You've wandered the tundra for what feels like an eternity. You don't know where you are, what your name is, or how you arrived in this place.
Your only hope for survival is a not-quite-human beast with an affinity for literature.
I'm happy to announce that my newest project is now live on Tapas! The Library of Eso is a mystery story about a lost traveler, their unlikely savior, and the aftermath of a princess's assassination. Told through short excerpts of in-universe text, this story tasks the reader with figuring out what role they played in the history of their frigid nation.
This is my first time doing a fully written project! It might suck! I don't really know! But I do know that I've had a great time creating the structure for this story, and I'm excited to slowly flesh it out. Please consider leaving some likes, subscribing to keep up with the story, or commenting to let me know what you think. 💖📜
Also reading and really enjoying their other novels "The Monster Princess" and "Solitary Lady". Author has a way with writing complex and real-to-life human protagonists in horrific, overwhelming, supernatural quandaries! I come away with such a clear sense of each character, and can understand each choice they make. They each have to grapple with their own notions of morality whilst struggling to survive circumstances beyond their control, and I find it particularly realistic how certain emotions and traumas are brushed off or pushed down, only to bubble over later - because yeah, they're just trying to get out of this shit alive...and maybe have some revenge.
I'm really enjoying novels with protagonists that aren't intended to be "morally prescriptive". This author in particular, I believe, is good at depicting emotional turmoil, reactions to traumatic incidents, and how these impact their daily life in a way that makes sense - makes them feel human and just as capable as making the right choice and they are to make the wrong one. Sometimes that choice is out of their hands and they just do what they must to survive and live with the emotional consequences, and sometimes they deliberately make immoral choices - or make a seemingly positive choice, but for immoral reasons. It's good to question your ethics and values, even if it just reaffirms your current beliefs - I get so bored with media that refuses to explore the grey.
Also each novel has their own unique world building, society and culture, and magic systems - each of which are so engaging and interesting!
Also posted at Tapas here (and the rest, all for free!)
Once, Aster’s nameless prison mate had shared a story.
It was about a child he'd found in the outskirts, a little girl with a gap in her teeth and a rose’s blush in her cheeks. She was a sprightly little thing that didn’t belong in the bitter cold, so the story went. Aster had been torn between interjecting that he grew up in the outskirts to asking whether or not this little girl was the prisonmate’s actual, blood-related child.
A small part of him had the sinking feeling that this child may as well be imaginary, like all the other characters that the man had conjured to pass time. It happened sometimes, in the haze of hunger, cold, and imminent death. Aster had sworn that he wouldn’t laugh if this was the case.
But all these remained in his thoughts, as the man passionately recounted his ‘encounters’. Aster had yet to put a face on the voice, much less a name, but he imagined a bright-eyed man on the cell across from him, whose light refused to be snuffed out.
“Children are children no matter if they came from Elyssia or Taratus,” the voice echoed, carrying over the thoughts and sentiments of its owner from the cell across. “But children born and raised in hell are built differently. I offered her food, and guess what, she offered me to thieves!”
He burst into laughter, a rare sound that was unheard of in the Fortress since the man joined their ranks.
“Your food will only last her a day,” Aster reasoned, “but selling you out may feed her for three days. If she has a family, then shorter. Surely you get the logic.”
“My body is worth more than a day!” Came an affronted reply.
“Oh yeah?” Aster called out. “My apologies, I couldn’t tell.”
“My face alone is a national treasure,” the other prisoner insisted, completely taken by his own, self-proclaimed beauty. “Those band of thieves, they actually mistook me for a woman at first! It would’ve been the end of me, but thankfully, I managed to escape.”
His prison mate had then proceed to narrate a tale of his grand escape from the thieves, from managing to persuade his guards to step inside his cell, how he managed to knock them out, and discreetly run away from camp – definitely exaggerated details, Aster thought, because if the man had been that good, then he would’ve broken out of Serberos already.
This was a prevalent theme for his prison mate. On nights that the fortress was too cold and the walls closed in, he would regale the cells, both occupied and empty, with larger-than-life flights of fancy. It was almost pitiful, how his prison mate turned friend made himself part of historical events that no one else could have seen. Sometime ago, he’d told Aster about being able to arrange a parlay with neighbouring invaders. The other day, he’d told Aster about a court dispute between the Minister of Financial Affairs and Minister of Education, which ended in a high-stake gamble with all of their properties and assets on the line.
That night, it was about thieves. And being a beauty, apparently.
Most nights, Aster indulged him. After all, who was he to rain on a condemned man’s parade?
“Then why couldn’t you escape here?” He dared to ask. They rarely talk about their sins – both alleged and true. But Aster had been feeling particularly brave then, and couldn’t care less if the person across him stopped talking to him forever. His eternity only lasted until his death sentence, anyway.
“Who said I wanted to escape?” The man shot back. “I had places to be back then, but it’s different now.”
Only dead men walk out of the fortress, the Emperor had said. He wondered if the same goes for whoever walked in.
Aster doubted that anyone would be glad to find themselves rotting in this hellhole, but then again, he wouldn’t put it past his prison mate and his delusions. Which was amusing as it was pitiful. He decided to get in with the joke. “And how is it any different?”
“This time,” the voice said, “the Emperor made the right judgement.”
***
One lifetime and death sentence later, Aster still believed that the Emperor made an erroneous decision.
Since their encounter with the wolf, the sun had long set over the horizon, and the air had turned as bitter as Aster’s grudges – unforgiving, piercing, and able to sink through the bones. At this point, they had covered miles and miles of the same scenery: the woods held no shortage of evergreens such as pine trees and cedar, and snow. Piles and piles of snow, stretching over all corners like a fluffy blanket.
The view was astounding, especially for a man who was stuck in prison for a good portion of his life, but many people have died trying to brave through Taratus’ snow. It was called the empire’s frozen hell for a reason: there were those who had taken wrong turns and fell into icy lakes that froze over, some had gone cold before they realised what was happening, and then there were the bears. The wolves. The bandits.
Countless predators at every turn, because the only law that existed out here was survival of the fittest.
But if the General’s map had served right, they should be nearing the border within a day and a half’s trek.
The entire time, the man who had yet to grow as Emperor Dominique Sibylla walked beside Aster, golden hair caked with snow. He had given up all attempts to make small talk, and appeared to have been focusing on putting one foot over the other. At first, Aster could tell that the man was trying to imitate his soundless walk – a trick he’d picked up as an assassin – but had only been able to produce stomps instead.
Since then, he’d resorted to hiding his wheezes and bated breaths, probably too prideful to ask for a rest. Aster could tell that the scribe was unused to hiking – probably used to being carried around by the General, if their close relationship was any indicator – so a part of him wanted the man to swallow his ego and admit he needed a break.
“Hey,” he called out in the open, without as much as looking back. “You alright back there?”
A huff. Then, more stomping. “I’m not the one whose injured.”
“I’m not the one falling behind, though.” He said out of spite. “Keep up!”
There was a groan behind him, but instead of snapping back, the scribe had done as instructed and forced himself to keep up the pace. Aster could see the strain in his face, with his cheeks puffed up and lips chapped from the dry air.
“I-I’m not falling behind,” he said to Aster. “I was conserving energy. Not all of us are show-offs like you.”
Against his better judgement, Aster snorted a little at that. “You haven’t even seen me show-off for real.”
“What’s there to show?”
He should ignore him, given that this man was basically echoing everything that the Emperor had mocked during his failed assassination attempts. Aster had grievances against Florence Dominique Sibylla that can’t be resolved by a single stab alone; he needed to take his time and hit this man where it hurts.
“My skills are in high demand,” At least, they used to be .The job market has yet to know someone like him in the industry. But if Aster trained his body well and made use of everything he could remember, it wouldn’t probably take him long to rebuild his network of clients.
He expected the man to refute, just as he’d done at the wake of the slain bandits, but instead Florence only gave another huff.
“You’re remarkably adept at killing,” he noted. “It’s hard to believe you’ve lived here all your life.”
He didn’t, actually. But he figured that Florence didn’t need to know the future, especially one that he’d so vehemently fucked-up. Better safe than sorry.
“For those living here, it’s a necessity,” he said. “You Capital City dwellers have your mind games and politics, we have our laws of the jungle. Simple.”
Florence gave a soft laugh at that. “Not so different, then.”
Ah.
To be fair, Aster didn’t expect the Great Emperor to share blood with a commoner, as the name ‘Dominique Sibylla’ only rose to notoriety after the war. It was as if, out of the blue, a storm had swept over the capital, tore down the class division, and killed anyone who dared oppose his rule. It had been a ray of light at first – imagine a noble, finally making use of his privilege for good. But then the Emperor turned out to be just like the others.
If the story is to be believed and His Highness truly did come from humble beginnings, Aster wondered: where did it go wrong? Was he truly evil from the very start, or had His Highness gone down this beaten path on his own, as a measly scribe, and then for some reason turned the way he was?
He looked at this man, with his chubby cheeks and doe eyes, and tried to imagine the masked emperor standing in his place. The first was unflinchingly vulnerable and human, while the other was cold and hard to kill.
You will die, but never before me. You will be sent to the Fortress of Serberos, down the coldest cells, where you can spend your remaining days wondering where you went wrong.
Now that he thought about it, that order should be directed at Florence himself. The Emperor should be the one rotting in the cells, reflecting how he went from this to that.
He hadn’t realised that he’d stopped in his tracks again, staring at the scribe to the point that the man had adopted a defensive stance again. Fuck.
“What? Is there something on my face?” Florence asked. Then, in a lower, more alarmed voice, “Is there something behind me?”
From the way he stood, Aster knew this man was bound to pass out soon. They may have taken the shorter path, but this one was steeper and less travelled by, making the snow deeper and the journey harder.
“I’m thinking we can set up camp here,” Aster said. “Wait for me here, I’ll go get firewood.”
Part 2 of the first chapter! Will probably release these randomly on tumblr then post them properly on webtoon or something
Anyways these are my children you can read them now on tapas~
I know I shouldn’t think this far ahead because I won’t be done with mriac for at least 3-4 more months since we still have 30 chapters to go, but I’m very hungry to try my hand at an “ensemble cast” novel-- which is basically a story with a bunch of different characters, think Six of Crows or Lunar Chronicles
I’m really drawn to the idea of pushing myself as a writer and doing something with a lot of plot and conflicting goals for the cast, I’m playing with a couple ides like:
1. The Terrible Psychics Coffee Club: a group of psychics get together every week to decide on how to handle their powers as well as the strange growing sense of “general impending doom.” It’s too bad most of their powers suck as the question of if one of them will cause the unknown doom looms over them.
2. The 12 Dancers: a modern retelling of the “12 Dancing Princesses” but it’s about a group of 12 people who every night are lured into an underground world where they get to dance and live out their wildest fantasies. However, as they start to notice something trailing them in their real lives they become suspicious of this dream they’re given and band together to “break” this fairy tale.
3. Orbiter: science fiction. A group of “superhero” characters who are used by the Interplanetary Goldilocks Federation to address problems on various planets across the known universe. It’s made-up of teams with one “star” that is hyper-powered but highly unstable and one “orbiter” that balances them out through their own minor superpowers and emotional anchoring of them.
An example would be a “star” with earth-destroying seismic powers who is kept in check by an anti-gravity “orbiter” and a hyper-analytical genius character is given a powerful empath to ground them.
It’ll be months before I’m putting out any content for one of these, but I could start outlining for it now. I’m leaning toward “Orbiter” as a scifi that could have super strong character moments and tension between the teams, but I am hesitant to add more to the superhero genre that is pretty over-saturated.
TPN is almost here!!! The first two chapters of The Prophesied Night go up tomorrow! I am incredibly excited as it is my first time posting and publishing my own writing.
As TPN is a work in progress, any and all help is appreciated! I take all comments and advice seriously, and will constantly be working to make TPN into a story I can be proud to have brought into this world.
TPN is a work inspired by an old D&D campaign that I created for my friends and I, and hope that you enjoy it as I have enjoyed writing it.
I’m torn on what story I want to start outlining for as my next Tapas novel. I’ve discovered it’s very tricky for me to work on more than one at a time bc I end up obsessing over one and ignoring the others.
I’m stuck between two I’m considering right now that are very different.
A) Title: God Dolls
Genre: ensemble epic scifi, like Firefly meets FMA
Summary: God Dolls are people engineered to be born with the powers of a God they say, and the freewill of a doll. They work for the Intergalactic Goldilocks Federation to handle problems around the known universe in units.
Each team comprises of one “star” that is beyond powerful but highly unstable in almost every way and one “orbiter” that is dedicated to managing them through their own minor superpowers.
Our heroes are Seismic, a girl who can shake planets apart with seismic energy, and Orbiter who keeps her in check with anti-gravity powers. The Puppeteer who can impose his will on any person and The Empath who keeps him from seeing other people as just toys.
They all seek to balance the universe as ice planets and gas giants and planets outside of the “Goldilocks Zone” start to rally for access to wormhole technology. And the God Dolls must question their place within the order of things and if they want to be just dogs of the government forever.
Pros: a plot-driven story with an ensemble cast would really stretch my abilities as a writer! I rarely have large casts and this would be the time to do it. Potential for a lot of strong character moments and world-building.
Cons: I’m not sure if it has a strong “hook” that would interest people and honestly it might be tricky to keep my own interest over a long period of time 🤔
B) Title: Ghost Walk
Genre: supernatural romance
Summary: A young trans woman has a terrible ability that enables her to walk besides people that are going to die within that season– winter, fall, spring, ect.
Veronica, or Vee, has ignored this power for years upon realizing that she cannot stop the people she visits from passing away. However, after accidentally “walking with” a high school crush that’s recently moved into the area, she decides to break her own rules and try to save the life of the girl she used to love.
As Vee gets closer and closer to Louisa she begins a dangerous trek into old world powers to find the 3 Sister Fates and change the course of one life before the summer comes.
Pros: I’ve never written a long form wlw story with a trans protagonist and it might be about time! This is much more in my wheelhouse too since it would be romance-focused with a bit of fantasy thrown in with the 3 fates-- which could be a lot of fun!
Cons: I’m not sure if it will help me as a writer since it won’t have a larger cast or be in a challenging genre, plus, I’m not sure if people are as interested in urban fantasy romances anymore lol
I’m not actually sure if either of these stories have the right “hook” so I may end up continuing to brainstorm before I start outlining 🤔
Also posted at Tapas here (and the rest, all for free!)
As night fell, Florence was summoned to the General’s tent.
Here, the General had donned his coat and arm himself with a blade, in a bid to communicate that this meeting meant business. On his side was Aster, the bandit-killer, still bandaged with wounds but no less vigilant. The two of them stood in front of a table with a map of Taratus splayed out next to the candlelight.
Florence took the spot across the General. “I take it that we’ll have to execute the plan soon?”
He was hyper aware of the bandit-killer’s eyes fixated on him, but Florence made sure that his focus remained on the maps, and the locations marked down with some pebbles. There they were, represented by some sticks, camping in the village.
“Sooner than you think,” the General replied grimly. “Marzio was initially headed straight for the borders, but the last I’ve received from him, they’re headed northwest. He hasn’t sent a word ever since.”
Florence crossed his arms. “Sir Marzio and I have discussed contingencies for this, and if he’s still alive, there should be trail marks left from the last location he indicated for us.”
“For a scribe, you seem awfully well-versed on stratagems.” Aster’s voice cut in.
It was the first time that the bandit-killer has spoken to him since they’ve made their introductions, reaffirming Florences’ belief that he had done something to piss the man off.
“It’s the occupational hazard of following an army,” he responded casually, ignoring the man’s cutting gaze. It was a complete inversion of the Aster who offered him bread earlier, all-smirks and harmless jokes. It was as if something shifted the moment he learned Florence’s name, which was unfair. He couldn’t have recognized the noble part of him, as he insisted on his father’s last name.
“Why is someone like you following the army?”
Florence clenched his jaw, not liking the tone of those words. “I was stationed here by His Highness, just like everyone else.”
Aster narrowed his eyes on Florence for a moment, assessing him. Then, by some inconceivable line of thought, he turned to the General and concluded: “Please pick another companion for me, sir. Or better yet, let me do the mission on my own.”
Florence didn’t have to be a scribe to pick up the unspoken words:
I don’t trust him.
He didn’t understand. Earlier, this man was friendly with him, acting as if they were long lost friends. Now, he was essentially stealing the spotlight, basically throwing Florence out in the snow.
And for what? Glory? Was it a ploy to get the General’s favour? Florence couldn’t believe that he ate that bread and trusted this person. Could he have been out to steal Florence’s spot as the General’s most trusted aide?
For some strange reason, he found himself leaning closer at the desk, equally aggrieved. “What, is it because I’m a scribe? I’ll have you know that I know my way around a sword–”
But the man wasn’t listening. His focus was on the General, fighting for his life to get Florence off the mission. “Please, sir, I’ll do anything. I’ll cook for you, I’ll clean for you–”
Florence gasped. “Hey! That’s my job!”
The General’s cheeks burned at this, but thankfully, his audience was too wrapped up in their argument to care.
“--I’ll kill for you, just don’t make me work with that!” Aster pleaded.
That person, who was named Florence, took greater offence at the objectification. Sure, he might have refused to call Aster by name at first, but to call him as ‘this’ or ‘that’ was just uncalled for!
“I want him off the mission, Percival.” Florence told the General, pulling all the strings he had on the man. “Forget the deal, I’ll go to the enemy camp myself. He’ll probably kill me on the way and lie about it—”
This only seemed to send Aster into more hysteria. “See?” He gestured at Florence. “That–that’s not how normal people think! And why does he call you by name, sir? I’m telling you, he’s evil–”
Florence could not contain himself. For the first time in decades, he finds himself reaching out to grip the other man by the collar, seething. “Evil? Look at me in the eyes and tell me which part of me is evil–”
“All of it!” Aster said through gritted teeth. He even had the gall to lean closer to Florence, closing the distance between their faces. “I take back what I said,” he lowered his voice. “I wish I never met you.”
The words were heavy — too heavy. Florence felt a phantom knife strike his chest. Against his will, he found his grip loosening from the man’s collar, at a loss of words.
I wish I never met you.
Where did that come from? What did Florence do? Why is this man looking at him like he’d just killed his family, when his mother and sister were safely tucked and guarded?
What the fuck did I do to you?
He opened his mouth to say something, anything. Thankfully, the General beat him to it.
“I don’t know what happened between you two in the brief time you’ve met,” he said, glaring pointedly at Florence, “but I advise that you keep it out of this meeting. We have more important matters to discuss.”
Silence fell across the table, but no less stifling. Aster glared at Florence from the other end of the table, and if looks could kill, Florence had no doubt he’d be cut up in different parts in an instant.
Florence sneered right back.
The General took a deep breath. “Florence, stop provoking him,” He ordered. Then, he turned to the other man with an equally ferocious stance. “And Aster, please treat the scribe with respect. Just because he’s only ever worked with pens and parchments doesn’t mean he doesn’t know his way around a sword.”
As much as Florence was touched by those words, he didn’t feel quite at all avenged. But then again, as much as he would like to keep up the fight, their mission came above everything else – especially since they promised to leave no man behind.
“...I’ll do my best not to hold you back,” Florence conceded, avoiding Aster’s eyes. “Sir Marzio needs our help, and I’d rather not waste any more time.”
Aster didn’t have anything to say to that, but he didn’t have anything else to add to their argument, either. The General took this as a chance to finally get down to business.
He recounted their plan. “The mission is simple: we just need you two to scout ahead and see if Sir Marzio is still alive. If he is, your task is to report back to me so we can come up on a plan to rescue him. Under no circumstances are you allowed to engage the camp and act on your own.”
“And if he’s dead?” Aster asked. “Do we need to provide proof?”
The way he said it reminded Florence of the mercenaries he once met in the south. Some of them brought back teeth, fingers, and memento to prove that the target was no longer capable of keeping them on their person. It was terrifying, to say the least, especially since he’d had to receive these ‘tokens’ being delivered to several members of the court.
“Just a confirmation will do,” the General nodded. “Florence will take care of that. Your job is to make sure he doesn’t die while doing so.”
Aster gave a curt nod at that.
“I’ll be holding camp here, upholding my end of the promise. I expect you will too.”
“Understood.”
The two of them held each other’s gazes, engaged in a silent conversation. Florence had never felt more put out and excluded in his entire life.
“One last question, sir.” Aster finally said.
“Go ahead.”
“What if I die in the process? “Will my family’s safety be compromised too?”
The General’s face remained impassive, but Florence, having known him all these years, could easily tell that he was beginning to have a soft spot for the man. And if he was being perfectly honest, he could forgive Aster a little for that, too. Someone with something to protect always held more integrity than those with nothing to lose.
“He’ll protect them, regardless,” Florence answered for the General, knowing that the man had to put up airs for the sake of the deal. “And you won’t die. I’d hate to write up another report with your name on it.”
The General seemed to take this as a sign of reconciliation. He clapped his hand, “Very well! Now that’s settled, you two will be leaving tomorrow, at first light. Dismissed.”
Aster left the tent without as much as a word. But before Florence could follow suit, the General whispered, “wait.”
Florence held his breath. He prepared himself for a barrage of questions, probably concerning whatever the fuck just transpired between him and the bandit-killer. He didn’t know how he would convince the General that he truly did nothing wrong, but perhaps he could start by getting down on his knees and begging.
“General,” he started to say. “I–”
“Have this,” the General cut him off, offering him…a blade. It wasn’t just any other blade, but rather, it was the General’s favourite dagger too – the one Florence had seen him cut up prey with.
He didn’t understand. “Why are you giving me this? Are you dying?”
This earned him an unceremonious whack upside the head. “Idiot. It’s for you!”
Leave it to the General to be treating one of the Emperor’s envoys with such disrespect – he’s lucky that Florence favoured him more. The scribe took the blade gingerly, trying to look unimpressed but ultimately failing. He’d never been allowed to wield a blade back in the court, and the army never saw fit to provide him one, given how he always stuck to the General’s side. But now Percival is entrusting him his own blade.
“This would fetch a high price in the black market,” Florence blurted out. He knew a few nobles who treated the General’s things like some sort of collector’s item, no matter if it was old armour, old writings, or personal trinkets.
“I would rather you use it to protect yourself,” the General crossed his arms petulantly.
Florence ran his hands through the blade, admiring the craftsmanship. The hilt was obsidian black, extending all the way to the blade like a tooth cut out of a monster. It resembles more like a mercenary’s knife than a General’s trusted weapon, but he supposed it made sense, that the General needed something like this hidden underneath his sleeves.
