Story of a Young Actress Named Geoffrey

by Jeremiah Smith

A delightfully silly romp through the life of an actress with the unlikely name of Geoffrey. Unsuitable for mature audience.

Cat 1
The Birth

I was born in a small village called Upper Bottom. My father, Samuel Fanning, and my mother, Dorothy Fanning, were simple village folk, and only their Wealth, inherited from my late grandfather Joseph Severus Fanning, saved them from middle class poverty.

I was a small child, barely 5 feet and 8 inches at birth, but I quickly grew to my imposing height of 3 feet and 7 inches by the time I was three years old. My mother had been understandably stressed, having to bear a child near twice her own size, but as she later told me, I was an easy child to bear.

As a young boy, I much enjoyed playing in the fields of Upper Bottom, climbing the trees in our forest, and fleeing in terror from farmer John Hodgeswick-Troughton-Sente’s dogs with all the other children of the village.

By the time I was twelve, my parents accrued enough Money to buy our family entrance to the Wealthy working class, and I was therefore pulled out of St. Jill’s Unprestigeous School for Young Girls and put to much nobler work at Upper Bottom’s only mill. I was happy there, but soon the miller’s advances, particularly the revolutionary work in robotics and hydraulics, cut my apprenticeship short and I was forced to look for another employment elsewhere.

However, my lack of skills quickly showed in whatever I tried doing, and with no other recourse, I decided to become an actor at the tender age of twenty-seven months and fourteen years.

Cat 2
The Act

When I joined the travelling company of actors, singers, and lawyers, I decided to draw on my experience at St. Jill’s Unprestigeous School for Young Girls and, remembering fondly the nights with all the other boys at school, started my life as a female in-personator. I was fast accepted by the group’s lawyers, who had at some time previous been spurned by the actresses and wished for female company.

My experience allowed me to enter the female person much faster than any other female in-personator of the time, due to the mainly upper class upbringing of most actors which tended to produce sturdy, masculine men and sturdy, masculine women, their bodies hardened from their academic studies at various universities, as only these seedy organisations were willing to pay for the studies, whereas I, who had spent his tender youth at a near-working class standard school, had my body worked to gentle femininity thanks to my few years of work at the mill.

Quickly, I became the star of the troupe, especially after my lower middle class roots were revealed. I was loved by the audience, I was loved by my fellow actors, and I was adored by my fellow actresses, several of whom later used my working class mannerisms to create successful careers for themselves.

Cat 3
The Decline

Still, as the saying goes, all things must come to pass, and by the time I reached my thirtieth year of age, I was no longer the up and coming boy actress I used to be, opting instead for roles of maids and lovers, my days of crones and matrons over. I had also received a letter from my parents a year prior that my uncle Josephine had bequeathed me a substantial amount of Money in his will and died less than month later. Put together with my comfortable earnings on the stage, I had more than enough Money to buy myself a small farm in the country.

I celebrated my last night as an actress by performing Will Shakespeare’s Romeo in his traditional white bridal gown. The director chose for this performance the older, less polished version which omits the happy ending and delays Juliet before she can tell Romeo she’s leaving with Rosaline. This then meant that my meaningless death on the stage left the audience in tears, and poor Rosaline had to leave under the barrage of potatoes and books — our performance drew audience from all walks of life.

Afterwards, I retired to work at my new farm at the Bare Bottom village, which had been established by the luckless expatriates of my birth village of Upper Bottom. I was not accepted by my fellow working class members at first, but they warmed up to me when I revealed my acting skills and my acting costumes, which I had previously locked in a diamond encrusted box and left in the third attic of my new house.

My death came as a complete and unexpected surprise to me, just two months after I reached my forty-sixth birthdate. It came to me in the form of my long-time friend and former co-actress Carreigh Stiltkins and left in the form of my mathematics teacher Ms. Charles Ange-Wought. As my body was, at the time, home to seven deadly diseases, eight of which had been previously unknown, my death came as no surprise to me.

In conclusion, after I had left my mortal coil behind, I entered the blue light and

---

PDF version of the story (which is greatly recommended due to the visual aspect of the story) can be accessed here.

The Fairy Bride

by Birion

What do you do when a fairy asks you to find a bride for his prince?

—1—

Simon

“Stay there and think about what you’ve done!”

The man locking the door to my bedroom was my father. And no, I hadn’t done anything, this was pretty much what he’d always tell me — or rather, yell at me — once he’d had a few beers. It had been slightly better before Mom left us — yeah, left, not died or anything, she’d just packed her things a couple years back and we hadn’t seen her since — but not by much. And right now, it was only a year — a year and three days, but who’s counting — before my eighteenth birthday and the day I get out of this place. Hopefully, I’d manage to get a job in the meantime so that I would not be entering my new life with only my name. Simon Corn. Not the best of names, but it’s the one thing I have left from my mother, and I’m not letting someone take it as well.

I picked up a book and started reading — my father, in one of his more lucid moments, took my computer and put it in the study, so books are pretty much the only thing I have left. I could probably get out through the window, but all my friends are either gone for the summer or spending all his time with his girlfriend, and I really don’t need Mitch rubbing it in any more than he had the past two months. Not that I mind not having a girlfriend — when I still could get on the Internet without five minute random check-ups from my father, I found out I was pretty much asexual — not a lot of interest in girls at all. Or guys, for that matter.

So there I was, reading about the umpteenth attempt to colonise Mars, when suddenly I heard a loud bang and, looking up, saw an alien materialise right in my bedroom. And, following a proper etiquette for close encounters of the third kind, I promptly fainted.

* * *

“Oi! Wake up, wouldyeh?”

Huh? Something was slapping my cheek. Stop that! I reached out to push that something away, and the voice seemed pleased.

“Oh, yer up, good.”

I dared peek open my eye and was greeted with the sight of an… alien! I screamed and tried to scramble away along the wall. “Wh-what do you want? I-I’m not good for probing, I swear!”

“Wha?” was his surprised response.

Now that I was wide awake, I realised that he was remarkably human-like. Fairly short ”’ maybe 130 centimetres or so — and very hairy all over, almost like a monkey or something, but still pretty human. In leather trousers and a Marlboro T-shirt.

“No, I’m not into that stuff, ya dumbass. All I need is for you teh show me the way to yer sister, and Ah’ll be outta yer hair in a flash.”

My sister? “I don’t have a sister,” I ventured carefully. The alien seemed fairly non threatening — at least to me — but I was wary of what he might do if he found a girl.

“Yeh don’t? Forest,” something in his voice told me this was a curse, “any cousins? Any cute neighbours? Hel, any woman should do.”

I shook my head, already decided not to let this creep near any woman I know. Maybe he’ll go back to his spaceship.

So I want to be a knight in a shining armour sometimes. Sue me.

“Eghh,” he sighed and leaned against the wall, looking crestfallen, “the King will have my head for dinner!”

“The… king?”

“Oh, yeh know, Oberon. I was s’pposed teh bring a lass for his youngest son, Prince Llyr, on account of his royal kidness being too shy teh get one fer himself, but yer the first person not to run away screamin’.”

“The door is… locked,” I felt compelled to explain. Wait, wasn’t king Oberon in some play or something?

“Huh,” he walked over to the door and tried the handle. “So it is. S’ppose I should lock the door afore I try to talk to the lasses?”

I boggled. On one hand, I had a real life alien in my bedroom! How cool was that? But then, he was also clearly interested in kidnapping human women, something I…

“Shakespeare!” I shouted suddenly when I remembered where I heard the name Oberon before. “Wait, he met with aliens too?” I couldn’t believe that.

“Wha? Where?” my guest looked up, surprised by my shouting. “Wha aliens? I’m no bloody alien, yeh dumbass!”

Oh great. I just offended the alien who can teleport. At least. If I’m lucky, maybe he’ll just incinerate me on the spot.

“I’m Fae!”

I blinked. “A what?”

“A Fae, moron. A Fairy. An Elf. Momma never read you no fairy tales when yeh was a wee little kid?”

I nodded with dumb expression in my face. A fairy? “Aren’t you supposed to have… butterfly wings or something?”

He snorted with disgust, “Aren‘t yeh s’pposed teh have brains in yer head or something? Tha’ss just something yeh mortals came up with. No bloody butterfly wings for me. Think Ah’m a ponce or wha?”

I quickly shook my head no.

He sighed and looked at me with gentler expression. “Ah s’ppose it’s no really yer fault. Oh well.” He seemed to think for a moment, watching me. “Look, kid, er, what’s yer name anyway?”

“Simon. Simon Corn.”

“Right. Ah’m Robin Goodfellow, but yeh can call me Puck on account of us bein’ acquainted now. Anyway, I need —”

“Puck? As in the Puck? The Midsummer Night’s… Dream and all?”

He grinned and nodded, visibly pleased. “Heard of me, have yeh? Good. ’Course, runnin’  around the world’s no wha it used teh be back in the day, but Ah’m still King Oberon’s best man for the job. And tha’ss wha I wanted to talk to yeh about.”

I nodded. Faeries? Oberon? Puck? I still couldn’t believe it. But he did appear out of thin air… “About what?”

“Look, as Ah was sayin’, the good king and his lovely queen Titania has a son, the young prince Llyr. He’s no the first, or the last, but he’s their youngest kid right now and the royal parentage really dote on him. And he’s just about the right time to marry, but the kid’s made it clear he doesn’t want teh marry another Fae, on account of them bein’ too ‘flighty’. Says the kettle. He’s not got a hobby last him a month.

“But anyway, since none of the family can leave Faerie for nothing save the end of the world, the king decided to send me, ’cause Ah haven’t a drop of nobility in me, to search for a girl to agree to marry the prince. But since everyone was runnin’ instead of listenin’  to me, I thought I’d get yeh to persuade some o’  the lovely ladies to agree, wha d’yeh say?”

“Um, not that I’m suggesting it or anything, but can’t you just… spirit away whoever you want? I can’t really leave the room, so I don’t know how much help I’d be anyway.”

“Wouldn’ work. Needs to be agreeing and willing ’cause of these damn nuts.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out three walnuts to show me. “Look, the prince is pretty picky ’bout his bride-to-be, how she should look and stuff, and the king wants her teh be a good wife for him. I can take any ol’ biddy and make her the kid’s wet dream, but that’ll last a month. A year and a day at best. An’  it should last for a couple centuries at least. So, every five hundred years, Dagu’s old tree in the centre of Annu’s garden grows these three nuts. An’  each one of’em will turn one spell into reality. So it’s one to change the lass into a real Fae beauty, one to support and love her husband to eternity an’ ever and the last one to break the first spells if she decides teh go against it in the end.”

I must have looked really surprised, because he sighed and explained, “Look, kid, eh, Simon. We’re not all contrary to the general mortal public. ’Course, there’s dreams, and then there’s nightmares. But at king Oberon’s court, we always give them a way out. And the only way to break a Dagu’s nut enchantment is with another of the three. The king’s eldest once spent a century as a duck afore we found the last nut of them that turned him fowl.”

“Wait,” I got off the bed and started walking across the room. Once I accepted the existence of Fae as real, it all started to somehow make sense. “So, you just get a girl — any girl — to agree to marry this prince Lir —”

“Llyr.”

“Right, do your magic and poof, she’s happy living in Faery land?”

“In a nutshell, yeah. ‘Course, it’s the first part tha’ss the problem.”

“Don’t worry about that. I think I have a plan.”

His face beamed and I think he nearly hugged me. “Yeh do? Tha’ss fantastic! Wha do we do first?”

“First I’ll need a couple answers. Those spells of yours, can they transform absolutely anyone into the prince’s ideal bride? I mean, are there any restrictions — age, height, hair colour, anything?”

“Well,” Robin scratched his beard, “can’t be animal or flowers. Or trees. In fact, the spell only works on humans. ’Cause of dreams, yeh know? No one else dreams.”

“So, the spell works on anyone who dreams?”

He nodded.

“Good,” I smirked. “Now, do you have some picture of the prince, something to show the ‘lasses’?”

His smirk was a mirror of mine. “Do yeh have a mirror here?”

I looked around and pointed at the window, which could, under right circumstances, be quite reflective. “Will this work? The only mirror is in the bathroom, and I can’t get out of the room, remember?”

Puck examined the window, then shrugged, “It’ll work, I s’ppose. Just look into it.”

I followed his instructions and looked into the window glass. At first, only a wisp of my reflection greeted me, but as I looked deeper, I felt like pulling away heavy curtains and suddenly, a handsome face appeared before me.

“Cute. Yeah, that’ll work. One more question — how old is he?” I asked as I studied the reflection before me.

“The prince? ’Bout as old as you. Twenty-five, his last birthday.”

I pulled away from the window and looked indignantly at Puck. “I’m not twenty-five! I’m six… seventeen!” Three days, Simon. You can just as well get used to it now.

“And I’m older than yer whole island. Anyone under a century is the same teh me.”

“Oo-kay. Well, I think I have everything I need, now.”

“So we can go find some girls? Where to first?”

“Faerie,” I tried to keep the smirk off my face.

“But wha about… oh, yeh have a sister, yeh little weasel, an’ she’ll come with us, right?” he tapped the side of his nose with a grin.

“I don’t.”

“Yeh don’t? But who’s gonna be the prince’s bride then?”

“I am,” I smirked and became the first person in a thousand years to see Robin Goodfellow lose his voice.

—2—

Lissa

“Oi! Wake up.”

I slapped Puck’s cheek, mirroring his previous actions.

“Wha? Wha happened?”

“You fainted. I didn’t know fairies could faint.”

“Yeah, well, Ah… You! Are yeh crazy?”

I jumped up as he started shouting. This was not part of the plan.

“Why? Just for wanting something better from life than I can get here?” I realised I was shouting back, and had to stop myself and reflect for a moment. Why did I feel so strongly about this? As far as I could remember, I’d never even thought about something like that before.

“But… yer a guy!”

“Not if you do the spells! You said so yourself!”

That slowed him for a moment, and our shouting match subsided into heated discussion.

“So… yer a ponce, then?”

I sighed — apparently, wanting to change your life ranked low on the masculine scale. “No. I’m… look, I could try to explain to you exactly what I am, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t understand, so can we just drop it and get to the spells?”

He looked at me with both question and faint disgust in his eyes — pretty much the same I got from my formerly best friend of ten years when I told him I’m not interested in girls three years ago.

I sighed and decided to explain the situation to the hairy fairy. “Look, Robin, I know what you’re thinking about me right now, but it’s not like that. My life sucks, okay? My mother left when I was thirteen, my father hits me ’bout twice a day for no reason, everyone at school thinks I’m gay, so I can’t get a girlfriend, but the gay guys think I’m too straight for them, so I can’t get a boyfriend either.”

“Ponce,” he snorted.

“I’m not! I just,” I sighed and sat on the bed, “I just want someone — anyone — in my life. And if I have to be a girl for that,” I looked him straight in the eye, “I’ll be a girl. Simple as that.”

“Yeh need a shrink. Ah’ll just — Aah!”

“Whoa!”

The reason for our surprise was the face of a man that suddenly appeared in the middle of the room. I should really get used to this weirdness if I’m to live with the Fae.

“My king!”

Aaah, so this is king Oberon. He looked distinguished, but if Shakespeare was right, he must have a sense of humour. I just couldn’t see it. Then again, I made myself sort of scarce as he turned toward Puck.

“Aah, Puck,” his voice boomed and echoed in the room, “have you found a bride for Llyr yet?” His tone left the promise of terrible punishments lying open in the air.

“Ah, uh, o-of course, my lord. I was just talking to… ’er, and —”

“Has she agreed?”

“Y-yes, o king.”

“Then make her presentable and bring her to us. My son is most anxious to meet her. And Puck?”

“Yes, my king?”

“If you fail me, you will spend the next thousand years living in a primrose!”

The face vanished and I could no longer hide my amusement at Puck’s situation as I jump off the bed with a victorious “Yes!”

“Yeah, yeah, hold yer horses. Yeh got what yeh wanted, after all. The king commands and the fool listens. But if yer thinkin’  Ah’m gonna help ye afterwards, don’t count on it. Just keep yer secret and we’ll all be one big happy family of freaks.”

* * *

“So, how do we do it? Do I need to take off my clothes or something?”

“Egh, it’s enough I have to go along with this. Don’t need teh look at yeh too. Catch!”

With glee in his eye, he threw one of the nuts at me. I barely managed to catch it in time before it dropped on the floor, and cried out when I felt it bite into my palm. “What the… Aaagh!”

“Hurts like Hel, huh? Coulda find a proper lass, would been much easier on her, but even yer better than primroses.”

I was barely paying attention to him as I became suddenly aware of a melting sensation. As I got over the initial shock of the biting nut, I managed to focus on my arm and watched, part in horror, but mostly with interest, as most of my muscles vanished into thin air, taking what hair I had, and cutting off a couple centimetres from the bones as my arm seemed to grow backwards. The fingers were almost as long as before, but much more slender, more… fragile to the look.

The changes spread over my shoulder (I didn’t have particularly wide shoulders, but the difference was still markable) and onto my head. I reached up with my (already transformed) hand and felt my face grow narrower, my cheekbones more pronounced, my lips now pouty, my sparse beard disappearing. “Wow,” I whispered and my voice sounded different — lighter, higher, with more breath to it. I quickly checked — yup, my Adam’s apple was gone. Vanished. Disappeared. I tasted cherries on my lips and realised I was wearing a makeup.

The world suddenly floated around on a roundabout. “Ow!” I cried out and quickly took off my glasses as my eyes changed, my sight now perfect after a decade of correction. The world around me seemed… different, but not in any way I could recognise. It was perhaps more vibrant, more alive, even the man-made furniture and stuff in my room almost aching to spring to life.

My train of thoughts was derailed as my mousy blond hair burst out into fiery red locks, and soon I felt them tickling my thighs. Wow, I thought, I don’t think I’ll end up any lighter than I was before. I had to make an effort to hold my head straight to keep the hair from pulling it back.

The tug at the front of my chest pulled my attention from my hair and I looked down at my… “Breasts!” I whispered and reached to touch them. “Didn’t really expect my first experience to be with my own.” They were rather more sensitive than what I used to have, but nothing of the supposed ‘orgasmic thrill’. With no knowledge of the size, all I had to go on were other guys  bragging in locker room, but I judged myself to be a… B cup? That seems to fit.

As I looked up from my chest, I noticed that in the meantime, I’d lost about twenty, twenty-five centimetres in height as my stomach caved in and my hips blossomed out. I couldn’t see myself, but I was certain I looked pretty girly already, with only my legs still retaining the boy shape, though not for long.

The change I noticed the most came next. Now, I hadn’t been using little Simon very often, but it was the main symbol of my masculinity, so I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of hesitation when I felt it shrivel and crawl back into my body, with the sack below it following, leaving a weird feeling behind. It seemed clear to me I was now a full woman, but I wasn’t about to check it out with Puck leering at me. It was a strange feeling, part emptiness, part something I couldn’t recognise.

This time I noticed when I dropped another couple centimetres — if I were to guess, I’d say I was about thirty centimetres shorter than when I started. My legs and feet reshaped as well — I couldn’t see them under my jogging bottoms, but I was certain my feet dropped at least a couple sizes — not exactly dainty, as such, but certainly smaller.

I was still marvelling at the changes in my body when I felt my T-shirt tighten around my chest and… a bra? Yes, a bra split from the fabric, hugged my new breasts, and actually gave me a — another quick check — fairly modest cleavage. The shirt meanwhile changed from worn cotton to — Was it silk? Perhaps — and spread down to my trousers.

My legs were quickly encased in a form-fitting skirt as the trouser legs melted together and tied my calves together — I couldn’t even move without tripping. As the former shirt reached down to my hips, the skirt suddenly flared and spread wide in a flurry of wisping silk. When it settled down, I realised I was wearing a very nice short-sleeved dress of dark green silk, with skirt reaching down to my ankles.

My underpants suddenly grew tight around my hips — not that they were loose before, with my hips much wider than when I was a guy — and their material changed into something smooth and comfortable. So this is what girls feel like, I thought, and suddenly yelped in surprise when the… underwear shifted and split in the middle, forming a short skirt under the dress. I— I’m naked, I gasped silently and checked my crotch, but I couldn’t see anything through the dress skirt. Shouldn’t girls wear… knickers or something? I boggled.

I felt a slight tingle in my left palm and that the nut has almost entirely melted away. And with the tickles at my feet and calves, it vanished entirely and I rose maybe five or so centimetres as a pair of black high-heeled shoes appeared on my feet and my socks crawled up under my dress and turned into smooth stockings.

Couple seconds later, the quiet whisper of shifting clothes and changing bodies lingering in the air died out. I was now a girl — a pretty one, if Puck’s gaze were anything to go on (and judging how much against it he’d been…). I needed a mirror.

“Wow, er, yer lookin’ pretty good for a ponce there.” I was really getting tired of that word. “Here, next part,” he threw the next nut at me.

This one didn’t bite. Instead, it melted right into my palm, and suddenly I felt… confident. Powerful. I knew I could win any argument, deal with any situation, and get my lazy husband to get off his arse and govern his fief as he should. Husband? I checked my thoughts, and couldn’t find anything contradicting that. Well, I shrugged, that was to be expected.

“Now,” I looked at Puck, “I believe you have a duty to take me to your lord’s court? Get to it!” I was really starting to enjoy having authority.

“Now, now, lass, er, lad. Hold yer horses for just a moment. There’s one last thing to do.”

“What is it?”

Instead of an answer, he chuckled and threw the last nut at me. With instinct, I caught it… and as it melted in my palm, I realised that my one chance to change my mind vanished with it.

“You!”

I didn’t get any further as my mind was suddenly filled with every bit of feminine knowledge I’d ever need. Simon Corn was now officially dead. I still had his memories, but every little detail, every instinct that made him what he was, were gone, replaced by Lissa. Lissa? Simon would have cried at the loss of his last connection to his mother, but as I was now, I just steamed and glared at the grinning Puck.

“Yeh wouldn’t have been presentable like yeh were afore. Still too much lad in yeh. Now yer a proper lass and none’ll know different. Saves me from primroses.”

I took a deep breath and walked over to him, as natural as if I’ve been doing it my whole life (and in a way, I have). Leaning down, I gazed into his eyes, and snarled, “Do not presume our debts settled, Puck. You will slip one day, and I shall make sure the king’s punishment will be swift and terrible. Now, do you have any more surprises, or are you ready to do your duty and introduce me to my future husband’s court?”

I must have been pretty scary, as he squeaked and waved his hand. The whole room was suddenly covered in mist. I turned around, but my guide had vanished.

“Puck!”

The mists suddenly cleared and I was standing in the royal court of King Oberon of Faerie.

—3—

Llyr

The first thing I noticed were the flowers. Well, not flowers per se, more like floral motifs all over the walls in the large hall I was standing in, except they seemed to be almost but not quite alive.

The next thing I noticed were the people. Or Fae. They were everywhere, all of them more beautiful than anyone I’d ever seen before, and suddenly a doubt crawled into my mind — what if I was just average among them? I still haven’t seen myself properly, after all.

My doubts were banished, however, when group after group became aware of my entrance and turned to look at me… and froze with looks of stupefied adoration. I allowed myself a little smile. I might make an impression on this court after all, I thought.

“My king, my queen, allow me to introduce…” I suddenly heard the little troll’s voice and turned around to face the royal throne and the King and the Queen. With the capital letters. They were… indescribable. They were Summer and Winter and the Sky and the Earth, they were Beauty and Radiance and Royalty and Divinity, all in two beings.

“…Lady Sim-”

To this day, I still have no idea how I managed to cross those ten or so metres to grab Puck and stop him from continuing. The courtiers who saw me say I did not bother with all the space between points A and B.

I stopped with a blush in my cheeks and a hand on Puck’s mouth — eyugh, gross — and quickly dropped into a curtsey. “My King. I fear your servant was to play a trick on you by changing my name.”

“And what is your name, child?” The melody of the Queen’s voice reached out and caressed my very soul.

“Lissa, my Queen,” I replied, eyes downward.

“The Spring Flower? How fitting for a vision of beauty.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Llyr!” the King called for my husband-to-be.

“Father?” a melodious voice replied from somewhere behind me. I rose and turned to look at its owner — I needed to look at him — and time stopped as our eyes met.

* * *

The love between the Fae has nothing of the awkward bumblings of mortals’ struggling to find a perfect mate. For us, the love is physical — it can make minutes last like days and days as mere seconds just with a glance to your lover’s eyes. For the rest of the court, we were still for a few moments, but between us, we watched each other for hours, before he finally broke the silence and bowed deeply, his dark auburn hair sweeping the air in a flamboyant arc.

“My lady.”

I curtsied equally deep, my eyes still lost in his.

“My lord.”

Our voices, though whispered, carried across the hall as every lady and courtier watched as he walked closer to me and offered me his hand. It was hard and strong and I let him lead me in front of the throne.

“My lady,” he turned to me, “I wish to give you all my love and ask for yours in return.”

I grabbed his other hand and spoke up, the words coming naturally to me, “My lord, I give you my love and accept all of yours.”

“Ha!” the King’s boisterous laugh broke the silence. “Heralds, to me! Let every in Faerie and outside that my son shall marry lady Lissa in a month’s time on the night of the full moon! Now, let us be merry on this most joyous occasion!”

I smiled at the King’s mirth and let myself be swept into the dance in my lover’s arms.

PDF version of the story is available at The_Fairy_Bride.pdf.

The Staff of Atlantis

by Birion

James Thompson was an archaeology professor with dreams of Indiana Jones. But his latest treasure may be too much for him...

Chapter 1 — James Boldly Goes…

I reached for the staff… and everything went black.

Chapter 2 — 48 Hours Earlier

Like any other self-respecting archaeology professor, I did only one thing when Miles told me about this supposedly “Atlantean” artefact (from his descriptions, it could have just as easily been Atlantean import, they did trade quite heavily with Mu, after all… but I digress) — I went to the dean and asked for two months’  leave. This was clearly a way to irrefutably once and for all prove the existence of Atlantis — most importantly to that insufferable jerk Jeremy Dodgers. How dare he claim that my last year’s dig was Incan! Alright, alright, when I looked at the artefacts we found, it was Incan. Still, he didn’t have to write 20 pages about that! Ehm. Anyway.

The dean of course agreed — the school does make a nice sum selling my artefacts to the galleries and musea (although the idiot once sold a burial shroud from the Ultima Thule as a Viking cloak! I tell you, I wasn’t speaking with him for two months after that.) and although my publicity isn’t always stellar, ever since I started teaching here, the number of students doubled. In the archaeology department. And, for some reason, the psychology one as well.

I packed my travel bag — it’s easier if you know what you’re going to need — and booked a flight to the continent. It was leaving in five hours, enough time to drive to the airport and board the Channel jumper. Oh, by the way, my name is James Lewis Thompson II, my father was the famous James Lewis Thompson I, and no one really knew my mother, which she liked very much. I was inspired to study archaeology after watching (what else?) The Raiders of the Lost Ark, and now, couple years later, I’m flying all over the world, proving to the rest of the “enlightened” community of my peers that their knowledge of our prehistory is really flawed. But I’m rambling again. Excuse me.

* * *

Suffice it to say, the flight was not to my standards. The less said about the food, the better. The stewardess was… oh, sorry — the flight attendant was downright rude when I asked her for a new bottle of clear water, as the one she gave me was awful. Apparently, I should have chosen a different airline. Luckily, the pilot was braving the weather very… bravely and we soon set down in Prague.

Thankfully, I had managed to book a hotel room before I left; at four in the morning, I doubted I could get further east and closer to my destination (the location of which will remain a secret; I have no intention of the likes of Mr. Dodgers mucking up my dig), but the airport provided a taxi service to the hotel. And let me tell you, the plane seats are not made for people with the right height. Midgets.

* * *

Dwarves.

* * *

In the morning, I had my first real contact with the locals when I tried to purchase a train ticket. The ticketlady-person’s English was barely understandable — Good Lord! Will I need to brush up my Russian to have myself understood? — but eventually I managed to explain to her my need to buy a ticket. I do not think, however, I’d have been able to get a destination from her as well, were it not for another of my co-passengers, waiting in the queue behind me. The children in this country seem to speak almost passable English. Good to know. I thanked my saviour — she couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, so I might have been a little brusque, but I’d rather have one young woman think me disrespectful than the whole ticket hall see me bent. I am not entirely sure what she said to me as I was leaving — wasn’t their language supposed to be similar to Russian? — but I am certain I did not merit her gesture.

The train ride was uneventful — barely two hours to read. I only brought a few books, so I tried to pace myself — it’d be a miracle if I found an English book outside Prague. Finally, the train arrived to my stop and I got off. I was supposed to switch trains here, but from what I could understand, the next train wouldn’t be around for thirty minutes at least. Oh well. More reading, then.

As I was waiting for the next train in the station hall, I suddenly became aware of someone’s stare. I looked up from my book and peeked around surreptitiously. The only other person in the hall was an old bum, who… was looking right at me! As I had no intention of getting into fights — who knows what he had under that coat of his — I quickly returned to my book. It didn’t stop his cackle, however, or his crooning. ”žPrej se jedeÅ¡ mrknout na tu hůlku, co? Jen aby tÄ› to pÄ›knÄ› nevypeklo, holka!“

After few minutes of silence, I looked up carefully. The bum was gone, and my train arrived.

* * *

Finally! I swear, if I see any more villages that end with ‘ice’ (although they seem to pronounce it “ee-tsay”), I am going to be rather upset. I got off the train — if the previous one was passable, if a little old, this one must have been here since they built this track!

I pulled a map from my pack and found out that my final destination was barely ten kilometres away. What joy, I wouldn’t have to find a hotel in this place. The thought filled me with optimism and I set out.

* * *

Unfortunately, ten kilometres on the map proved to be somewhat more difficult in reality, as the path I was supposed to follow for the most part just wasn’t there! Still, four hours later, I stood in front of a, well, hole in the ground. Or, more specifically, a hole in the slope. That was hopeful. The Atlantean architecture was clearly holding after all the millennia.

With my torch in hand, I entered the hill.

* * *

The first couple of metres were disappointing. After the journey, standing inside an Atlantean building felt remarkably similar as standing inside a cave.

With my enthusiasm dialled down, I noticed that I truly was in a cave. More precisely, I was in an Atlantean antechamber! From several previous encounters (from which I came out empty-handed, having been stymied by grave robbers each time) I knew that the ancient Atlanteans built their sacred places — their temples, if you will — outside Atlantis with traps and protections against thieves, and this was just like one of them!

For the next twenty minutes, I was busy pressing every suspicious rock, reaching into every possible crevice, and — eugh! — cleaning out more bugs than I care to mention. Finally, I found what I was looking for — a small part of the wall that was reflecting the torchlight! I cleaned the surface and voilá , the familiar Atlantean runes appeared in faint golden lines, inlaid in the stone. Further inspection revealed the almost invisible seams around the ancient doorway. I took a deep breath and started reading the runes.

“Eth.” Transform.

“Ruch.” Purify.

“Harana.” Reveal.

“Etishu.” Open.

“U leta!” And illuminate!

The lines started glowing more brightly with each name, and when I all but shouted the last rune, the stone groaned and…

* * *

“Eth… Ruch… Harana… Etishu… U leta!”

The doorway stubbornly resisted my repeated attempts to open it. Neither kicks nor stones had any effect on it (although the kicks did have an effect on my poor boots), and I was getting hoarse from the shouting. Clearly, I was missing something.

“Nuhe takTera!”

At this point, I was willing to try anything. Even a phrase that I was pretty certain was fairly offensive. Of course, the door did not move.

Rumbling in my stomach reminded me that I have not had anything to eat since breakfast. I brought the backpack into the cave and took care of the two sandwiches I bought at the train station.

Still cleaning the grease from my fingers — haven’t these Czechs ever heard of healthy food? — I considered the runes. Maybe, and that’s a big maybe, I was reading them in the wrong order. But every other Atlantean doorway was opened clockwise!

Still, can’t hurt to try, right?

“Leta.”

Whoa! The command suddenly filled the runes with bright light. In fact, I turned off my torch to conserve batteries. Maybe I was supposed to read them backwards!

“Etishu.”

The door started creaking.

“Harana.”

The runes were suddenly connected with an intricate net of silvery lines, and a deep thrum resounded from behind the door.

“Ruch.”

The light filling the cave pulsed painfully, my head throbbing in response, and I had to shield my eyes with my forearm as I shouted the last rune.

“Weth!”

The thrumming behind the door and the throbbing in my head synchronised, and I lost consciousness with a loud cry.

* * *

When I came to, it was dark. I reached around for a moment before I found my torch, then, the ray of light illuminating the dark passage behind the now open door. I think my happy shout must have surprised a lot of locals. I gathered my belongings and boldly entered the passage.

Finally! It looks like no one has got here yet. Whoa! I jumped as my foot pushed one of the stones down into the floor and I heard a swishing sound to my right ear…

Luckily, wood is clearly not the material you’d want to use if you want your traps to work after thousands of years — instead of a spear that would quickly make all my problems unimportant, I was treated to a sight of a green-black mould oozing from a small hole near my head. I’ll have to watch out for traps. No one has been through to set them off yet. I followed the passage with greater care and escaped death from above in the form of a large pointy stone that cut into the floor with dangerously sharp ease, death from below (well, perhaps, I think the pointy stakes in there must have gone the way of the mould) and death from all around me and little to the side when a steel and very very sharp plate swung through the corridor.

With my experience, however, I quickly overcame these obstacles and reached the inner chamber, the golden and platinum grail of my work, the sanctum sanctotum of the temple, where the sacrificial tools would be kept.

* * *

The weakening ray of light from the torch — Damnit, are the batteries dying? — swung across the large room. The empty holders on the walls must have been used for torches — real ones, not the electric pencil I had — but the wood had long ago rotted and disappeared.

I almost ran towards it when the indistinct shape in the centre of the room turned out to be an altar under the scrutiny of the torch; then I remembered the traps, and progressed slowly towards the stone table, feeling giddy with excitement when the light revealed a large staff lying on the altar.

One step. No traps. Another step. No traps so far. One more step. Getting a little boring. Maybe I could take two steps the next time? I decided to try it. No falling stone blocks. Okay, so how about three? That brought me about a metre away from the altar. I checked the floor between me and the table, and the floor directly around the altar — no traps! Call me paranoid, but I’ve never been in an Atlantean temple that wouldn’t have a trap in the inner sanctum for the overconfident robber, yet here… nothing. I took the last step, and safely stood next to the altar.

* * *

The staff looked wooden, but from the occassional glint I guessed it was probably metal, maybe some golden alloy? Too little light to check properly. I nearly reached for it, but then stopped. This has really been much too easy. There must be a trap in the altar.

But as far as I could tell, the altar was just a simple slab of stone, and the staff was lying on it, apparently left there by the last priest to serve this temple. In fact, it looked almost as if someone just dropped it there. I couldn’t wait any longer. I reached for the staff… and everything went black.

Chapter 3 — Jana’s Awakening

I groaned and slowly opened my eyes. There was… a woman’s voice calling something? And who put — I checked — a blanket over me? And… I blinked the sleep from my eyes as my gaze revealed that I was having a rather strange dream and I fell back into the bed I was apparently lying in with another groan — and as I suddenly realised, I did not hear the voice I was used to. It was different, lighter, higher, almost… feminine!

That explains the breasts, my mind provided, and the nightshirt — I looked under the blanket. The lack of pressure between my thighs suggested that I was without the status of manhood as well. Why am I dreaming about being a woman? I don’t have any such leanings… do I? I checked my memories, but nothing suggested anything. In fact, I did not even have any memories that could form a basis for my current dream — whole parts of my body must come straight from old anatomy books, I chuckled. Or tried to. To my rather amused horror, it came out as a very feminine giggle.

”žJani! Vstá¡vej, Å¡kola volá¡!“

There’s that woman again. What is it, Czech?

“Jana! Wake up, time for school!”

Huh? Okay, this is strange. Apparently, I understand Czech in dreams. Or at least in this dream. Wait, just understand?

“Testing, testing. This is Jana, speak…”

”žZkouÅ¡ka, zkouÅ¡ka. Tady je Jana, mluv…“

Wait, that’s not right. Let me try again.

“My name is Jana OÅ¡tická¡.”

No it’s not! It’s Jana OÅ¡tická¡, dammit! This is my dream! I…

I stopped as I realised I was standing in a bathroom, wearing a set of fairly modest underwear and cleaning up my face, and before I could stop myself, I deftly applied a faint layer of makeup, my mind reeling in autopilot. I managed to stop, but the damage was done — not that I minded that much, I realised as I looked in the mirror. It made me look rather cute, I noted, with my mane of fiery red hair, reaching — quick check — just below my shoulder blades, even though I wasn’t so sure I should be using that  word, as right now I looked less than half my sixteen years — well, next Sunday, anyway…

I sighed and leaned against the sink — Why can’t it go the way I want? — and blinked in surprise as I felt tears well up in my eyes at my helplessness. Dammit, I don’t cry! I’m a girl!

Somewhere in my turmoil, my body took over again and I was walking out of the bathroom when I hit my toe against the doorframe.

“Ow! That h… urt…”

I barely made it to the bed before I fell like a puppet without a puppeteer. You don’t hurt in dreams. That’s how you know they’re dreams. But I…

“This… This is of course not a dream, is it?” I whispered quietly to no one in particular. The sobs came easily to me now, and I buried my head in the soft pillow.

* * *

Even though I still despaired, my body seemed to have other plans, as my tears soon stopped and I got up and walked over to the wardrobe. Dammit, Jana, get a grip of yourself! You can’t let this… thing take over! You need to decide what you’re going to wear today. I looked into the open wardrobe at the row of cute skirts.

“Don’t I have any trousers?” I bemoaned my fate. The closest I ever got to wearing a skirt was yesterday.

“Jana, you’re gonna be late!” my Mom called from the hall before I heard the loud click of the front door closing.

Chapter 4 — Jana’s School Life

I don’t know how long I would have stood there if it weren’t for the autopilot in my mind, as I put on a cute skirt reaching just above my knees and a light tee on the top — something to show the boys.

“The boys?” I… felt a little tingly when I thought about boys. I’m not gay, and boys are just what the doctor ordered. I giggled when I thought about some of the boys at school, then shuddered at the graphic imagery that started playing in my mind.

“Gah! Stop! Pause! Time out!” I managed to squeak out at myself, then took a deep breath. As much as I didn’t have the time! I decided to do a little check-up.

“My name is Jana OÅ¡tická¡, I’m almost sixteen, 158 centimetres tall, I’m going to the first year of Johannes Kepler Grammar School in Prague, my measurements are…” I stopped. I — I know why I’m doing this, but at the same time it feels funny. Gah! I glanced at the clock over the door. No time for this. I need to go. Just quickly check my makeup…

* * *

I sprinted out of the house to catch the last tram before I’d be late, considering that I was wearing a cute skirt, fairly quickly, and with a boyish gasp I managed to jump on just before the door closed. Whew! My backpack for today was fairly light — lucky I did my homework yesterday and Koblová¡ is sick, so I don’t have to deal with English today.

The tram ride was uneventful — although I’m sure two boys tried to look up my skirt. They couldn’t have been more than thirteen! — and I got out at what was my usual stop.

The school was fairly unimpressive, when I went to primary school, it was a big concrete panel cube. This one’s modern. And historic too.

“Jana!” I heard some of my friends calling to me. I stopped and turned, waving at Martina and Veronika as they ran panting from the other tram stop. “Hey,” I smiled at them when they got nearer and tapped my wristwatch importantly, “cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

“What about you?” Em snorted. “Don’t tell me you’ve been here any longer than us.”

“Yeah,” V.V. piped in. ”I saw you coming from Hlá¡dkov.”

I shrugged and laughed a little. “We‘ve still got about five minutes before the bell rings. Plenty of time.” With that, I put my arms around my best friends’ shoulders and herded them towards the school door. “Come on, History awaits.” I giggled at their stereo groans and added my own.

* * *

With most of my classes done for the day, and really glad I didn’t have to do English today, because I’m not very good at it, I was lounging on one of the sofas in the corridor with Em and Kolo — that is, Klá¡ra — and talking about (unfortunately) our Czech language homework.

“What d’you have, Janina?” Kolo asked me.

“Ehh,” I flipped through my notebook, “Gilgamesh.”

“You’re in my group?” came an enthusiastic question from Em.

“I guess? Didn’t you have Ur or something?”

“Same thing.”

“Really? I had no idea,” I admitted and had to dodge Kolo’s Flying Book Whack-Up-the-Head with a laugh, which in turn got her laughing, and in moments we were turning heads of the other students in the corridor with our giggles.

“Um, Jana?”

I looked up to see whoever had need of my presence, and quickly eeped when I saw Tomá¡Å¡ stand there. He was  as good-looking as always and I felt like blushing as my cheeks quickly overheated. “Yes?” I nearly squeaked. Get a hold of yourself!

“Can I talk to you?”

“Oooh,” I got from my two traitorous friends as they picked up their things and left me with this oh-so-cute! hunk of a boy before I could work up a good and scathing retort.

“Uh, sure,” I sat up on the sofa, making space for him. I didn’t really expect him to take it, but when he moved to sit down next to me, it made me all tingly and fluffy inside. “What — what do you need?”

“Uh,” Oh my God! He was even cuter when he was nervous and… embarrassed? Oh my God, if he’s going to ask me out, I’m gonna blow! “Um, are you okay?”

I suddenly realised I was shifting nervously, and forced myself to calm down. “Yeah. Now, y-you were saying?” Don’t lose it, Jana, keep calm, and whatever you do, don’t squeal like a little girl!

“Look, uh, I just wanted to ask if you perhaps maybe haven’t seen the new Avatar film and, uh, maybe wanted to go see it? With, um, with me? Tomorrow?”

I was actually stunned for a moment. A date. He’s asking me on a date! And he looks like a big puppy you just have to hug! ”Are… are you asking me out, Tom?” Dammit, just say yes!

“Uh, yeah, I guess I am,” he chuckled nervously and I really had to stop myself from squealing with joy.

“I’d love to,” I managed to accept, my voice threating to betray me if I said anything more.

“Cool. I’ll, uh, can I call you the details in the evening?” He got up and gave me this goofy grin — but it was still soo cute!

“Uh-huh,” I nodded with dumb expression and watched as he walked away. Such a cute butt. I sighed happily and felt like melting into the sofa.

“Well, well, well,” Em, with Kolo and V.V. in tow, appeared from behind the corner, “I do believe our little Janina is growing up, ladies.”

I gave her an indignant look. “Oh Em, maybe one day you will actually find a boy too.”

“You! Ladies, attack!” And Fort OÅ¡tická¡ was besieged from two sides as I tried my best to escape both Em’s and V.V.’s tickling punishment.

“Don’t look at me,” Kolo affected a disinterested pose when Em tried to get her in on the laughing torture, “I’m perfectly happy with Luká¡Å¡.”

“Bah, traitors, both of you! Come, V.V., let us leave this place of madness.”

I whapped her on the head with a textbook before she could giggle the poor girl away.

Chapter 5 — Jana’s Acceptance

Tom did call in the evening, as promised, and we spent hours talking. He wants to be a photographer when he’s older, and I offered to model for him. He laughed it off, but I think I’ll persuade him to consider it. Somehow, when I was lying in the bathtub, listening to him talking about photography, I realised that he’s not cute. That’s barely scratching the surface. He’s hot, plain and simple. That made me feel a little apprehensive about relieving myself, but in the end I decided that we’re not ready for phone sex just yet. I’d like to do it first without the phone anyway.

We said goodnight at maybe half past twelve, but he stayed on until I fell asleep. I think. I just hope he wasn’t listening to me snoring afterwards. But still, it was so sweet.

I still get a memory or two from the other version of me, but it’s pretty much just echoes at best, and mostly it deals with icky stuff, and I don’t wanna talk about that. But I hope that by next week, I’ll be just me again. Fingers crossed.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for my date.

PDF version of this story available here.

And another poem, this one quite a bit shorter and a little older.

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The king and the queen of the fae
Had an argument
And are not the king and the queen of the fae
But the queen and the king of the fae
Forever
Until the next argument

It has been a while, yes, and no, this is not a new story from me (although I'm quite certain that if anyone was waiting, they stopped long time ago), but here, have a poem from the strange place that is my head.

P.S.: I know it's not a limerick.

The mirror that hangs on the wall of the shop
Is very strange — it never stops
Showing reflections
Of imperfect perfection
That reflect whatever happens in the shop

Take this man, buying a book and a beer
He’s all the time making it clear
That he’s quite sure
He’s bit of a bore
That like every other man — he drinks beer

The mirror that hangs on the wall in the back
But shows us his picture, without a crack
Not a man of inexpensive taste
But a woman, with feminine waist
And proper curves in the front and the back

And thus is each man in his own strange ways revealed
What every one of them ever concealed
And in other ways strange
Ofttimes deranged
What each woman tried to hide — revealed

The mirror that hangs in the back of the universe
Is always true, showing diverse
Confused reflections
Of past tense perfections
That mix the worlds of our own private universe

Therefore a man with a woman in their travels
Are mixed up together and ground into gravel
That with some grit
And a whole lot of spit
Builds a new woman and a man for their travels

And the man — now a woman forever to be
Will marry a man offered on a bended knee
Who was always quite certain
With his love behind curtain
He would never care who she used to be

The mirror that hangs in the soul of our hearts
Is a product of some strange mystical arts
For without a fail
The men turn female
And follow the desire of their hearts