Imago Ch3: Time of the Month (Patreon)

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Neith II slumbers, warmed gently by the midday glow filtering through the skylight. 

Life has been going well for her. Silver Hair gives her something new every day to eat, she gets to sleep on Silver Hair when she rests, and best of all...

... no more Tall and Prickly. Her kingdom is secured. Just her and Silver Hair.


Ian raps at the underside of the hatch, a knot settling into his stomach. He hasn't been in L's room since their first night back. Afterward, Madeline had found him one of the spare broom closets to settle into. It lacks the pleasantries of a skylight or the camaraderie of a friend - mostly, it has a lingering odour of cleaning supplies and old rags.  It serves, though. It’s how it has to be.

"Oi, L? You awake? Got something from Trystan, thinks it might help with the nightmares."

He waits a beat. A second. A third.

"Mate?”

Silence.

“Comin' in. Holler if I'm intruding."

The hatch swings open and his head pops into the room. The scent of moonflower washes over him, and he closes his eyes, breathing it in. It's as if he's stepped back in time, back before -

"OW...!! FAHK!!" Ian yelps, shaking Neith II off his hand. She skids a few hops away and hisses, before wriggling under the bed. Ian can see her staring hatefully out at him from underneath.

With a sigh, he clambers the rest of the way and closes the hatch, shaking his hand. "Call off your attack slug, would you? I come in peace." Ian glances around. No sign of her.

"L...?"

"I-I'm not feeling well, Ian."  L’s voice comes from down the hall and to the left, within the loo.  "I might have… I think I hurt something."

Ian’s at the door immediately.  "I'm here, mate, what's wrong? Somethin’ wiff your wing?"

"N-not just my wing." There's a rustle, and the door creaks open. L's face is just visible, grey and pallid.  "It’s a bunch of things.  My head feels foggy. Everything hurts. And… Ian, there’s…”  Her voice goes thin. “I must have torn something when I flew into that stage.”

“Mate?”  Ian’s voice tightens.

“... there’s blood.”

“Blood?!”

She looks on the verge of tears.  “From… inside." L shrinks back into the bathroom. "Can you… get Madeline?"

Ian keeps her from closing the door.  "Bleeding?  Like… mate, are you talking internal bleeding?"

"I think so. I - " she puts a hand on her stomach, wincing.  “It’s… embarrassing.”

Ian's head tilts sideways. Slowly, something dawns over his expression.

"Bloody hell..." He whispers.

"What?” L's antennae quiver.

"It's finally happened."

"What’s finally happened?!”  Her voice pitches up.  “Ian, quit pissing around and - "

“It's yer time of the month."

L's face goes dead white.
Her eyes widen.
Her antennae stand straight up.

She slams the door.

Ian bursts into laughter, rattling the handle. "L, it's fine. It’s normal.  Yer not dying.”

“I don’t need a talk-through, thank you.”

“I can help.” Ian begins rummaging through his shoulder bag. “Mum’s always runnin’ out at the worst times, so I got in the habit to keep a few on hand."

The door creaks open again. This time, it's just L's eye, staring suspiciously through the crack. Ian can’t help but think of Neith II doing the same. It’s all he can do not to laugh again.

“Running out of what?”  L asks.

Ian pushes a yellow wrapped cylinder through the door.

"And before we both die of embarrassment..." Ian hands his phone through. "Ought to be plenty of tutorials online for how to use one of those, just give it a quick search.”

"Alright yes good thanks." L chokes out, pushing the door shut. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

“I'll be right out here, arright? Anything goes wrong, I'm just - "

"I'LL BE OUT. IN A FEW. MINUTES."

+++

The door creaks open.  L peaks out of the bathroom nervously, her wings held defensively at her back. Neith II wriggles along the baseboard, and she kneels down to let the alp-luachra slither up her arm and onto her shoulder. She can see Ian seated at the vanity. With a little huff, L marches over to him, holding her arm out stiffly. "Here’s your phone.”

"Happens to half the human population." He says, taking it.  "How’s yer back?"

"It hurts. I-”  L softens.  “Honestly, I thought that might have been related to my wings.”

Ian tries to stifle a laugh. It doesn’t work. L puffs up like an angry pigeon as he grabs the edge of the vanity, holding on to keep from falling out of his chair.  

“So just what queen died and made you the bloody expert?  Is it your time of the month too?!"

"Fair. Guess you’re the expert now!" Ian sputters, wiping away tears.  He reaches down and takes a pill bottle and compress out of his messenger bag, handing them over to her. “Asked Mads to heat this up.  It’ll help your back. Painkillers should handle the rest.”

"At least body aches I've got experience with.”  She shakes out a few pills and swallows them dry. “Wings get cramped under a jacket."

“I remember.”  He grins.  L ignores him but subsides, gratefully positioning the warm pad and making herself comfortable as she settles onto the bed. Neith II weaves through her hair.

“Comfortable?”  Ian asks.

She smiles awkwardly and nods. He looks at his phone, tapping thoughtfully at it.  “Mum always wanted Mackies. There's one not far from the Suites, if you want me to run out-”

"Thanks, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

She wiggles self consciously.  Ian grins.  “C’mon, out with it.”

“Maybe just a small bag of crisps?" There's a quick, excited tug at her hair.  "A big bag of crisps?"

Ian chuckles, then tosses her a little salute, pushing himself up and striding off. It’s not long before he's back with a crinkly foil bag proclaiming itself ‘Family Size’ in bright yellow letters. He tosses it to her, closing the hatch with his foot. "Surprising amount of human goods in the Market. Trys keeps talkin' about selling 'em."

"It would make feeding Neith II a lot easier!" L wrestles the bag open with an unceremonious pop.  She takes a bite before offering a second to the alp-luachra in her hair.

Ian flops down beside her.  Shyly, L offers a chip to him.  "You're pretty practised at this, huh."

"Had to be. Just Mum and I."  He snags the crisp, pulling clear before Neith II snaps at his fingers.

“You take care of people, even when you shouldn't have to. I think that's really decent of you, Ian.”  L feels her wings give a quick flutter of their own, and the deluge of texts she’d seen on his phone flash through her memory.  “So long as you're… reasonable about it."

He looks up, follows her gaze to the corner where only a few weeks ago, he’d sealed her in a salt circle. The mood in the room plummets, and Ian’s arms prickle. His head droops. “I haven’t known how to bring it up.”

“That makes two of us,” L admits.

An awkward silence fills the room. L pulls the bag of crisps into her lap.  “Ian, what happened?”

"... I..." He starts. Stops. Shifts. "I won't defend myself. Not really an answer, though, is it?"  Ian breathes out a harsh laugh. L isn’t smiling.

“Ian, can I trust you?”

The anger in her voice catches him off guard.  “I… of course!”  L looks meaningfully at him.  He breaks eye contact first.  “At least, I’d like you to. I didn't even know I was capable of that."

“Then…”  She pauses, weighing the words.  “Why did it happen?”

Ian nods. Then nods again. "Yeah. I guess… I owe you that much."

His eyes drift, staring into the middle distance, focusing on the dust motes hanging in the air. "You don’t know this, but when I was a kid mum was always racing off an’ bringing back these terrible men. They’d hurt her." He goes quiet. "Hurt me too, sometimes.  All I could do was watch her make these decisions, then deal with the consequences.”

He sits back heavily. “But now I'm an adult. I think, finally, now I can have control. Now I can be safe. When things come up, things can be discussed. I get a say."

L sits forward. "Would you call what happened a discussion?”

Ian goes quiet. Just stares.  "No." He says hoarsely. "No, I just... decided, didn' I? Wasn't even my decision to make."

He closes his eyes, shakes his head.  “Sorry, mate. What I did was fucked.”

“It’s…”   L breathes out a sigh and relaxes.   “It’s good to hear you say it.”  She extends the bag to him, and he takes a chip. “And while we’re clearing the air, I owe you an apology too.”

Ian looks surprised.   L looks up at him.  “I went through your phone.  The day of our fight.”

He looks fearful.  “You what?”

She nods down at the bed.  “It was plugged into the wall.  I thought maybe I could call for help.  And then I saw your notifications from your mum and…”  L shrugs.  “I was angry.   So I went through everything.” She breathes out a sigh.  “I’m sorry.  I wouldn’t normally do something like that, and I won’t do it again.”

L\s eyes flicker.  “Assuming you don’t pull shit like that again, either.”

Ian balls his hands into fists, staring hard at the mattress.  “I swear.  I’ll never do anything like that again.  Never in my life."

She softens, reaching over to lightly touch his hand.  “I believe you.”

The moment of fragile, thoughtful silence they share lasts longer than either one expects. L finally breaks it with a faint, bitter laugh.

“You know what’s really fucked?”  You were right about Spencer.”  She breaks off, cupping her wrist and looking down. The faint glow of the letters leaks past her fingers.

Ian shifts closer, gently moving the crisps aside. "Want to talk about it?"

L gives a lopsided shrug.  “What’s to talk about?  You saw what happened.”

“You can say no if you don’t want to. It’s arright.”

L thinks for a moment, staring at the comforter, before speaking again.

"It wasn't so bad at first.  We were out. We were dancing, drinking. Everything seemed so normal.”

“Then we got back to his place, and-" L turns her arm, pressing her wrist against the mattress. "He starts telling me all about nymphs, and showing me stuff. Weird, right? Like, how does he know more about nymphs than ME? I’m the bloody nymph!”

"Been a pretty steep learning curve." Ian offers, a worried look crossing his face. L's smile flickers.

“Yeah, well, either way, I ask to see his bug collection." She braces for a remark from Ian, but it doesn’t come. "And I ask him about his favourite, and he says… he shows me this… room with all my-"

L's hands grip at the mattress. "It shouldn't have gotten that far. I should have known what he was doing. Should have listened, or... maybe I did know and ignored it? It was so stupid of me-"

"Mate, you're not a mindreader - “ Ian starts.  

"I've had the practice, haven't I?” L interrupts. “What about that situation was safe? Even before he started chasing me, I - "

Her voice cracks and dissolves into silence. L’s wings stir, and she blinks, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes.

"You felt like you shoulda seen it coming." Ian says soberly.

She gives a short, choppy nod.

"What happened after that?"

"I tried running." She says, softly. "A-and then I tried talking, and then I tried begging, and it didn't work. None of it worked.  He wouldn't h-hear anything I said he wouldn’t stop he-”

Her voice cuts out.

“He did things to me."

Ian tightens visibly. She pulls her wrist close and curls in on herself, rocking slightly.

“You’re here, mate.  You can stop if you want.”

L shakes her head. Her voice trembles, but she presses on.

“He started the… Keeping, but it would have faded unless he finished the magic. To make it permanent, he would have to-”

L looks at her wrist, staring at the letters burned into it.

Daphne
Kept of Spencer

Her voice wavers, a paper-thin scrape in the silent room.

"Lyra… killed him."

L shudders. "We killed him."

Her expression crumples, and she clenches her hands, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I killed him."

A heavy silence fills the room as L breaks into sobs, tears splashing across the foil bag.

"I'm a m-murderer.  I k-keep thinking about how N-Neith killed that shopkeep and… am I any b-better?  Aren’t I worse?  I d-did it with…”  She looks at her hands.  “W-what if I have to go t-to the Unseelie d-district?  What if I-"

Ian scoops her up into a big bear hug. L tenses at first, then wraps her arms around his waist and buries herself in his chest, shaking.

"Yer staying right 'ere wiff us."

She nods, he pulls tighter, and they rock together. Neith II snakes out and licks at her cheek.  After a few minutes, the white noise in her mind subsides, and she’s able to pull away, exhausted.  Her voice small.

"What if it happens again. What if I hurt someone. Mads, or Trystan, or…"  she looks up at Ian.

Ian frowns.  “L…”

“Ian, I'm serious.”

Ian gently takes her wrist, covering the mark with his free hand. "L, you rescued the alp-luachra that tried to eat you. You stuck yer neck out for the dryad that turned your life upside down. An' I know if circumstances were different, you'd have done what you could to help Harcourt too.  You just… you don’t hurt people. You’re not the hurting type.

“What Harcourt did is put you in a position where you had to go against everything you are. You trusted him and he broke that trust.  I broke that trust. That’s not on you.  That's on us.” Ian glances to the remnants of the salt circle.  “And I don't want to live in a world where you’re as cold as the rest of us."

L stares, not sure if she can speak past the lump in her throat. He releases her wrist, looking away. "Heh, sorry.  Got a bit preachy there."

She finally lets out a laugh. "V-very  cold of you."

“Well, you know what I mean.”

L leans next to him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. This is the side of Ian she likes best. His warmth, his straightforward thoughtfulness. There's something about it that lights up the crowded little attic.

"They're not expecting you back downstairs, are they?" L asks anxiously. Something about the moment feels too welcoming to last.

Slowly, Ian moves his arm around her shoulder. "Actually... I have a bit of a mission I'm on."

L looks up, curious, nestling against him.  A little colour touches Ian’s ears as he points to Neith II. "Think you can teach me how to get 'er to stop biting me?"

Neith II stares balefully back at him. L can't suppress a smirk. "Well, to start -"

She reaches into the bag and pulls out a crisp, setting it on the bed near Ian.  There's a sudden flurry of excited movement - the alp-luachra's just realised that the crisp is unguarded. She hurls herself from her perch and topples over as she scrambles for the deep fried potato slice.

L sputters, trying to speak through a strangled giggle.
" -you want her to know you bring food."


Two black-cloaked figures pick their way through the outskirts of the Unseelie district, hurrying past passersby and avoiding the main haunts. Their cautious, winding way comes to a stop in front of a factory. The building stinks of blood, and the long rows of block windows have been painted black; keeping light out, keeping secrets in.

"Is this really the place?" Astraea asks, peering out from her hood.

Neith nods, stepping out in front of her and glancing up and down the street. It's deserted, but she looks twice anyway.  "It's the address they gave me, Lady Astraea.  Accepting the meeting's an invitation, so we'll be safe enough inside."  Something scuttles down an alley, and Neith's head whips around, tracking the movement until she's sure it's gone. "Not that there aren't other ways to make this unpleasant for us."

"Well, either way, let’s not keep them waiting." Astraea swallows, pushing open the heavy copper doors and stepping inside.

The slaughterhouse is humid and cold, the air heavy with a metallic tang. Humming lights above the worktables bathe them in a red glow, while leaving the rest in shadow. Blood-red goblins in stained hats chop meat into different shapes, stripping bone, shearing and cutting and grinding. An unpleasant variety of untouched carcasses hang suspended from the ceiling on heavy copper hooks. The conveyor occasionally lurches forward, and the entire line sways in unison.  Queued and waiting their turn.

Neith licks her fangs nervously, glancing back and forth like a hunting dog. "Slimy bastard." She mutters to herself, one eye twitching. "Picking this location. Any of the redcaps watching us?"

"No." Astraea starts, her attention on the busy production line. She looks like she's going to be ill. "They’re all just… working. He did say to meet us here, didn't he?"

Another light snaps on, illuminating a clear space at the center of the room, among the bones and blood. It’s been furnished with a table and single chair, remarkably unstained thanks to the series of gutters and drains surrounding it. 

"Is he saying to meet here...?"  Astraea asks, moving towards it.

Neith swallows.  "Lady Astraea, I'm not so sure we-"

"’S’alright. Seat yerself, lass." A gruff voice rumbles behind them. Neith jolts, spinning around to face the scarred features of a familiar, enormous merrow. Cadogan has rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. He smiles as he steps inside, showing every one of his shark's teeth. "Don’t fret. I brought my own."

He shoulders the door open the rest of the way, dragging a bulky wooden chair behind him. The thing looks like it was built for a giant and then submerged for a few decades; the parts too rotten and worm-eaten to hold together have been fused with barnacles.  It scrapes over the gore-spattered floor, squealing and creaking.

Acting as one, the redcaps put down their tools, turn off their equipment, and file out through the side doors. Those who leave last lock the exits behind them. Cadogan squeezes past to the far end of the table, spins his chair around on a single leg, and collapses heavily into it. His boots thump solidly on the table as he regards Astraea. "Welcome to my humble home. Just as grand as any court, yeah?"

Neith eyes the suspended array.  "Could use a leannan sidhe's touch."

"Had your chance, little bloodsucker."

Astraea steps eagerly forward. "Do you have what we asked for?"

"Depends. Your errand-girl said you wanted to deal, and I’ve graciously offered hospitality.” The merrow waves a hand expansively at the dangling hooks and silent conveyor belts. "So let’s start by having yourself a seat."

Astraea's body moves before she can react, her legs folding up to drop her into the chair with a surprised squeak. Cadogan's eyes glint red.

“Not used to being the guest, are you?”  Flustered, she shakes her head ‘no’.  He chuckles. “It plays a little differently down here.  And speaking of pleasantries… did you bring us a little gift?"

Astraea coughs nervously.  "Yes. I... we… brought our gift." She pulls a slim black card out of her pocket. Neith's eyes bulge, and she twitches, but holds her tongue. Astraea looks at it for a moment, then places it on the table and slides it across. "Th... that will give you unlimited access to my portion of Xylia's wealth.”

She breathes in and holds it.

Cadogan picks up the card. He turns it over, examining both sides, then wiggles it between two of his teeth, testing the obsidian. It squelches into something, and with a flick a bit of something disappears into the gloom.

He tosses it back to the table in front of Astraea.
"Not enough." The merrow says, flatly.

Astraea stares, dumbstruck. 

"B... but it's my entire fortune! That’s all I have. All I'm asking you for is information, you lose nothing by giving it to me. How could it possibly not be enough?"

"I dunno what to tell you. It's not enough." Cadogan shrugs. 

Neith's eyes narrow. "Just how sincere was this meeting, salt-water taffy?"

"Well, I sincerely wanted to see that look on the little morsel - excuse me, my welcome guest's - face. Brings a warmth to my heart, knowing she's feeling desperate these days."

"P-please." Astraea grips the edge of the table. "It's to help L. Surely that means something?"

Cadogan's expression cools. "Lass, the best way you can help that moth is to turn around and walk straight back to that Grove of yours.  Find some other nymph to keep as a pet. She's in the Market now.  We'll be the ones to look after her.”

"I do not intend to Keep her, Mr. Cadogan. I am doing my best to make reparations." She slides the card back towards him. "Besides, is the prospect of me penniless in the Market not the least bit satisfying to you?"

"Oh, it's pretty funny.  But we both know you'll just write home for an allowance."

Astraea’s hair flickers red, like embers snapping at the bottom of a fire. She tries to answer a few times, before blurting out in a fluster "Punishing me will not bring Selkie back!"

His boots thump back to the floor and he slams his hands on the table.  “You didn't even know her name. You don’t get to BRING HER UP!”

“Mister Cadogan, I-”

He pushes back the chair to point viciously towards the door. “Kindly see yerself out."

Astraea sits in bitter silence a few moments.  "What will it take? Name your price."

Cadogan rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. He paces around the table, measuring out a slow circle.  Astraea tries not to twitch away and Neith glowers quietly at him, nostrils flaring and jaw tight.  But they remain in place as he hovers, sizing them up.

"Swap me one of those titanic piles of gears your Grove keeps for doormen.  Clip a few acorns off old Evander.  Or round me up one of those dragons you lot keep as -"

"My hair." Astraea says, cutting him off.
"I'll give you a lock of my hair."

Cadogan stops.
Neith draws in a hiss of breath. 

"Lady Astraea." She starts. Without another word, Cadogan thumps back down into his chair.

"Free and willing?" He grins, his eyes suddenly alight. "Well, well, well. Now there's a price. You really do want to deal, don't you?"

Astraea sits stiffly in the chair, staring straight ahead. "If that's what it takes."

"It does now." Cadogan chuckles. He reaches behind him to one of the work stations and picks up a gleaming set of bronze shears, slamming them point-first into the negotiation table. "Go on, then. You've got my interest."

Astraea looks at the shears and swallows. She wraps both her hands around them, pulling them free with some effort. She slides her hood down, her long golden hair spilling out in a glittering wave. It shines and dances, almost as if it’s alive. Astraea sifts out a handful, holding it against the shears.

Neith slaps a hand on the table.

"He's stringing you along!" She snaps. "You know what he can do with that, don't you?! Glamours, name magic, or worse.  This isn’t about business, this is pure revenge-"

“Of course," Cadogan cheerfully agrees.  “Can’t put a price on that."

Astraea hesitates. Perspiration beads on her brow. With a wince, she closes her eyes, squeezing the handle at the same time. Neith and Cadogan both flinch back as piercing golden light bursts from the blades, so bright and blinding that it washes out the red glow.

And then it’s gone.

Astraea looks down at the glimmering, writhing strands in her hand. The ends where she made the cut are charred, and the portion of the lock still attached to her head has turned black all the way back to the root, the life gone out of it.  Neith settles her hand on Astraea's shoulder, glaring daggers at the merrow.

"Th-there..." Astraea whispers, tears in her eyes as she passes the living strands to Cadogan. The hairs stop moving as they leave her hand, but they continue to glow gold, pulsing rhythmically with the light. 

He weighs his prize casually, then nods, his smile shrinking to something a little more serious.
"Pleasure doing business with you." He intones, slipping the severed lock into his pocket. Suddenly, he claps his hands. "Well, I'd be remiss as a host not to give you a little gift of your own, wouldn't I? Grady!"

Cadogan’s second in command steps out of a back room, his suit pristine as always and the manta-like fins of his head wriggling. Under his right arm is a heavy suitcase. He approaches the table, settles his burden in the centre, and opens it with a flourish.   "This is everything we could find on the Bookkeeper." Grady says in his curt, matter of fact tone.

Neith is on it immediately, digging through the scant contents - little more than a handful of weathered papers and faded photographs.

"What is this?" She scowls, lifting up a snapshot. It's of a Market crowd, hurrying through the streets or haggling with each other; in their midst walks a tall man with a neat beard and a small black book tucked under his arm. Someone's circled him in red pen.

"Well… the Bookkeeper, of course." Cadogan cheerfully explains. "That's who you wanted, isn't it? Not much of a man about town, was he? He liked his little ledgers and lists. Suppose that's how he got his name." The chair creaks as he shifts his weight. "Your fellow there ran a tidy little business hiring out professionals for… oh, all sorts of grimy jobs. And wouldn't you know it, he worked closely with a nymph. Big grey moth wings. Name of Lyra." Cadogan's eyes gleam, fixing Astraea with a keen stare. "That's very interesting. Isn't it, Grady."

"Very much, sir.” Grady intones. “He was quite competent as well. Secretive, to be sure. And a rare sight to see a human working in the Unseelie district, but not unheard of."

"This-" Astraea starts, then jumps to her feet. "This is EXACTLY what we need! It's just what L said! Lyra was working for him, until..." Astraea trails off, then slams her hand on the table. "Okay. Then, we just have to find him. Question him, or…"

Neith picks up the discarded shears, weighing them thoughtfully. "Mind if I borrow these?" She asks.

Cadogan chuckles and shrugs. "Don't know who you're planning on using them on.”  

Both Astraea and Neith look at a loss.   Cadogan luxuriates in it a moment, before leaning forward.  

“Bookkeeper's been gone twenty years."

"He..." Astraea blinks. "... he what?"

Cadogan holds his hands in front of him, then splays them open.  "Gone. Vanished. No trace of him. Disappeared the same time his little star did.  Odd, that."

Cadogan shrugs again, only a trace of relish in the gesture. "Oh well. You've got those shots to go on, don't you? Tell you what, I'll throw in those clippers and the case. Must be my soft side showing again." He pats his pocket again and stands up, gripping the back of the chair.

"Now get out."


Astraea grips the case in front of her with both hands. It's locked tight, but she still holds both sides of it, as if she's afraid it'll fall open. She can hear Neith slowing her pace to her side, matching her step as they move back into the less unsavoury parts of the Market.

"...I could carry that." She offers. "It's a little hefty, Lady Astraea."

"It's just photographs." Astraea responds. They both lapse into silence, moving through the thinning crowds.

She's not sure how long they both walk in silence, but they've almost reached their destination before Neith clears her throat.

"...sorry, Lady Astraea. It's not a dead end. He's a legbreaker, not a hunter. That's why you've got me, isn't it?" She forces a smile, then rubs at her bloodshot eyes. "It's more to go on. You can ask lolly if he looks familiar, at least."

"Maybe." The side of Astraea's head throbs like the aftermath of a burn.

Then she hears it.  Astraea lifts her head, listening to the faint sound of familiar, crystalline laughter. A few more steps, and they're around the corner of a corridor, looking up into the open air around the Glade.

L and Ian are seated in the gap in the roof wall, tossing bright yellow crisps into the alley below. The brickwork boils with movement - a dozen or so alp-luachra have worked out that dinner's coming from the sky tonight. Neith makes a disgusted sound at the sight.

"They'll be in the pantries next. Hedrick's going to raise hell over this. Bloody pointless, if you ask me."

Astraea looks up. The light's caught in L's hair and shining off her eyes. She's passing a particularly large morsel to the alp-luachra sitting between the two of them, laughing, caught in the moment. With a tiny smile, Astraea raises a hand, waving up to her.

"Oh," She murmurs, wishing she could have Trystan bottle the feeling in her chest. "I don't think it's pointless.

“I don’t think it’s pointless at all."


continue reading ->


Hey all!  Heart again!

Well well well, we FINALLY got to pay off the time of the month joke.   (´･ᴗ･ ` ) Was it worth the wait?   Maybe it's my trans ness showing but I always appreciate a good sympathetic scene between characters about these sorts of things.

Both Ian and Astraea are doing what they can to make amends, and even L has her things to apologize for.   Does any of this change your feelings on the characters?  If so, why?  And if not, why not?   We love to hear your thoughts in the comments below (´• ω •`) Consider it a creator's addiction

Speaking of bookkeeper, isn't it about time we heard from our good friend Alastor O'Reilly?   Time for another bedtime story from everyone's favorite fae hunter in next week's chapter of Imago "The River", set to post Friday March 29th at 12p EST!

See you then
And thanks for stopping by!

-Heart