Tuesday Tales – Nasty – Masked: Desta

by | Nov 23, 2015 | Books, Tuesday Tales, Writing

Welcome back to Tuesday Tales!  This weeks prompt is Nasty. 

And I’m back with my little short story fantasy series. This week I’m going to introduce a new character. Desta is the apprentice to the matchmaker. This is her year to take over the position as the former matchmaker is in her last eligible year and is to be released to be matched.

Today she gets to meet the queen for the first time. She has not yet met the princess, at least not that she knows:

Desta dropped the basic silk sheath over her head. The cape that adorned her Mistress and shielded her from view of the world would not be Desta’s until the night of the masquerade. The night of Desta’s unveiling would also be the night she would become shrouded for twelve years until her own last eligible year as a maiden.

For now Desta would greet the queen in the simplest frock possible without being naked. She squared her shoulders and practiced a low curtsy.

“Remember,” the melodic voice of her mistress carried through the dimly lit room. “From this point on you have no name.”

“I am aware, Mistress.” Head still bowed, Desta rose slowly to her feet. “I am curious if you still remember the one you carried before your turn as matchmaker. Will I remember mine?”

“I do, but I will choose another. I am no longer who I was. I do not recognize myself outside of my cape.” Warm hands clasped onto Desta’s shoulders. Throughout years of training, the woman had cared for her more as a mother would than a taskmaster. “You are ready, Desta. Do not worry. In a few weeks when you assume my mantle, you will become more than you are.”

“I know, Mistress. I only wish I did not have to lose myself to do so, as well as losing you.”

“Ah, but you will take on the next in line for taskmaster. You will find a young one to raise into the role. You won’t be alone, Desta.”

“I will miss you, Mistress.”

“You warm an old woman’s heart.”

“You are thirty and therefore not old, you are still of matching age.” Desta chuckled and turned to face the hidden features of her mistress. “I look forward to matching you, though I’ll know not who you are.”

Her mistress kissed her forehead. “I knew my first match was a success when I discovered you, Desta. Now let us hurry. The queen does not like to be kept waiting.”

“Of course.” Desta turned for the door and for the first time in twelve years strode ahead of her mistress. She wound through the twisted corridors and up several stairwells before arriving on the royal floor.

At the queen’s door she hesitated only a moment before entering. Three steps in the room she stopped and dropped into her lowest bow, and her mistress adopted a similar position beside her. The queen ignored them both as she barked orders to a manservant.

The magic in the room surprised Desta and she twitched her nose against the tingle. She would have to ask her mistress about the need for such heavy duty charms in the queen’s quarters. It seemed counter-intuitive when the queen herself was so powerful.

Queen Fossette turned her attention to them finally. “What is it, Matchmaker? I have little time, Ani has chosen the date for the masquerade. As she has given the kingdom less than a week, I have much to do.”

The Matchmaker did not react to the nasty tone, did not cower or flinch away as Desta was tempted to do. Rather, she rose elegantly from her bow. “I had heard, my queen. That is why I thought it time you met my replacement, your new matchmaker.”

Desta took her cue and rose despite the nervous flip-flop of her stomach. She kept her head bowed as a sign of respect until spoken to.

“Well, then. It hardly seems as though it is time.” The queen turned her attention to Desta, and a sharp sprinkle of magic sprang across her flesh like pinpricks. “She seems acceptable enough. She knows the rules?”

“Yes, I have trained her carefully.”

“Then it is good to meet you, child.”

Desta curtsied out of respect before she lifted her head. “Thank you, your highness. I look forward to serving my kingdom.”

“Of course you do.” The perfect smile that crossed the queen’s features did not reach her eyes. A blanket of mistrust and something else guarded those windows to her true emotions.

Desta maintained her smile and bowed her head again. On instinct, she turned when her mistress did and left the royal quarters at her side. It wasn’t until they were back in Desta’s room that she released the breath she’d been holding. “Oh my.”

“Yes?”

“I never realized how alone the queen is,” Desta whispered though they were alone.

“No one does, no one sees it.”

“She does not trust me.”

“She trusts no one, Desta.”

“Like I said, she is terribly lonely.”

“Aye.”

 

 

 

*~*

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Where Did He Come From?

by | Nov 23, 2015 | All About Denver, Crap, Cystic Fibrosis, Random, Redefining Perfect, Special Needs, The Teenager

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For almost two years I thought we’d lost him. He never talked to us, he didn’t care about anything but the (now long gone from his life) girlfriend.

Back then he wanted to be a doctor. Now that dream has been put aside for another, but that’s another post for another time.

Because two days ago this kid came to me with a question.

He asked if there was a way to raise money, because he wanted to do something with his spring break. He didn’t want to go on vacation with his friends, or go party somewhere.

He wants to volunteer at Give Kids the World Village, the magical, wondrous place that provides a second home to kids receiving wishes for Disney World.

Together we are working on finding a way to make this happen.

I don’t know where this kid came from, or rather how we found him again. However, it seems my thoughtful, generous boy has returned into our lives.

I can’t tell you how many times I heard “One day it’ll just click and his head will be screwed on right again.” I honestly never believed it would happen, but it seems to have come true.

So welcome home, son. I hope we can find a way to send you away (for spring break).

Everything Old Is New Again – CF, Docs, and Plans

by | Nov 18, 2015 | All About Denver, All About Kennedy, All of Us, Cystic Fibrosis, Redefining Perfect, Special Needs

IMG_20151117_120823Six months ago we were hit with a disheartening blow to our years-long CF journey.

The pulmonary doctor we’ve had from the very start of our journey was transferring all her patients on to new doctors. With plans to retire very soon, it was time to transfer her last six patients to their new forever homes.  My two kids included. So, at our last appointment we met our new (highly recommended by Dr. A) doc, Dr. M.

Change isn’t easy. We were suddenly reporting on a Tuesday instead of a Wednesday. Dr. M, while perfectly nice, was making all of these suggestions and recommendations and this and that and I was honestly panicked.

Mostly because he wanted to do a complete, total, sweep of the CFTR gene on K.

In my blind, “this is so different, I don’t know, so I’ll smile and nod” moment I did just that. I smiled and nodded.

Yesterday we returned for the next appointment and this time, not so new, it was a little different. We spent some time with Dr. M, and the respiratory therapist and got a better feel for what’s going on.

And so we set new plans, a new direction.

My biggest concern with the genetic tests was addressed – would we lose the CF diagnosis, and therefor the vital insurance we desperately need for treatment?

No.  Because of positive sweat tests and concurrent symptoms, their diagnosis of CF will remain no matter the results of the full genetic sweep (which is, blessedly, being covered by the fantastic CFF not just for Kennedy, but for Denver as well).

Then we moved onto Kennedy’s current status.  Though her weight is at an excellent place right now for a change, her functions are not. She has maintained for years just fine, but Dr. M wants to do more than maintain. He wants to attack…and so…

With her functions the way they are, there is definitely some sort of obstruction, and he wants to find it. There will be a chest CT.

There will also be another functions test for before and after albuterol to see if there is any asthma-like influences, and she’s being put on a nasal steroid for her constant sniffles.

We’re fighting insurance for a new vest system (with the doctor’s help) since hers is old and been beat up by destructive toddlers. She will be on an increased vest rotation and possibly new meds (hypertonic saline) which will require new equipment.

Basically we are now fighting to push forward and move beyond basic maintaining and into full blown attack mode.

It’s terrifying and exciting.

I don’t know what’s happening in the future, except increased appointments and testing for the little one, but I do know that something is happening.

Change is scary, but this is proof it isn’t always bad.

And that first impressions aren’t everything.

Tuesday Tales – Cup – Masked – Zathe

by | Nov 16, 2015 | Books, Tuesday Tales, Writing

Zathe

Welcome back to Tuesday Tales!  This weeks prompt is Cup. 

And I’m back with my little short story fantasy series. This week I’m going to introduce a new characters. Zathe, a servant in the castle, closest to the princess.

With a unique trait and magic that makes her valuable to the kingdom, perhaps she isn’t as excited as the rest about the masquerade:

Zathe turned this way and that before the mirror in her room. Though it was unbecoming of most servants to be vain, Zathe had different rules. Being borne among the fairest maidens in the land, she’d been hand-picked to avoid the drudgery of life in the kitchens with her mother, or in the laundry with her aunt. Instead, she was among the princesses most favored handmaidens.

Her skill with charms kept her in favor as the princess had many in her service. However, it was Zathe’s unique skill to detect and nullify poison that not only kept her in the prime position, but gave her rank and privileges above the other maidens. For to be safe from attack herself, she was touted as a distant relative, kept on the princesses right hand at all times.

For the queen would do anything to protect her heir.

To that end, Zathe was awash in the wealth, fabrics, and jewels of royalty. Though every day she was reminded that she was not truly one of them in subtle ways. Then every night she was sent to her small cell of a room every night with little more than a small fire and a cotton nightshirt.

However, every morning she was led to her own personal closet, a constant rotation of stylish dresses and jewels at her disposal. Her own lesser handmaiden to assist her in dressing, hair and makeup designed to accentuate her orange eyes.

The eyes that had helped make her stand out among even the royalty in Estaria, for they were rare and usually attributed to the neighboring land of Ustrington’s royal line. Her mother insisted, even under intense questioning and truth charms, that Zathe’s father was an Estarian. Zathe had no reason to doubt her mother.

Zathe’s maiden, Iona, stepped forward and with a wave of her finger near a seam a stray thread disappeared. “There. You are set for the day, Madame.”

“Iona,” Zathe said in a dismal tone. “I do despise being called Madam by you. We grew up sneaking out the back garden gate for adventures.”

“Aye, but we never know what ears are listening these days, Madam.” Iona’s lips twitched in a hint of a smile. “And you are ready, Zathe. I believe the announcement of the ball will be today, or perhaps tomorrow. The leaves have turned red already. I can’t wait.”

The masquerade was the one day a year all eligible women, even the servants, were allowed free of their burdens. Only the male staff were left to handle the general duties and serving of the guests, even the servants they worked alongside.

At the masquerade even a servant had the opportunity to become more than they were. Eligible, fruitful matches were determined at the masquerade by the queen’s matchmaker. All of Estaria trusted the woman’s word, for she’d never proven wrong. Many a servant girl had become royalty, and once their first daughter was born, their husband was relegated to servant himself, with only the further purpose of granting his wife one son to keep the eligible maidens with viable mates.

“You are eighteen this year.” Zathe was thrilled for her friend. Several years her junior, Iona had had to wait until eligible age to attend the party. This would be her first year. Unlike Zathe, Iona had a chance to leave the castle walls for a home of her own. “Perhaps you’ll be one of the lucky ones and get chosen your first year.”

“That hardly ever happens.” Iona couldn’t stop her grin, despite her denials. Then her smile faltered. “And should it happen, you will be alone.”

“I will never be alone, the queen wouldn’t allow it. I just will not have such a dear friend setting my hair and fitting my gowns.”

“You will be alone.” Iona set her hands on her shoulders. “Perhaps I shouldn’t go.”

“You should. I would not ask you to accept a lifetime of drudgery for me. If you decline the queen’s invitation, that will be your fate. It is required, and you know it.”

“I know.” Iona sighed. “Are you ready? The princess will be waiting for you to eat her breakfast.”

“I know.” Zathe wrapped her friend in a quick, fierce hug. “If I get advance word, I’ll send it your way. We must plan the perfect gown for you.”

“I’ve already started.” Iona giggled and pushed her toward the door.

Zathe didn’t waste any more time in frivolity. If she was late the princess would be most displeased. In fact, even though she entered the princesses quarters at the same time as the first meal, she received a frown from the gilded bird perched on her nest.

Instead of making any of the comments that might fill her head, she curtsied low. “Good morning, Princess Ani.”

“Good day to you, Lady Zathe. Please, join me.” Ani gestured to the chair on her opposite side, giving Zathe the perfect opportunity to test the platter before her.

Zathe crossed the room, and with one subtle twitch of her fingers to the cup, plate, and bowl before the princess were checked. She dectected no poisons. If she had there was a signal, since there was not, she simply sat in her seat and awaited her own tray. “The kingdom is buzzing in excitement now that the foliage has turned red.”

“They ought to be. I rather enjoy the buzzing. I may wait another day for the announcement. We have a little over a week before the orange sets in.” The princess herself had the most subtle magic of most in the kingdom, though no one dared say as much. However, what she did possess gave her a unique ability to sense the change of the season and plants.

“I heard you are sending Dryn to fetch the prapples today.” Zathe was particularly curious about this. Dryn was her brother, and like all men in the kingdom possessed no touch of magic. Princess Ani only sent the most trusted of servants to fetch the kingdoms valuable and coveted crop, so Dryn felt honored by the task. Zathe was just curious where they were fetched, for none knew where the singular crop grew.

“I hope he is up to the challenge. The hag does not like to make things easy.” Ani ate a few delicate bites once Zathe was served. “The crop is too valuable for him to fail.”

Zathe smiled and shook her head. “He won’t, princess. Dryn is quite capable for a man.”

“So he claims. We’ll see if the hag agrees.”

 

*~*

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Tuesday Tales – Flavor – Masked: Elora

by | Nov 9, 2015 | Books, Challenge, Tuesday Tales, Writing

Welcome back to Tuesday Tales!  This weeks prompt is flavor. 

I have been out of the loop for a while. I’m super wrapped up in a few stories, and working on goals and real life is just absolutely insane.

Still, I wanted to try to do something different for TT, something that took me away from my crazy deadlines and being knee-deep in certain worlds. Something that took me to a new place.

And so, I have finally begun working on a short-story series/antho that I’ve had in my mind for a while, without a set plot or destination. Now I do, and it will be a foray into the realm of fantasy (possibly erotic, it’s leaning that way). The series will be called Masked. For a while I will be exclusively working on it in Tuesday Tales, jumping possibly from story to story, character to character depending on the prompt and the inspirational image.

This weeks entry belongs to Elora. She is a recluse living deep in the woods in the shadow of the castle with her companion, Sabra (a giant feline that looks akin to a Caucasian Ovcharka, except it’s feline, of course). She only emerges into public once a year for the masquerade ball:

Elora walked along the long line of her prapple tree grove, examining each tree as she passed. The sweet fruit filled the trees to almost bursting. Many in the kingdom longed for the secret behind her own specially created fruit, but it was a secret, and a crop, she kept as well-hidden as all of her secrets.

She turned her gaze toward the castle on the hill, where she imagined the princess was looking down on her. Their connection had been denied for so long, she no longer felt it as she once had. Instead, she’d bonded with her land, and with her familiar, Sabra. In fact, with their connection so weakened Elora doubted the princess could even see Elora’s land any longer, hidden under spells and camouflage as it was.

Elora reached toward a fruit on the last tree in the row and plucked the delicate prapple from the branch. As she examined the marbled green and red skin, Sabra came around the side of the cottage. Sabra was a rare breed indeed, much like the prapples.

The large feline came up to Elora’s shoulders, her fur was fluffy and thick. Only the long ears, golden almond-shaped eyes, and narrow, sloping nose read as feline. Filema’s were, in the wild, a savage and brutal creature, now hunted to near extinction.

Elora had no fear of Sabra, for they’d bonded when Sabra was quite young, and Elora could hope for no better protector. She glanced at Sabra and smiled. “Well, my friend. Do I dare try?”

Sabra tilted her head, one furry brow lifted as she focused on the fruit in Elora’s hand.

“I’ve already plucked it, so I may as well try, I think.” Elora lifted the fruit to her mouth and took a bite. The juices slid along her chin, and the flesh burst and melted in her mouth. The sweet, rich flavor rolled along her tastebuds.

She smiled as she wiped her chin with the edge of her cape sleeve. “Almost perfect, Sabra. In another day we will be able to lie out the baskets and shake the trees.”

Sabra kneaded her forepaws into the crowd, a rumbling purr filling the grove.

“Then it will be time for market.” Elora grasped the edge of her hood in a bout of nerves. “I wonder who the princess will send to manage our goods this year.”

As capable as Elora was with magic, there was no magic that could disguise the human form, or alter it in any way. She would never be able to go into the public market, to see another soul, save for one night a year.

One night that was fast approaching.

Elora took another bite of her prapple, checking to make sure no seeds had snuck into the crop. As a way to keep everyone buying her fruit and helping supply her with the necessities she needed, she made sure the fruit was seedless. Between that and her well-warded lands, no one else would be able to create the same fruit.

As she walked, Sabra followed suit, her tall ears flickering constantly for signs of intrusion. Even so, one of her large gold eyes stayed on the fruit in Elora’s hand. Elora chuckled and tossed the rest at the cat. “Enjoy, you beast.”

Sabra caught it easily, but froze. One ear flicked and she tilted her head to the sky.

Elora took her lead and turned her head toward the tall-topped trees above. One leaf caught in the wind, floating and fluttering about. It wove a trail through the open air around her home, until it swayed on downward.

She lifted her hand and the wayward leaf landed in her hand. When she lowered her hand, she discovered the leaf was shimmering gold in color. “Oh, Sabra, do you know what this is?”

Sabra crunched her fruit and offered nothing more than a sniff.

“The first leaf of the season change. That means it will be soon. The masquerade.” She turned back toward the castle, excitement stirred in her belly.

The masquerade was the one day every year she could emerge from her isolation. When her defect didn’t make her stand out, in fact it allowed her to view the world as she was meant to for one single night.

She lifted her hands and ran her fingers along the ridges of flesh surrounding her eyes like a mask the wealthy would pay a mint for. The thick eyelashes like the fur of her companion and black rimmed eyes that ladies of leisure tried to mimic with coal on the night of the masquerade.

With the first golden leaf fallen, soon would come the reds, and then the oranges. When all the trees burned orange like the setting suns, the masquerade would come.

And she would be ready for it this year unlike any other. For this year she was twenty one. This would have been her year to become what she was meant to be. For one night, she would be what was taken from her.

And she would live as never before.

*~*

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