Hello friends and lovers!
MAPPY CHAPPY DAY
CW:
SpoilerViolence. attempted murber. Dismemberment. Welcome to the JAM! And someone gonna get SLAMMED!
[collapse]
In hindsight, the little spirit was right to wince at those last words. We shouldn’t taunt her. We just need to take more time to explain and help her understand and–
But with a roiling of scorching soulfire, the old tired lady is charging us. Ancient wretched sword is already swinging for our core.
Fuck.
Well… If she won’t listen, won’t move or douse that writhing Amwella core, then we’ll need to act quickly and with efficiency. We’ll spend all our soulfire on the Peeling Shrike and healing song. The amount left after that will only be a flicker!
Now she’s at us, and we’re moving beneath her blade with ease. The perfectly balanced bone of our leg flashing out from our crouch and–
No mistakes tonight.
A twist, and she’s rolled back from our strike. Faster than her size should allow.
We can’t afford them.
Amwella furnace pouring strength into her form that no other should be able to match, she’s lunging again. Swinging the blade at our one good leg. So we answer her by kicking forward over the swing, rest a hand on one big arm, and leap over her.
We strike the wall at an angle, let it absorb our momentum, now kick off with a sudden wash of strength she cannot expect from our small form. Bladed leg up and down toward her back and–
Nearly enact Division, but at the last moment we adjust our instincts and twist our leg. End up sending a slice down her arm instead of bisecting her skull.
Fire, sudden and hot and horrible that would cook any other, flares from the woman's palm into our face. The force of it throws us back and into the wall of the archway. We land well, and only gain some soft bruises.
Emarial glares over at us, but… we can’t help but enjoy the sudden flash of old fear as her eyes watch what must be her favorite magic just… dance off us. The fire she willed into the Waking World flitting about us in loving joy.
Unable to even scorch their beloved Weaver.
We don’t want to kill her. The smaller spirit whispers to the larger as She breathes old words into the flames and begins to gather them into her palm. The larger grumbles… but then…
“Please,” We draw the flames into a pretty arc, then allow them to disperse harmlessly. “We don’t want this fight.”
We wince as we look at her injured arm. It’s… ugh… our bone leg is really fucking sharp from the correct angles. Even… even after the little spirit tried to dull it over the past week with weaker tools. There is just a big ugly slop of flesh hanging and dripping blood off her bicep.
We didn’t hit any major blood working, but fuck must that hurt.
“After we’re done…. Maybe we can heal–”
Not enough Amwella for that. The larger chides. Maybe in a few weeks, but…
Emarial shifts herself, grunts, adjusts her blade into her injured hand. Takes up the flapping of flesh, pushes it back and—
Fire, and it’s a smoking sealed wound. Not healed. Just… not in the way. But from her expression still painful as fuck!
“Eck.” We huff. “Emarial… Just leave. Let us try to–”
She re-adjusts her grip, and we can see resolution return. “No.” And then she’s attacking again.
We dodge and weave, roll and avoid her. All while the twin spirits attempt to find the best way to end this without killing the big stupid cunt.
We could take a leg? Or arm? The larger growls
Slice, as we almost lose a limb ourselves.
No. No no no! The smaller sputters. We… can we just… like… tire her out!?!
We strike out toward her, know she'll parry, but don’t expect the kick she lashes out with.
No. Her Amwella will keep her going for much much longer than us. Only body wounds can stop her.
Block with both arms, feel bones creak under the weight of the blow. Stumble back.
Fuck… but… but maybe…
We shake out the pain in our arms, letting her think she has an opening as we come to a horrid union of action.
Step in, catch her arms tight against our chest, flow with her motions. And then up and–
CRACK! We slam a knee up and into the wounded arm with three times the strength a girl our size should have, and feel a wash of satisfaction as the bone snaps in two beneath the burned and sealed flap of skin.
To her credit Emarial does not shout or yell or scream, just just yanks free of our grip and jerks in a spin to try and catch us in a one handed reverse blow. Even drops that cursed sword to do it.
But… we’re already away. And she hits only open air.
Emarial’s left arm hangs limb and broken as she stumbles a bit from her missed swing. She does grunt in pain then as she falls to one knee.
“Even with all that Amwella, and all your strength, you cannot beat us.” We whisper, “We… Even without using our own magic, a millennia of experience has buried you. Just… take your own offer! Leave!”
She growls, reaching down for her weapon. “Fought your blighted husks before. Suffered worse.”
“We’re not like them!” We plead, take a step toward her. “Not–”
But there is a… a sound. Something at the entrance that alerts us to the blighted strike before the air cries out in such pain. We leap back, and a fissure of green lightning arcs between us and Emarial.
Leaving a horrid wound sizzling and crackling in the World Song.
We jerk around to glare at a dark silhouette in the entrance. Her shimmering jade eyes alight with humor and hunger as one taloned hand holds out a familiar Cultivation stone.
“V– Vele…?” Emarial breathes.
“Well well…” She grins, eyes never leaving ours as she adjusts the gemstone to aim at us. “She has just… gone mad and turned?”
We growl. More in frustration than… huh… maybe we should be afraid here?
But… nothing flutters up. Not even as we see the murderous intent in her eyes.
The Matron tuts, then lifts a thumb to–
“Touch that thing's glyphs again and we’re taking the hand.” We snap, voice a whip-crack that jerks her to pause.
“She still talks? That’s… rare.” She purrs, “How long do you think that’ll last?”
“Longer than you if you don’t stop pointing that thing at us.” We smirk, slide a step closer to Emarial. Hoping if we get close she won’t risk cracking the gemstone again.
“Us? You are unique.” She giggles, then eyes Emarial. “It’s been so loooong, Ticao. I didn’t realize how much I missed killing one of these twisted things. Can you stand? Help me indulge old vices?”
We watch as Emarial fights to rise from the corner of our eye, Amwella flares and burns hotter than before. Filling her with fire to sear away the immense pain she must be in as one arm just… curls against her chest and side.
“W– Wait.” Emarial turns to us, blade down. “Ina… if… if you’re in there. Can… can you just… Just leave? It’s not too late. If what you said is true, and you’ll survive this. We can talk in the morning and figure things out.”
We don’t take our eyes off the Matron or her blighted stone. Twin spirits wriggle and try to… to figure out how to handle both of them. We’re fast, and Emarial is pretty fucking wounded. But… that stone… If we can just… get to her. We can handle the Matron.
Break her fucking wrist, or better yet, slice it off!!!
“We have the weight of broken promises to bear.” We spread our arms, palms up. Then we’re moving at the Matron faster than she can hope to twist her fingers over the activation runes.
We feel Emarial behind us, are already preparing our second strike once this jade-eyed cunt is–
But then the Matron smiles, eyes alight with a furious glow that follows our movements with ease. She steps into our charge before we can raise our leg, slips past our rising limb, and slashes her free talon down our face.
We jerk back, barely avoid losing either eye from her razor sharp claws, feel a blazing furnace roar up in anticipation from behind and–
We pull to the side, feel the echo of old terror as the blade grazes down our left side, it’s ancient and ugly metal screaming for our death. The Matron follows, talons raking and slashing against our arms and flesh as we dance.
A flurry of blows from our leg drives her back, but…she avoids every cut and slice. How is she so fast!?! But this leaves us open for Emarial to swing at us again. We lean into her and take the blow of her arm over the dreaded blade she carries. End up stumbling and fighting to keep our balance as the force of it throws us back. Bone leg has to crack down and stab into the cold granite to stop us from falling.
“Oh how I’ve missed this.” The matron giggles, horrid cultivation stone raised, fingers dancing over its engravings to alight it with a flash of green.
We dive and barely avoid another of the rending fissures. Rolling and jerking to leap again as she waits for the gemstone to recover and be ready for a second blast. Emarial is staying back, either from fear of being caught in the matron’s working or our blade.
We settle into a run and duck into the forest of Obelisks, spitting old curses as we draw the towering crystals to block her line of sight.
“Come out, little Sun Spoken.” She sings, her voice echoing behind us. “More will be here soon, and with gemstones worse than mine!”
The truth in her words makes us jolt to a stop. Can’t… can’t wait for the right moment to strike a weak blow! With every new attacker comes the probability of defeat. Or… Or the need to just slaughter them all… We glare back along the path, considering…
How much is the little spirit willing to harm these two?
“Why not submit and just… die in some measure of peace?” We see glimmering shadows cast behind us, their owners proceeding with the careful care of one hunting a wounded and scared predator.
This… weirdly, is what riles the larger spirit into action. Prompting the smaller to just… Trust.
Let Her control this conflict now.
The smaller does not hesitate, and tries to relax control completely into Her hands.
The larger takes a deep breath, and we’re moving. Our bone leg may be a perfect weapon, but the floors in here are covered with blighted granite! It sings our position as clearly as if we shout it.
But… this room also echoes.
A lot.
So as we run we’re tinking and clicking our leg on gemstones and crystals in excess as we whisper a soft song of encouragement to the rising melody. Weaving a cacophony of rhythmic sounds that bounce and reverberate as we circle and twist through this crystalline forest. Catch glimpses of Emarial and Veletross moving with even more care now. One seems to always be watching backwards as the other guards the front.
We smile as we feel the gemstone echoes begin to reach an overbearing crescendo, run up to a big pillar covered in swirling engravings. Plant our good foot, kick off and up, twist, land on another one and kick ourselves up to the top of the first. Or ascension’s light patters swallowed as the echoes reach their height, and as they just start to fade, we’re leaping up again.
The matron turns, gemstone flaring to light just as we’re slicing down between the two.
Bone leg bisecting her arm in half at the elbow.
Our landing is too hard though, and with only one good leg we feel reinforced bones creak and scream in agony at the force. Causes us to pause longer than calculated.
Can’t move fast enough to dodge–
Dull horrid blade slams into our shoulder and chest, cold white flame dances just before the force of Emarial’s blow sends us flying back. Causing us to tumble and roll through a patchwork of sharp tipped little fauna and gain a series of painful little cuts.
But… but none of that compares to the fucking horRID COLD IRON FLAME THAT’S BURNING US!!!
DivIsIOn burns through us like a hot blade through flesh. Skinning away the soul and leaving the mind and body a jittering writhing mess.
We hiss and curl over on ourselves, try to smother the flame that burns at the wound left by the Sun Spoken’s blade.
“Fucking cunt!” Veletross is hissing and screaming, clutching at her maimed limb.
Emarial turns to her, face a weary mask of pain as she’s stepping closer to the matron. Begins to–
“I’ve lost more than this in the past, GO!” The Matron spits. “Kill them.”
We try to move, try to… to get our arms underneath us. But something is wrong. The smaller spirit is still reeling from the pain, and the larger can’t quite get herself rewoven around the mind. We can only just look up as her shadow falls across us.
Blade hand raised, wounded arm hanging limp, she regards us with a cold mask of… things.
The cold flame is gone, with the scorching wound still echoes with a pain we can’t smother. Can’t move… Not… not before she.
“What are you waiting for!?!” Veletross screams. “Kill it!”
“No.” Emarial whispers, lowers the blade.
We freeze for a moment at her declaration. Or… at least our body does. The spirits still wrest and writhe to regain some measure of control.
“What?” The Matron hisses.
“They say they can survive this night, If only given the chance to use a song to heal their mind.” Emarial glances back at her. “That’s… New. And if it’s true I’d like to see it.”
“Are you so fucking mind addled that you believe the Weaver’s lies!?!” She’s standing now. The arm is still a maimed ruin, but… very little blood drips from the wound. But our eyes immediately focus on the gemstone she clutches in her good talon.
N– Need to move… The smaller spirit fights past the pain, tries to claw back to the larger.
“The Weaver has rarely shown patience for lies.” Emarial looks between us.
Larger one reaches, reaches, reaches… Tries to move the body to… to move or strike or…
“Ticao!” Veletross stomps over, reaches up to touch Emarial’s cheek. “They will recover any second. If you don’t want to watch it die…”
Spirits are so close. Ready to become one again.
The big Sun Spoken pushes Veletross’s hand away with the hilt of her sword, looks away in confliction and pain and…
Almost…
“...Then close your fucking eyes.” Veletross turns her arm, pointes the gemstone at our heart, fingers dancing over the glyphs.
Green glow, World Song creaks beneath the weight of the impending crack, and–
And the second biggest woman we’ve ever met comes bolting from behind a nearby gemstone, wraps her huge arms around the Matron’s torso, and proceeds to bend back and slam the woman into the granite floor in a loud CRACK.
Spirits collide, Rejoin!!!
ALSO ALSO Come on over to join our discord for SST and/or LoTDD talks!
To read ahead by about 6k words (3 chapters) of BOTH my series consider supporting this silly writer on Patreon!
And to check out a DARK lesbian/trans fantasy story feel free to read Lamentations of The Dead Dreamer!
BUT BE WARNED, it is dark and very much the opposite of Sun Spoken Turn in many ways. BIG sad/trauma!!!
Read the Content Warnings!
Hello friends and lovers!
MAPPY CHAPPY DAY
CW:
SpoilerViolence. attempted murber. Dismemberment. Welcome to the JAM! And someone gonna get SLAMMED!
[collapse]
In hindsight, the little spirit was right to wince at those last words. We shouldn’t taunt her. We just need to take more time to explain and help her understand and–
But with a roiling of scorching soulfire, the old tired lady is charging us. Ancient wretched sword is already swinging for our core.
Fuck.
Well… If she won’t listen, won’t move or douse that writhing Amwella core, then we’ll need to act quickly and with efficiency. We’ll spend all our soulfire on the Peeling Shrike and healing song. The amount left after that will only be a flicker!
Now she’s at us, and we’re moving beneath her blade with ease. The perfectly balanced bone of our leg flashing out from our crouch and–
No mistakes tonight.
A twist, and she’s rolled back from our strike. Faster than her size should allow.
We can’t afford them.
Amwella furnace pouring strength into her form that no other should be able to match, she’s lunging again. Swinging the blade at our one good leg. So we answer her by kicking forward over the swing, rest a hand on one big arm, and leap over her.
We strike the wall at an angle, let it absorb our momentum, now kick off with a sudden wash of strength she cannot expect from our small form. Bladed leg up and down toward her back and–
Nearly enact Division, but at the last moment we adjust our instincts and twist our leg. End up sending a slice down her arm instead of bisecting her skull.
Fire, sudden and hot and horrible that would cook any other, flares from the woman's palm into our face. The force of it throws us back and into the wall of the archway. We land well, and only gain some soft bruises.
Emarial glares over at us, but… we can’t help but enjoy the sudden flash of old fear as her eyes watch what must be her favorite magic just… dance off us. The fire she willed into the Waking World flitting about us in loving joy.
Unable to even scorch their beloved Weaver.
We don’t want to kill her. The smaller spirit whispers to the larger as She breathes old words into the flames and begins to gather them into her palm. The larger grumbles… but then…
“Please,” We draw the flames into a pretty arc, then allow them to disperse harmlessly. “We don’t want this fight.”
We wince as we look at her injured arm. It’s… ugh… our bone leg is really fucking sharp from the correct angles. Even… even after the little spirit tried to dull it over the past week with weaker tools. There is just a big ugly slop of flesh hanging and dripping blood off her bicep.
We didn’t hit any major blood working, but fuck must that hurt.
“After we’re done…. Maybe we can heal–”
Not enough Amwella for that. The larger chides. Maybe in a few weeks, but…
Emarial shifts herself, grunts, adjusts her blade into her injured hand. Takes up the flapping of flesh, pushes it back and—
Fire, and it’s a smoking sealed wound. Not healed. Just… not in the way. But from her expression still painful as fuck!
“Eck.” We huff. “Emarial… Just leave. Let us try to–”
She re-adjusts her grip, and we can see resolution return. “No.” And then she’s attacking again.
We dodge and weave, roll and avoid her. All while the twin spirits attempt to find the best way to end this without killing the big stupid cunt.
We could take a leg? Or arm? The larger growls
Slice, as we almost lose a limb ourselves.
No. No no no! The smaller sputters. We… can we just… like… tire her out!?!
We strike out toward her, know she'll parry, but don’t expect the kick she lashes out with.
No. Her Amwella will keep her going for much much longer than us. Only body wounds can stop her.
Block with both arms, feel bones creak under the weight of the blow. Stumble back.
Fuck… but… but maybe…
We shake out the pain in our arms, letting her think she has an opening as we come to a horrid union of action.
Step in, catch her arms tight against our chest, flow with her motions. And then up and–
CRACK! We slam a knee up and into the wounded arm with three times the strength a girl our size should have, and feel a wash of satisfaction as the bone snaps in two beneath the burned and sealed flap of skin.
To her credit Emarial does not shout or yell or scream, just just yanks free of our grip and jerks in a spin to try and catch us in a one handed reverse blow. Even drops that cursed sword to do it.
But… we’re already away. And she hits only open air.
Emarial’s left arm hangs limb and broken as she stumbles a bit from her missed swing. She does grunt in pain then as she falls to one knee.
“Even with all that Amwella, and all your strength, you cannot beat us.” We whisper, “We… Even without using our own magic, a millennia of experience has buried you. Just… take your own offer! Leave!”
She growls, reaching down for her weapon. “Fought your blighted husks before. Suffered worse.”
“We’re not like them!” We plead, take a step toward her. “Not–”
But there is a… a sound. Something at the entrance that alerts us to the blighted strike before the air cries out in such pain. We leap back, and a fissure of green lightning arcs between us and Emarial.
Leaving a horrid wound sizzling and crackling in the World Song.
We jerk around to glare at a dark silhouette in the entrance. Her shimmering jade eyes alight with humor and hunger as one taloned hand holds out a familiar Cultivation stone.
“V– Vele…?” Emarial breathes.
“Well well…” She grins, eyes never leaving ours as she adjusts the gemstone to aim at us. “She has just… gone mad and turned?”
We growl. More in frustration than… huh… maybe we should be afraid here?
But… nothing flutters up. Not even as we see the murderous intent in her eyes.
The Matron tuts, then lifts a thumb to–
“Touch that thing's glyphs again and we’re taking the hand.” We snap, voice a whip-crack that jerks her to pause.
“She still talks? That’s… rare.” She purrs, “How long do you think that’ll last?”
“Longer than you if you don’t stop pointing that thing at us.” We smirk, slide a step closer to Emarial. Hoping if we get close she won’t risk cracking the gemstone again.
“Us? You are unique.” She giggles, then eyes Emarial. “It’s been so loooong, Ticao. I didn’t realize how much I missed killing one of these twisted things. Can you stand? Help me indulge old vices?”
We watch as Emarial fights to rise from the corner of our eye, Amwella flares and burns hotter than before. Filling her with fire to sear away the immense pain she must be in as one arm just… curls against her chest and side.
“W– Wait.” Emarial turns to us, blade down. “Ina… if… if you’re in there. Can… can you just… Just leave? It’s not too late. If what you said is true, and you’ll survive this. We can talk in the morning and figure things out.”
We don’t take our eyes off the Matron or her blighted stone. Twin spirits wriggle and try to… to figure out how to handle both of them. We’re fast, and Emarial is pretty fucking wounded. But… that stone… If we can just… get to her. We can handle the Matron.
Break her fucking wrist, or better yet, slice it off!!!
“We have the weight of broken promises to bear.” We spread our arms, palms up. Then we’re moving at the Matron faster than she can hope to twist her fingers over the activation runes.
We feel Emarial behind us, are already preparing our second strike once this jade-eyed cunt is–
But then the Matron smiles, eyes alight with a furious glow that follows our movements with ease. She steps into our charge before we can raise our leg, slips past our rising limb, and slashes her free talon down our face.
We jerk back, barely avoid losing either eye from her razor sharp claws, feel a blazing furnace roar up in anticipation from behind and–
We pull to the side, feel the echo of old terror as the blade grazes down our left side, it’s ancient and ugly metal screaming for our death. The Matron follows, talons raking and slashing against our arms and flesh as we dance.
A flurry of blows from our leg drives her back, but…she avoids every cut and slice. How is she so fast!?! But this leaves us open for Emarial to swing at us again. We lean into her and take the blow of her arm over the dreaded blade she carries. End up stumbling and fighting to keep our balance as the force of it throws us back. Bone leg has to crack down and stab into the cold granite to stop us from falling.
“Oh how I’ve missed this.” The matron giggles, horrid cultivation stone raised, fingers dancing over its engravings to alight it with a flash of green.
We dive and barely avoid another of the rending fissures. Rolling and jerking to leap again as she waits for the gemstone to recover and be ready for a second blast. Emarial is staying back, either from fear of being caught in the matron’s working or our blade.
We settle into a run and duck into the forest of Obelisks, spitting old curses as we draw the towering crystals to block her line of sight.
“Come out, little Sun Spoken.” She sings, her voice echoing behind us. “More will be here soon, and with gemstones worse than mine!”
The truth in her words makes us jolt to a stop. Can’t… can’t wait for the right moment to strike a weak blow! With every new attacker comes the probability of defeat. Or… Or the need to just slaughter them all… We glare back along the path, considering…
How much is the little spirit willing to harm these two?
“Why not submit and just… die in some measure of peace?” We see glimmering shadows cast behind us, their owners proceeding with the careful care of one hunting a wounded and scared predator.
This… weirdly, is what riles the larger spirit into action. Prompting the smaller to just… Trust.
Let Her control this conflict now.
The smaller does not hesitate, and tries to relax control completely into Her hands.
The larger takes a deep breath, and we’re moving. Our bone leg may be a perfect weapon, but the floors in here are covered with blighted granite! It sings our position as clearly as if we shout it.
But… this room also echoes.
A lot.
So as we run we’re tinking and clicking our leg on gemstones and crystals in excess as we whisper a soft song of encouragement to the rising melody. Weaving a cacophony of rhythmic sounds that bounce and reverberate as we circle and twist through this crystalline forest. Catch glimpses of Emarial and Veletross moving with even more care now. One seems to always be watching backwards as the other guards the front.
We smile as we feel the gemstone echoes begin to reach an overbearing crescendo, run up to a big pillar covered in swirling engravings. Plant our good foot, kick off and up, twist, land on another one and kick ourselves up to the top of the first. Or ascension’s light patters swallowed as the echoes reach their height, and as they just start to fade, we’re leaping up again.
The matron turns, gemstone flaring to light just as we’re slicing down between the two.
Bone leg bisecting her arm in half at the elbow.
Our landing is too hard though, and with only one good leg we feel reinforced bones creak and scream in agony at the force. Causes us to pause longer than calculated.
Can’t move fast enough to dodge–
Dull horrid blade slams into our shoulder and chest, cold white flame dances just before the force of Emarial’s blow sends us flying back. Causing us to tumble and roll through a patchwork of sharp tipped little fauna and gain a series of painful little cuts.
But… but none of that compares to the fucking horRID COLD IRON FLAME THAT’S BURNING US!!!
DivIsIOn burns through us like a hot blade through flesh. Skinning away the soul and leaving the mind and body a jittering writhing mess.
We hiss and curl over on ourselves, try to smother the flame that burns at the wound left by the Sun Spoken’s blade.
“Fucking cunt!” Veletross is hissing and screaming, clutching at her maimed limb.
Emarial turns to her, face a weary mask of pain as she’s stepping closer to the matron. Begins to–
“I’ve lost more than this in the past, GO!” The Matron spits. “Kill them.”
We try to move, try to… to get our arms underneath us. But something is wrong. The smaller spirit is still reeling from the pain, and the larger can’t quite get herself rewoven around the mind. We can only just look up as her shadow falls across us.
Blade hand raised, wounded arm hanging limp, she regards us with a cold mask of… things.
The cold flame is gone, with the scorching wound still echoes with a pain we can’t smother. Can’t move… Not… not before she.
“What are you waiting for!?!” Veletross screams. “Kill it!”
“No.” Emarial whispers, lowers the blade.
We freeze for a moment at her declaration. Or… at least our body does. The spirits still wrest and writhe to regain some measure of control.
“What?” The Matron hisses.
“They say they can survive this night, If only given the chance to use a song to heal their mind.” Emarial glances back at her. “That’s… New. And if it’s true I’d like to see it.”
“Are you so fucking mind addled that you believe the Weaver’s lies!?!” She’s standing now. The arm is still a maimed ruin, but… very little blood drips from the wound. But our eyes immediately focus on the gemstone she clutches in her good talon.
N– Need to move… The smaller spirit fights past the pain, tries to claw back to the larger.
“The Weaver has rarely shown patience for lies.” Emarial looks between us.
Larger one reaches, reaches, reaches… Tries to move the body to… to move or strike or…
“Ticao!” Veletross stomps over, reaches up to touch Emarial’s cheek. “They will recover any second. If you don’t want to watch it die…”
Spirits are so close. Ready to become one again.
The big Sun Spoken pushes Veletross’s hand away with the hilt of her sword, looks away in confliction and pain and…
Almost…
“...Then close your fucking eyes.” Veletross turns her arm, pointes the gemstone at our heart, fingers dancing over the glyphs.
Green glow, World Song creaks beneath the weight of the impending crack, and–
And the second biggest woman we’ve ever met comes bolting from behind a nearby gemstone, wraps her huge arms around the Matron’s torso, and proceeds to bend back and slam the woman into the granite floor in a loud CRACK.
Spirits collide, Rejoin!!!
ALSO ALSO Come on over to join our discord for SST and/or LoTDD talks!
To read ahead by about 6k words (3 chapters) of BOTH my series consider supporting this silly writer on Patreon!
And to check out a DARK lesbian/trans fantasy story feel free to read Lamentations of The Dead Dreamer!
BUT BE WARNED, it is dark and very much the opposite of Sun Spoken Turn in many ways. BIG sad/trauma!!!
Read the Content Warnings!
