When I think about the root of what’s wrong with our society, not just on the surface, but deep down at the foundation, I keep returning to a single, stubborn word: reciprocity. We’ve lost the thread of it. Somewhere along the way, reciprocity was redefined, stripped down, and warped into something transactional, something that fits into the machinery of markets and contracts. But to me, reciprocity isn’t about exchange. It’s about living in right relationship with others, with the world, and with ourselves.

The False Promise of Transaction

We’re trained, almost from birth, to think of every interaction in terms of a ledger: I give, you owe. You help, I pay. This is the logic of the market: relentless, cold, and isolating. It’s the logic that underpins so many of the breakdowns in our communities and our sense of belonging. When reciprocity becomes a transaction, trust starts to decay. The question becomes, “What’s in it for me?” rather than, “How are we connected? How can we support each other?”

This misunderstanding, this flattening of reciprocity into a market exchange, has hollowed out our relationships and our communities. It’s not just about material goods or favors. It’s about emotional labor, attention, care, and presence. We don’t give these things freely anymore; we weigh them on invisible scales, expecting something back. And when the scales don’t balance, we pull back, we wall ourselves off, and trust withers.

The Cycle of Giving and Receiving

True reciprocity isn’t transactional; it’s a cycle, a flow. It’s not about giving with the expectation of return, but about being in a genuine relationship where the giving and receiving are part of a living, breathing cycle. Sometimes you’re the one who has abundance, and you give. Sometimes you’re the one in need, and you receive. That’s not a failure or a debt. It’s the way things are meant to be.

In the best communities, human and more-than-human, this is how it works. There’s a deep knowing that we are all dependent on each other, that there are times when we can carry others and times when we need to be carried. It’s not about keeping score. It’s about being present and attentive to the needs and gifts of the whole.

Rebuilding Trust: From the Self Outward

How do we rebuild trust and foster a culture of real reciprocity? It starts at the root, which is always the self. Trusting others is impossible if we don’t trust ourselves, if we don’t know and honor our own needs, limits, and gifts. Self-trust is the soil from which communal trust grows.

This isn’t about self-reliance in the rugged individualist sense; it’s about knowing yourself as part of an interdependent web. When we understand our own boundaries and capacities, we can show up more honestly and sustainably for others. We can give freely, not out of obligation or expectation, but out of genuine care. And we can receive without shame, knowing that to need is not to be deficient: it is to be human.

It also means learning how to say no. True reciprocity isn’t about endless self-sacrifice or martyrdom. It’s about honest boundaries. If I give beyond what I can, the cycle is broken. If I never allow myself to receive, I deny others the gift of giving. It is in the dance of giving and receiving, of yes and no, that trust is woven.

The Interrelationship of All Things

Reciprocity isn’t just about humans. It’s about our relationship with the land, with animals, with technology, with the more-than-human world. Everything is interconnected, every action ripples outward. When we lose sight of this, we fall into exploitation and extraction. When we remember it, we find our way back to reverence and responsibility.

This interrelationship is not abstract or distant. It’s immediate and practical. The food we eat, the air we breathe, the tools we use, the networks we rely on. These are all part of a web of reciprocity that we are constantly taking part in, whether we realize it or not.

To experience and nurture this interrelationship, we can start with practices of attention and gratitude. Pause to notice the sources of your nourishment, the unseen labor and life that makes your day possible. When we attune to these threads, we begin to see ourselves as part of a greater whole, not just consumers or producers, but participants in a living system.

Restoring the Practice of Truth

There’s another fracture at the heart of our broken systems of trust and reciprocity: the loss of a shared sense of truth. The idea that truth is either purely objective (a cold, hard fact) or purely relative (just my opinion or perspective) misses something vital. Truth is a relationship: a dynamic negotiation between the self and the world, between my experience and yours, between what is and what could be.

When truth is only about facts that can be measured or about personal feelings that can’t be questioned, we lose the possibility of building trust. If I can’t trust that you’re telling me the truth, or at least your best understanding of it, how can I trust you at all? And if I can’t be honest with myself about what’s true for me, how can I show up honestly in relationship with you?

Reclaiming truth as a relational practice is essential for rebuilding trust and, in turn, reciprocity. It means being willing to negotiate, to listen, to admit when we’re wrong, to learn and to grow. It’s not about imposing our truth on others or collapsing into silence to avoid conflict. It’s about the ongoing, sometimes messy, always human process of making meaning together.

Practical Steps Toward Reciprocity and Trust

This isn’t just theory. There are concrete steps we can take, practices that can help us rebuild reciprocity and trust in our daily lives:

• Start with self-reflection. What are your real needs, boundaries, and gifts? Where do you feel lack, and where do you feel abundance? What do you find difficult to give, and what do you find difficult to receive?

• Practice saying no with kindness and clarity. Refusing what you cannot give is a form of honesty that builds trust.

• Notice the webs of interrelationship around you. Take time each day to appreciate the people, non-human beings, and systems that support your life. Express gratitude, silently or aloud.

• Be generous with attention. Sometimes what others need is not a solution or material help, but presence: someone to witness, to listen, to care.

• Embrace mutual aid, not charity. When you give, do so as a fellow participant in the web, not as a benefactor above others. When you receive, do so with out shame, knowing that you contribute what you can, not always in kind.

• Acknowledge and repair harm. When trust is broken, admit it, apologize, and work toward restoration.

• Engage in community dialogues about truth. Be willing to share your perspective and hear others’. Recognize that truth emerges in relationship, not in isolation.

Sovereignty and Anarchism: Reciprocity as Resistance

For me, reciprocity is also a political act. It’s the foundation of my anarchistic ideas. To live in true sovereignty, to stand in right relationship with others, is to resist unjust hierarchies. It is a refusal to participate in systems that thrive on exploitation, extraction, and domination. When we practice reciprocity, we reclaim agency over our lives and create spaces where genuine freedom and equality can take root.

Reciprocity is not just a feel-good concept, it’s a way of surviving and thriving outside of systems that are not made for us, or that actively work against us. When we create communities rooted in trust, truth, and mutual care, we build the kind of world that’s worth living in.

Returning to the Root

All of this brings me back to the root: living in right relationship. Reciprocity isn’t about keeping score, or about making sure every exchange is fair and equal in some abstract sense. It’s about recognizing the profound, messy, beautiful interdependence that is at the heart of existence. It’s about giving what we can, receiving what we need, and trusting that when the cycle is healthy, everyone is nourished.

The path forward isn’t easy. There are a lot of wounds to heal, and a lot of habits to unlearn. But I believe it starts with a simple, radical act: to show up, honestly and openly, in relationship with ourselves, each other, and the world. To reclaim reciprocity, not as a transaction, but as a living, sacred cycle.

Let’s begin there. And let’s see what grows.

I stood in the Hall of Remembrance at the National Holocaust Museum.
It was the mid-90s and the Museum had just opened.

I can’t describe the feelings coursing through me.
The person I was paired with, the name on my card, didn’t survive.
I thought I knew the horrors of the Holocaust, but I wasn’t prepared for standing in that train car… the room with all the shoes…

Nothing could, or should, have prepared me for the weight of what happened.
I thought I understood, but I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
It was too much.

I was shaking when I finished the tour.
Never again.
The words resonated within me.
Never again.

I sat in the Hall of Remembrance crying, chanting never again like a mantra.

Never again.
The words rang through me like a bell.
They still resonate.
They carry so much meaning.

Of course, I was thinking about the Holocaust in all its terror and loss, but all that death and suffering didn’t happen in a vacuum.
Never again means everything that led up to that moment.
It means never allowing camps again.
Never allowing authoritarianism again.
Never allowing bigotry and prejudice to wield power again.
Never following a charismatic leader again.

We are failing at so many of those.

I am failing at stopping so many of those.
While I have never bowed the knee to a charismatic leader, our country has.
And not just with Trump, we did it with Obama and George W. Bush too.
Too many people allowed themselves to believe that the Great Man would save us.
I failed to stop that.
We failed and allowed that.

We are failing to stop bigotry and prejudice from wielding power again.
Our country has failed that throughout its history.
We weaponized bigotry through the Patriot Act, with Freedom Fries, with Abu Ghraib.
Now we are banning drag shows, attacking trans people, and deporting refugees without due process.

We are failing to stop authoritarianism.
The authoritarians set their plans in motion in the 1970s.
Too many expected a fast, violent coup, not a slow power creep, incrementally taking over the courts and establishing their power structures over time.
We watched their TV shows and movies and made them into heroes: the billionaires, the authoritarians, the violent.

I failed to keep my promise.
Never again.

We are here again.
But there is still time to push back, to make changes, to stop us from going to the next step.
The genocide has already started, but we can stop it.

It’s been hard to speak up because so many already are.
I don’t just want to repeat what others are saying just to be heard.
I don’t want to react to the news, because that isn’t good for any of our mental health.
It has been difficult to find my voice and figure out what I can, and should, be doing.

Never again means never again.

I am a storyteller, a philosopher, and a mystic.
My work is to tell stories, celebrate victories and good things, and to work on what we could and should be doing to make the world a better place.

None of us should feel guilty for celebrating, even in these dark times.
Celebration emboldens our resistance.
The goal of authoritarians is to make us all depressed and afraid, so broken down that they can walk over us.

That fight, the fight for joy, hope, and endurance, is the one I am called to.
This is the work I am going to do.

I'm exhausted. For too long, I've been struggling against autistic burnout—feeling drained and disconnected, my creativity stifled by the relentless pressure to produce content that fits neatly into commercial boxes. Writing became something manufactured, shaped by reviews and expectations rather than genuine self-expression. It turned my passion into a wearying chore, leaving me disconnected from the very stories I wanted to tell.

But storytelling should be an act of joy, not a production line. I need a refuge, a space where creativity can breathe without the weight of commercial expectations or critical judgments. Perfection isn't the goal here; authenticity is.

When Giants Walked is my personal creative playground, inspired by the magical realism that first sparked my imagination years ago. It blends the enchanting nostalgia of Miyazaki films, the heartwarming magic of Practical Magic, the playful mysteries of Charmed, the whimsy of Saturday morning cartoons, and the liberating wonder of magic realism. It’s a world where I can indulge freely in my special interests and reconnect with the joy of creation.

What I Hope to Find

I'm looking for feeling again—for delight, whimsy, and curiosity. Writing has become so serious, so work-like, that I've nearly forgotten how it felt to lose myself in imagination purely for its own sake. When Giants Walked is my chance to reclaim that joy.

Here, stories won't be confined by tropes or traditional expectations. Instead, they will be rich in love, community, and the quiet magic found in ordinary, overlooked moments. No epic battles or tired clichés—just characters who are wanderers, outcasts, passionate eccentrics, all searching for their place and purpose. It’s a deeply personal reflection space, where healing, love, and community are central themes.

I envision this setting as distinctly gothic, celebrating the beauty found in decay, shadows, and forgotten corners—not in gloom, but with the whimsical, macabre warmth of The Addams Family, wrapped in the comforting nostalgia of Saturday morning cartoons crafted thoughtfully for adults. Here, melancholy isn't tragic but poetic, and darkness holds a quiet, hopeful beauty.

The Heart of the World

At the heart of When Giants Walked are towering giants inspired by Kathy Mar's poignant music—compassionate beings who rescue the lost, broken, and misunderstood. They gather these souls into welcoming communities where voluntary associations, consensus decision-making, and authentic democratic processes reign. It's a queer, anarchistic space where authority must constantly justify itself, kings are villains, and chosen family thrives freely.

This is a world crafted with a queer, metamodern sensibility—part Addams Family macabre warmth, part whimsical Saturday Morning nostalgia, but unmistakably grown-up. Here, gothic charm meets cozy intimacy, inviting readers to pause, breathe, and rediscover the magic in melancholy and the beauty hidden within life's shadows.

When Giants Walked is more than just storytelling—it’s my safe haven, a sanctuary for everyone who feels beautifully strange.

To whom it may concern

Don’t worry if you are excited for any of my other projects. They are still in the pipeline. The game is in play testing. The novel is in edits. This is a project to fuel me and all my other work, I just thought I would share it with you all.

What are y’all working on?

I am happy to let you all know that the first draft of the game is out to alpha testers.

Step into the mystical world of Fate’s Hunter, a solo tabletop RPG set in the rich, magipunk-infused universe of Barren’s End. As a new initiate of the Ifreann Tan, you must navigate the trials of fate, decipher the will of the Twin Sisters of Destiny, and determine whether to align with or defy the threads woven before you. Blending deep narrative exploration with an intuitive solo play system, Fate’s Hunter challenges you to uncover hidden truths, embrace your role as an agent of fate, and shape the galaxy’s future. Are you ready to seek the path laid before you—or forge your own?

The game is finally ready for full testing. It was created with the Cypher System Open License.

Players are given the option of building a character with either the Shorts Method or the Full Version. I created:

• 6 playable species (descriptors)

• 4 new Flavors for the Basic Types

• 7 NPCs (The Masters of the Academy)

• 20 Original Creatures for the Bestiary

• 25 Gods of the Phersu

• 25 Artifacts

To open the game up to solo play, I needed to create a few new systems for:

• Fate Readings

• Fate Levels

• Marks of Fate

• Fate Intrusions

• The Harrowing

• Solo Play elements

  • Map Generator

  • NPC Interactions

  • NPC Combat System

After this initial round of testing, v2 will be made available to paid subscribers to test, as will all subsequent versions of the game.

I am so excited to get to this point. This game is a fulfillment of a dream. I started creating this setting at Oakland Wondercon in April 2002 with the intent of making a game. Six published books and all these years later, I finished a version of the game I can share with others. Words fail to express how happy I am to reach this point. I can’t wait to share more details with you.

Ever had that feeling you forgot how to write? I don't mean to put one word after another, but to tell a story that you want to tell. Not a story you want to sell, but tell. We may have forgotten the difference between those words.

I started thinking about this when I realized I don't know how to sketch anymore. I haven't forgotten how to make art or images, but I have done graphic design for so long that when I tried to sketch the other day, I couldn't figure out where to start. How did I use to draw without a commission?

I am having the same problem writing. I set up a new world on @worldanvil.com for me to just write stories for me, and then my mind went blank. I know the kind of stories I want to write, but the words are frozen. They will not come out.

Is it fear? I don't think so. I really don't care what people think about my fiction. It isn't fear. It is paralysis.

Writing connects me to my deepest self, and I am not ready or willing to feel the pain and loss haunting the halls of my mind. I've been told so much over my lifetime how useless I am as a person, and writing or drawing for myself feels like admitting the futility of my existence. It shouldn't, but it does.

I don't think I am alone in equating happiness with selfishness, but we need to kill off that shit. We have to crawl out of our shells and find out loud and proud voices. Unfortunately, for now, my voice just sounds like screaming.

Why am I not writing creatively? Stress. I know what’s new. Stress is a creativity killer, but the stress I have had lately is more akin to existential dread than it is to anything else.

Every day and night when I think about telling a story, I find myself worrying if I am doing enough to help my LGBTQIA siblings, sisters, and brothers. With the rise of anti-queer fascism, I fear for the future of my community and myself.

Everything feels so frivolous these days. Just having a moment of joy or happiness leads to worries about the future and whether we have one.

I know how dark that sounds, and I wish I didn’t feel like that, but wishing doesn’t make it so.

The truth is, defiantly working on our art and living our best life is an act of protest in this world. Yelling our stories and making our art is an act of defiance.

If only knowing a thing caused us to do that thing, but it is a cudgel to beat those dark thoughts back.

So it is time for me to smack a fear in the face and do something I actually want to do and not what I feel like I have to do. I invite you to do the same.

Since Substack sends out newsletters when I post, I felt like everything I posted needed to be important enough to send out an email. The thing is, I can choose not to send an email. So that is what I am doing with this post.

Things have been hard for me lately. I’ve been under a lot of pressure, and I’ve started feeling like the people who know me best don’t actually know me at all.

Like too many people, I curate the parts of me I share and hide bits that I want to keep private. The result is, there are only five people who really know me, and I only get to talk to two of them on a regular basis.

This is completely my fault. I don’t like how people treat me when they know how bad I feel all the time, and most of my friends don’t share my interests.

So here I am on the internet telling complete strangers some, but still not all of it.

I have so many thoughts trapped in my head, and this is why I have decided to start blogging again, like I used to back in the day.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like it is ok for me to be me online again. I am curious to see how this experiment will go.

I can’t wait to chat with you all in the comments. Later.

Support us on or buy me a Coffee:  https://ko-fi.com/cedorsett

Become a patron of the arts patreon.com/cedorsett

Find my world building at: https://www.worldanvil.com/author/cedorsett 

Read my stories on: https://reamstories.com/cedorsett

00:00 Introduction and New Direction

01:03 Meet the Author: Charlie's Sci-Fi Fantasy World

02:12 Project Updates: Published Works and Support

03:13 Deep Dive: Our Solemn Hour and Tabletop RPGs

04:51 Game Mechanics: Designing the Fates Hunter Game

16:31 World-Building and Future Plans

18:45 Bob and Superheroes

19:21 World Building Updates

19:46 New Short Stories

21:17 Publishing Plans and Platforms

23:04 World Anvil and Timelines

24:37 Mapping the Galaxy

27:52 Complex World Building

31:44 Podcasting and Future Projects

34:17 Final Thoughts and Encouragement

Support us on or buy me a Coffee:  https://ko-fi.com/cedorsett

Become a patron of the arts patreon.com/cedorsett

Find my world building at: https://www.worldanvil.com/author/cedorsett 

Create your own world on World Anvil: (aff link) https://worldanvil.pxf.io/DVM9ay

Read my stories on: https://reamstories.com/cedorsett

Publish your stories on Ream (aff link) https://reamstories.com/create/ps

Plottr Pro (aff link) http://plottr.com/?ref=277

Check out my other podcasts at www.projectshadow.com

My Music Channel  @Project: Shadow   

My Mysticism Channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCkZaiZE7w5qERxiOehM_CdQ

Hello again. My name is Charlie, a non-binary sci-fi fantasy writer. It’s been a while since I’ve posted a video, and for those who have been following my YouTube channel, the format of this video might feel both new and old. It’s reminiscent of my old audio vlogs.

Where Have I Been and What Have I Been Up To?

If you’ve seen the title of this post, then you’ve got an inkling of what’s coming. Long story short, I surprisingly fell into a job. Not something I intended, but it happened, and it took up much of my time. The complexity of the job left me with little room for my creative endeavors. However, I’ve recently found more free time and I’m eager to reconnect with all of you and return to doing what I love.

In the background, my creativity never ceased. I continued world building, writing stories, and even though I couldn’t invest as much time as I desired, I never stopped. One significant project I started is my Ream account. Ream is a platform where you can support your favorite writers and get stories in return. Some of my older books are available there for free—well, technically free—you just need to follow me.

Mask of the Gods and My Tabletop Role-Playing Game Dream

For longtime followers, you might remember my Mask of the Gods series. I’ve been obsessively working on it and I'm excited to share more soon. Additionally, a dream of mine, dating back to 2000 at a comic con in Oakland, California, is coming to fruition—I’ve been creating a tabletop role-playing game set in one of my settings.

I was inspired after a chat with Ryan Dacey from Wizards of the Coast about the OGL license for D&D 3rd Edition. Though I was initially overwhelmed by the task of simultaneous world building and game mechanic creation, this dream never died. One of my earliest videos even talks about my wildest publishing dreams, which included developing games.

Introducing Fates Hunter: My New Solo RPG

Quietly (or not so quietly, if you’ve been watching the live streams), I’ve been working on a tabletop RPG called Fates Hunter. Developed using the Cypher system, this game allows players to experience the same world building joys that I do. It’s a solo RPG but can also be played with a group, providing flexibility depending on your preference.

Set in the same universe as the Mask of the Gods series, Fates Hunter lets players engage with fate and the goddesses of the world in fascinating ways. The game is almost ready for beta testers, and I can't wait to share it with you all. For more details, you can check out Monty Cook Games where the Cypher system is detailed.

Balancing Creativity and Livelihood

In addition to Fates Hunter, my journey has led me to battle the challenges of making a living as a creative. This includes my music project under Project Shadow, available on streaming platforms. The reality of streaming revenue requires a massive audience for substantial income, prompting me to explore multiple creative avenues.

I’m still writing stories, making music, producing videos, and doing podcasts. My goal is to bring joy amidst these dark times by sharing my creative works with you all. To support these endeavors, you can follow and interact with my projects on platforms such as Ream, Ko-fi, and my personal site, ProjectShadow.com.

Building a Community Together

I’m back and enthused about sharing upcoming releases—including both my book and my new game—with you. I aim to foster a relationship with my audience, sharing insights on writing, the creative process, and even the learning curves associated with these platforms.

If there’s any specific content you’d like to see from me, please let me know in the comments. Your input will help shape the kind of content I produce. This journey is not just about me, but about us.

So yes, I’m back and there’s much to look forward to. Magic is on the horizon, and we’re about to embark on our solemn hour together. If you’re eager to delve deeper, check out my World Anvil to explore the world building archives already available.

When I wasn’t being an unholy terror outside, I sat in front of our TV watching Voltron and Robotech reruns, and my newest favorite show, He-man and the Masters of the Universe. It had everything from the magic of the Sorceress and Orko to dragons. Heroes and villains struggled against each other to hold the power of Castle Grayskull. I always loved mythology, and this show was like new legends coming alive on the screen.

I didn’t know how much my life was about to change when my sister Chris came for a visit with my young niece around my ninth birthday. She always showered me with gifts, and this year was no different. Among the books and toys was one that would forever change the course of my life.

Chris bought me my first D&D Book, the Monster Manual.

I sat with it on my lap for a long time, taking in all the creatures on the cover. I recognized the dragon, the unicorn, and the centaur, but I didn’t know what the other three monsters were. After a while, just staring at it, I opened the book and entered a world filled with creatures familiar and bizarre. There was something different about this book. All the creatures had stat blocks above them.

Dungeons and Dragons launched two years before I was born, in 1974. These initial box sets were variations of the war game Chainmail. Advanced Dungeons and Dragons came out in 1977 and allowed players to create their own original characters. Even though the game had been out for 8 years, I had never heard of it.

I was obsessed with the book, and got a copy of Player’s Handbook and the Dungeon Master’s Guide.

When we moved to Maryland, AD&D was the way I made friends. I ran games for the other kids in the neighborhood and played in their games. In time, my experience of Table Top Roleplaying Games (TTRPGs) expanded to many FASA games, from Star Trek to Shadowrun and Earthdawn. We played through all the White Wolf games that came out and even joined in the LARPs (Live Action Roleplaying) of Vampire the Masquerade.

Ever since my sister gave me that copy of the Monster Manual, TTRPGs have been a big part of my life. I still play them with my friends. If she hadn’t given me that book, I don’t know how I would have made friends as an introvert who enjoys being alone. The games sharpened my imagination and honed my creativity. They also empowered me to build new personas and try out new modes of acting to figure out who I am.

Now, I want to create a Shared Imaginary Space (SIS) for all of us to play in.

Our Solemn Hour has been a collaborative project from the beginning. I started building the world when I was in high school and wrote my first novel and a bevy of short stories in the setting. I adapted elements of it into many games I ran for friends.

When I wrote my first published novel, I returned to the setting. In fact, that book was the result of a failed attempt to make my first table top roleplaying game. I met Ryan Dacey at a games panel at an Oakland Wondercon in April 2002. He gave a talk about game creation and I mentioned the game I wanted to make, which he hilariously christened, “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Starship.”

I struggled with game mechanics for about a year, and as I did, I outlined a novel to tell the story. In the end, I had the Legends of the Jade Moon and no game. Over the years I added Shine Like Thunder and Fate’s Harrow to setting, but the dream of making a game never went away.

With the Cypher System Open License, I realized the time had finally come to bring this game into being. I had already run a campaign in the Cypher System in my Barren’s End setting. So I disappeared from the internet and started working on a new game, Our Solemn Hour, which takes place in that space opera setting.

The game has been in development for some time and while it isn’t ready for release yet, I am ready to start talking about the stages of Beta release:

Barrens’ Wanderer: a starship system for Cypher

The first part of the project is a new starship system built from the ground up to make the ships as vital a part of the game as they are in the stories themselves. I’ve worked hard to make this new system compatible with the existing ships in Cypher, The Stars are Fire, Expanded Worlds, and other Cypher worlds, while making them a vibrant, playable element to the world.

As I have developed a more fleshed out downtime and travel system, I realized they would work as a standalone solo game, so that is my planned first release. I will talk about it more as its release approaches.

Fate’s Hunters: An Adventure in the Galactic Underworld

The same thing happened when I was working on the fate system for the game since the twin goddesses of fate play such powerful role in the stories. The fate system with the associated other downtime systems will make an interesting solo game experience for players to enjoy.

I can’t wait to share more of the process and the games with you, as well as the new stories that will accompany them. This is an exciting new adventure. Let’s take it together.

I haven’t talked much about anything lately, not my work, my life, not anything…

Oh, how I wish this was a confessional where I had some grand revelation or some torrid story to share. The truth is, like so many of us, I am fed up and tired.

Gah, this economy…

I am so sick and tired of hearing how good the economy is for the Invester class and the wealthy, because no, it isn’t all that great for the rest of us. Cashflow is barely a trickle, and prospects are hard to come by. Bills keep coming and it feels like there is nothing we can do to dig out.

If it wasn’t something that hadn’t been said to death I would insert a diatribe about late stage capitalism and how the system is rigged, but the only people who can’t see that by now are willfully ignorant.

Everything we do feels so small…

Here I am working on my stories and games and there is a genocide happening in Gaza, fascism is on the rise in the United States, and the ruling class is doing everything in its power to start a war with Iran. Again, I could keep going and the list could go on forever.

I’ve written before about struggling with these feelings, and I am not really struggling with them at the moment. I do feel guilty offering people escapism in these times, but we all need a break from the horrors of the world.

Let’s all shout

More than anything, what we need right now is to stand up and shout. Yes, shout in protest to all the injustices in the world. Shout at the systems that are holding us all back. More than anything, we need to shout loud enough to shake the world and let it know we are still here.

Let’s scream out from the depths of our souls so loud we shake the heavens and remind the gods we are still here.

I know this post is a mess, but I think we are all bit of a mess right now and I am tired of waiting until some fictional point in the future when I have everything together enough send a post out into the world.

This is my shout into the universe that I am still here have a lot that I need and want to say. Here is so a return to posting and getting on with the work.

Let’s shout together until we get to where we want and need to be.

If it's not one thing, it's another. So, I finally decided to start podcasting again. I recorded the first episode of "The Nonbinary Writer," and YouTube has now made it easier for us to upload our podcasts on their platform. We can simply put in the RSS, and off it goes into the wild blue yonder.

There it goes. It automatically makes the video for me, which is great because I don't have the time or patience to do that. So, instead of writing this week, since I started recording podcast episodes again, I find myself creating thumbnails for popular episodes. It's something I had never intended to do but thought might actually help me in the algorithm, because, to my surprise, people are actually listening to the podcast on YouTube.

So, if you're new to listening to me and you're on YouTube, hi! How are you? And if you're listening to me through any other platforms, hi, hello. My name is Charlie, and I am a nonbinary writer. I really wanted to be writing this week, but one of the most important things that I think we have to understand as writers is that if we're not focusing on getting the word out, on building a platform, and finding a way for people to know that we exist, then the writing doesn't matter all that much.

While I love to believe that good writing wins out, that all you have to do is write something great and the entire world will go, "Wow, this is amazing!" – yeah, that's not really how any of this works. What we actually have to do is buckle down and get the word out, build a platform where we can tell people that we exist, build an audience, and constantly do things to make people realize that we exist.

Because that's the real work of being a writer. It's a double-edged sword, especially for LGBTQ writers like myself. The more I let people know that I exist, the more likely it is that people who don't like the fact that I exist are going to find me and tell me how much they don't like the fact that I exist.

Yeah, that's not happy-making. That's not really what I want to be doing, and it's not really a good place to be in. So, I find myself in this endless struggle between doing what I know I need to do for marketing and putting stories out and basic self-preservation. I don't like it when I get attacked simply for existing.

On the other hand, I really do like it when people read my work and get really excited about it. So, finding that middle ground, that place where I can tell people that my stuff exists, and they can go read it on Ream! Writing new material has to be balanced with this endless struggle to go out and tell people that, hey, by the way, I'm over here, I do things.

And it's been really interesting to see what stories catch on, especially with the podcast reaching this new audience. As far as this podcast goes, the episode that is doing the best on YouTube right now is the obligatory nonbinary rant. It was the first thing I actually recorded for the podcast, though it's not technically the first episode.

It's honest and from the heart, and it goes to show the one thing that I've always known about marketing: being angry and yelling and shouting is a good way to get attention, but it's not really the kind of attention that I want to get. It's not really the kind of work that I want to be doing. So, I don't do it that much.

I try really hard not to be that person. I think there's enough negativity out in the world.

I don't want to be a cause of more negativity. I don't want to just feed that pain that we feel. I want to make a change. I want it to be better. And that's the struggle that I find myself trapped behind. When weeks like this happen and here I am, just trying to play catch up. Getting all of my ducks in a row so that hopefully the podcast will do well on this new platform and I can build it up to monetization because, while it's gross and disgusting and I hate thinking about it, much less talking about it, if I don't make money off of what I'm doing, then I can't really afford to do it.

So, I have to think about those things. I have to ask myself, what's the best thing I can do for the business right now? What's the best thing that I can do to make this grow? And whether I was right or wrong, making thumbnails for the episodes felt like the right thing to do. And now, I'm sitting here wishing I was writing, wishing I had written a lot more this week.

And not having done any of that.

I want to tell these stories. I want to be doing World Ember. But I haven't really done anything for World Ember this year. I haven't really written much this month at all.

And that makes me sad. And I hate to just say it flat out like that; I should be more poetic about it, but I've been doing the business things. I've been setting up the Ream account, I've been working on a commissioned project that I'm doing that looks like I will be getting paid for, which, considering it started off as a volunteer project, kind of blows my mind.

And I've got the podcast to do again.

All the while, in the back of my mind, I see spaceships and wizards and magic and mysteries and stories that I want to be telling.

Many times in the past, I've buckled down and tried to work on getting a schedule. Which doesn't always work out. I have a lot of physical pains and, well, chronic pain to be more general and specific.

So, I don't always get to do the things that I want to do when I want to do them. But I think I really need to start setting aside morning time for writing. Get my pages in. I need to get my pages in. So hopefully next week I'll get to start with that, and I'll probably try to get back into the habit of going to the Dawdling Writer's write-ins on YouTube, and maybe even doing some of my own, because I miss hanging out with y'all while writing.

Yeah, getting the work done is important. Even when it's the boring, business-y work part. But if I'm not writing, I'm not writing. And so that's where I need to put my focus.

Hello and welcome to the Nonbinary Writer. This is a reintroduction of sorts because I've been in a dark place for a while, and I'm not really going to go into that a lot here. If you want to know more, you can check out my other podcast, Project: Shadow, where I did an episode titled, Reawakening to Joy. But now. I want to focus on this podcast and what I'm going to use it for. Because my initial ideas for the Nonbinary Writer was to have a place where I could discuss being queer as a writer, being non-binary as a writer, and how the kind of fusion fiction that I write is different from a lot of the other fiction that I see out there.

And I'm not alone in doing that. And I don't want anybody to think that I'm saying that I'm the only non-binary writer or the only writer who writes that kind of fiction. That's not what I'm saying at all. It's just that. I am often referred to as the non-binary writer or that non-binary writer, and I just thought I would claim it. Why not. I've been called worse things over the years, and it's a true descriptor of who and what I am and how my fiction works. That's what I want this episode to be about, and this podcast.

I'm embarking on a very different journey for me. I'm going to start working. Towards doing subscription writing. So what is subscription writing? I set up a page over on Ream stories, and there I am posting my old back catalog of books, as well as new books that I'm working on.

The first chapter is free. The next chapter for a lot of the back catalog is going to cost just a follow, which is also free. But the new stuff is going to be behind a paywall. For a little while, and that's where this gets really exciting.

You see what I'm going to be doing over there is posting drafts. Early, early drafts of my content, of the books that I'm working on, the stories that I'm writing that those who are interested in paying $5 a month will be able to comment on, then help shape and make better. We're just get early access to if they're really into the story or into the work that I'm doing. When those stories are done, they're going to be re-released to the public, and the cycle will continue.

And I'm really excited about this. The idea of being able to have this kind of a community is something that I've wanted for a really long time. But it's scary. It's really scary on a lot of different levels. One, sharing my drafts is kind of nightmare fuel. I do quite a bit of editing, and to let people see how things look as they pop out of my head is a bit terrifying. And furthermore to ask people to pay for that is also scary. And I don't know if this is a method that will work.

And that's what this podcast is turning into. Yeah, I'm going to be talking about my books and my fiction and the stories that I'm working on. But I'm also going to be talking about process and how things work. I'm going to be taking you through my ups and downs and all the lessons that I'm learning along the way. Because I don't think this is going to be a particular easy path. It's one that I'm excited for, but it has its pitfalls.

If a platform like Ream had been available 10 years ago, I can see an easy way to build this up. Social media, wasn't quite the nightmare. Hellscape that it is today, and building an audience wasn't as terribly hard. But now with all of the fracturing of society and everybody having to take sides on every issue. Whether or not, they actually have an opinion on that issue or not. It's a bit harder to do that. With the slow death of Twitter, now X, and the rise of competitors like Threads and Blue Sky, which he can find me on both of those I'm cedorsett on both, I'm hoping to find a new community. One that is interested in creativity, in writing, in sharing what we do together, in making something magical, together.

That's what I've always wanted. When I have done my podcasts in the past, like Myth Weaving, I wanted to teach what I had learned about writing, and I'm going to be doing some of that here, and who knows maybe even some of that over there. But more than anything, I want a place where we can just commiserate. About what we're doing. So this podcast is being hosted on sub stack. And you can find it@projectshadow.com.

There you'll be able to join into the comments and you'll be able to talk. And join in. With the discussion. And help us kind of shape. Where this future goes. Because I really do believe that we can. Get through the good place. If we all strive together to get there.

But this isn't a podcast just for other writers. I hope that if you are a writer, you'll get something out of it. And you'll learn from my triumphs and my mistakes. But this is a podcast for anyone who is interested in the journey of creativity, the ups, the downs, the pain, and the joy that make it all so worthwhile.

This is a podcast for everyone who has ever wanted to embrace their dreams, because writing has always been my dream.

The problem is I don't like writing novels. I know that sounds like a weird thing to say, but novels are so distant. I locked myself away and write, and write, and write, and then I put it out in the world . Yeah, I can see how many people buy it, but I don't really have that connection with those readers. Over the years, some of them have contacted me.

Some of them have come to conventions and we've talked about the work, but I've never really had that relationship with my audience that I would like to have. I'm writing the stories because I love these worlds. I love these genres. I love these characters. And I want to meet the people. Who also love these things like I do.

And so that's what I'm going to be doing here. I hope that you will join me on this path. I hope that you will be okay with all of the craziness of the writing project, and the process that leads to a completed work. It's not going to be pretty, but it's going to be an adventure, and after all, aren't we all looking for a little bit more adventure in our lives.

So, what am I going to be doing with this podcast? I'm going to say that it's a quasi daily. Podcast Monday through Friday. And I'm just going to share what I've been working on, what I've learned, what I'm doing. How different insights have changed the way that I'm looking at things.

That may seem like a lot, but, hopefully, it will be worth the adventure that we're going to go on together.

So what I mean, when I say semi-daily. I'm not committing to doing five episodes a week. I think that there's a good chance that will happen. I think there's a good chance that I might record multiple episodes in a day. Because I'll learn a little bit here, record something about it. I'll learn a little bit there and record something about it. And then schedule those on different days because sometimes putting too much information in one podcast episode is just overwhelming.

Sometimes there will be short. Sometimes there'll be longer. But they'll always be honest.

And that's my promise to you.

The word is the year this year is authenticity. And I find that so funny because the more I look around at the world, the more fake people I see.

Sure. There they're playing the role of authentic, but a lot of them really aren't. They know the right words to say they know the right way to get attention and, put things out.

They're living brands. And that's something I just can't be.

I'm neurodivergent and very queer, and so I don't quite see the world in the same way that they do. And so all of the things that seem to come naturally for them are things that I have to work for. Consistency and brand is not one of them. I have a lot of ideas, a lot of stories that I want to write. So I write space opera, epic fantasy, urban fantasy. I guess if it's a real genre of romantic fantasy or whatever, they're calling it is also something that I write.

But I want you. I to come along on this path with me. And I want to learn more about your interests and what you want me to be talking about on here. Because I don't want this just to be a self-serving journal of my experiences, and what I've been up to. There's going to be a lot of that and I make no apologies for it cause that's the reason and purpose for me making this podcast in the first place, somewhere where I can share all of the things that I'm learning, all of the things that I'm going through, and how they can change our lives and our careers. But I also want it to be useful for you. So if you have any questions, Please ask them.

Because I'm only going to talk about the things that I feel need to be talked about, and I published my first book in 2005. I've been doing online media for a really long time. So there are a lot of things that I might think are just common knowledge that aren't. If you have any questions. Just head over to project shadow.com. Ask them, and, I will answer them on the podcast.

Together, we can make this journey one of discovery and joy, because the one thing that we're lacking in this world, Is joy.

We are constantly bombarded by all of the terrible news that's going on around the world in a way that our ancestors couldn't have imagined. It's easy to feel that everything's hopeless when there's a financial benefit to keeping people terrified, afraid, and isolated from each other, so they just keep watching. In fact, the news, the 24 hour news network is the original doom scroll after all.

So this is going to be hopefully more of a respite from that. Not that I won't talk about the struggles or the hard times, but I don't want to get bogged down in the endless back and forth and back and forth that haunts our world today.

And who knows, there's a chance that I'll bring in some friends of mine and we'll have some group discussions about various topics along the way. Because I think that would be fun. And if you know anybody who'd like. It's a talk. Yeah, send them my way. Maybe we'll have them on. Because it can't always be my voice all of the time.

Yeah. That's my brief little introduction, or re-introduction to both me and my podcast. Hello, my name is Charlie. I write fiction under the name CE Dorsett you can find me over on Ream and here at projectshadow.com. You know, so find me on Blue Sky, Threads, and Instagram, @CEDorsett.

And I am here to write and tell my stories, and I hope that you're here to tell yours as well.

Burnout crept into my life unnoticed, as I gradually stopped engaging in activities I loved, including sharing my writings. It wasn't the usual overextension; it was different this time. The world's tragedies, family complexities, and a wall of emotions left me feeling incapable of even the simplest tasks. My body ached, my mind was clouded with anxiety and fear, and I found myself at a loss.

The turning point came with the intensified negativity in fandom debates. Whether discussing movies or TV shows, every opinion seemed to spark conflict. I questioned the value of opinions in a space where purity, rather than genuine discussion, dominated. This toxicity, especially around topics of diversity and representation, drained me.

A notable example was my experience discussing 'Dune.' A beloved series from my childhood, the latest adaptation left me disappointed. It missed the core themes relevant to our times, focusing instead on a superficial narrative. My critique was met with accusations and misunderstandings, a pattern that repeated with other topics.

Every opinion I expressed was interpreted as an agenda. The backlash was personal and relentless. This pattern extended to various media discussions, where even well-loved reviewers missed the essence of stories, focusing on minor details instead of the larger narrative.

In a world grappling with serious issues like insurrection, gun violence, and attacks on the trans community, I struggled with the relevance of discussing art and stories. As societal focus shifted to survival, the joy and essence of living seemed to fade.

Am I better? Is that why I am writing this? No. I am not better. I am still having so many shutdowns and executive disfunction still.

So why am I writing this? Because writing refreshes and renews me and I have a deed desire to write at the moment.

I am still here.

So many of us are struggling right now, and late stage capitalism is beating us all down. The news doesn’t help, and don’t think I am get in the middle of any of it.

I hit the first wall in June.

This wall didn’t completely knock me out, but every moment of every day felt like marching through thick mud, but since August it has been almost impossible to do anything.

What am I doing about it?

Despite the overwhelming nature of our times, I realized the importance of small joys. Growing up in poverty taught me to find happiness in little things. It's crucial to remember to live, not just survive. We must find joy in the now, or risk losing ourselves to despair.

Over the last month, a friend taught me how to crochet and I have made a bunch of amigurumis. My two favorites are Bao from the Pixar short and a red bubble eyed fish. This has helped me regulate my emotions and start resetting, but life is still a struggle every day.

My plan was to use November to actually reset.

I chose to reject nihilism, focusing instead on making short-term changes for the better. It's about impacting our immediate world positively, rather than being consumed by long-term existential worries.

In the end, I've learned to appreciate the present. We can't wait for a perfect future; we must create joy and goodness now. This approach has rekindled my passion for life and creativity, helping me to start sharing my voice again.

On that note, I am bringing the podcast back!

It is hosted on Spotify for Podcasters here.

The first podcast episode back inspired this post.

My work might not change the world, but it's significant to me. It marks the moment I rediscovered my voice and purpose. I hope it resonates with some of you, reminding us all to find and cherish the joys in our lives. Thank you for joining me on this journey.

More people arrived as the sun set. Ellis listened to Grey and a happier than he had ever seen him Peter talking about the natural history of unicorns.

A little while after sunset, River emerged from the shadows beyond the gate followed by a tall, muscular man who resembled him in some ways, but with long, flowing black hair.

Grey told them that was Dark Lord Michael Blackwood, River’s oldest brother.

The phrase dark Lord sent to chill through them. Any time they had ever seen that word in fiction, it meant trouble.

The two siblings parted ways just within the gate.

Michael walked over to Mother Soteria and greeted her with a gracious bow.

River walked straight over to Ellis. “Did you have a good day?” He asked, as if no one else stood around the table.

“I did. Grey took me to see the knuckers.” Ellis said, “Moriah studied magic, and Peter played with unicorns.”

River glanced at the ground and back up as if they were disappointed, then turned to Moriah. “I am surprised you chose to practice their magic before learning about the other kinds.”

“I didn’t.” Moriah said anxiously, “Sister Luna explained several kinds of magic to me. I haven’t chosen anything yet.”

River grinned. “Good. If there’s time, I will have to introduce you to my sister, she’s always complaining that no one shares her enthusiasm for the arts.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“Be careful with that.” Grey said. “Dark Lady Severina Blackwood likes her toys, but she tires of them quickly.”

“Are you calling Moriah a toy?” River asked.

“I thought we were all toys to your kind.”

Smoke seeped from the corners of River’s mouth. “Many like their games, but I assure you, she won’t lose a single drop of blood at the manor.”

“But what of her soul?” Grey hastily poured wassail into a glass and offered it to River.

River accepted and took a sip while keeping their eyes locked on Grey. “The sisters have outdone themselves.”

"Well, you know how much the fairies like to throw a party." Grey’s voice chilled the air.

Ellis missed something, but didn’t understand enough about this strange world to know what it was. “Grey said that there are dragons in the region.” They said to break the silence.

“Did he?” River asked, a pained expression on their face. “And what did he tell you about us?”

Ellis and Peter dropped their drinks.

“I see he didn’t tell you I was one.” River waved his hand, and the spilled wassail evaporated into a cloud.

“It wasn’t for me to say.” Grey said.

River smirked in a way that told Ellis there was a history between them that they needed to learn if they wanted to keep the peace.

“I hope you enjoyed your first day in Aernadael.” River said with a bow and walked away.

Ellis stepped closer to Grey to ask him what all that was about, but before they could, Mother Soteria took to the bandstand in her full habit. Dark black makeup surrounded her eyes and dripped down her cheeks in three wavy lines on each side.

She clapped her hands together, and thunder cracked.

All the conversations ended. Everyone turned to face her.

“Welcome to all our kith and kin who found the time to join us this evening.” Mother Soteria said. Her voice filled the space like she stood next to them. “It isn’t every day that we have the potential of welcoming some lost souls home, but tonight we have such an honor.” She gestured toward their table and a light shone around them with no apparent source. “Behold Peter, Moriah, and Ellis, three lost souls who found their way to the ara, and now have the opportunity to learn our ways if they so chose. Introduce yourself to them, but do that a bit later. Let’s open this fete right.”

The crowd cheered.

Mother raised her arms over her head, and a thick fog rose around her. Throwing her arms out to either side, the fog broke to reveal a drum kit, keyboard, two guitars, and a bass.

Voices sang out from behind the stage, chanting in a strange language. Five sisters marched out in procession from the fog, their voices melding into a heavenly chorus. One by one, they picked up an instrument.

When the chant ended, colored lights flared to life, and they started to play an oddly familiar song that Ellis was sure they’d never heard before. It was a rock or metal song from the ‘60s or ‘70s.

Mother Soteria sang with a powerful voice that reminded them of Grace Slick at the height of Jefferson Airplane.

Ellis, Peter, and Moriah turned from one to another, dumfounded by the sights and sounds before them.

The sisters performed with all the polish and prowess of rock stars. Maybe this was how nuns behaved in this world.

After the shock wore off, Ellis, Peter, and Moriah started dancing.

Grey offered a hand to Ellis, and they set off to the dance floor.

Ellis never had a hot guy ask them to dance before. They read nothing into it. Life was so different here. The last thing they wanted to do was to make more out of Grey’s gesture than he intended.

They all stopped and applauded at the end of the first song. Some whistled, others howled in approval.

As the next song started, River pressed through the crowd to them and asked Ellis for a dance.

Without a thought, Ellis joined River. They couldn’t help but repeat in their head, I am dancing with a dragon over and again.

After the applause ended after the second song, Peter and Moriah came over and they all danced together.

Grey danced on one side of Ellis, River on the other.

The music fill the air and cushioned their footfalls on the hard dance floor. Only the impacts that coincided with the beat of the song rang out.

Ellis danced between a wolf and a lion. They didn't believe that either would intentionally hurt them, but at the same time, their soul cried out for them to run.

Nothing in their life could ever have prepared them for something like this. So a dragon and someone who, at the very least, was a wizard wanted to dance with them, and there was no love lost between them. What should they do?

Like the brave and heroic person they felt they were in their heart, Ellis did everything they could to ignore the rivalry around them.

Fate, it seemed, didn't find that solution quite entertaining enough.

Mother Soteria began singing a slow song, not just any slow song, but a love song.

Ellis turned away from the stage as fast as they could, and wended through the crowd at between a run and a gallop.

They refilled their glass with wassail and drank deeply from the cup.

Their head swam by the time they reached the bottom of the cup. The beverage was alcoholic. All the exotic spices and fruits that steeped in it masked any sign of the intoxicant.

They weren't drunk, but they were definitely tipsy.

Brilliant, how were they supposed to not make a fool out of themselves in front of these people if they allow themself to get drunk at the party.

They shook their head and repeated the word, “no,” repeatedly as if it were in fact magic and would erase the alcohol from the bloodstream. It didn't, but they're probably were some magical way to become instantly sober.

Ellis searched the crowd for any sign of sister Lydia, but couldn't find her anywhere. If they possess more courage, they could simply ask one of the other sisters for help.

It should've been blatantly obvious that this was the sort of party that would serve alcohol. There were no children here. In fact, Ellis and their friends looked like they might be some of the youngest people in attendance.

What were they going to do?

Everything was so warm. Maybe it was too hot for their insecurities to stay up.

To their great relief, no one came over to talk to them until the song changed.

This one had a much quicker tempo, and an infectious groove that reached deep down within them and made them want to dance.

They forgot about their fears and concerns. Such things didn't belong on a dance floor.

The rhythm increased, and they've joined it, and its impetuous fit of motion. They allow their joy to move their arms and legs.

Nothing mattered, not a single little thing. It didn't matter what the headmaster wanted, they would be back.

They shook their head, that didn't make any sense. They graduated from school years ago. It didn't matter what anyone in charge thought. No one would take this life away from them, not now, not ever.

Ellis threw their glass at the high stone wall and reveled at the sight of it shattering. How dare they think they would fall for the same trick twice?

They shouted, "freedom!" And spiraled onto the dance floor.

Periodically, they reached out for a ghostly hand that never took theirs, but someone else would. They didn't care whose hand it was, so long as they weren't alone, when they were alone, that's when the darkness got them.

Their heart fluttered in their chest, and they saying all that was in the oohs and the ahh’s along with the crowd even though they didn’t know the songs themself.

It didn't matter, nothing mattered. Everything before this was a lie, a silly, deliberate, hateful lie.

Ellis laughed. They broke their chains. They were free. It didn't matter what anyone else said. They didn't need approval this time. When have they ever needed anyone's approval?

No one was going to take this life away from them. This life was theirs. They found it fair and square.

They danced under the moonlight, lost in the music finally amongst their own people.

Showers of light flicked from the wings of the knuckers as they danced through the air around and between Ellis and Grey. The ribbonlike trails of shimmering light wove from their wings. When two ribbons touched, light flared out like a miniaturized firework.

Ellis twirled on the spot like they hadn’t done since they were a child. Dizzy and lightheaded, they fell to the ground, laughing up at the blue sky. For the briefest moment, they could have sworn they saw the moon laughing with them. Not the man in the moon or even a face, but the moon itself laughed.

Grey ran over to Ellis and offered them a hand.

“It can be overwhelming the first time.” Grey said.

Ellis took his hand and pulled themself up to their feet. “They are wonderful. Do they feed off laughter?”

“Knuckers, like all dragons, feed off energy. So in a way, yes.”

“They are dragons?” Ellis eyes opened wide. Dragons existed. They'd heard the word earlier, but somehow it wasn't real. But seeing them with their own eyes they couldn't deny it.

“After a fashion.” Grey made a sort of nervous jig. “If you asked a dragon, they would tell you they were dragon like, but not dragons.”

“How many kinds of dragons are there?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

Ellis bit their lip, inhaled sharply, then asked, “So is that ghost Graycek related to you?”

“He is my great, great, great, uncle... something like that, and don’t let anyone else hear you call him a ghost. Especially not him. A ghost refuses to pass on. He is a Di Inferi, a god of the underworld.” Grey made a frustrated gesture. “He’s not really a god. Oh, how do I explain it? He swore to protect the community from the other side.”

“Like a patron saint?” Ellis asked.

“Something like that. Technically, he is a mane, one of the good dead, even though that is debatable for some.”

“Yeah, he has a weird sense of humor.”

“He does at that.”

"He said he wasn't given a choice about whether or not to come back."

Grey shuffled his feet for a moment. "The community was a lot smaller back then, and so there weren't that many to choose from. Perhaps from his point of view, he didn't."

Something large splashed in the lake.

Two large knuckers the size of horses, but with scales, claws, and dragonfly wings, flew into the air.

What did he mean they didn't have a lot to choose from? Does that mean Graycek had been sacrificed, or did they ask him shortly before he died?

Eventually, the site of the two adult knuckers pushed all the other thoughts out of their head.

“I wondered when their mom and dad would notice they left the nest.” Gray said. “Stand still until I introduce you. If you’re lucky, we might be able to go for a ride.”

Grey raised both his arms over his head and made a clicking sound with his tongue.

The large gold knucker came over first and rubbed his enormous head in Grey’s right hand. 

“This is the papa.” 

The white knucker followed and did the same with his left. 

“And this is the mama. Step closer slowly.” Gray said.

The knuckers made a deep rumbling sound like a cat purr, but it reverberated in Ellis’ chest like a deep bass. 

Ellis took a step forward. 

The gold knucker jerked his head from Grey’s hand and stared through Ellis.

“Keep coming.” Grey said. “He can feel your fear. So long as you don’t wish him harm, you’ll be fine.”

“I think I can manage that.” Ellis focused their mind on happy thoughts.

With every step, their heart fluttered. They reached up and stroked the knucker’s scaly cheek, smoother than silk and softer than plush.

The gold knucker nestled his face into Ellis’ palm, closed his eyes, and purred even harder.

Ellis’ whole body came alive with the sounds.

“Would you like to ride him?” Grey asked.

Ellis struggled not to fall over. “Could I?”

“Just ask, if it is all right, they will bend down for your to climb on. Just hold on tight if he agrees.”

Suppressing a squeal of excitement, Ellis took a deep, calming breath. “May I go for a ride?” Their voice cracked in the middle.

The gold knucker lowered itself.

Ellis swung on his back as if it were the most natural thing, like they had done it all their life. They wrapped their arms around his neck, and the knucker galloped forward before leaping up into the sky.

Nothing in their life could have prepared them for this moment. Like something from one of their childhood dreams, they rode on dragon back through the sky. The wind blowing around their face and through their hair, but they felt cradled and safe.

Maybe it was some unseen magic, but they sensed a cloud of pure joy around them, holding them firmly on the knucker’s back. They doubted they could fall off even if they tried, but they weren't about to test that theory. They knew their luck and didn't want to fall to their death in the middle of such a magical moment.

Their imagination had failed them. All the times they watched She-Ra and imagined what it would be like to fly on the back of a winged unicorn, they never dreamed it would feel like this.

Ellis discarded all their notions of time. Ever since they arrived at those statues, they completely lost their ability to tell one moment from an hour or vice versa. If it weren’t for the fact they would have noticed the setting and rising of the sun, they would have sworn they flew around for days before the knucker returned them to the shore of the river.

Grey landed next to them and dismounted from the white knucker. He hurried over to help Ellis off theirs.

“I hope that wasn’t too much for your first time out.” Grey said with a roguish grin.

“It was perfect.” 

Their eyes met. Ellis blushed and looked away quickly.

After what felt like an eternal silence, Grey asked, “Are you ready to go back to the sisters?”

Ellis wanted to say, “If we have to.” But said, “I should see how my friends are doing.”

Risking a glance at Grey’s chiseled face, Ellis smiled.

“If you like, we can come back tomorrow, or I can show you something else.”

So many thoughts rushed through Ellis’ mind. Their cheeks glow hot, ruby red. “I would love... like that.”

Why did they say love? Hopefully, they didn't draw too much attention to it.

Grey led them back up to the convent, which, under the bright light of day, resembled a medieval citadel from a movie. 

On the way back, Grey told him how he found the first knucker nest when he was a boy, and how he encouraged them and helped them flourish.

His enthusiasm was contagious. Not that Ellis needed any help to get excited about dragons. 

They grew up drawing them. Every time one appeared on He-man and the Masters of the Universe or any other show they watched, the rest of the world vanished and they took in every detail. Their parents encouraged it. They loved dragons and unicorns, and dragons were considered the more manly of the two, so they hoped it would lead them to more manly interests. It didn’t.

Luminous streamers flowed light rainbow rivers of light over the courtyard. They set tables and chairs up in front of a bandstand and a dance floor.

The sisters weren’t the only ones fluttering around, setting things up. More locals had come up to join in what the banner called a homecoming.

Tables filled with beautiful, red and white knotwork breads, and numerous dipping sauces lined one side of the courtyard. The other side had punch bowls, bottles, and kegs of every description set up with what resembled amethyst glasses to drink from.

Moriah ran up to Ellis and grabbed both their hands. “I got to see a real grimoire today and learned the proper names of dozens of kinds of magic.” She squeezed their hands and squeaked with excitement.

“I rode a dragon.” Ellis said as casually as they could manage.

Moriah’s eyes widened, then grinned at Ellis in a knowing way. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend?”

Ellis’ cheeks burned again, and they introduced Moriah to Grey without looking at him.

They exchanged pleasantries.

“Are you staying for the festivities?” Moriah asked Grey keeping an eye on Ellis.

“Of course.” Grey sounding surprised by the question. “The sisters through the best fetes. I’ve never missed one unless I was sick or out of town.”

The idea of nuns throwing a party made little sense to Ellis, and they hoped it didn’t show. More than any other time in their life, they wanted not just to fit in here, but to be one of them, to have the natural ease they all had in life. What would such a carefree life be like? They worried they would soon wake up and discover this was all a dream.

As the sunset, it dawned on Ellis how long they’d ridden the knuckers. Their stomach growled, and grew only more insistent they eat as the sister grilled various spiced meats and vegetables for the, what did Grey call it, fete.

Grey took them over to a table and ladled something he called an autumn wassail into their cups.

Besides the apple and the cinnamon, Ellis didn’t know how to describe the taste other than to say happiness. It was like drinking the sensation of opening a surprise present and seeing something you always wanted under the paper and realizing how much the giver cared for you.

Peter joined them at the table. “Did you know they have unicorns?” He said, accepting a cup of wassail from Grey.

“American Unicorns, they are native to these lands, and not the smaller ones from Europe.” Grey said.

“There is more than one kind of unicorn?” Peter said, like a child seeing a toy store for the first time.

Grey nodded. “Remind me to take you to the stables sometime. I think you'll really enjoy seeing the menagerie that we have gathered together.”

Ellis smiled because they believed it was the right thing to do. They had never been to a party in their honor attended by so many people before, and they were afraid they would do the wrong thing.

Ellis sat quietly for a while after Nana Thea left, eating their breakfast. Nothing here made any sense, but maybe that was just the cost of having magic in the world.

“What would you like to do first?” Lydia said as she put down her book.

Ellis squirmed in their seat. “I don’t know what’s possible.”

The door opened. A handsome young man with the same silver shimmer to his eyes as Nana walked in. “Mother is looking for you, Lydia.” 

His blue eyes pierced right through Ellis’ soul.

Ellis glanced away, their cheeks burning from embarrassment. They hoped they hadn't been staring.

“How?” Lydia almost grunted the word. “She told me to help... whatever. Cyril Graycek, this is Ellis Nicks, one of the trespassers caught last night. Keep an eye on them while I go find out what Mother wants.”

Ellis did their best to pretend her words didn’t embarrass them and forced a smile.

Cyril Graycek nodded with a grin. His short blond hair bounced with the motion. He trained his crystal blue eyes on Ellis and said, “So, are you ready for a tour?”

Ellis wilted a little as Lydia stormed out of the room. “Sure.”

“Good, and call me Grey, not Cyril or Cy. Unless you have something specific in mind, I could take you down to the lake to feed the knuckers.”

Why did everyone insist on saying things Ellis didn’t understand, like the words should make sense?

Ellis forced another smile, and said, “That sounds fun.”

“It sure beats carrying boxes around and setting up fairy lights.” Grey chuckled.

Ellis faked a laugh. They’d known people like Grey, and they were too pretty to bare anything less from those around them.

"If you're not interested, I'm sure I could think of something better." The graciousness with which Grey spoke took Ellis off guard.

"I'm sure whatever you want to do will be fine. Honestly, I don't know enough about what there is around here to even know what it is that I might want to see."

Grey chuckled. "I've often wondered what that would be like, to be a stranger in a new place. I've lived here all my life." He motioned towards the door. Was that a wink?

There is no way the stranger just winked at them.

“Follow me.” Grey said, and led them out of the tower.

Ellis stood up, and after reminding their legs how to walk, took a few tentative steps forward.

It wasn't like them to get flustered like this, but when was the last time that a handsome man offered to take them out and show them the sites?

Under the sunlight, his skin was far paler than it appeared in the room. His eyes sparkled, lending him a truly unearthly appearance.

They walked together through the courtyard. Grey waved at a couple of people and called out their names. They called back with a wave.

“To be honest,” He said after they passed far enough beyond the gate to not be easily overheard, “I’m glad you gave me an excuse to get away. I’m not a big fan of the attention they insist on paying me.”

Ellis couldn’t understand what that was like. People rarely paid them any attention if they didn’t want something or just to make fun of him.

“So, you are from the great beyond.” Grey said. “What’s it like out there?”

“The sisters paint a pretty accurate image.”

Grey frowned. “Oh. I hoped the stories were just that.”

“You’ve never left whatever this is?” Ellis asked.

“Nah. I mean, looking like I do, it would attract too much attention, and I don’t care what they say, I know there are still hunters out there.”

"Hunters?" Ellis asked.

“It hasn't been all that long, since you're kind, hunted mine down.” Grey kicked the ground after he said that. “Sorry about that. I hate all of this talk of different kinds of people. We are all born different, but that shouldn't separate us. It's just hard, because I grew up hearing the stories about the hunters.”

“I didn't think you meant anything bad by it.” Ellis said. “I can only imagine how some of the people I grew up with would react if they found out there was actual magic in the world.”

“Fear. At least that is how I have always had it explain to me. I understand why some people would be afraid of us, especially people like me, but we're not mad beasts looking to cause trouble.”

Ellis laughed. “Half the people I know make it their object in life to go about causing trouble.”

Was it inappropriate or rude to ask what it was about Grey and his people that scared others? As tired as they were being asked about their gender, they didn't want to ruin this outing by asking the wrong question.

“So, what would you like to know about us?” Grey asked as if he had read Ellis’ mind.

“I don't think you realize what a hard question that is.” Ellis allowed some of their frustration to show through. “Everything is different here, but somehow the same. How am I supposed to know what to ask about, but I don't even know what all there is to ask about?”

“Huh. I hadn't even considered that. How about if I just tell you what I think are the most important things for you to know.”

"Thank you."

“You are in Blackwood County, which is governed by the dark lords and ladies of the house of Blackwood. Uh, they're not kings or queens or anything like that. Wow, I've lived here my entire life and I don't even know how to describe it.” Grey laughed.

“You see what I'm talking about?”

“How about this, anytime you're curious or confused about something, don't be afraid to ask me about it? I have a thick skin, and it's really hard to offend me.”

Ellis raised an eyebrow. “Do you really have a thick skin?”

“Not particularly, I mean, if you cut me, I bleed, but that also might cause me to cut you back.”

Something in Grey's expression told Ellis that he was only half joking when he said that. They wanted to ask if he had ever killed anyone, but they didn't. One, because it felt like an overly personal question. Two, because they didn't really want to know the answer to it.

“Ok, so let's start with something simple. Do you have a job?” Ellis thought that was a simple way to manage introductions.

“I am the gamekeeper for the village, and for all the Trivian lands.”

“So, you're like a farmer or a cowboy?”

Grey blinked a couple times, then chuckled to himself. “I suppose, after a fashion, I make sure the wyverns don't cause too much trouble, and keep an eye on all the magical beasts that roam through the wild.”

Ellis stopped walking for a moment, and just stared at Grey. “You must be really brave to face down such legendary creatures.”

Grey shook his head. “Not really. Most creatures will only harm you if they perceive you as a threat.”

Ellis smirked at Grey. They've heard that kind of talk before. My dog’s not dangerous, he loves everybody. Three stitches later, Ellis learned their lesson.

What would it be like to be surrounded by all the creatures of myth and legend every day? For someone who grew up amongst them, it would probably be boring, no different from seeing a dog or cat. Funny, the little tricks the mind played.

Grey walked with a confident swagger Ellis had rarely seen outside of a movie. If they lived here, would they adopt a similar gate? Somehow, they doubted it.

The scent of autumn leaves merged with a wet fishiness.

Up ahead, a large lake opened up from the end of the trail. “Don’t come out here alone until you know you are ready.” Grey said. “There are a lot of hungry things hiding in those trees.”

“That you will protect me from?”

“Yep.” Grey stopped. "But I would rather not have to." 

The genuineness of his smile warmed Ellis's heart like the first rays of sunlight after a cold, dark night. Their heart fluttered.

“Wait here for a minute.” Grey said.

Grey walked down to the edge of the lake and kneeled down. He fluttered his hands on the surface. A deep moaning sound rippled from the center of the lake.

“Try not to make a sound.” Grey said softly and fluttered his hands on the surface again.

A spray of water erupted a few feet away from him, and seven large dragonflies spiraled into the air.

On closer inspection, they weren’t dragonflies, though they shared a similar silhouette. Each one had different colored fishlike scales in red, blue, green, gold, purple, fiery orange, silvery white. Each one was the size of a large house cat.

“These are knuckers.” He said softly, “Where is your mother today?” Grey asked the little dragons. “I suppose she is off feeding.” He stood up and stretched his arms out to the side. “Stand like I am.”

The knuckers swooped around his arms in elongated figure eights as he slowly turned around.

Ellis copied Grey’s pose and watched everything carefully. “Are they dangerous?”

“Like I said, only if you wish them harm. These are just babies, so they would probably just run away. I doubt there's anything they could do to hurt us.”

Grey turned slowly and faced Ellis. He made a trilling sound deep in his throat and the knuckers flew from his arms to Ellis and back in complicated patterns, each one taking a different path.

Their wings hummed from the speed and sent little jets of cool air around Ellis’ arms and neck that tickled.

They couldn’t stop themselves and laughed.

Showers of glitter fell from their wings as the little ones flew faster and faster in divergent figure eights.

The little creatures took more interest in them, and the sensation built with every pass. The harder they laughed, the more excited the little ones became.

If this was a dream, Ellis hoped they would never wake up, but nothing this wonderful ever happened to them in a dream.

Eight years ago, Ellis sat cross-legged on their bed in their parent’s old apartment. They pulled their Ewoks’ sheets tightly around them, holding their Silverhawks Steelheart and Steelwill in their hand. Tears welled up in their eyes and they set them on the nightstand.

They crawled onto their knees in the center of their bed and wrapped their soft Masters of the Universe comforter around themself. Leaning on the windowsill, they wept softly. Pain tore their heart shooting veins of chilling pain through their chest. Anguish constricted their breath. Their soul crisped in the cold flames. They held themself up because if they collapsed into their bed they would shatter like an ancient vase. 

They rubbed their tears into their cheeks. Their breath became ragged, as sharp and broken as the shards of their heart worming through them. They raised themself up on their knees and pressed their forehead to the cool glass of the window. 

The lonely moon ruled the sky over the playground in the courtyard between the apartment buildings. On the bottom floor of the opposing building, light streamed through the blinds from one window stretching across the ground between the swings and the slide. Shadows played dark against the interior illumination. They recognized the outlines of Penny Scarr and Katey Emberson laughing.

Ellis met them shortly after moving to Frederick, Maryland, and they became fast friends. They always sat together at lunch as they trudged through the fifth grade together. 

Less than an hour ago, Ellis was in there with them, laughing and singing along to the New Kids on the Block. Then Penny’s mother told them it was time for them to go. Boys weren’t allowed to sleep over and they had to go home.

The words confused them. Of course, coed sleepovers were not allowed, but what did that have to do with them? 

Politely, they said goodbye and made their way home. Their parents said something when they entered the apartment, but they didn’t pay them much mind. They turned the idea over and over in their mind. Why did they have to leave the party? They were just one of the girls...

They turned their light off and hopped into bed. They weren’t a girl; they were a boy. Why had they forgotten that? It was the most obvious thing about them. They were the sissy who hung out with the girls, and the other boys at school ensured they never forgot that.

Sitting on their bed, they tried to make sense of that ridiculous idea. Everyone called them a boy, but they didn’t feel like one. Before their sisters moved out, they used to sneak into their room and try on their clothes. They imagined themself in high school dressed like their sisters, with their long purple hair teased up into a magnificent mane.

Their mother would never let them have purple hair, and the image wasn’t quite right.

One day their sister, Rhonda, caught them sitting at her vanity putting on her makeup. She laughed, wiped it off, then taught them how to put it on right. Isn’t that what sisters do?

Ellis dragged their eyes from the shadow play on Penny’s window and stared at the swing set. They moved in the late summer breeze like invisible children swung on them. Their sobs calmed, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

“Why does everyone see me as a boy?” They said under their breath. Then they remembered. Pain dug into them like a predator’s vicious claw. “If there is anyone out there listening, please, let me wake up a girl. Please. I will do anything. Just let me wake up a girl, anything other than this.”

Ellis started sobbing again. They cupped their hands over their hazel eyes as their body convulsed with tears. They couldn’t understand why people couldn’t see them for what they were.

A strange sound attracted their attention to the window.

Dark shadows loomed over the courtyard.

Something blocked out the moonlight and its shadow dimmed the bulbs in the light poles. 

It sounded like the beating of enormous wings.

Whatever it was hung black against the night sky, covering the stars. Ellis wanted to call out to it to take them away, but couldn’t bring themself to open their mouth.

Maybe someone or something heard their prayers and came for them.

Ellis allowed themself to imagine waking up in a different body. This one felt tight, like clothes they’d outgrown, but hadn’t had the chance to replace yet. A smile broke across their face that drove away their tears like the sun against the night.

What should they do? If they opened their window, they could call out to the shadow in the sky so it would know where they were. Or maybe this was one of those things they weren’t supposed to see or it wouldn’t come to them.

Unsure what to do, they laid down in the bed and threw the comforter over their face. They chanted the same refrain over and over in their head, “Please, let me wake up as someone else.” Every time they repeated it, they felt the same twinges of fear and hope. They didn’t know how they would explain to their parents that their little boy was a little girl now, but if they loved them like they claimed, then surely they would be all right with it.

They didn’t want to get their hopes up. After all, they had no reason to believe they would actually wake up any different from what they were now, but it was all they wanted. Then everything would be right with the world, and people might not mistake them for a boy all the time. No matter what their body looked like, they knew that was wrong.

Ellis opened their eyes. Puffy white clouds lazily wafted through the deep blue sky. Just last night, that strange person sat there debating their fate. Life was now stranger than their dreams.

A broad smile broke across their face. When had this last happened? A hazy fog lured them back to sleep in the preternaturally comfortable bed, but how could they sleep when such a strange world awaited them outside the room.

They reached under the blanket and checked the contours of their body. Nothing had changed. No matter how badly they desired it, will alone couldn’t reform their flesh. Years of experimentation proved this to them.

While they slept, someone laid out a set of clothes similar to what they wore the day before next to a cup of water with what resembled a metal microphone upside down in it, and a note.

The note read, “Sprinkle yourself with water from the aspergillum to bathe.”

Ellis pulled the aspergillum from the cup and shook it at themself like a rattle. A refreshing wave rippled over their body with each drop that hit them. After a couple of dips and shakes, they felt like they just stepped out of the shower.

Amazed. They stripped off their dirty clothes and repeated the sprinkling, then dressed in the fresh clothing.

If this was a sample of a life with magic, they were curious to see what else they would encounter here.

They opened the door carefully and looked around. No one guarded their door. Not wanting to wake up their friends if they still slept, they made their way downstairs like they were trying to sneak out of their parents’ apartment to go to a party.

At the base of the tower, they found the large room with tables and chairs set up. With everything that happened last night, they hadn’t realized that the dining hall, and the dorms were in the same building.

They ran their hand across the rough stones in the wall and tried to connect more with this place.

Sister Lydia sat at one of the tables reading a book in a language Ellis didn’t recognize. “Good morning.” She glanced over the top of the book and smiled. “I hope you are ready to have the scales fall from your eyes today.” 

Ellis muttered a few incoherent sounds that didn’t morph into words. How should they have responded to that? After a moment, they said. “I am ready to see what your world has to offer.”

“More for you than for your friends, I suspect.”

“Why? Do you know something I don’t?”

“I expect I know quite a few things you don’t.” She said with a disarming smile.

“I am sure that’s true.”

“What do you want for your breakfast?”

Ellis hadn’t thought about it, expecting just to be served whatever they were having. “French toast and sausage?”

For a moment, Ellis thought they saw the same black cat out of the corner of their eye they’d seen in their room last night, but it was a tiny plump person about knee high carrying a plate of French toast and country sausage to the table.

“Don’t bother waiting on the others,” Lydia said. “Moriah got up earlier and is touring the convent with Sister Luna. Peter is still sleeping and shows no sign he will get up soon.”

Ellis accepted the plate from the tiny being, thanked them and set it on the table. “What... Who was that?”

“Oh, that is one of the domovoy. They take care of the place. Think of them as house sprites. Every building has them, you just aren’t used to noticing them.”

Ellis nodded as if that was a perfectly natural conversation to have with breakfast. How many kinds of creatures were there? They had so many questions, but didn’t want to appear overly eager, so they kept them to themself.

While they ate what had to be the best French Toast they ever had, a little old lady entered the tower. Her blue-white curly hair sat like a pompom around her wizened face. She carried a mug of aromatic black coffee in both hands over to the table. After she took a seat, she turned to the side and watched the activity out the window.

“Are you planning a party?” Ellis asked.

The old lady turned around and answered with the tenderness of a grandmother, “It isn’t every day that lost sheep find their way home.”

“We don’t know if they are staying yet, Nana.” Lydia said.

“Nothing is ever certain, dear. That is why you have to celebrate every little thing you can.” The whites of her eyes sparkled silver in the light as if they were covered in glitter. “Mother Lilith danced as she was escorted from the garden, didn’t she?”

“And she sang.” Lydia said with a grin.

“Exactly, celebrate what you have and don’t mourn what you’ve lost. That’s one of the biggest differences between us and the wrecca.” Nana sipped her coffee and continued to watch the commotion outside as if she were about to give them a score.

“Who is mother Lilith?” Ellis asked.

“The first woman,” the old woman said. “Well, not really. She was the first woman in Yalda Bahuth’s garden. She refused to bow to the craftsman’s plans, and was expelled.”

“Ellis doesn’t know our stories, Nana.” Lydia said.

“Of course not.” The old woman smiled. “Everyone calls me Nana Thea. Welcome home, Ellis.”

Ellis blushed. “Thank you, Nana, but I’m not sure if this is my home yet.”

Nana giggled girlishly. “This wouldn’t be your home, sweet child. You are not a Trivian Sister, and I doubt you would want to be. I’m sure we can find you a home down by the river.”

“Ellis is here to learn about us and our ways, Nana.” Lydia said.

“It is a lot to learn in a short time.” Nana nodded as she spoke. “So let me tell you the one thing you need to know. Here, we are free. Yalda Bahuth has no power over us.”

“I’ve never heard of him.” Ellis said.

“Because he doesn’t want his minions to know him.” Nana said and turned to look back out of the window. “Long ago, the son of chaos desired to convince the world he was the only master who deserved to be followed. When no one paid him any mind, he planted a garden to grow himself a people who would. He kidnapped two children, one was our mother Lilith. She was wise beyond her years and refused to follow his tyrannical dictates.”

“Why didn’t he just kill her?” Ellis asked.

“He tried, but the four luminaries wouldn’t let him. They helped wise Lilith escape. They are the ones who drew you to us.”

Ellis glanced from Nana to Lydia. “We got lost in the woods.”

“Mother Soteria said you found your way to their shrine.” Lydia said.

It felt so long ago Ellis wandered out of their old life. “Those statues of the blindfolded angels?” They said as the world before Graycek came into focus.

Nana smiled at Ellis over her shoulder.

“But there were only three of them. The fourth lay on the ground in so much pain.” Ellis shook the image of the suffering angel from their head.

Nana nodded and returned her attention to the window. “Because Eleleth forsook his privilege to help Mother Lilith. If Yalda would have known what he started, he probably never would have done it.”

What did that mean? A luminary, whatever that was, forsook his privilege to help. All those words made sense individually, but together they posed more of a problem. 

Ellis didn’t want to impose by asking a thousand questions, so they limited themselves to just one. “So we are all the children of this, Lilith?” They asked.

Nana laughed. “No child. Her children are rare, but through us she taught the world the path to freedom.”

This was going to be harder to follow than they thought. Ellis promised themself that they would ask more questions in the future once they knew what ones they needed answered. “And what is the path to freedom?”

“Never bending a knee to anyone.”

The words came so simple and straightforward, but what did they mean? Ellis had never bent the knee to anyone that they could recall. Perhaps it was a metaphor that they didn't understand. The image provoked something in their mind.

Ellis sat back in their chair. The answer to all their questions couldn’t be as simple as that. Besides, how would anyone do that. People loved to lord their power over others. At least they did where they came from. Was it possible it was different here? People couldn’t be that different, could they? “Is that it? All I have to do is never bend a knee to anyone? If that’s true, what was all that drama last night about?”

“The simplest things are often the hardest to do.” Nana said. “The people in your world are obsessed with money and power. Always trying to get ahead of and above others. That is the path of Yalda Bahuth. That is why your kind were exiled.”

“And all I have to do is stop bowing?” Ellis said.

“It seems to me, you already have. I have never known an unbound who did, not a happy or long-lived one, anyway.” 

“People keep calling me that. I don’t understand.”

“Sister Lydia and I were born knowing who we are. You had to figure it out. You had to break every chain other people placed on you to keep you in one of their little boxes. You may not have broken all the way out, but you are no longer in bondage to their labels.”

Tears welled up in Ellis’ eyes. “How do you know that?”

“I can read you like a book, sweet child.” Nana stood up. “I should go to see if anyone needs me for anything. It was good to meet you, Ellis. Good luck with your quest.”

What did she mean by quest? That sounded like someone had told them what to do, or set up a series of obstacles for them to conquer, but they hadn't.

Everything was more complicated, and yet somehow simpler than it had been before.

If this was indeed a quest, they only hoped the reward was worth whatever the price was that they would have to pay.

Moriah awoke rested, at ease with her life in a way so foreign to her. She refused to open her eyes. Yesterday, she discovered the world of magic and mystery she’d longed for all her life. What if she opened her eyes and found it was all a dream?

She stretched out under the perfectly comfortable sheets in a bed someone must have enchanted to encourage deep, dream-filled sleep. This wasn’t her bed. None of her friends made enough money to afford such nice sheets.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and gazed at the intricately interlaced wooden ceiling. The freshness of the air greeted her, and she couldn’t help but smile. It was real. It was all real.

Everything about this place was magical, including the shampoos and soaps that they had provided for her to get ready for the day. Even the water in the shower seemed to wash her concerns and cares away.

As usual, Moriah woke up before her friends, or at least none of them were downstairs by the time she got down there.

Sister Lydia sat with another sister at the table when she got downstairs. Steam rose from the fine porcelain tea cups and sparkling forks and knives rested on their empty plates.

Each sister read her own leather-bound book without title or cover image.

It surprised Moriah to see an Asian member of whatever order the sisters belong to. In the world she came from, religion often broke down along racial lines so to see them sitting peacefully together warmed her heart.

She didn't know what the protocol was. Should she join them, sit at another table, or attract their attention. The only thing she was certain of was that she didn’t want to irritate or annoy them, so she just stood at the bottom of the steps and waited for them to acknowledge her.

Sister Lydia glanced up from her book and waved her over to the table. “This isn't a restaurant, you don't have to wait to be seated.”

Moriah’s cheeks burned hot, “I didn't want to disturb you.” She walked over to the table and sat opposite the sisters.

“I don't think that would be possible.” Lydia smiled and put her book down. “Technically, my only duty today, is to look after you and your friends.”

Without asking for it, a plate of eggs, bacon, and buttered biscuits with strawberry jam appeared in front of her. It was exactly what she craved. She glanced around to see where it had come from.

“The domovoy here are good at their jobs,” Lydia said. “You are new here, so they wanted to impress you with your favorite breakfast. Did they get it right?”

Moriah took a bite and nodded.

“That's good. The first night I was here, they picked up on what I thought would be appropriate for me to ask for instead of what I actually wanted. So I ended up with a bowl of plain broth.” Lydia chuckled.

“For my first breakfast, they made me a hamburger and french fries, because all I could think about on the way here was trying more American food.” The other sister said without a hint of an accent.

“This is Sister Luna Shin.” Lydia said. “If you like, she can show you around after you finish breakfast.”

Sister Luna giggled. “I am not used to living in a cloister. I miss meeting new people.”

Moriah smiled. “I would like that.”

Moriah poked at the eggs on her plate. Were they chicken eggs or something else? They tasted rich and buttery, unlike anything she had ever eaten. She’d never had breakfast that good in her life, but didn't want to embarrass herself by asking too many questions.

When she finished eating, Sister Luna agreed to show her the convent’s library.

The sunlight burned her eyes as Sister Luna guided her across the courtyard. Strange birds sang from the trees, songs she’d never heard before. Beautiful melodies that raised her spirits.

Opposite the dormitory, the library towered over all the other buildings within the ancient stone walls. Through the large oaken doors, they entered a small foyer that opened up into an enormous labyrinth of shelves and stairwells leading up into rings of books and shelves going all the way up the tower.

At the ceiling, luminous shapes marking planets, stars and constellations floated freely. She recognized many of the symbols from the astrology books she’d read. The others intrigued her.

Everything smelled of musty, old paper and aged leather. Tables and chairs covered the main floor. Light flashed from a few sisters here and there, studying ancient tomes and testing incantations.

Luna stopped, spun around, and asked, “is there anything in particular you’re interested in reading about?”

Moriah glanced around at all the books in the tower. “How do I choose?” She didn’t know how to answer that question with any word other than everything, so as she too often did in an unfamiliar situations, she kept quiet.

A mischievous glint twinkled in the corner of Luna's eye, and she smiled. “I know something that I think you will love.” 

She led Moriah to the back of the tower and pointed up.

Moriah’s breath caught in her chest.

A painting of a brown-skinned angel with a white blindfold and dress hovered over a flooded classical city. The wing on the left was black with shadows, and the right wing shown with vibrant red and black feathers. Between her hands, something red glowed brightly.

“Who is that?” Moriah asked.

“Amaresh.” Luna said reverently. “That was the day she tried to use the stone of heaven to save Talan tesh from the wrath of the deceiver.”

Moriah reached up to the painting. She didn’t touch it. That was the last thing on her mind.

The blindfolded angel’s expression stoically defied the horror unfolding around her. Flames crackled and hissed as they licked the surface of the flood water. 

People screamed in the background as the angel chanted. Her voice a rebellious melody standing in the breech between life and death. 

Amaresh turned to face Moriah and smiled.

Moriah jumped back.

Luna was gone. 

“Can you see me?” Moriah asked.

Luna emerged from the stacks of books. She stopped and examined Moriah. “Are you alright?”

Moriah had no words. She struggled to make a sound only to hear herself say, “are the paintings alive?”

Luna grinned. “Not always. They move, but sometimes, they take on the life of their subject. Why? Did you see something?”

“Everything.” Moriah said, shaking her head slowly as she dragged her attention from the painting.

Luna flashed a tight but friendly smile. In her arms, she held what appeared to be a book made of glass. She set it gingerly on a nearby table and pulled up two chairs.

“I think you will need one of these.” Luna patted the seat of the chair next to her and waited for Moriah to sit down. “This is a question book. I still love reading them. This one is about history.”

Luna opened the book, but there was nothing in there except for the distorted surface of the table.

“Now, you hold it with both hands, and ask a question.” Luna said.

Moriah grabbed the book with both hands and formulated the perfect question in her mind. But what constituted the perfect question? Should she ask about the covenant she’d heard them talking about last night, or the painting she struggled to drag her attention from?

The glass frosted as if filled with a cold liquid, and words and images appeared as if inscribed on paper.

Tiny figures stood before the stylized form of living mountains. As they moved, the mountains took on an increasingly humanoid figure.

The letters resembled calligraphy from an illuminated manuscript, but she didn't recognize all of them. 

She must have had a strange look on her face, because Luna pointed to the offending letters and explained what they were.

With a little practice, Moriah found it easy to read. It was a story of a terrible war against a dragon called Nyx, and how two Giants foresaw a second war coming.

Moriah slumped back in her chair and gazed with amazement at the magical glass book. “I can't believe they were able to cover up all of this.”

Luna smiled. “My father always said, that's why they invented the dark ages, so they can explain the loss of all that history.” 

“Everything else before that, they said it was a little more than myth in legend.” Moriah shook her head. “How many people know that this is our actual history?”

“Probably not too many. Lies are easier to spread than a conspiracy is to maintain. Most likely, they believe the lies, and no longer have to work to suppress the truth.”

“And the sad thing is, they would write me off as crazy if I tried to tell anyone about any of this.” Moriah gazed longingly up at the portrait of Amaresh among the flames. “Does this thing have her story in it?”

After reading about the adventures of the blinded angel, Amaresh, for hours, Moriah’s thoughts pressed on her mind. Everything she learned in school was wrong. Well, not wrong, but different in the details. This history showed her a world that she hoped, dreamed, and prayed for all her life. Her muscles tightened in her chest and her blood slid like cold, dull blades in her veins.

Like a silent prayer, she whispered, “what is magic?”

The book responded with three words, “connection and passion.”

Moriah closed the book. Those words were so simple, too simple. It must have hid the genuine answer.

“Luna.” Moriah sighed her name as she failed to let go of her anxiety. “What can I do to ensure that they will let me stay.”

Luna tilted her head to the side and repeated the question to herself. “Just tell them you want to stay, and sign the covenant. I can get you a copy of it if you want to read it.”

“It can't be that simple. No one just offers you the keys to the kingdom without wanting something in return.”

“Please don't take this the wrong way, but what could any of us possibly want from you?”

Moriah blinked a couple times.

“Not to be rude, but it's going to take time for you to learn how to use magic properly, for you to become a member of society in full. Until then, and I'm sorry if this sounds harsh, but what use would you be to any of us?”

“You see, that's exactly the point. I am of no use to anyone. So, why would they let me stay?”

“Because you wanted to.”

“Really? That's all it would take?”

“And you would have to sign the covenant. I really don't understand why you were having such a hard time understanding this.” Luna scratched absentmindedly over her right eyebrow.

“Because where I come from, when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.”

“I don't understand what you mean by too good to be true. Do you think all of this is too good to be true? This is just our life. This could be your life too, if you want it.”

Moriah stared into Luna’s eyes and watched the fires of life glimmer within them. It was remarkable that she couldn't understand what it meant for something to be too good to be true.

She smiled, but the fear lingered within her that somehow she just wasn't good enough. How could she deserve to live in a place like this?

Luna touched the back of her hand lightly before taking it into her own. “You are safe here, or at least as safe as you can ever be in this life. Don't worry about it. There isn't a test. No one is going to judge you on account of your past.”

What a foreign concept? “Then how exactly will I be judged?”

“Is this some kind of game? What are the rules?”

Moriah leaned back in her chair. Luna really didn't understand her. It wasn't the magic that made this place so strange, but the attitudes of the people here.

Moriah squeezed Luna's hand before withdrawing her own. “No, it's not a game. It's just going to take me a while to let that sink in. I'm not used to being treated, well, I don't exactly know the word for how you're treating me, but it's different.”

“Honestly? I think that might be the word you're looking for. I don't have anything to hide. We don't have anything to hide. So we don't have any need for the lies that you've grown up with.”

The first time she was called a child of the lie, it felt like an insult. It was as if they were saying something bad about her parents and grandparents. She felt like they were judging her.

Now, it appeared so much more descriptive. All of her worries, doubts, insecurities were centered around how she was going to save face in front of the strangers so they would allow her to be one of them. She didn't want them to think she was a fraud.

Maybe she was more of a child of the lie than she ever could've imagined before they pointed it out to her. Every moment of her life, she had to judge the nature of the people in the room, and adjust her behavior to fit in, or at least not to stand out too much.

After a lifetime of worrying about what everyone else thought about her, how was she supposed to just flip a switch and not care anymore? Was it even the right thing to do?

Honestly, how could one simple word change in meaning so much in such a short time? She never thought she was being dishonest, but she rarely let people know too much about her. She changed how she acted so she would be safe, never too loud, never playing into the stereotypes that others expected.

Some of that came easily to her, but she well rehearsed the rest, taught to her by her parents and her friends, who just wanted what was best for her.

It was impossible to believe that life could ever be quite so simple, but she hoped that it could.

The simple, seductive idea that she could just be herself, and not have to look over her shoulders, or worry about who in the room might wish to do her harm, or at the very least wish the worst upon her, was inviting.

Despite all of Luna’s protestations, such a world really did sound way too good to be true.