shipwreck_light: If you see it, you are either playing with me or snooping. (Tree)
Shipwreck Light ([personal profile] shipwreck_light) wrote in [community profile] rainbowfic2015-01-19 11:17 pm

Ember #20

Author: SWL
Story: Jealous of Roses Arc 0 (and some Arc 5)
Index: Click Here.
Colors: Ember #20- Salamander
Supplies and Materials: Portrait. Damnit.
Word Count: 5,450ish
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin (see cut text).
Rating: X
Warnings: Violence, gore & after effects; children involved, kids in adult situations. I gave this an X for violence. Beware.
The following are always welcome: comments, constructive criticism, collaboration inquiries, cake.

In her memories, she stands at the foot of a grassy hill. The striped blotch off in the stepping stones must be her flipflops. In the air she smells of hose water and weeds.

A figure she can't quite see against the sunshine takes her hand.

She guesses it's her mother.

They walk as quiet as they can across the stones, to a shady place among the azaleas.

The figure lifts the corner of a wet straw mat that's resting in the edges of the grass.

Creatures, lines of red and black crayon lines, fly out from the movement. The watering can pings with the footsteps of one. For an instant, the ground traces over with liquid black eyes.

She startles, catching them all around her like that and her knees knock together.

But then there's this quiet wonder edging up the lines of her sweat.

She wakes in a strange bed. She stares at the ceiling for a long, dragging while. Perhaps she dozes in between her eyes trying to blink. There's something off about the way that happens.

She hears someone... someone out in... well, they're close.

She tries to talk, but her tongue doesn't seem to be there.

Someone drops something beside her. It clatters. It doesn't break.

And she hears at that strange distance again.

"Doctor! She's awake. I'm... can you hear me?"

She reaches her hands up. They're covered in wires and tubes. They wobble and it's taking everything, everything of her to even get them that far.

But the other person grasps her just the same before her eyes go closed again.

In her memories, she sits on a caramel brown carpet. There's someone to her left that she's only kind of maybe aware of over there since she's watching TV.

"Are you sure this is OK?" says one voice against the others on the set.

"It's just a cartoon. I doubt she'll remember, anyway."

It's not /just anything/ to her though. Her heart runs so tight.

There's a girl in boy's clothes, a cloak at her shoulders. The cavern around her overflows with crystals.

She wants to run to her. It's only her bare recollection that no, she can't fit through the plastic stops her.

The girl's companions aren't doing so much. But, she could. She soars inside with so much.

The shadows with swords tangle and clash. Cries fly. Sparks fall. Crystals get knocked off and bruised into. And one of the boys who's been with the girl...

A shadow throws a spear. It catches him beneath the ribs, making his clothes flutter open as it touches out his back and sticks him to the wall. He screams and the red flows out of him, his hands closing on the shaft.

The girl runs to him, shadows fading out around the tip of her sword.

There's nothing she can do but hold him.

They don't let her see herself in a mirror. But, she can kind of get what she looks like from some of her distortions in the monitor screen.

Part of her face is missing.

She cannot eat with her mouth or speak with the stuff in her throat. Her breath goes in and out from somewhere underneath her neck and when her nose runs (since she cries when she asks for Mommy and Daddy, even before anyone tells her they're not coming) she can't blow it.

They tell her too she's been asleep for more than a year. That's why her legs don't work and her tummy hates real food even though she wants so bad to eat. It's not like she can chew anyway, but she wants to taste something.

One of the nurses puts a candy on the remains of her tongue.

And there's nothing. So, she goes back to accepting the bags. And the walker.

In the night when she pets her head before she sleeps, the lines of her skull are off in a way she can't put to words if she could make words at all. She can't there alone in the middle of the night.

In her memories, the day is half cloudy. She runs across a meadow between a handful of brick buildings. The splatters of sunlight move faster than she can.

She doesn't want to run away, but everyone is running and all of a sudden she's so small against the rest.

There's this other figure behind her. She can hear it grinding over how bad her teeth hurt in the cold of gasping this way.

It has a white face. Like a skull. Its hands are knives. It towers over the grownups and the grownups pop into red slime with bits of bone and blue veins running through.

And it's so fast and she doesn't want to see it again, but she has to look; she /has/ to.

She skids on the grass.

The figure holds a man in one hand and the wiggling pink of his belly in the other. It rips and throws. The man squirms.

And the thing with a skull for a face.

Looks right at her.

She can't run anymore.

So, she stops.

And she puts her fists up.

The rest is gone. She carries no more memories before the strange bed.


"Your name is Jehanine," they tell her.

It sounds funny against the rest of /their/ names- Pamela and Roy and Kitty.

"Do you remember me?" they ask her.

She shakes her head. They accept this for their notes and move on. There are shapes, words, numbers for her to sort.

Her face grows back, little by little.

She wishes they would let her sleep through it like she did the past year. There is pain and blood and drains and her insides refusing to work without "mechanical intervention".

Her face becomes a mass of tubs and ports that waxes and wanes.

There's at least one time a visitor vomits when they see her.

It doesn't really bother Jehanine. She's seen the guts of a man. One emptying his is nothing much to her at that point.

"I was hurt. My parents are dead," she tells him.

And walks off.

IV trailing behind her.


It gets to the point she refuses to take it anymore. She uncouples the locks on her windows.

And climbs down the side of the building, barehanded.

She only makes it about a block before two of the orderlies grab her and drag her back.

Kitty comes to her and she doesn't mention the fact she tried to leave.

"You're almost ready to go home." And offers her a mirror.

The face she wears now is /pretty/. Doll-like.

She tells them she likes it.

Even though she has no memories of the way she looked before.

She knows this is too /pretty/ for her.

The next day they start showing her around to couples who want to adopt.


It takes her a few weeks to learn her way around the house. It's just a house. There are no secret doors and no cameras she can find the usual ways. She does check every corner and scratch in the paint. Every crack in the molding of the house.

She doesn't care that the Asis couple- Mom and Dad -see her do it. They watch her while they talk to their friends on the phone.

There's another little girl in the house. Everyone calls her Kelly. She's plump with dark-lashed eyes, maybe seven. Jehanine doesn't mind her. Sometimes, they even play together, leading packs of plastic figures around mountains made in the sandbox.

The backyard at the house doesn't remind Jehanine of anything. Every week, gardeners come to neaten up where the weeds should be. She watches them and maybe Mom tries to shake the sand out of her splints.

"Are your teeth hurting you?" she asks.

Jehanine sways out of reach of the hand that creeps through her hair. "It's wrong," she says.

"I know, darling."

Mom also gives her a little can of soda and tells her not to let her father see. Since it's before supper.


There are things she remembers.

Even though she doesn't know how she learned them.

They're not the same as the moments chasing after her. They aren't that fleeting perfect want out there past the fingertips of her brain.

They just are. For a long while, she holds on and tells no one.

The fact Jehanine isn't her name barely makes up a whole one compared to some of the things that beckon to her.

She's slouched in the ratty chair by the family computer typing away as Kelly plays dolls on strings and tape behind her.

/Wights can kill people. I know it's true. One killed my mom + dad. It almost killed me. But I survived to make it here to call you a fucker huh how about that./

She feels nothing to do it. It's always been true. It's /there/ anyway.

And yet.

She's really not surprised when some body shows up to question her.

The 'body' who questions her is a wight.

She's beautiful. Hauntingly so. She cries and insists she's pure and good to Jehanine. Holds her hands and begs for her to be happy.

Well, she's not Jehanine, so it doesn't really matter what ' Jehanine' says or promises, now does it?

"I can't hurt you. I love you and all people."

That's why she was made.

"OK," says Jehanine.

She beneath that face that isn't hers.

Doesn't mean it.

At home, she gets all of the TV and ice cream and hugs she can stand. Even from Kelly, who falls asleep on her shoulder.

The Asis people don't start trying to keep her away from the computer until later.


They start with "activities".

The class at the public pool makes her wear a top. So, that doesn't last long. All she needs is shorts. She has no breast buds anymore, but she does have a lot of slick skin that apparently someone thinks she needs to cover up.

Even Mrs. Asis gets that part about why Jehanine quits in a screaming, flip-flop throwing rage.

She also takes her to the psychologist. They have a session together, her and Mrs. Asis. The air after goes clear enough to spook Jehanine. She fakes that she's got bad cramps and stays away from the family for a few days.

They figure that since she doesn't have breasts and she won't until she's at least eighteen, she might as well try archery. The instructor has them doing all kinds of rituals before they shoot. No one even asks her if she wants to go back to that.

They try extra art classes. Third time's the charm? The teachers put their hands on her a lot and coax her to play with her paint when she can barely get the paint on the paper to begin with.

She tries. She really tries.

She tries until baseball.

Jehanine doesn't have summer, not really, all the time she spends with tutors and doctors.

After that though, she has the warm part of the year where she puts on her cap.

She goes outside. The sun tickles and burns and she can almost smell the grass again like it was in her memory of moss and tiny monsters.

She thinks about something besides her body. Takes herself to that place where are so, so real her mind can hold them against the clinks and wails that come with what they're all about: baseball.

Seems like- all she's really wanted to do all this time. Is hit things.

It'll work. It's not all of what she wants. But, it'll work.

She mostly sneaks on the computer to watch porn after that.


All of a sudden, her grades and going to college someday matter a lot.

There goes a lot more of her time.

But, the time ends in money. She doesn't mind as long as the Asis people don't push her for straight As. Chemistry and mathematics make enough sense. Physics- she can see physics just walking around the neighborhood. It barely needs explained, so the teacher who gives her essays about that, he pisses her off.

He likes her though. So, she stays in his class and gets lectured for her insubordination by the same breath he gives her 95s.

She hates him.

Getting stuff like that out of somebody she hates- it's satisfying.

When she promises to stay in touch knowing it's a lie and she will never speak to him again, not even if he begs her...

She'd masturbate to that. Except, she'd be masturbating to him in a way. Except, by the time she's got her hand inside of herself, she realizes all the things she's supposed to hate have fallen by the wayside that semester.

It's the first time in a long time she's seen the face of that wight looking down to her before the blackness.


On her way to practice not long after that... well, the fact it's not long after makes a weird kind of sense.

She's waiting for the shuttle to the recreation field when a woman she doesn't so much as halfway recognize sits down beside her.

Since the Asis people live in an arcology, and Jehanine does too, that's unusual enough.

The woman has a darker complexion. Thick, black librarian glasses perch on her nose. The bun in her stringy, dark hair crawls out of its beaded wire cage.

And her socks don't match. Jehanine tries not to stare at how much.

"Why do you say a wight killed your family? You know very well they're incapable of violence."

She gets a tightness at her throat for how familiar it is, having somebody ask her that. But, it's not out of the blue for its own sake right then. "That's what I remember."

"Human memory is the most fallible of all data storage systems."

"So how come eye-witnesses still count?"

"Medieval leftovers."

Jehanine pulls her lips tight and faces down the woman.

Who bites her right back, somewhere in her gaze.

"I know what I saw. If that's all you're gonna say, I've heard it before."

The woman thrusts her hand over. "Well then. Let's skip that the psychological screwing around. Wanna go for a walk?"


Nezah brings her to a white office building deep in the old service district. The streets have a familiar kind of blankness to them.

A girl not much older than herself shows them in and gives them each a dish of candied cherries. Nezah picks through hers and licks her fingers.

They're really strong, so they have a taste to Jehanine.

Who has been in offices with fish before, but never birds. It takes her a moment to recognize that they are birds at all. The lines of their bodies are that wrong. Their heads point down from kinks in their spines. When she gets close, they shuffle away her on their long legs. They /hiss/.

"They're Belgian Canaries," says a small, red-headed man with glasses.

"They're really pathetic," Jehanine answers.

This makes Nezah laugh. But, the man, he's only- "I know." To that, he reaches into the cage, taking a black and golden one.

The bird doesn't struggle as he offers it to Jehanine. Its bent neck rests over his forefinger. "They make a nice segue to talk about all kinds of things."

She groans.

"Many things made by humans are pathetic."

That's not worth an answer. If he's brought her here, he should know.

"I am called Iblis. All I want is for people to admit when they've done wrong. It makes me angry when they don't."

In his hand, the bird opens its mouth. It makes no sound. It can't bite him.

"You're angry too, from what I understand. I think I know why, but if you want to, you can tell me from the beginning."

Yes, says Jehanine's heart. I'm /angry/. 'Why should I' dies on her lips.

She says what she can about herself up unto that point.

The canary watches their shoes as she talks.


She agrees that she'll come by some days to do whatever needs doing as far as Iblis's office goes. As long as she doesn't have to skip baseball practice.

He agrees to pay her. Actual money too, not just more cherries.

The place is so a front. She's a kid. She knows it.

He's got adults who hang out there too. He still bothered with her and the secretary girl.


The other adults tell him he's being sloppy and then scare the birds so they get their own boo from the captive, feathered audience.

Speaking of the secretary, apparently she goes by Zelmire. One of the other guys has to introduce her, and she seems confused as to why anybody cares what she's called.

She and Jehanine spend a lot of time picking apart documents with so many spelling errors the check service in the reader stops working at all. There's all the coffee she can drink, assuming Zelmire doesn't polish it off first. She only usually starts another pot when that happens.

"So, what's your deal?" Jehanine asks her one lazy kind of afternoon when they're working over stuff they're probably not supposed to have, /with the windows open/.

Zelmire has to think about that. Thinking involves a cherry disappearing between her lips. "I brought Iblis a present. He was so impressed with it, he decided to keep me and I didn't have anywhere else I wanted to go, so..."

Jehanine thinks she knows what that present was- it's fluffy and red and deep between Zelmire's legs. "So, no dead people for you? Lucky."

Zelmire smiles, prettily as she can.


Having a "job" doesn't make too much difference to anything that happens in school. She skips invitations to other people's sleepovers because she's got places to be. She stays up later than she should and gets close to nodding off in English class. Although, that's half because- who would get so bent out of shape for having broken their leg? Sure, it was in the years before bone glue, but none of those boys in her assignment know shit about suffering.

Her teacher raps on the screen up at the front of the classroom. "Are you bored, Miss Asis?"

"People who're happy when their friends die are trash. Can we read something good next time?"

Half the class laughs. The teacher's not amused, not at all. But, rather than get angry she lets everybody who started sniggering say their pieces about cruelty and faithless boys. It turns into a love-fest, as in talking about how love is good.

Jehanine doesn't say anything else. She listens to the others hollering and clapping and getting shot down for swearing.

Most of the class stays past the bell. Nobody remembers to write her up.

Practice goes fine and then come around to her session with the latest psychologist: "So, tell me about the most interesting thing that's happened since I saw you last?" Stylus poised over her tablet.

Jehanine talks about class instead of her job.

It's not even a secret. It's the space where things don't happen to certain people in her life.

A space in the air.

But, it gets her thinking.


"What if I want something I don't have?"

Mr. Siebenkas does his scratch of a laugh sound. The man's tall and broad-shouldered, his hair shaggy. But, he overall has something rat-like to him. It's fine. Rats are smart.

Jehanine stares at him though.

"Join the club," he suggests, then catches himself, finger to his lips. "Wait, you already did that. We all want things we don't have. Even Jude. Right, Jude?"

The young man in question walks out from behind one of the screens. He nods. And walks back.

"So, just ask. Ah, but you already did that too, didn't you, my dear."

"I guess," sighs Jehanine.

"Try again. You think we're going to kill you over it?"

"Maybe /you/ would." It slips out. But, she's still on the conversational high from what happened last time she spoke up.

Damn him, he shrugs.

"Fine. I want..."

"Not /me/. Nezah. Assuming she's up. Nezah! Are you awake?"

"Stop shouting," groans Elidy.

When no answer comes, Jehanine goes looking. Of course, Mr. Siebenkas follows her.

They come across the woman they're looking for in the back room, the one that's wallpapered in video monitors. There's so much crap on the screens, shining away there in the dark. Nezah sits in the floor in the middle of it all.

In her underwear, typing away.

"Can you look something up for me?" Jehanine asks.

"You say that like I haven't been waiting."

The guy behind them makes his almost laugh once more.


Maybe it's only be half a wish she's held to see any of what she's asked for ever again. All she seems to be able to do in her jots of downtime is stare at the ceiling. In a way, she's glad she has a lot to do.

(The funny thing after the fact being- in health class, they have an overview of psychology. It's not about memory or things anybody know about the brain. It's about things that people choose to believe are true. Carl Jung doesn't believe in women heroes. He's just a Nazi sympathizer who tries to cover that fact up later. It doesn't bother her at the time because of what's waiting for her, but...)

She runs to Iblis's office; as in, right into him and he just hands her him off to Zelmire, who gives her a heap of forms to sort. Jehanine gets them done in less than half the afternoon and plunges into one of the documents.

The words she looks for are "wight" and "courtier"; "knight" and "mobster", plus things that sound like false alarms.

She works until it's dark and Iblis is on the phone with his mother, promising her he'll see her soon.

Mr. Asis only pats her head and tells her that her dinner's in the fridge. It's almost like he's proud of her in a way.


A few more days pass. The second time around the office, there's a neat paper package waiting for her in the mail slot. A homemade VCD: Amaranth Beyond Her Heart.

From what Nezah told her the other day, this movie ran in theaters something like ten years ago. It did alright. After the television broadcast though, someone on the cultural reform committee decided it promoted "violence" and "misgendered behavior" and "depressing themes- other".

Once she gets back to the Asis House, she throws her window open and she plays the movie.

"It's just a cartoon. I doubt she'll remember, anyway," she hears that someone say.

And at first, she's caught up in a rush close to plunging down lines in the sky.

Little by little though, as the film approaches what there is left in her memories.

She thinks that is stupid and this, pretty as it's drawn out, could have been done so much better.

Come the scene in the crystal cave- she remembers all the points white and glowing, but on the cut she has, they're violet. It's not horrible. It's not that till she gets to the place where the boy should be writhing in the glow. Instead, it's all dark beneath as Princess Amaranth reaches to him.

The words are the same.

The scene says all the same things.

It just doesn't mean them the way it did to her, back before.

The unicorn waits at the end of the film, but vanishes, just out of reach.


Of course, when Nezah and some of the others ask her what she thinks of the movie they /acquired/ for her, she tells them she liked it and leaves things at that.

She watches it once.

And then again- the sound off this time so she plays music. She paces and she thinks as deep into the arcology evening as she dares stay awake.

Luckily, she turns out her light just before footsteps at her doorway.

Still some part in her chest, what's left of her real chest, tells her that's it. The wight has come for her. Even if she knows it's one of the Asis people.

She sleeps and dreams of peaceful, grassy places, all the junk flowers around her singing.

The next day, she reads in English class, a book they're not assigned.

/"The moon," she said, "will rise for us there."/

It will disappear. That's the way things are.


"Hey," says Nezah. And she walks backwards around the side of the table before draping herself and her striped tank top over the surface.

Jehanine and Elidy accept this.

As well as the long pause in the conversation that still hasn't quite gotten going.

"I found that other thing for you too."

A flush comes up on Jehanine; a blinding, achy one.

Already? She wants to ask. How /could/ she?

"You wanna see?" Nezah asks, almost concerned. Almost.

"Just tell me."

"Every record I can find says your parents died in a car wreck. Even the foofy, secret government death cult ones. Believe me, I checked those first."

In the next silence, Elidy glowers at Nezah. Puts his hand in her hair.

And slams her face against the table. "You're a mess, you know that!"

"Ow," mutters Nezah.

Jehanine picks up her tablet and wanders somewhere else to sit, the words scrolling by without too much sense made, although there's something about wounds from a long-bladed knife.

Really. That afternoon. That's what she's got to read.

It starts to rain around midnight. Jehanine lies there, listening to that as Amaranth Beyond Her Heart plays on in its own personal silence.

Whatever. Her parents are still dead.

She has this.

And those other thing's she's sure of, but if anyone could find a way to tell her the truth.

Wouldn't it be Nezah?

Who came after her if only that reason.


She's going to be fired from the Iblis gang for her ordinariness.

Her. The girl with no breasts.


"Hey, would you mind going on a field trip today?" Iblis asks, craning around the back of her chair like he's trying to serve her a drink.

Jehanine considers before she answers. "Do I get paid extra for that?"

Behind them, Reiss laughs. Nobody joins him and after a while he cuts out, shoving into her space. "Listen, you. Goin' on special jobs for your boss is a *privilege*."

"Of course I'll pay you extra," Iblis concludes.

He unrolls some bills from his back pocket and out they go.

They leave the lights on the office on and Zelmire behind to watch over the empty walls. Jehanine rides with Mr. Siebenkas, Nezah and Reiss.

It's a long way to wherever they're going. Absent, as the city flits by, she wonders if she'll be back to the Asis house in time for dinner or where her body will end up if things go badly.

"You really shouldn't be here," Nezah says.

Jehanine opens her mouth to answer, but realizes she's talking to Reiss.

"No fuckin' courtiers're gonna keep me down."

"You're going to bust your gusts out again and I'll have to clean them up."

"He can clean up his own guts," sighs Mr. Siebenkas.

Courtier? Wonders Jehanine. Not for the first time. That's a word she looks for. A computer could do it. Instead, she does. She and all the things that sound like courtier.

She catches herself reaching for something at the window that just isn't there at first touch.

She comes to think that she knows where they are. She just couldn't find it on her own unless she was on foot and had a whole afternoon to wander. That kind of place.

Most of the others go around the back. She waits in the other car with Iblis.

The traffic's slow back here.

He watches the street, humming and kicking his feet.

It's in a flash he's outside, beckoning her through the door. "I can't wait. I have to see. How about you?"

She takes his hand and they stroll around the way the other's walked. The air chimes with voices.

They could be headed to a party, her and Iblis.

Except there's something on the air.

It makes her mouth water and the new skin on her face feel so soft.

The very first streak of blood, that's cast along a door frame.

Iblis looks into it with his fist closed along his lips.

They move on and there in the atrium beyond, swathed in sunlight.

It's not the first time Jehanine has seen a corpse. In fact, there's and opalescent sameness to the pale gray skin underfoot.

It's something she's played around with in her head for a long, long while. What feels like a thousand summers before the where she stands.

"Do you like that?" asks Iblis. "It's alright if you do."

She has to turn and walk away before her heart crashes to nothing in her happiness.

Behind her: "Herr Iblis,"; a tip in the shadows and a strangled scream.


It's a light crew at the office next time she stops in. Zelmire's on the phone, leaving her and Jude and Jude's short sword that he carries with the straps slung 'round his wrist.

It's awfully romantic for someone who answers tersely as he does.

Jude's hair is platinum blond. In the summer afternoon sun, it looks blue.

He stares at her or somewhere past her.

On the phone, it sounds like Reiss did do something to himself.

"Hey," says Jehanine. "What do you think about... stuff."

"Stuff is easy," answers Jude.

And there's a silence.

That plummets down in the most words she thinks she's ever heard him say.

"If I am dead, but I speak, then it's easy. Of course your family could have been killed by a wight."

She nods. And- she reaches across the way to touch his arm. Funny thing, he really is talking, but there's something cold underneath his skin and the warmth he's caught there. Like the dead man from before.

She has no trouble believing him either as the doors blow open onto somebody laughing.

They killed a man the other day.


"It's fine," she says. "I'll stay."

Iblis tugs at the knot in his tie. His smile seems faint across the spill of burger wrappers. "You don't have to."

"I know."

"It's fine! That makes me happy I just... after what happened." He coughs.

She gives him a look from the corner of her plastic fork.

"Anyway, do you want another name like the others have?"


"I like it!" Just like that, his happiness seems real again. If not perhaps more a kind of relief, tugged after in pale white light of his office after dark like it's getting to be. "The flower that never fades. I think it suits you."

But, is that what 'Amaranth' means? What if she's just a girl in a movie that reminds her of something which might not be true at all?

She swipes her fries through a puddle of ketchup.

Does it have to be more?


Amaranth climbs out her window to the last of the evening foot traffic.

A girl in a baseball cap with a bat? That's nothing to anybody out there this time of year; besides she's just one more figure in all those that cover the arcology where she lives and everyone calls her Jehanine.

Jude and Reiss pick her up in an alleyway just off grounds. "Your gear is in the back. Change." Says one and the other laughs about how it's just a little job, but they'll knock her teeth out if she fails.

The teeth are barely hers, so who cares?

Amaranth laughs too. As she's back there, naked with her bat, Jude's eyes in the rearview, but no, no more than that.

They drive deep into the city, to a murky humidity sink between two arcologies she doesn't know; all of this towering and black against the night sky.

Midnight finds her there, her instructions written in white out on her glove.

Amarath knows where she's going.

Perhaps here's a piece of an old flagstone in her way. She /could/ step there, but it's fallen, and an accident. Only habit would bring her there.

Instead she crouches. Turns it over.

And the night after is full of salamanders.

Oh hey. New people!
serpentine: (Default)

[personal profile] serpentine 2015-01-22 11:02 pm (UTC)(link)
I am interested in learning about these new people. Curious minds are curious!
kay_brooke: Snowy landscape with a fence, an evergreen forest, and a pink sky (winter)

[personal profile] kay_brooke 2015-01-25 12:23 am (UTC)(link)
Ooh, I like new people! Amaranth is amazing.
bookblather: A picture of Yomiko Readman looking at books with the text "bookgasm." (Default)

[personal profile] bookblather 2015-06-28 01:26 am (UTC)(link)
Wait but we've heard of Amarath before, haven't we? I could've sworn she turned up. Either way, this is lovely in a horrible way, like shattered glass.