to call on me, and never, ever, ever did my monstress queen

am neve

oom, me unable to stand, I slit my wrists that gloamin

n's draugr – an undead scion, cursed. Now, I was of the

an Jarngrimr of the Sorrows from mother's ill

s red dead eyes cold and lustful. She smirked, a yellow fang agle

ignoring her – I was too far gone, now, oh, n

and foreverafter, and I always make sure not

t veins reeks of rotten roses, and I a

ing on my neck. Her breath was tinder sparking in my

arly fangs bloodying my blonde hair. "But I will not, for you are m

She sucked the breath straight from my

self, blood, body, maidenh

shake like a sinner, and you

you to this wicked world and let your Magick flow free.

f my Northern Cunningfolk Disir and Alfar forefathers, far far above our latitudes in the land of the midnig

I had channeled onto the vellum, the canvas stretched taut over the wooden frame, w

Deep pigment.

ad emerged,

d, tracing the brush strokes of her black as night fur, the sha

ack clots like ruin as reco

was talking to myself again, it was true, but it also felt like I was wrapped up in Queen Jarngrimr of th

deserved – now that Yolanda was dead. Alive in ano

ower window and down onto

g dove perched at the feeder on my window, a bit of holly in its beak, the delicate red berries juicy and tempting. I paused from painting at my canvas - an image of the Beast h

ing my lip so hard I drew a bit of stringy black gore. I licked at the sharp taste of gravel in the accursed clot and swallowed the tarry spittle down into my burning, chok

two years of haunting me from age sixteen on? "Wherever I look, I see Queen Jarngrimr of the Sorrows in the shadows, mama. The Beast. Mama, what do you think of all this arcane, intangible nonsense? You would never stand for a ghost – you would banish her to Helhe

illy Black Forest. I closed my eyes and leaned towards the canvas, sinking into my imagined

d awake by a

burnt out hearth, ice Jotun that Jokul was. I banished the sprite Jokul with a

of knives, Nastrond, where the Damn

h and burying myself in white wolf fur blankets up to my chin as I was wracked with chilly, subarcti

ing into the depths of my wicked soul. She pet my sunstained hair.

could feel the Troll Queen's presence hauntin

ection, my La

my Bride, the queen of my desolation. By the Blue Star, know the advent of my kingdom. By t

like a miscarriaged fate. Onto silken sheets and an embroidered tasseled pillow, the rosy morning light sho

losed my eyes, and I could smell her, feel her, taste her – she was driving

my haunted sclera,

urred, leather

om about me. My black Helish blood came out in thick tar clots, cursed as the rot inside of me.

r - my only belongings that remained the binding bandages around my breasts I typically used to stunt their growth and gro

Draugr – the unholy undead of Jarngrimr's huldrefolk armies – clanged broken and rusted sw

de, needing, wanting with lust - wait

in a dank c

hiff of rotting spring

, beatle

king my skin

rse, like the flames guard

my Siegfrie

ets and screamed

way my life is going," I grunted, my knuckles white as I clutched

a had died. What I knew of witchcraft: runes, herbs, tonics, alchemy, starsight and blood magick, I kn

nium, needlework, and the stations of curtsies and waltzes depending on the ranks of jarls, courtiers, and foreign digni

ere telltale signs of magick blood - at least, the ghosts of it left in our peaceful Germanic kingdom of Arcadia. My irises, unearthly, were a

ueens to curse King Hakkon in his darkest imaginings with draugr armies of the undead - like the ones he

unningfolk. Only the mara night riders rode their black steeds in our kingdom anymore, daring to feed upon Arcadians' n

ow in exile in the Northern Holds, as all the priestly caste was, working in gulags to death - were outlawed, our old god Wotan the Raven's holy spells

ear, and tried to force his kingdom to do the same. That meant, no Magick. Only the priests could practice alchemy, and in our kingdom, women were b

no Holda, no Skadhi, no Perchta, no Lussi, no He

iferian king of t

soothsayers and ascetics. Lord Eleleth smited witches and shamans, much like my father did. Already, his light had infected father, giving him a sickly white aureole and having colorless daisies bloom after father's steps an

pat at his altar when no one was looking and constantly pissed on his fires

new, and calling at Sunna's fingertips. Enough of

ippers and a minx coat. I paced to the window and looked down upo

vision of last night's new moon that had haunted me into my painting this morning. I turned the canvas away from me to the wall, so that the Beast's glaring eyes did not penetrate the very dept

trange enemy and imagined lover – fearsome

Latinium church bells tolled in response to bergresar, and they were the most powerful of all giants and trolls. It was said, when the Bergresar Queen and her

as a truce when the tribal Northern Cunningfolk had nothing left to give but the last of their Magick, their witch queen. It was a Magick father would have liked to forget, father

de through her beautiful, untrammeled fetch's heart. That killed any Magick left in mama after she sealed shut the Stronghold, and slaughtered the spirits of any priests or priest

ure generation, and for the gods' rune stones to be toppled alike. But gods, our gods, still touch our lives, and are simply not easily forgotten. Talk to any villagefolk, any peasant, any soothsayer who practices in secret, and W

ngs dead and buried, and yet I

an tell you this:

none of the wildness of the huldre about it. They used Latinate sigils, trying to summon Eleleth in the flesh,

and mischevious Rosiel, sixteen and twelve and Magickless as dumplings made by Cook, were beautiful girls, but not of mother's Magick, and so I rarely spoke of my

et bouncing, and the hem of a dress obscured

! I had to fight my way through three whole serving boys to get to it all, treasure trove tha

ckly daydream, then hastened to my door and undid the lock. In piled

ing you yours - just look at it's fine color! Don't worry, I know your exact measurements, trim as a feather as you are! You shall be Queen someday like mother was before us, so nothing less than the finest dress would befit you! Oh, with your long curls, tall an

nd a hunting cap and j

red. "But I worke

"Thank you, little sis

red, jam o

t all belongs to me," Rosy protested, squirming. "Yuri is being a shrew. I can

ing her arms and looking at me imploringly. "Then you won't fit into your pretty pretty dresses, Rosy, and I'll have to sew you new ones. You'll c

t Yuri's prodding finger, and Yuri

Feral as Ingvi's bo

nce of ridiculous, like Thor and Loki off to

courts, in men's garment

prefer men'

unicorn tapestry on the wall I usually used for grease stains from my paint palette - it was a kitschy old trapp

h merry blue peepers who was always smudged with dirt and currants from her garden and from making food with Cook. And last but not least, Yuri, the sweet, beautifully curvaceous, plump

tribe who lived on the sea, rivers, and lakes. The Watermen's ancestors sailed here far, far North from Indrajit, named after their rain god Indra, and they loved to mingle and make friends of Arcadians, fabled for their sweetness, spices, and pearls they went diving for, which Yuri hoped to keep secre

ht's ball, with her sweetheart Dominic on her mind, a

the hearts of all your suitors - one bite and they will all fall in awe inspiring love with you, young beauty

e mourning dove was making a nest for new beginnings,"

woman wisdom," I said

u'll find a husband!" Rosy teased, pinching Yur

e, fig

unds," I laughed, letting them go from my arms. "We are a triple

th beam

etty, if a bit waifish - as if you never eat. It's an awful shame Yola had to go back to her hom

in my arms and whose warm, beatless body I had sunk with stones at midnight in the lake, so no one would know that the stablelass Yolanda's demise had been the pr

d, bidding everyone adieu, and that ve

g, as if a piece of her were always close to my heart

ove ever again, if my love spe

her deathbed, the day the last Northern Cunningw

folk love until Death

ant: my Magick and Gifts were poison to anyone human and not huldre, for only the deathless huldrefolk and trolls had life that yielde

ather. I just spent my time roaming the woods and riding the horses and hunting with the men. I was as good an arrow shot as the lords, and in swordsmanship, unmatched amongst the knights and jarls. While Y

yes of King Hakkon the Latinate in secret, with their runes and seidhr spell

s blood, bake a cake under the full moon of Mani, invoke Mother Fr

th Yolanda or anyone else, and for it, my heart wa

ld never get quite right - as the culmination of my Magick, I

artening, to say the very least. I did not hav

re were no more Isa

rriage ceremony. "Perhaps Turry is too snob

skinny for any lindworm slaying sh

ake a Jotun Queen to

opping my new debut ball dress to my bed as she p

ng the tiered dress I was to wear to tonight at Yuri's debut ball. It was sparkl

agick quickened as I traced the

s: sapphire

: metallic s

himmering m

The Silver Star

been tormenting me in my visio

e the