantly burning into Nive’s indignant gaze.
“Do not forget,” Ariadne replied. “I tried to make this pleasant for you. What is about to happen, is entirely your own fault.”