“May I please go now?” I pleaded

“Young lady, you are staying in that bed until I am sure you are fine.”

“But I feel fine, now!” I stated, trying to keep my temper in check.

“Be that as it may, you are not going anywhere until we get your results back from St. Mungos.”

“Can I at least send a message to my friends to let them know I'm awake!?”

“We can't let you have any visitors until we get your results back. You don't want to get your friends sick in the event you are contagious, do you?”

This story is set in my world of Lyra Black (first known as Holly Potter) during their 4th year (maybe 5th). While this is set in the future (in reference to where the actual story is) it is not set in stone. This is just one possibility amidst a never ending sea of choices. I just had to get it off my chest to focus on other things.

“Crucio.” The one word whispered softly brought with it pain unlike anything else I've ever felt. My body tightened against its bonds and I tried to scream but all that came out was a muffled moan thanks to the gag firmly in my mouth.

This story is the direct continuation of my previous posting of the novel "The Wounded World." It is actually the second part of a single super novel. Sir Lukasz, aka Eden Blake, aka Mantra, has had a hair-raising adventure that seems to have occurred all in her mind over the period of a few minutes. She has taken Eden Blake's children home and put them to bed. But a few minutes later she has a knock on the door. When she sees who is there, she is very surprised. She's about to go off on a new adventure that will make the last one seem like a piece of cake.

This is part 4 of my first work, a fan continuation of the unfinished Kemeia Ascending. It is entirely inspired by Armond's magical world of Argentia and its Goddess Selene.

Link to the book here Kemeia Ascends - A Fan Continuity

You can read the prior parts by Armond from the links below

So, who here remembers this? Have an update, which I promised at the very least months ago.

Please enjoy.

This is part 2 of my first work, a fan continuation of the unfinished Kemeia Ascending. It is entirely inspired by Armond's magical world of Argentia and its Goddess Selene.

Link to the book here Kemeia Ascends - A Fan Continuity

You can read the prior parts by Armond from the links below

Shadowsblade a Whateley Tale: Written by Shadowsblade

Created for war and forged in pain, dealing with demons within and without.

“I have walked my way since the beginning of time. Sometimes I give, sometimes I take. It is mine to know which and when!”

World of Zhor: The Lancer's Girlhood

Episode I: The son turned daughter

She querously crushed her thighs together as she rode the palanquin home. Its rising and falling as it bore her, up and down with the steady yet still human steps, was awfully reminiscent of her bouncing girlishly on Hoel's twyll just hours before. Her cheeks flushed red, and her hands drew the curtain of the palanquin closed fretfully.

Shadowsblade a Whateley Tale: Written by Shadowsblade

Created for war and forged in pain, dealing with demons within and without.

.
The mission had failed, completely and catastrophically. We had lost. And we would go on losing.

Forever.

.
“They’re captives, but they’re still people. People with hopes, dreams, fears . . . . If Cleo’s mother loses her only remaining child, she will suffer, and that suffering will be real to her.”

.
“A bad chance is better’n no chance, girl, and right now, ‘no chance’ is where we’re sitting.”

This story is set in Trismegistus Shandy's A Raid and a Rescue universe.

https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/57362/raid-and-rescue...

Thank you, Trismegistus Shandy, for encouraging me to write in your universe.

Our hero was minding his own business when he ended up getting framed for a crime that he did not commit.

.
The Sentinel’s appearance directly in front of us on the visual screen was so sudden that I screamed. “Zephyr!!!!”

My mind kept circling around the same questions. How is it that my body is female? Where am I? And perhaps most troubling of all . . .

. . . Why do I have a hole in the back of my skull?

. . . as much as I enjoy my life as it is, somehow, it’s never enough. I wanted something else. Something more. Hermes might be the one who could bring me there.

George McFly: "If not for him..."

The Light Between (Part 8 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

Chapter 30 - Terminus

For more than thirty years, Deniz Akbas had given fishing tours of the Bosphorus with his small boat. With his pleasant demeanor (and perhaps due to a few missing teeth lending him a certain charm) tourists had found him trustworthy as well as deeming his white-tire clad vessel seaworthy for a day’s cruise. From his pilot’s position in the wooden front compartment, travelers to Istanbul had relaxed in the glass-walled and ivory-benched area in the back where they enjoyed whatever food and drink they’d brought aboard inside their many baskets - all while marveling at the magnificent views of the Turkish seaside and the wide bridge connecting Asia to Europe, a construction officially known as the 15 July Martyrs Bridge and unofficially as the First Bridge.

In all that time he had never been paid so much to do so little.

Here we are, another month, another chapter. A little short, but packed with action! (If by action you mean thoughts and introspection.) Please enjoy.

The Light Between (Part 6 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

Chapter 21 - Limits

The nice thing about being friends with someone who just became ridiculously wealthy is a decision such as “let’s go to Jerusalem” is easily turned into a phone call to dispatch some assistant into booking flights, hotel, and ride to the airport.

You then get to sit back, enjoy a cup of tea (or coffee), and wait for details of the itinerary to magically appear.

Okay, so Isaiah stayed on the line so he could approve the hotel and also relay the required information from my passport. Delegation was never really his strong-point.

The Light Between (Part 5 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

Chapter 16 - Sins

Countless nights spent staring into a fire’s dancing flames or into skies darkened by midnight’s gloom flooded everything, twisting as a barbed arrow within the chest. Abandoned by a father whose infinite radiance had turned as cold as the snow he’d left her in, a young girl had wrestled with inner scars which seeped anew from every self-perceived failure. Even her uncle - though he had at least stayed - always bore into her soul with hooded eyes of penetrating and absolute judgment.

Only Siabh had held her tenderly. Only the fae priestess had softly offered words of love and support.

But some nights those hadn’t been enough. And as the long hours crept towards dawn the child had whispered the same questions over and over:

Does my mother also think me worthless? Is that why she never came for me?

Is she ashamed of me too?