The lovely Anne hosted a guest post by me on The Reading Life. She was a delight to be in contact with and her book reviews are excellent. Not to mention that her website has a gorgeous femme flowery aesthetic that I, in all my crow-wing witchery, am really enjoying.
It’s such a strange post and I can’t help but feel it’s
not at all the kind of thing I’m supposed to be posting about on other people’s blogs, but Anne was really kind about it and I really want to share things that feel like me rather than things that promote my brand as an author (or whatever my brand is).… Read more
He found it on a country lane. A beast of curling black fur and heavy paws. Its red eyes lit up its face in the dark; long muzzle, long tongue, long teeth.
‘It’s okay,’ he said gently. Lacking anything better, he offered it a ham sandwich, arm outstretched.
The beast growled, a sound of low menace that brought to mind the first rumble of an avalanche.
‘I won’t hurt you, I promise,’ he said. He laid the sandwich on the ground and took a step back. ‘Try it.’
The beast lunged forward and snapped up the sandwich. Its teeth clacked and its mouth smacked wetly.…
Lovely author and book reviewer Lin Ryals kindly had me over on her blog to talk about writing about what frightens you until it becomes something familiar.
Includes some snippets from my life in which I am vehemently opposed to being anywhere
near dead things. It’s funny how life turns out — sometimes even as funny as fiction. ^_^
Turning Horror Into Hope and Humour:
https:// linryals.wordpress.com/2019/06 /06/guest-post-by-victoria-corva-turning-horror-into-humour-and-hope/
… Read more
Their eyes meet across the burning glade. Fire still trails from the hands of the first, and the flames dance in her sad eyes.
The second is covered in ash. She hugs a cat to her chest. It buries its face under her arm.
‘I know you,’ says the second, as if in a daze. Her gaze sharpens. ‘Did you do this?’
The first recoils. The flames in her hands flicker; the fire around her dims, then brightens. ‘I didn’t mean to. It just … happens.’
‘Just happens?’ She coughs. Her eyes narrow. ‘A fine way to shirk the blame, when you’ve been caught flame-handed.’ The cat in her arms squirms, then resettles.…
I’m raising a draxel from
ClockworkCaracal — a completely unique little pixel-dragon which at each stage of its life will be given new art.
It’s currently just a little egg but I’m looking forward to its growth!
~ My Draxel ~
It has its own page on my website to track its history and any drabbles I might write about it. You can find it
here.… Read more
She kicked the skeleton squarely in the chest, then drew her twin shortswords. ‘Still think this was a good idea?’
Her companion raised her staff and lightning cracked down from the sky, turning a zombie into ash. ‘Well, I’m having a good time,’ she replied.
Their eyes met over their laptop screens. One raised her eyebrows; the other looked down in a blush.
‘So … maybe we’ll do this again sometime?
‘Yeah! Yes. Um … the Ashara Raid?’
‘It’s a date.’
This microfiction written in thanks to a donor on Ko-Fi. Image by <a href=”https://pixabay.com/users/OrnaW-8155178/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=3978569″>Orna Wachman</a> from Pixabay, used under Pixabay License.…
Her dog was a creature of moonlight and chill wind.
It lived on the hill behind her house, in the ruins of the old stable. She’d been up there to get … away, when she heard whimpering.
It was a timid thing, thin-boned and silver-furred, all eyes flashing in the dark and tail vanishing into shadow.
Given time, she earned its trust.
It would lean against her side and she would run her hands through its icy fur. She brought it treats that it would never take, but when she called, it came. But only at night.
‘Who left you here?’ she would wonder as it bowed and bounded in play.…
She played late into the night and then later still, ignorant of the shadows pressing in on all sides, uncaring of the heaviness of her limbs or the life set to resume in a few hours.
For her, there was only the quest, only the character on the screen, only the voices of her guildmates, intense in her ears.
The shadows crowded closer as her eyelids drooped, their inky hands reaching for the keyboard.
When her head hung and a snore rose up in her throat, they gently nudged her aside and finished the raid.
‘Yes!’ a player crowed in her ear.…
They met at twilight: a woman, scratched and sore, and a fox with mauled ears and eyes like reflected stars.
The fox had one leg lifted, poised to flee. The woman pulled her tattered coat tighter about her as she sat among the leaf-litter.
‘I’m lost,’ said the woman. ‘But I can’t go back. I won’t.’
The fox tilted its head to one side, yipped, and picked up a careful pace.
And through trees and darkening light and desperate hope, it led the woman to her new home.
Another microfiction for Mastodon. Image by n4pgw, used under Pixabay License.…
He made it to the rooftop, fingers slipping on the rain-slicked tiles, skin cold and stung by the falling sky.
She huddled by the false chimney. Her arms hugged her knees to her chest. Gull-grey wings shivered tight to her back as she gazed up at the storm-laden clouds.
He settled beside her and placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder.
‘I was going to do it,’ she said. ‘I was really going to do it.’
‘There’s always tomorrow,’ he said.
Always another day to fly.
Another microfiction for Mastodon. Image by Pezibear / Petra, used under Pixabay License.…