Would we have loved each other as much, if he hadn’t died? Would our living love have faltered and grown dim with time, with ennui, with despair? I’ll never know. He’ll never know. What I do know is that his ghostly love is as addictive as opium. Nothing has ever been as dazzling as that…
To be a priest in a traveling troupe was to wear a thousand masks, Diones knew. His cradle had been a costume trunk. He’d worn his first mask before an audience as one of the Young Lovers at the age of sixteen. Now past thirty, Diones was at the height of his powers, with a…
Forward, into Violet Sunset By Deborah L. Davitt I picked up the sword as it fell from my brother’s dying hands. Tears burned in my eyes as I caught it, and it rose without my volition, swinging my arm back through the motion that had taken a king’s head from his shoulders. I saw blood…
Becoming the Morrigan by Deborah L. Davitt They never see her coming. The drug dealers and muggers, thieves and rapists, pickpockets and procurers—they all think she’s prey. She’s only been picked up on camera once. So we saw her as they did: an unassuming figure, fur-wrapped against the frigid night of this moon, nine…
