Writing Group: When The Moon Rises

Hello, Nyctophiliacs and Selenophiles!

It’s a beautiful night, don’t you think? I don’t know what it is, but I’ve always loved the moon. There’s just something magical about it. Do you think it’s special too? I think it’s time you share your fascination for the moon, because…

This week’s Writing Group prompt is:

When The Moon Rises

RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!

Ah, the moon. We put so much significance on this beautiful little celestial body, whether it’s horoscopes, witchcraft, or person-to-dog-monster mutations.

These are even some ideas that can be explored in this prompt. Perhaps you show us your take on a classic case of someone turning into a werewolf, or even just someone diagnosed with lycanthropy. They’re completely normal during the day, sure, but as soon as they see that little white ball in the sky, their whole world shifts. Maybe you take the route of the witch who needs to perform a ritual or spell, but it has to be done at a certain time on a specific night in the lunar cycle for it to have any effect. What repercussions do they face if this isn’t done to the specifications required? Are there repercussions at all… or do they discover something new? Perhaps they even do this spell under the full moon when it was supposed to be done with the light from the sun. Maybe a child is unable to sleep, and so they just stare out the window as the sun sets. But as the moon illuminates the land, a whole other world opens up to them. What do they see? What wonders does the moonlight reveal? Perhaps the pond is actually a door to another land. Perhaps the flowers in the garden are home to moonlight fairies.

Of course, not everything has to be mystical and magical. Perhaps you are kept awake by the noises in the night. Noises created by your four-legged furbaby who has claimed 1:48 am as their marathon running time. Or maybe you have more than one pet, and they’ve claimed the night time hours as the perfect time to play tag, regardless of the fact that you have a meeting at 8:00 am sharp. Perhaps you’ve been sluggish all day, barely keeping yourself awake and just waiting to fall into bed at the end of the day… only to get a second wave of energy as night falls. You could even explore the world of a child sneaking out of bed after hours, with no light but the moon through the window to help them navigate their way to the cookie jar.

The moon holds many secrets. We stare at it and wonder so many things, whether we’re adults or children. There’s just a magic about that little ball floating so far away from us. It borrows light from the sun, yet shines so beautifully and brightly as though that light is its own.

So go forth and dance along the moonbeams as you weave your tale with stardust. We’ll be here with our telescopes to see what wonders you create.

—Shawna

Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.

Tune into the stream this Saturday at 7:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!

The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit, and get ready to help each other improve their confidence in their writing, as well as their skill with their craft!

Rules and Guidelines

We read at least four stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and two of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!

  1. Text and Formatting

    1. English only.
    2. Prose only, no poetry or lyrics.
    3. Use proper spelling, grammar, and syntax.
    4. Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
    5. Use two paragraph breaks between each paragraph so that they have a proper space between them (press “enter” or “return” twice).
    6. Include a submission title and an author name (doesn’t have to be your real name). Do not include any additional symbols or flourishes in this part of your submission. Format them exactly as you see in this example, or your submission may not be eligible: Example Submission.
    7. No additional text styling (such as italics or bold text). Do not use asterisks, hyphens, or any other symbol to indicate whether text should be bold, italic, or styled in any other way. CAPS are okay, though.
  2. What to Submit

    1. Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
    2. Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
    3. Write something brand new; no re-submitting past entries or pieces written for other purposes
    4. No fan fiction whatsoever. Take inspiration from whatever you’d like, but be transformative and creative with it. By submitting, you also agree that your piece does not infringe on any existing copyrights or trademarks, and you have full license to use it.
    5. Submissions must be self-contained (everything essential to understanding the piece is contained within the context of the piece itself—no mandatory reading outside the piece required. e.g., if you want to write two different pieces in the same setting or larger narrative, you cannot rely on information from one piece to fill in for the other—they must both give that context independently).
  3. Submission Rules

    1. One submission per participant.
    2. Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
    3. Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
    4. You must like and leave a review on two other submissions to be eligible. Your reviews must be at least 50 words long, and must be left directly on the submission you are reviewing, not on another comment. If you’re submitting to the private post, feel free to leave these reviews on either the private or the public post. The two submissions you like need not be the same as the submissions you review.
    5. Be constructive and uplifting. These submissions are not for a professional market, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We do this, first and foremost, for the joy of the craft. Help other writers to feel like their work is valuable, and be considerate and gentle with critique when you offer it. Authors who leave particularly abrasive or disheartening remarks on this post will be disqualified from selection for readings.
    6. Use the same e-mail for your posts, reviews, and likes, or you may be rendered ineligible (you may change your username or author name between posts without problem, however).
    7. You may submit to either or both the public/private groups if you have access, but if you decide to submit to both, only the private group submission will be eligible.
    8. Understand that by submitting here, you are giving us permission to read your submission aloud live on stream and upload public, archived recordings of said stream to our social media platforms. You will always be credited, but only by the author name you supply as per these rules. No other links or attributions are guaranteed.

Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.

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Lunabear
Lunabear
12 days ago

Relief from Grief’s Poison
by Lunabear (Private Repost)

Reina’s tattered cloak fluttered in the muggy wind.

Aching taste.

The blood–it was a siren song, and her binding. Her fangs tried to force their way through her gums, but she gritted her teeth.

‘Not yet.’

She grasped herself around her lower torso. The kneading in her gut was becoming worse than the blood burn and the unbearable thirst.

If only animals were enough.

The moon’s glow weighed on her. Nearly incinerated her unyielding flesh.

Not until its zenith. She had precious little time before sleep conquered her.

That sweet tang, the Bloodsong, trounced her fear of the pain to come. She’d scented it from miles away. She CRAVED it.

‘What am I to do, Mother?’

An animal’s dying gasp burbled from her.

“Foolish idiot. Mother is dead.”

Fire ants gnawed on her vocal cords.

Skin chipped beneath her eyes. Skewered cracks for the tears she’d never be able to shed.

Reina’s reflection in a nearby stream mocked her. Haggard. Stringy black strands. Crimson-violet eyes housing the expression of a feral, wounded beast.

How unkempt. How…disgusting.

The riverbend brought her to a secluded shack. Smoke wafted from the stone chimney.

His scent was strongest here. He?

Reina filled her nostrils once more on a shudder. He.

Her fangs broke free, and venom coated her mouth. She swallowed it back.

Reina’s bare feet scraped across the rocky field.

Crackle.

Crunch.

Snap.

She shielded her fist with her cloak before pounding on the patterned wood.

Snores ended on a deep grunt.

A jolted heartbeat.

Squeaking bed springs. Crinkling papers. Scuffling feet.

She hid her face when the lock disengaged.

The door squealed open. His scent invaded her head. Swirled and danced within her chest. Lavender oil and sweet spirits.

“Can I help you?” His mossy green eyes didn’t leave her face.

Reina touched two fingers to his forehead.

He felt rugged, cozy, and–

“Let me in.”

His vision glossed over, and he stepped back.

Crossing the threshold, she pounced on him.

Reina’s tongue traced his neck’s vein.

Pierce.

One small whimper.

A heated ocean wave crashed through her.

Dual sighs.

Finally.

Last edited 11 days ago by Lunabear
Tyler Chancey
Tyler Chancey
12 days ago

Abandoned

By. CosmicDesperado30

Dexter continued to explore the deadened husk of the industrial work floor, moonlight pouring through the open windows. His weak flashlight continued to illuminate abandoned forklifts and rows upon rows of boxes containing products of nebulous origin as he ventured further. His anxiety continued to rise as his footsteps echoed. Where was Dave? He should have been here by now.

Something shifted in the corner of Dexter’s eye. He pivoted to shine a light, gripping the metal handle like it was a weapon. Several empty biohazard containers rolled harmlessly past him, their thick plastic drums adding deep rumbles to his own pattering. He chuckled to himself and took some deep breaths, slowing down his thundering heart.

It was only after he got a hold of himself that Dexter noticed another light source flickering through a small windowed corner of the floor. Dexter jogged to the area and tried the door. It swung open completely unlocked.

It appeared to be a low rent mess hall, containing tables, a sink, cabinets, a fridge, and even a soda machine. Dexter checked the fridge and cabinets; all empty. Then there was the soda machine, it didn’t bolster any of the named brands but some generic knock-off called DS.

“Well, I guess I can wait here, check my phone.” Dexter muttered to himself as he popped coins into the machine while casually texting Dave. A few quick swipes and taps later and the message was sent, the top was popped, and Dexter was drinking DS.

He felt the table and chair shake slightly beneath him, followed shortly by a low groan among the walls. The carbonation of DS gave way to an unpleasant iron taste in Dexter’s mouth. He dropped the can in disgust as it poured out fizzy crimson on the floor. Dexter began to panic and called Dave’s phone.

The entire warehouse sprung to life and the PA system screeched a chilling message to Dexter.

“Get out of me Dexter before it’s too late!” it screamed in Dave Snyder’s voice.

Last edited 10 days ago by Tyler Chancey
George Kaplan
George Kaplan
12 days ago

Moonsong

By George Kaplan

Arvin sang to the moon, and the moon, in its radiance, showered him with golden rays. He absorbed the luminescence as one might embrace the warmth of a loved one, so tender and caring. With his voice lifted to the heavens, he sang of the star as one would a lover or a precious friend. The moon was everything to him.

A black cloud, propelled by some unseen current, passed before the glowing orb. Arvin’s song cut off suddenly, the object of his love and devotion suddenly hidden from his sight. He was content to wait, for he knew that it would pass in time, and the moon, in all its glory, would appear again to shine on his humble form.

Minutes passed, and still there was nothing. Darkness shrouded the quiet land. Filled with a growing unease, Arvin could wait no longer. He leapt to his feet and cried out to the moon.

Then, as if in answer, the great black cloud washed over. Arvin began to sing again… the first note died on his lips. Something had changed.

Where he once saw beauty, something perverted and twisted had taken its place. The moon no longer shone golden upon him, but an eerie green, like that of foul, stagnant water. For the first time he noticed the craters, so deep and marring, gashing the figure into the horrific work of a madman.

With green light bathing the world around him, Arvin saw shapes on the horizon and in the woods nearby, and he felt as if he were being watched by some hidden observer. He swung his head right, left, then back again, hoping to catch the watcher peering out from behind a boulder or tree trunk. He closed his eyes, though it disturbed him to do so, and tried to isolate the feeling.

Suddenly his eyes popped open. He knew where the watcher was. Arvin looked up at the moon, and the moon, now a monstrous green and murky grey, glared down at him. A chill ran down his spine.

The moon blinked.

i-prefer-the-term-antihero
i-prefer-the-term-antihero
13 days ago

The Prayer of the Wolf
By i-prefer-the-term-antihero

Moonlight peered through the branches, nuzzling their paws. Papa led her further into the woods—or, perhaps simply a part she hadn’t explored before. Pup had asked repeatedly where they were going, and how close they were, but he didn’t answer.

“Today you will become a part of the pack,” his voice rumbled.

“I wasn’t before?”

Papa chuffed. “You’ll see.”

She was about to bark another question, when trees thinned into cliff, smooth rock jutting out from the forest. Pup ran up, looking over the edge. Beneath them, the valley sprawled itself out, waterfalls spilling over the cliffs.

And before them, the moon, big enough to fill Pup’s eyes.

Papa sat down, speaking in a listen-close way:

“Your self is not one, but two. The outer self eats, and sleeps, and chases. The inner self enjoys these endeavors.

“Do you know what it is to howl?”

The word bristled her fur. She knew that this was something special. She knew what howling was, but she hadn’t been able to partake before. But, if she was not able to partake…did she really know what it was?

“Howling is how we wolves let our inner self out.”

“But papa, I wouldn’t want my inner self to be hurt!”

“Ahh you see the danger. Good.” He looked up towards the moon. “But Luna can only hear our prayers if we let them out. And…”

He stood, walking onto the edge—

Everything he was, and everything he feared, everything he wanted to be was poured into the air. This was more than music.

With his howl, other howls fluttered up from their pack, and the air filled with I am here, and I am lost, and I am lonely, and I am loved.

Papa lowered his nose. “Only by letting the inner self out may others touch it, hold it close, understand who it is.” He sat down again. “Even humans sometimes say their souls are touched by our howls…At times I think this is the only thing that keeps us alive.”

The wind brushed through his fur.

“Now, it’s your turn.”

Makokam
13 days ago

Chronicles of The Dragon: With Great Power Comes Great Annoyances
By Makokam

Imogene, Vampire Queen, stood in her quarters, staring through the curtains at the sun, smoldering slightly. She didn’t mind the burning. The sunset was worth it. She’d be fine soon enough.

At least until the moon rose.

She poured herself a glass of blood, added a shot of whiskey, and downed it in one gulp.

Soon her staff would be up and about. Wanting her to DO things.

Meetings and rulings and paperwork.

She wasn’t sure when being Queen had become so bureaucratic, but she hated it. To be fair, she’d hated it before the change as well.

She walked back to the window and pulled the curtains fully open.

She hated being told what to do. It was the reason she became Queen actually. She hadn’t cared for the idea of living under someone else’s rule, or constantly being harried by people wanting to use her power. In all honesty, she could probably rule all of the vampires in the world if she wanted to. Only one other approached her power, and he ruled all of Europe. Yet her own monarchy extended the least of all the vampire rulers; most of the north-eastern seaboard and Great Lakes area. She simply didn’t care enough to enforce her rules any further.

But others do want power and influence. Few became vampires if they didn’t. So of course when they realized they couldn’t take it from her, they gathered at her feet for whatever scraps she’d allow them.

She considered just walking away and shredding anyone who tried to stop her from doing as she wished.

It hadn’t always been this bad. More vampires, more people, and better technology had made it more important to have rules and make sure they were enforced so their entire… race didn’t become hunted.

There wasn’t anything that could kill her… But lots of people would die needlessly.

And it’s not like she didn’t live in luxury. Even if she was frequently bored or frustrated with the near constant demands on her time.

There was a knock at her door and she sighed.

“It begins.”

Last edited 12 days ago by Makokam
PixieWings
PixieWings
13 days ago

(Repost from Private)

Clair de Lune
(Cirque du Chuchote)
By PixieWings

The moon has many faces.

It’s why Clair chose it as her stage name.

To the Audience, she is Clair de Lune, decadent Spiritualist of the Cirque du Chuchote, Mistress of tarot and crystal. Her tent is the color of the midnight sky, and to enter is to spin your own fate.

To the Performers, she is the Seamstress, a fixer of problems, Mistress of stitches. She’s been here the longest, outside one obvious exception, and they look to her for answers. She sees the way the circus sinks into those that stay. It pushes itself through the holes in them, ties it’s knots and pulls them closed. Often performers want more than a costume patch job.

Like Enmity.

To Enmity the Magician, she’s Clair, shoulder to cry on and constant enabler. The circus is not what he expected when he joined. He wants adoration, acknowledgment, attention beyond what anyone can offer. More than that, he wants Clair to say it. If she says it, it must be true, and he wants to be better.

Better than anyone.

Better than Malice.

To Malice, she is Luna, co-conspirator and, bizarrely, friend. Malice understands the need for different faces. Grinning clown and Mistress of ceremonies, the Cirque du Chuchote’s ringmaster and servant. She is a guide to soon-to-be performers, leading them on a tour of themselves that ends always at the hall of mirrors, a true reflection and a given name.

But Clair chose her own.

Malice has long dropped the pretense of being Clair’s guide. Clair has long stopped twisting Malice to suit her needs. They’ve settled into something genial and knowing, evenly matched.

Because Malice knows, of course.

To Clair, the hall of mirrors was full of stars, an infinite field of possibilities, hers to explore if she was willing to take it.

And she was.

Conditionally.

Some things she won’t part with. If the Cirque du Chuchote wants her true name, it’s going to have to find it. Clair sincerely wishes it luck.

The moon, after all, has many faces.

Preserves Roses
Preserves Roses
13 days ago

A Forest Meeting
By PreservesRoses

The silver light of the full moon shines off pale wings in flight as a great horned owl swoops low and lands on a tall stump. The creature turns it’s neck this way and that, watching the rustle of leaves as, slowly, the clearing begins to fill with the creatures of the forest. A family of rabbits hops out from under a bush, noses twitching; hooves whisper against the grass as a young doe arrives; soon, squirrels scurry down tree trunks and racoons climb down from the branches. Even the glittering eyes of predators can bee seen lurking in the darkness, watching.

“WHOOO!” Owl calls, puffing out his feathers.

“Who has been brought to the moon clearing to receive the justice of the forest?” asks Owl peering around.

A portly chipmunk sat back on his haunches with an acorn cap perched between his ears speaks up. “It is Fox! Fox has betrayed us to the people! He’s been seen eating from their hands and seeking their favour.”

A mangy fox with a tattered ear, and patchy fur slinks up under the steady gaze of Owl. “Would you prefer I spend more time hunting your kin Chipmunk?”

Chipmunk cowers, the bit of acorn falling to the ground.

Before Fox can move Owl snaps it’s beak. “As long as the silver light shines, there will be no hunting in this place.”

Fox tucks it’s tail between it’s legs, hanging his head low under the harsh words.

“Many have seen you Fox, spending time with the people in their crowded places. We cannot risk you bringing them back here to our hidden forest. It has been decided that you will be chased from our home. You must go and live among the people. Come dawn you will lose all memory of this place, so that you never find it again.”

As Owl finishes speaking he spreads his wings; two sleek wolves spring from the forest and take off after the fox, to chase him far from the clearing filled with silver light.

Mango Gravy
Mango Gravy
13 days ago

Unwanted Attention
By Mango Gravy

Solon was an average man. He wasn’t tall, but no one could call him short. He certainly wasn’t ugly, but no eyes ever beheld him and saw beauty. He was a simple potter, and was neither famed for his skill nor his lack thereof. Simply put, he wasn’t famous in the least. Solon’s life was nothing to write home about. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He had seen the gods grant boons of gold, strength and beauty upon the unfortunate, then watched as they were torn apart by the envious masses or by rival deities. He had seen exceptional people be descended upon by jealous or lustful gods and met with a most undesirable fate.

Solon knew that where the gods’ gaze fell, pain swiftly followed, and he took pains to ensure that he was so mediocre that their attention wouldn’t hold. He was blessed with an uninspiring appearance, and he tailored his uninspiring lifestyle to defy interest. And he had succeeded.

For the most part.

For the past week She had appeared to him every night. First, an eye spontaneously carved in one of his vases. Then a collection of many fingers poking out of a wall in his workshop. Then hands on the ceiling. On the sixth night the moon was brighter than he had ever see it. There was no doubt as to who it was. On the seventh night, the moon would be full. She would appear fully and initiate her plans.

She who created the moon to light up the night when the other gods wanted it dark. She who made clouds to obstruct the sun. She who grinds down mountains with wind and topples empires with whispers.

She of many hands, Goddess of the Moon, our Lady of the Night.

His whole life, Solon had hidden in the shadows, but that was Her domain. Her lunar light would shine down upon him, and he would be in the spotlight for all to see. The full moon would end his average life.

Its cold glow would steal his peace.

Last edited 12 days ago by Mango Gravy
Amius
Amius
14 days ago

When the Moon Rises
by Amius

With light steps I made my way down, taking extra care to avoid the creaky step in the middle I couldn’t have anyone waking up and asking where I was going. Jimmy would think I had chickened out and that was something I would never be able to live down. I wasn’t scared – I just wasn’t allowed to go out after sun down – especially not there. It’s not like I believed Jimmy, but I didn’t want to deal with the teasing that would inevitably follow a no-show. So, it was with the lightest touch that I slipped out into the open air and took the long way round until suburbs became forest and the hard-packed trail was lost to trees. This was ridiculous. I could already feel my cool air-conditioned room calling to me, especially on this hot and muggy night. Why did I let Jimmy talk him into doing these things?

Crack. A branch snapping underfoot brought my thoughts back to the present, to the forest around me. It was hard to see now that the sun was setting, but this should be where Jimmy and friends wanted to meet me – no wait, there was his bag. He must have figured I’d have chickened out and went ahead without me. I’d come this far though, so I pushed forward. He’d talked about it enough that I was sure I could find it. It might be dark now, but it would be easier to see when the moon rises.

Ah! There they were. Voices up ahead. The last of the orange sunset had faded away soon to be replaced with the silvery sheen of night. “You’ll see! I wasn’t lying. It happens every time the mo-.” like a TV with its cord pulled Jimmy cut out. For moment I paused – turning around. Had I passed him? When the moon rises the forest on creek hill changes. That’s what he’d said. When I turned back to retrace my steps though I realized that’s exactly where I had been standing, and now nothing looked the same.

Adrian Solorio
Adrian Solorio
14 days ago

Where the Dream Dies
By Adrian Solorio

Marie, startled by the slamming of the door, dropped the plate she was holding, and it clattered and shattered, scattering shards across the floor. Numb with fatigue, she stared blankly at the mess until Kam ran into the room and barrelled into her. He buried his face in her stomach, and in between long gasping breaths, sobbed pitifully, running his nose and wet eyes on his mother’s shirt. While he cried, Marie’s eyebrows creased, the skin bunching, and she wondered who or what could have caused her son so much pain.

She ran her fingers through his thick black hair. “It’s okay, Kam,” she said. “You’re with mom now. You’re safe, everything’s okay.”

“Octavia said I don’t have a dad ‘cause he’s dead.” He looked up at her, questioning and imploring, and the lids of his eyes were raw and red. “Is it true? Is my dad dead?”

Marie hugged him tightly, pressing his head downward, shielding him from seeing the shocked look on her face. She knew this day would arrive, and yet it still came as a surprise. Now she realized her dream of him—her husband—coming back, had been foolish and selfish and stupid, even if at times it was the only thing that had kept her going. If she told Kam the truth, she knew the dream would die in the telling.

But Kam was ten now—and the longer the truth was kept from him—the greater his hurt would be when he found it out. Hugging her son, Marie questioned whether she should continue the lie or kill the dream. Finally, she said, “Son, your father’s a good—a very good man.” She pointed out the kitchen window. “Every time you look up at the moon, you’ll be looking up at him.”

“Dad’s on the moon colony?” Kam’s eyes widened. “But aren’t they all prisoners? Is dad a prisoner?”
“No—” Marie winced—“he’s a very important scientist,” she lied.

Kam ran outside to tell Octavia the news. Trembling, Marie stood alone, surrounded by scattered fragments of what lay broken, weeping, and stared long at the cold, distant moon.

Last edited 11 days ago by Adrian Solorio
ThatWeirdFish
ThatWeirdFish
14 days ago

Last Stand of the Lunar Warrior (Tales from Alsuria)
By ThatWeirdFish (Proofread by Alex)

K’urhac stalked closer. At last, that distant glimmer was finally within reach. He licked his lips.

“So much blood for me…” His ancient voice hissed as he hovered before the unexpecting planet. Crimson eyes glinted with an insatiable hunger. Every heartbeat, every teasing pulse, called out to him.

Life.

Delicious, fleeting, and all his to consume.

He scanned the world as a butcher looks over a flock. “Where to start?” He grinned, taking his time.

“You of old!” A voice yelled, shattering his savoring. “You, devourer of souls, away from this place!”

K’urhac frowned and looked down at the moon from which the voice had come. There. A glint of gold brandishing its weapon and shield in a pathetic attempt to be intimidating. He scoffed and turned back to the planet.

But then the glint’s scent reached him. His fangs unfurled into an unnaturally wide grin. It was not the scent of mere life, but of eternal life. A god’s scent.

“It’s been so long since I’ve encountered an Eternal.” He purred, slinking down to the god’s size. He sized up his prey as he stood before him: a gold armored elf with a demon’s tail. “Let alone such a tempting one that offers itself up so willingly.”

“I am Calspar,” The moon god declared, unphased. “Shield of the Sky Path and Guardian of Alsuria.” Calspar aimed his glowing spear at K’urhac. Lightning crackled off his shield and coiled around his spear. “You are not welcome here.”

“Of course not.” K’urhac smiled, running his forked tongue over his fangs. Such a fierce flame. A warmth he needed to feel writhe in his stomach. “But I’m here now,” his pupils narrowed into slits as he stepped closer, “and I’m starving.” His primordial growl rippled through his words.

“And so you stall stay. Leave, foul hunger! You have no prey here.” Calspar lunged forward, lightning from his spear striking K’urhac’s chest.

“Oh, I beg to differ.” K’urhac laughed as the lightning scattered into pitiful sparks over his hide. He grabbed the spear and yanked Calspar close, jaws open wide.

Alex
Alex
15 days ago

My Moon (Darkspell Universe)
By Alex Nightingale (aka Spectre)

The empty room was filled with the smell of petrol from open and upturned barrels. Cold silver moonlight fell through the windows. Despite the warm weather, Wagner felt like he was standing in a snowstorm.

He liked it warm. Jagged, orange lines darted over his arms and face. This wasn’t his moon. Not yet, at least.

His ear twitched, as he heard something clatter. He turned. The warehouse was deserted, save for him. No. Seemingly deserted.

It clattered again. The smell of wet dog penetrated his nose. In all his 21 years of life, Wagner had rarely smelled this scent. It made his heart race.

“Not yet,” he whispered.

The Lunar wasn’t smiling on him tonight. This wasn’t his moon. He wasn’t exactly defenseless, but his pursuer was not something he could just dispatch like he was. He needed more, more than he had.

His heart raced and his hands shook. He didn’t want to die. He knew the other one was just hungry, but… he still didn’t want to die. The smell intensified and Wagner retreated between open barrels of petrol, hoping it would mask his scent. He didn’t know if it was just his overactive mind, but his own scent of charcoal seemed much more prevalent to him.

A looming, animalistic shadow covered the entrance. Wagner heard the growl, as burning silver eyes moved through the warehouse. He made himself as small as he could, when the gazing searchlights fell on him.

His heart stopped for a moment.

The predator snarled with glee. Wagner would have backed away, but his back was already against the wall. He covered his eyes, waiting for the inevitable fatal bite…

When the icy light turned warm.

The silver moon turned red.

“My moon,” he whispered.

Black mist flowed from his body. He felt his shadow envelope him with heat. His eyes glowed orange, his mouth dried. The petrol next to him erupted in flames, engulfing his body, as the shuck grew to impossible size.

He knew the other was just hungry. But if it came down to it, he’d always pick himself.

RVMPLSTLTSKN
RVMPLSTLTSKN
15 days ago

How To Know Which Moon is Looking Down
By RVMPLSTLTSKN (A Tale from Hizkanamun’s Flesh)

As the evening fire began to burn low, the ayllu’s storyteller, Bachue, pointed to the glowing horizon. “Sun goes to His lover’s bed. Tell me, children, which Sister shall ride the sky tonight?”

“Pukakilla,” a parent whispered.

“Pukakilla!” Shrill voices chimed.

“How do you know?” Bachue asked.

Silence.

“I will tell you all.
“When Pukakilla rises, she looks first for Sun. He is her everything, even her god. You know how she betrayed Hizkanamun. She would do it again for Sun! For she can see his face. Always beware the face of a god, children. They are beautiful and terrible. When she wakes and does not find him nearby, she goes looking for him. Is he hard to find?”

“No!” The children said, “We see Him. We see Him!”

“Ah, but she must please Him too! So she must watch us for Him, to tell Him of the effect of His wrath on we faithful. But Sun walks like a bull vicuna among llamas. He is fast and angry, too sloppy. She is slow and methodical. Pukakilla is like a skilled weaver knowing each part of her design before she begins. Pukakilla is content to woo Sun, yes, woo Him with her tales. She spends little time with Him, her husband, but she is good at talking to Him while they are in bed.”

The children laugh, knowing–perhaps–more than children should, but that is the way of traveling societies that don’t particularly value privacy when it gets in the way of intimacy.

“What does she think of Quillukilla?” one asked.

“Do not ask about the yellow sister,” Bachue said. “She is not the one looking down on us tonight.”

“How do you know?” They laughed.

Bachue smiled. The firelight made her expression shrewd. It comforted her that the children absorbed the stories so well.

“You know she will look down on you because she is so large and so important to Sun that He gave her a veil made of gold and shadow to march with her.” Bachue pointed at the ephemeral halo around the moon. “She watches us tonight.”

Constellasphere
Constellasphere
15 days ago

A Bittersweet Sight (Repost from Private)
By Constellasphere (Formerly Inky)

“Do you grow lonely during the night?”

He could hear the whispery sound of the being’s feathers shifting as Sova tilted his head to the right, giving a soft hum as he pondered. Yule, despite knowing it was rude and could break his concentration, couldn’t help but look at the Avian as he thought. Though his eyes were shaped like a human’s, they were that of obsidian, completely black. While they had unnerved him a bit when this being first appeared, Yule now found himself mesmerized by them.

Many of the visitors who stayed at his inn would tell him stories of monsters who’s eyes were shadowed by hate, the colour missing from the lack of a soul. But yet, this being – Sova – no one could convince Yule that he lacked what humans paraded around. His eyes may have been dark, but they shimmered alive when they conversed; twinkled brightly when night came and he was free to roam without the fear of being hunted.

In the moment, as Sova was still contemplating the best answer, his eyes were lit alight by the rising moon.

The sound of his feathers alerted Yule; he quickly removed his round glasses and pretended to clean them in a poor attempt to not be caught.

“I think I do. Having lived in the solitude of the night, I never realized just how much being on my lonesome hurt. Not until I arrived here.”

Yule gave a silent nod.

“What about you?”

His lavender eyes widened, not expecting the question to be returned. The man raised his head and put his glasses back on, the open window in front of him coming back into focus.

“When the moon rises, it’s bittersweet.” He murmured, adjusting his scarf so it was covering his flushed face. It was the chill of the winter, is what he told himself.

Sova blinked. “How so, if I may ask?”

The breeze rustling the trees seemed louder as the Avian patiently waited for a response. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Yule inhaled softly, having found an answer.

“Because you leave when the moon is highest.”

Calliope Rannis
Calliope Rannis
15 days ago

A Faraway Mother (Willowvine’s Story)
By Calliope Rannis

When people speak of the Moon, I hear many unusual and curious things about it.

Some are of a rational, scientific perspective. They see a shining celestial body in the sky, and think little beyond what they can see with their eyes, limited though they are. The most educated of their ilk learn to link the Moon to the tides, at most. An understandable perspective, but a simple one.

Others choose to fear it. They see it shining in the darkness, and shrink away from the light it offers, declaring it to be unholy and maddening. The ‘unholy’ part is laughably short-sighted of course, but ‘maddening’ is another story. I have felt the wild energies in the air that come with the moon at its fullest. I have heard the song it leaves in the depths of people’s minds. I have seen living bodies become twisted and overgrown upon exposure to that light. They are right to fear the Moon.

The most curious perspective of all that I hear though, is from those that assign a degree of femininity to it. These ones speak of opposition to the masculine Sun, of the cycles within their bodies that resonate with the Moon’s swelling and fading light, and of the unique and feminine magic it possesses. Even my earth-mother spoke of it in this way. Maybe they are even right. Maybe the Moon is a form of celestial mother to them, perhaps even to all life upon this world.

But the Moon is not my mother. My body is not chained to its cycles. And it is not what I look for when I gaze into the sky at the dead of night.

I look for a single star instead. Bright and high, shining emerald green. The star that only I can see, once I open all my eyes. The star that my sky-mother left for me, so that I knew I was never alone.

I look up towards it, and sing the song I have known ever since I was born. And as I sing, the Eye of Shar-Galaynna sings back.

Connor A.
Connor A.
15 days ago

Indirect Request (Sword Isles)
By Connor A.

Even as a sound akin to pouring sand became louder, Nadia kept her eyes on the moon.

“Not even a hello?” The tone was joking enough to almost coax a smile from Nadia. “I am mortally wounded.”

“Are you now?” Nadia asked, trying to match the voice’ tone. “Has Achmed the Stubborn finally revealed how he died?”

There was a beat where Achmed said nothing. When he did, it was a guilt-ridden, “Nadia—”

“I know, I know.” Nadia turned to look at Achmed’s ghostly form. His head was the only part of his body left exposed; everything else was covered in the large traveling cloak he wore the last time she saw him alive. “Can you at least say it wasn’t murder?”

“…I’m sorry.”

Nadia looked back out the window. From the corner of her eye she could see Achmed take the seat across from her.

“Is Aiza doing well in school?”

“Top of her class.” She decided to leave out Aiza’s recent rebellious streak for his sake.

“How’s the old gang?”

“Dara mentioned looking to adopt the last time we saw each other, and Ambrosius is… Ambrosius, and Isabel’s children are working at the guild right now.”

“Nothing from Isabel herself?”

Nadia raised an eyebrow at the shock in his tone, but dropped it. “You know how she is. She can find undead faster than Death but can’t find her way through a social interaction to save her life.”

Achmed chuckled. “Such is the way of Isabel Fernán.” His tone became a bit more serious as he muttered, “Maybe she would help you…”

That made Nadia turn to look at him just as Achmed stood back up.

“I’ll take my leave. I don’t want to waste moonlight.”

Nadia was about to press him further, Achmed’s ghost vanished like sand in the wind. She stared at where he stood for a beat, then pushed away from the table and walked off to get her stationary.

Achmed’s way of saying what he wanted was always irritating, but she would be lying if she said it was unconvincing.

Marx
Marx
15 days ago

Right In The Mommy-Daddy Button!
By Marx

“This is so cool!” Rhea exclaimed, looking out the window in awe, her golden eyes glowing brilliantly. “I can see the moon!”

Daisy sighed and looked up at the night sky. It was a new moon tonight. It should have been invisible. And it would have been if not for a very important fact. “We’re demons now, Rhea. Our eyes work differently. Magic by nature, breaks rules. It’s just… revealing the lie.”

Rhea turned to Daisy with a worried expression. Daisy looked on the brink of tears. Again. It was something they’d just… gotten accustomed to when they finally got her back. “…what lie?”

“That the moon never goes anywhere. It’s a lie. It doesn’t rise. It doesn’t fall. It doesn’t change! It’s always there! It’s right THERE! In my head! Burning me! Cutting me! Over and OVER-”

Rhea reached around from behind, pulling Daisy into a warm embrace. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

Rhea felt her slowly nod but Daisy neither answered her out loud nor returned the embrace, but she didn’t fight it either, so Rhea continued, “You know… I could kick his ass if you want.”

Daisy’s eyes bulged for a moment and she turned back to face Rhea before laughing softly. “You and what army? Hell, I’VE owned you before. Against him, you’d be nothing. Less than nothing.”

“It’s fine.” Rhea smirked, “Unlike you, he’s a man. I’d kick him in the balls.”

Daisy laughed even harder, eventually getting out, “You’d never be able to kick him hard enough to do any damage!”

Rhea playfully poked Daisy on the nose. “Then… I guess I’ll just have to leave him be and accept your smile instead.”

“You’re ridiculous…” Daisy wiped the tears from her eyes before turning back to the window. “Yeah… you may have gotten a smile out of me, but… the pain is still there.”

Daisy’s smile began to quickly fade as she looked back at the invisible moon, her golden eyes glowing as well this time.

“Even when you can’t see it… It’s always there.”

C. M. Weller
15 days ago

One Wish For a Love (A Tiefling Tale) [From Private]
C. M. Weller

Lord Kormwind Whitekeep IX learned he was engaged at the age of ten, in a bare sentence that described his father having made a choice “for the future of the line”. He didn’t know a thing about her. Well. He knew one thing. There was a lady out there, somewhere, who was dreaming about her groom. She had no idea she was marrying a monster.

She expected wealth and position. He could provide that. She also expected a handsome HUMAN heir. He could not provide that. He could fight to be all the things everyone said he was not; yet, he could not be anything else but a Tiefling.

He could imagine her reaction to him when they met. Seeing all of him for the first time. It was clear he was a monster, and he was starting to have nightmares filled with her screams at his truth.

What he could be was devoted to her. If there was one thing he could wish for her, it would be an ease to her slumber that he did not possess.

A wish had to have a name, so that it would find her. He didn’t have that, Earl Valiant never replied to any letter Kormwind sent. Therefore, he had to find one and hope it worked. One found in a song filled with yearning. Elisa.

The moon shone on the world. There was a goddess of love who lived in it. The moon that shone on Zemnia would shine on his bride. As the moon rose above the darkening world, he thought about all of that. He thought about the love to give his poor doomed bride when they met, and his own want to have love returned.

He took a deep breath, a preparation for the meditation that should work to replace sleep and remove dreams. He looked up to the moon, readying his wish. “Good night, my Elisa,” he whispered, even though nobody could hear him. “Wherever you are.”

Maybe it wouldn’t work. He could only hope that it helped to put his own troubled heart at ease.

Last edited 13 days ago by C. M. Weller