Book Review: Mirrored Heavens

With the days finally getting warmer and the leaves coming out, I finally found the time to pick up Mirrored Heavens! Consider yourself warned that the below contains major spoilers about the end of the series.

Mirrored Heavens is the third and final instalment of the Between Earth and Sky series written by Rebecca Roanhorse and published by Saga Press, an imprint of Simon & Schuster. Drawing from pre-Columbian American culture, the many interweaving plot threads of an epic fantasy come together as a conflict between gods plays out through mortal proxies acting out their various agendas in the Meridian continent. War has finally arrived. Serapio grapples with his role as new tyrant king of the spire-city of Tova and embodiment of the Crow, god death and darkness, while former priestess Naranpa pursues greater understanding of her connection to the Firebird, god of life and light. Our former captain (and not a pirate!) Xiala comes to terms with her past and the responsibilities she owes to her people, as well as the connection she holds with the Mother, god of the sea. Our primary antagonist Balam moves the pieces in place to reign over the cities of the continent as the Jaguar god did in centuries past. Meanwhile, countless other characters follow their own agendas and claim their own sides in the war, impacting each other in ways both obvious and subtle.

I had mixed feelings on finishing this book, as my excitement over such a rich world, dynamic characters, and intricate plot clashed with a creeping sense of disappointment at how suddenly it ended. Roanhorse has created such a colourful and complex world to dive into, and is well deserving of all the awards that the series has won. But having spent two and a half books building out and building up the conflict to epic proportions, as I got closer and closer to the end I kept thinking, โ€œHow the hell are we going to wrap this up?โ€ย 

The answer to that question ended up being โ€œsuccinctly.”ย 

This third book spends a lot of time building up towards the final confrontation, a grand battle between forces on the outskirts of our main city of Tova. But this final battle ends before it can begin, as in spite of the antagonistโ€™s clever maneuvering, ruthless use of magic, and two pronged approach by land and by sea, our protagonists discover the army massing at their doorstep and cut them off at the knees. The defeat of the sea-forces are told in passing with a couple of sentences after the fact. The final battle never happens, which would be fine if it didnโ€™t come across so unintentionally abrupt. 

The elimination of many of the secondary protagonists and antagonists feels like happenstance rather than key moments. Balam, who has slowly been falling prey to the madness that comes with forbidden magic, more or less abandons the war and our final confrontation ends up being our main characters who stumble upon each other in a completely different place. This becomes the climax of the series, as Naranpa, who is not truly present but has given herself over to the Firebird elsewhere, destroys Tova in fire while Serapio struggles to resist the will of the Crow to confront her, and Xiala fights to the death against Balam, ultimately coming out victorious before she stabs Serapio to release him from the clutches of his god, presumably killing him in the process (he does survive of course, but I think that twist is bittersweet and a good note to end on). Naranpa, believing herself to have lost everything, succumbs to the endless sleep of one who has been overtaken by a god. We end by learning of what the few survivors now accomplish six years later, their roles vastly different from where they started. 

Ultimately, none of this is necessarily a bad thing because there is something to be said about war and conflict being propelled by coincidence, happenstance, and often ending in ways that are abrupt and unsatisfying. There are other stories that do this very well, and I like them for that grittiness. I wouldnโ€™t even say that Mirrored Heavens does it poorly either, as looking back at the earlier books, that theme is consistent throughout. Nevertheless, to my mind, something about the pace, the setup, and the execution of what should have been an epic finale to a grand story just didnโ€™t stick the landing quite as well as I had hoped. 

One thing I wanted to highlight that Roanhorse does exceptionally well is holding tension and creating anticipation, not just within a single book but across the entire series. The best example of that surrounds Serapio and Xiala. Their relationship in the first book is so moving and the chemistry leaps off the page, but of course, they become separated for most of the remainder of the series. Over that time, however, there are one or two moments where, unbeknownst to them, they almost find each other again. Every time I just found myself so wound up over it in a way that made me want to stay up late and keep reading until they finally got there. I donโ€™t think Iโ€™ve ever read a series where I felt so frustrated, but was so pleased about it and eager to keep going.

All that being said, I would give Mirrored Heavens a 7/10 but confidently rate Between Earth and Sky as a whole 8/10 in favour of how lush and magnetic it is. If youโ€™re looking for an epic fantasy that stands out and holds its own, Roanhorse is the way to go.

Book Review: The Goblin Emperor

The Goblin Emperor, written by Katherine Addison and published by Tor in 2014, is one of my favourite standalone books. I canโ€™t add any more in praise that hasnโ€™t already been said better by others over the past ten years, but having reread it recently, I simply had to try. Having reread it a few times whenever I want something familiar and comfortable, I can genuinely say that itโ€™s a beautiful story.ย 

It opens with Maia, the relegated fourth son of the current Emperor of the Elflands, living in squalor at the edges of the realm under the thumb of an abusive cousin. Maia suddenly ascends to the throne after his father and three older brothers die in a tragic accident, and after spending his entire life in exile has to navigate the dangerous political waters into which he has found himself. Surrounded by contempt for his youth, his ignorance, and his mixed heritage, Maia decides that while he cannot truly trust anyone, he must choose to trust someone. First and foremost that being his secretary Csevet and his vow-sworn bodyguards Beshelar and Cala. As the months pass, he finds allies and slowly comes to terms with his new reality of responsibility and loneliness. No one is equal to the emperor, and therefore the emperor cannot truly have friends. Nevertheless, in the face of hardships, conspiracy, and coups, Maia never forgoes his commitments to kindness, respect, and warmth, forgoing the temptation of using power for personal gain.

Itโ€™s Maiaโ€™s commitment to kindness and the strength of his character that makes this story so comforting in spite of its exclusive focus on court intrigue. While at its core The Goblin Emperor is a dense political drama (within which Maia does not truly drive the action as opposed to simply reacting to circumstances), the story chooses to dig deeply into its many characters rather than leaning on its plot. Addison masterfully captures the essence of dozens of complex and compelling characters in only a few sentences, and every one of them is crucial within the rich tapestry that she weaves. That isnโ€™t to say that the plot is weak, quite the contrary, I think itโ€™s quite strong as a political intrigue. But this is certainly a character driven story rather than a plot driven story. Issues like misogyny, homophobia, race, and class are all touched on and addressed delicately, but with a firm belief in what is right and just. The language and writing style is impeccable. Addison makes masterful use of Old English conventions to mark the various layers of implication and intimacy of conversations, while also creating a detailed and complex series of naming conventions that truly elevate her worldbuilding. The storyโ€™s voice is wonderfully unique and immersive.ย 

Ultimately, I give this book a 10/10 and cannot emphasize enough how dear this book is to me. Itโ€™s cozy, comforting, and brings to mind those slow winter nights with a soft blanket and mug of hot chocolate. The Goblin Emperor takes our hands gently and says that kindness is a strength to be cultivated in spite of, and in fact because of, the hardships of the world, and says it convincingly.

Sword & Shield

The crowbar whistles by my temple. I jerk my head back and it misses me by an inch. The desperate relief doesnโ€™t even register through the exhaustion fogging my mind. The strike I make in return, cutting up at an angle across the raiderโ€™s torso, doesn’t miss. The woman falls. As her body hits the ground, Iโ€™m suddenly furious at the waste of it. All the vibrant lives cut short today because of one provincial baronโ€™s petty greed and spite. But heโ€™s not the one killing farmers and blacksmithsโ€™ sons right now, is he? I think bitterly as I spin and raise my guard again, muscles burning with the effort. So, whoโ€™s fault is it really?

Is this really justice? Are we even protecting anyone anymore?

Iโ€™m just so fucking tired.

The ground around is littered with bodies. Only a few assailants remain. Iโ€™ve lost my shield. I canโ€™t see Kallias, but I can just make out his ragged breaths โ€“ half shouting – as he fights. Weโ€™re both flagging. Heโ€™s trying to bait them forward, but his words have lost their usual mocking bite. 

โ€œI donโ€™t want to be bond-partnered with some ugly, dirt covered bog urchin!โ€

I blinked. The other novices stifled nervous laughs at the boyโ€™s outburst, watching as he glared disdainfully at Master Jacobs, chin raised with the kind of defiance only a twelve-year-old can manage.

โ€œNevertheless, Kallias, Iโ€™m assigning you with Alexi,โ€ the man replied calmly. โ€œAnd I expect that from this point forward you will work together, train together, and trust and rely on each other as you would no one else.โ€

He turned to the rest of the room and raised his voice.

โ€œAll of you here have been given a duty that from now on, you are expected to uphold with honour, care, and conscientiousness. That duty is not owed to me. It is not owed to the lord-prefect or to the king. It is a duty owed to the world and to your fellow knights. None more so than your bond-partners.โ€ All the novices held their breath, rapt by Master Jacobsโ€™ words, myself included, so that the derisive snort from Kallias was perfectly audible as he rolled his eyes. Master Jacobs turned his head to look at him.

โ€œIf you choose to neglect that duty,โ€ he continued evenly, โ€œthat is within your right. I cannot control your hearts and minds and will not pretend otherwise. But you will live far longer and happier lives by embracing the responsibilities youโ€™ve been given rather than running away from them.โ€

With that, he turned away. Kallias walked over to stand next to me, though not so close that anyone could mistake his apparent loathing, arms crossed sullenly. I tossed him a small sparring blade.

โ€œYou know, if anyone has a right to be pissy, itโ€™s me,โ€ I proffered, too low for anyone else to hear. โ€œI didnโ€™t ask to be bond-partnered with a lazy, lice-ridden wastrel either.โ€

He hit me with the practice sword.

I hold my longsword in a cross guard, using its reach to keep the trio in front of me from closing the distance, spinning to keep them from my unprotected back. Where Kallias would be if they hadnโ€™t swarmed and separated us.

All three lunge at once, pressing their advantage. The tallest inexpertly wields a short sword, slashing at my neck while the second crouches low to catch me in the ribs with a dagger thatโ€™s seen better days. Heโ€™s young. Barely more than a boy. His eyes are a stormy gray.

โ€œIs that really all youโ€™ve got, Alexi?โ€

Kallias danced to the edge of the ring and slouched back against the ropes, grinning and flipping the dull practice blade in his hand like he had all the time in the world. His eyes were alight with mischief, gray brightened to silver. The dusk light suited him, and it wasnโ€™t just the exertion of sparring that made my breath hitch in my chest. He was so beautiful. 

I stepped forward, sword held high at the ready and grinned back. โ€œCome find out.โ€

I parry the blade and allow the momentum of my swing to draw me into a turn, hips and shoulders pivoting to drive my sword through the young manโ€™s arm at the shoulder, severing it. I donโ€™t have the wherewithal to identify the emotion that sings through me at seeing him fall to the ground screaming. The third, a stocky man, cuts down to slam an axe into my back and finds his blow skimming my armour with an awful metallic screech before my elbow cracks into his nose. The axe drops from his hand as he reels back.

But Iโ€™ve overextended. Iโ€™m too off balance. Despite the broken nose, half blind, he grabs my sword arm and pulls open my guard just enough, just in time, for his last remaining companion to take his opening.

โ€œCome on!โ€  Kallias pulled me by the arm through the crowd, shouting in my ear to be heard over the din. โ€œIโ€™m tired of being packed in like a sardine!โ€

We escaped the crush of people and sat on the cliffs alone, watching the fireworks from afar. I leaned against his shoulder, both of us laughing and drunk off the energy of the summer solstice festival. Drunk off the stolen bottle already half empty in Kallias’s hands too. The multicoloured bursts of light outlined the planes of his face and played in the curls of his hair, and I marveled again at how beautiful he was in the low light. I think I said it aloud. Maybe thatโ€™s why something suddenly pulled taught between us and he turned to look at me.

But when he leaned in, I pulled away and his lips brushed my cheek instead.

โ€œKalliasโ€ฆโ€

He raised an eyebrow, questioning and confused.ย 

โ€œThis isnโ€™t a good idea,โ€ I said.

Had I not been looking away, perhaps I would have seen the hurt that flashed across his face. But when I looked up he just shrugged, easy and light, and smiled like nothing was wrong at all.

โ€œNo harm done,โ€ he said wryly, as we turned back to the fireworks. โ€œWeโ€™re partners until a violent death do us part. And I canโ€™t trust anyone else to keep me in the extravagant lifestyle to which Iโ€™m accustomed.โ€

I see the blow coming but canโ€™t raise my guard in time. Iโ€™m too slow. Too tired. And thereโ€™s no trick up my sleeve this time. I finally find Kallias in my periphery from the glint of his armour and turn my head.

Duty. Responsibility. From the moment I was dedicated, I took those things to heart in a way he never did, and was content. I molded myself into a shield, protecting the helpless and the hopeless of the world from those that would seek to harm them. And a shield doesnโ€™t get to want anything. A shield puts themselves between those they serve and danger, without counting the cost to itself.

In that final moment, perhaps for the first time, I count the cost.

His eyes find mine. They widen in fear.

We donโ€™t even need to speak to understand each other most days. Not anymore. More than a decade together and our shared language has become one of gestures and silent expressions. Necessary in our line of work, as often thereโ€™s no time for words.

I hope that he recognizes what I wish I could say aloud. What I should have said a long time ago.

It was always you. He would have been enough for me, and Iโ€™ll die here regretting that I never said it. Regretting that I was a coward. Regretting that weโ€ฆ no, that Iโ€ฆ chose thankless, faithless duty over him. The world didnโ€™t need all of me.

I love you. I wish we had more time.

The blade falls.


These two have my whole entire heart, and I simply cannot stop myself from imagining tragic ends for them. How much can I hurt myself in just 30-seconds of action?

Alexi has been my character in my favourite long-running ttrpg game for three years now, and I cannot express adequately how much I love my genderfluid dhampyr knight. While this isn’t a complete one to one representation from that particular campaign (it’s way more high fantasy than what’s here), but the emotions and the intensity are exactly correct. Alexi ain’t dead yet (in spite of their risk taking behaviour – it’s necessary I swear!), but if they do have to die, it better be as dramatic and heart-wrenching as this.

Writing Prompt #6: Bitter Nostalgia

“A feeling of love and nostalgia gripped her heart every time she looked at that photograph of …. “



A feeling of love and nostalgia gripped his heart every time he looked at that photograph of the two of them, crinkled at the edges in spite of his care over the years. It was a sharp feeling, bittersweet at best, and it always eventually left him breathless with pain.

He didnโ€™t think it would ever go away.ย 

Sofia and James. She stared out at him, as serene and lovely as the night they met. The still image couldnโ€™t capture the playful vivacity sheโ€™d had in life, carefully cultivated and carefully wielded. Sheโ€™d caught his eye. Heโ€™d asked her to dance. Her husband had been so busy that he hadnโ€™t noticed her waltzing with the young merchant heโ€™d snubbed only hours before.

In her arms, waving gleefully at the camera, was James. Jem. He would have beenโ€ฆ four years old. As bright and clever and playful as his mama in spite of the suffocating rigours of life as a dignitaryโ€™s son.ย ย 

He felt the guilt crawl up his throat, choking him. They’d never been his in the first placeโ€ฆ and it was his fault they were gone now.ย 

Theyโ€™d been together for less than a year, but it had been the happiest year of his life. Sheโ€™d filled his life with passion and laughter and intrigue while James had instilled a parental fondness that he hadnโ€™t known he possessed. Everything had finally fallen into place; he’d had everything he neededโ€ฆ and still heโ€™d wanted more. Heโ€™d been hungry for so long, he hadnโ€™t known what it was to be satisfied.

That mistake had killed them both in the end.ย 


So this is absolutely the same character from Writing Prompt #2, and he’s one of my favourite characters from the ttrpg I’m currently running. This is all backstory of his that my players haven’t found yet and maybe they won’t ever get there… but I adore him and all the complicated decisions he’s made.

Thatโ€™s all for me this today! Please like, comment, and share if you enjoy what youโ€™ve read. 

Above all, be kind to one another. 

Love, Charlotte

Art Book #1 + Bonus 5-Minute Poem

If I were a star and you were a star
I would shine for you and pine for you
spinning forever apart, waiting
for your light to reach me
while they call our love "science"

So it’s been a crazy week and that’s means we get something a little different today! A five minute poem and a favourite painting that I’ve done recently.

I don’t often find the time to paint, but when I do I have a deep fondness for night skies and mountains landscapes. My trash book is going to be filled with them when all’s said and done.

Thatโ€™s all for me! Please like, comment, and share if you enjoy what you’ve read.ย 

Above all, be kind to one another. 

Love, Charlotte

Book Review: The Thief

A great friend of mine recently recommended The Thief written by Megan Whalen Turner,. I’d been noodling around searching for my next book or series to jump in on, and getting a recommendation that came with so much hype sparked my curiosity (and relief that I didn’t have to keep searching). Plus, I donโ€™t read nearly enough fantasy from the nineties or early oughts. Despite being skeptical for the first few chapters, ultimately I was very glad to be recommended this gem! Not only is the world itself rich and beautiful, but our protagonist is absolutely, as my friend would say, โ€œThe Guy of All Time.โ€ย 

A recent edition cover of The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner with a quote by Laini Taylor that reads, "Peerless... Stunning... Exceptional."

The Thief was published by Greenwillow Books (an imprint of what would later become Harper Collins) in 1996. The book opens with our thief, Gen, imprisoned by the King of Sounis for bragging too loudly about being able to steal anything, including the Kingโ€™s Seal. Having languished pathetically in prison for some months, Gen is pulled from his cell (shouting and crying the entire way because the sun is too bright) and pressed into the service of the kingโ€™s top advisor and scholar, only ever called โ€œthe magusโ€. The magusโ€™ goal: travel across the mountains into the hostile nation of Attolia and steal a legendary artifactโ€ฆ by using the self proclaimed greatest thief in the country.ย 

Joining them on their long journey are the two apprentices Sophos (young, sweet, and bookish) and Ambiades (arrogant, snide, and temperamental) as well as strong and silent bodyguard Pol. The five make their journey together, showing us the world of Sounis, Eddis, and Attolia. On the way, we listen to Gen whine about his poor treatment, demand to stop for lunch every couple hours, complain about his many ills, and overall makes himself a nuisance while somehow still being charming. Like a shivering, big eyed chihuahua. When they arrive at their destination, a small temple submerged in a river for all but four days a year, Gen undertakes the simple task of stealing the gift of a god and then somehow slipping away to freedom before he can be taken back to Sounis. How hard can that be for the man who can steal anything?


This book requires your patience and undivided attention, without being a difficult read. Ultimately itโ€™s a straightforward travelling adventure. As our characters journey to find their precious artifact, we learn about the world and its gods, see its landscapes, and skim the surface of its tumultuous politics. Unfortunately, this means that the first half of the book is excruciatingly slow. I found myself wondering when the plot would start to take off amidst the pages and pages of exposition and descriptions. That being said, those exquisite descriptions and turns of phrases are also the book’s greatest strength. Turnerโ€™s use of language is mesmerizing, and my absolute favourite thing was the โ€œSea of Olives.โ€ Something about sweeping forests of olive trees with leaves shimmering in the breeze through the mountain valleys just captured my imagination like nothing else. 

Now, my qualms on pacing were compounded by our main characters only being sketched out in broad strokes for most of the story. Even Gen! I wanted to read more about all of them and their relationships with each other, but never felt that I got a good sense of who they were despite the focus being set so squarely on them for the entire book. Travelling is usually all character study. Of course it quickly became apparent that there was more to Gen than meets the eye, and come the climax of the story everyone felt very fleshed out and nuanced. But it takes an awfully long time to get there. I donโ€™t think the subtlety and sparseness is a bad thing by any means; Iโ€™d gone into this book completely blind and as I mentioned, I donโ€™t read much older fantasy. Itโ€™s all about setting expectations. 

As for the twist (thieves always come with a twist), it completely re-contextualizes everything that preceded it, which is exactly what a โ€œtwistโ€ should do. It was well thought out and foreshadowed to the point that I would hesitate to call it a twist at all. The small details that lead you there are subtle. While it didnโ€™t take me long to start suspecting what was really going on, even if you donโ€™t, youโ€™ll be nothing but satisfied with the result. It truly elevates Gen to the level of โ€œGuy Of All Time,โ€ and makes him exponentially more interesting.ย 

Overall I rate this book 9/10! The only reason for the less-than-perfect score is for the aforementioned beginning thatโ€™s so ponderous and exposition heavy to the point of doubting the book. Iโ€™m excited to pick up The Queenโ€™s Thief, since this book felt most like a prologue to whatever is going to happen next. The stage has been set and now the show really begins.


Thatโ€™s all for me today! Please like, comment, and share if you enjoy what you’ve read. 

Above all, be kind to one another. 

Love, Charlotte

Writing Prompt #5: Back at Arcadia

โ€œShe was usually an optimistic person but the challenge that faced her on that first day back in a classroom after so many years threatened to overwhelm her.”



She was used to facing challenges! Theyโ€™d been her bread and butter for the past decade! 

But those challenges had usually been something straightforward like decrypting arcane ciphers while a razor cage closed in on you (not her fault!) or dodging angry spirit guardians who did not appreciate someone stepping into their domain (okayโ€ฆ that one was her fault). You know – real challenges. Things with life or death stakes that made you feel truly alive under all the dirt, sweat, and blood. 

Until the day you got too slow and ended up suddenly very dead. 

Gods, sheโ€™d loved it. Students trickled into what was now – regrettably – her lecture hall, and she restrained a dejected sigh. Filtering through the open door was the staccato murmur of twenty somethings (basically children!) passing by on their way to whatever class theyโ€™d justified was worth the extortionate amount of money theyโ€™d paid. The sound grated on her already paper-thin patience. 

Sheโ€™d actually forgotten how much she hated academia (the institution, not the concept), and the violent death sheโ€™d always been expecting looked more and more tempting by the minute. But no, that luxury had passed her by thanks to that last jobโ€ฆ and the payout hadnโ€™t lasted nearly as long as sheโ€™d hoped. Sheโ€™d only gone to Smythe because she was desperate for something to keep her afloat, and she suspected (justifiably!) that he had capitalized on that. 

Regardless, she was back. University of Arcadia. Now on the other side of the desk.

As the door swung shut and the last students took their seats, she looked over the lecture hall wearily and thought, โ€œGods help us all.โ€


I’m sensing a theme with some of my writing class prompts.

I actually really like the character that I’ve sketched out with this one! There’s something about her voice and exasperation here that I find really compelling and funny. I’m going to keep this one in my back pocket to work on later and make into a longer narrative when the inspiration strikes.

Thatโ€™s all for me this today! Please like, comment, and share if you enjoy what youโ€™ve read. 

Above all, be kind to one another. 

Love, Charlotte

Writing Prompt #4: Wonder

The feeling nestled under her breastbone like a small bird, alive and restless, as her feet sank into soft loam, leaving footprints behind.

Her senses were sharper; insects and small creatures fled at her approach, their skittering clear as the sound of her own steps. She felt more real than she ever had, just a slip of a girl moving silently through the trees. Just another shadow at dusk. Her mother had always dissuaded her (half-heartedly) from exploring past the periphery of the great forest their cottage nestled against, but at the end of the day they were too much alike. Her mother knew that her daughters were proud and stubborn and dreadfully curious, so she let them run free.

Rosie had run to the sea, but Ada was drawn to the forest.

The forest really belonged to her mother anyway, so why would there be anything to fear? The sharp scent of fir and early frost dominated over the sweet scent of decay. Autumn was giving way to winter. The soft things were dying, leaving space for the hardy, sharp things to emerge. Things like her, she thought, as that small bird in her ribcage ruffled its feathers and sang.

She had once asked her mother who had named the Witchwood and why; her mother had replied that that had always been its name as far back as anyone could remember, though no witch or hag had ever lived there. No, there wouldnโ€™t have been, Ada thought, as night fell and still she continued on. Because it had been waiting.

Waiting for her


Am I taking inspiration for these from established characters I already use for my own ttrpg games? Yes. But when you’re working full-time, freelancing, and also taking another writing class because you didn’t expect that you’d get really busy… you take inspiration where you can get it.

Plus, can I really help loving my favourite character’s daughters? In the campaign I’m running right now they’re only twelve, but I like thinking about them and what their stories are going to be someday. Rosie will grow up to be a swashbuckling pirate just like her father, and Ada will end up a proper storybook witch-hag in a cottage of her own. Not quite like her mama, but still such a satisfying direction.

They’re absolute sweeties and also terrors to behold hahaha.

That’s all for me this today! Please like, comment, and share if you enjoy what you’ve read. 

Above all, be kind to one another. 

Love, Charlotte

Mountain of Madness

I went on a two day writer’s retreat with a couple close friends of mine this past weekend and cannot recommend the experience enough! We ended up staying at a small family-run retreat ground with some well furnished yurts, wood burning stoves, and private hot tubs which honestly created the perfect winter atmosphere to shake off some of the post-holiday blues. Plus, there’s something about writing and bouncing ideas off of friends that makes for such a fun, relaxing time.

I decided to revisit an old short story I whipped up for a creative writing class last fall, since I wanted to seriously tackle smoothing out the rough edges. I’m a big fan of horror stories (though I’m very picky about them too), and ended up chasing an idea that was very Lovecraftian. Lovecraft was the first horror writer I ever read when I was younger and tackling a lot of the “classics,” so I have a fondness for his work (hence the title, though At the Mountains of Madness was a slog to get through).

She still needs some tweaks, but I’m very happy with the current state of affairs. I hope you love the twist at the end as much as I loved writing it!


I must tell them, I think feverishly, huddling in a small cavern in the dark. 

Hiding from the lights. 

Hiding from what I know the lights herald. 

I wrap my arms around myself and shudder, my skin flushing hot and cold as I struggle to maintain what little composure I have left. They must believe me! Iโ€™m one of them. Iโ€™m just as worthy a scholar! Theyโ€™re justโ€ฆ Iโ€™m notโ€ฆ 

My thoughts thrash, caught in a net of panic. This wasnโ€™t how it was supposed to go! 

Iโ€™ve spent so many seasons on the periphery, ignored and dismissed by the consortium. I tried so hard to find my way into the inner circles only for my path to be barred, not because I lacked intelligence or diligence or experience. No. The way remained closed because I lacked pedigree. Because Iโ€™m not from one of the founding bloodlines. I was never going to be allowed into the hallowed halls of learning unless I did something bold! Something none of them had ever even attempted before!

I can see them in my mind’s eye; self-satisfied, lazy scholars and philosophers gorging on oysters and roe while at the edges of the world those things press inโ€ฆ

Memories rise in my mind, unbidden, filling me with waves of terror that threaten to pull me deeper andโ€ฆ No! I hold back a cry. If I let myself fall apart now, then I wonโ€™t be able to make the journey back. There will be no one to warn the world of what is coming.

โ€ฆ

The journey from the consortiumโ€™s territories had been long and arduous. I hadnโ€™t told anyone of my plans, unable to bear the looks of pity and derision I was sure Iโ€™d attract; few in our history had ever returned from the eastern mountain ranges. Those that had had passed down stories of great grass plains and barren wastelands. Mountains of craggy rock that climbed higher and higher until they actually pierced the veil of the world, their peaks disappearing into that shimmering unknown. No one had ever ventured to see what lay beyond. 

No one until me. 

I had slithered through the grassy plains and darted across the wastelands, ignoring the hunger that grew by the day as neither held much in the way of food. Until finally I reached the base of the mountains. 

Jagged rock sharp enough to tear flesh ascended in fits and starts, so I carefully picked my way up the slope, pulling myself over sudden rises and angled cliff faces for gods knows how long. Until, finally reaching the horizon, I gaped in awe at the infinite space beyond. 

It was flush with colours I could never have imagined, filling my vision with a shimmering splendor such as Iโ€™d never seen before. It was worth it. My hearts leapt with elation, and the pleasure of victory drowned the doubts that had whispered in the back of my mind for weeks, much as I had tried to silence them. It was all worth it, just to see this.

Without consciously deciding, I reached up towards the barrier between known and unknown, until I realized what I was about to do and hesitated. My outstretched arm curled with uncertainty. But the voices of the consortium rose in my mind as they often did in such moments. Utter nonsense! How is this any different than the fanciful tales we get from every self-proclaimed explorer who crosses our shores? This isnโ€™t a scholarly account, itโ€™s a bedtime story! Their imagined disdain hardened my resolve, so I reached out again into that wide, strange space.

I cannot truly describe the feeling of what lies beyond. 

As I reached out, a thin layer of water rolled back over my arm as if it couldnโ€™t bear to exist in this other place. The thing that had cradled me all my life quickly dried up and was gone. I felt nothingness. There was only the lingering taste of salt that seemed to sink into my skin and linger, before even that was gone. I reached out with another arm, and another, and another, but still embraced only absence. 

There wasnโ€™t even a current in this place! Only stillness. 

But as I reached, I gradually noticed that this was not quite right. There was no current, but there was something faintly like a current. It was nothing I could understand, but there was still a taste ofโ€ฆ something. Acrid. Acidic. Alien. My limbs grew oddly heavy as adrenaline waned, and an irrational fear that they would soon begin to wither seeped into my hearts. I pulled myself back, mind racing with possibilities.

Consumed as I was by my own thoughts, I did not feel the vibrations in the current. I did not notice the taste of something else approaching me.

Not until it was far too late. 

Suddenly, a light brighter than any I had ever seen blinded me. Something that was not sharp but held the promise of sharpness gripped my body, and I felt the sickening press of what must have been living flesh stretched over a rigid lattice, spurs extending at violent angles to form a crude cage around my torso. I couldn’t escape.

Water cascaded away as if in fear as the thing dragged me out of the world. A foreign heaviness pressed on me from all sides. I tried to wrench myself free, arms grasping wildly for purchase. They wrapped around whatever held me, and my mind revolted at the wrongness of it. Its skin tasted bitter and toxic. It was covered in thousands of tiny filaments. I almost retched thinking that they were hyphae; I had seen what happened to those taken by fungi. I thrashed harder still at the thought as I was pulled further into the expanse. With my frantic movements, I was then able to roll an eye upward and see the leviathan that held me.

I wish that I hadnโ€™t. It would have been better to have died on my journey and been forgotten.

Its form was so alien, so unnatural and unlike anything I could have imagined, that to look at it strained the mind to breaking. It was angular, with grotesque proportions. Its movements were jointed and abrupt, though with a speed and dexterity that belied its size. I knew at that moment that I could struggle for hours, withering to a husk in this nothingness, and it would never tire. I was going to die in this place.

I still fought, keening wordlessly in fright, pushed past the point of coherency. A seam opened within the creatureโ€™s flesh, surrounded by long, dense hyphae that quivered at the movementโ€ฆ a mouth. A mouth filled with blunt teeth. How does it hunt? How does it eat?? Those baffled thoughts vanished at the sound that the creature made.

My panic spiked at the reverberations, so deeply pitched that I couldnโ€™t truly hear them. But what sent me careening over the edge into hysteriaโ€ฆ were the echoing calls that responded in the distance. 

It was not alone. 

I wrenched my gaze from its maw to look past its bulk, and with blurred vision saw them. Other creatures like the one that held me, each with their own strange light. 

All waiting just beyond the shallows of the world. All now coming closer.

When I saw what lay beyond even them, any rational thought that I may have had left abandoned me. I must have lashed out at the creature. I must have hit it in some vital part. It cried out again; impossible to believe that that cry held anything but fury, but its grip loosened. I crashed violently into the waters of my own world. 

I didnโ€™t think. I simply fled.

โ€ฆ

I shiver in my cave alone, trying to gather the shreds of myself into some semblance of a person. No, they canโ€™t ignore me this time. I canโ€™t stop myself from breaking out into hysterical laughter and racking sobs. 

Come nightfall, I emerge twitching out of my hiding place and gaze out into the darkness. 

It should feel soothing. What octopus ever feared the dark? It should feel safe. 

But I know that it is not, and I will never feel safe again.

I dart out into the waters, heedless of the dangers that lurk among the coral. They donโ€™t matter now. All that matters is returning and telling everyone what Iโ€™ve seen, of the dangers that lurk beyond the waters. As I swim, I can see them still, burned into the backs of my eyes; harbingers of the horror that is sure to come. 

Thousands upon thousands of lights, glittering in the darkness.


What do you think?

That’s all for me this week! Please like, comment, and share if you enjoyed what you’ve read.

As always, be kind to one another.

Love, Charlotte.

Writing Prompt #3: Meadowlark

It’s another writing prompt this week!

This time, our assignment was based on the following snippet, which I used as the first line of a larger passage: “The playful intimacy she experienced with him was like nothing she’d ever experienced before.”


She vaguely recollected something akin to it in her foggy past, but she no longer truly recognized herself in those remembered moments. That had been a different time. She had been a different person – a gentler, kinder person – before everything had gone wrong.

Sheโ€™d had lovers since then of course, but never for longer than a single night and it was a rare thing to find someone willing to overlook the strangeness and death that lingered on her skin like perfume. Rarer still to make friends even if she had wanted to and she hadn’t.

She could admit to herself that she was lonely, and had been for a very long time.

Now, even more twisted than before, here was someone whoโ€ฆ didn’t care. Even better – or worse – , someone who embraced the sharpness and off-putting wrongness of her without flinching. Someone who wasn’t afraid to challenge her.

He was charming, he was intelligent, and he was ruthless, but above all else he was playful, and it was that quality that had her cautiously prowling around the idea of loving again. Perhaps not the same way she could have before, softly and warmly, but it would be a kind of love all the same. 


I wrote all these prompts for a creative writing course I took in the fall, and it didn’t escape my notice that the majority of the other students wrote literary fiction and romance novels. Both great genres with stories that I’ve loved, but not generally my cup of tea. For better or worse, I’m a sci-fi, fantasy, and horror enthusiast to my core (though I can’t emphasize enough how important it is to branch out as a writer and read from MANY genres).

I’m starting another short story focused writing course this week with the same teacher, so I’m sure I’ll plenty more to share in the coming weeks.

In the meantime, please like, comment, and share if you enjoy what you’ve read. 

And don’t forget to be kind to one another. 

Love, Charlotte