betrayal

Watcher Doings 20

/ Liz H-H / 15 Comments
juicy tangerine wedges

Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=SHED. Read, write and come back for more on SIX SENTENCE STORIES.   (Link goes active Wed night).

The night had come on suddenly, like thick wet wool dropped over a shivering body, and Montay wondered what this cottage and the lands surrounding it would be like in wintertime; Ferah and he had always loved the perennial summer of their homeland, the heady scent of decay and new growth, the feel of dirt and dappled air as they chased each other through field and forest as cats, took to the sky as birds of prey, sinewy scaled tails combing the river’s rush as they cut up against stream, so why would she choose a place like this to retreat?

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Watcher Doings 15

/ Liz H-H / 8 Comments
juicy tangerine wedges

Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=CROSS. Read, write and come back for more on SIX SENTENCE STORIES.

Ferah found that she was decidedly disinterested in the wiles of diplomacy which her elder brother, Montay wore—as the humans would say–like a second skin; she had happily begun plans to distance herself from the whole business and focus on what she preferred: boots-on-the ground activism, exploring all the different people and cultures that made up the continental fae folk, inserting herself in the daily activities of the human world.

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Farewell

/ Liz H-H / 6 Comments

Many thanks to Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr for their photo prompt, THE UNICORN CHALLENGE.  (04/04/2025). No more than 250 words in length.

© Ayr/Gray
© Ayr/Gray

“We clear to go?” The voice was hesitant, a little high-pitched with emotion. The Gatekeeper laid a firm hand on his bony shoulder and squeezed hard. A finger to her lips wouldn’t carry in the darkness. She didn’t want to risk touching his. God knew how many pocked asses he’d kissed to get to that high level of the OliOrg, before crashing and burning.

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Shields Down

/ Liz H-H / 16 Comments

cShe’d gotten in near midnight, after her evening shift at the group home. Her own home was a shambles: beer cans and wine bottles, scummy bong water, butts strewn all over the floor, some of them human. They weren’t supposed to be here.

Rodney emerged from the bedroom, a very drunk, half-clothed Britanny hanging off his shoulder, sharing his satiated grin.

“Sheralynn,” Rodney drew up his familiar shield of nonchalance. “I thought you were working a double shift.”

“They sent me home. Likely COVID exposure,” she wiped her brow, unsure if it was fever, or rage. “Everybody out. Now.”

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