"As the only concubine to ever dare to resist him, she needed to be made an example of.  He ordered the construction of a roost resting high atop a tower build not only of stone and wood, but also the corpses of many unfortunate slaves tasked with its assembly.  The human-sized henhouse contained an open wall that overlooked the courtesan's homeland, the exact hills and valleys she used to inhabit before the slaughter and enslavement of her people.  It was there that she was kept in a rusted bird cage, its iron frame too small for her to stand or lay down.

    Regrettably, the strife of having the hearth of her childhood so close yet so impossibly unobtainable wasn't the worst of her burdens.  Her cruel master bled an entire stable of beasts in the fire of the dark gods, invoking a sinister affliction.  Her now immortal life was spent in two phases: as a human during the day, naked and shivering, hopelessly wailing in sorrow; and as a crow by night, restless and frantic, flapping and fluttering against the unforgiving rungs of her eternal jail.” -M.D. Walter

The bullet entered her jaw, went through her skull, and exited out her eye socket.  As it traveled through skin and bone, something unusual happened.  The cells and fibers didn't rupture, burst, or shatter; they transformed and became verdant.  Roots took hold and rapidly filled surrounding capillaries.  Stems burst forth with a stupendous flourish.  Leaves soon grew out of the stocks, and immediately after emerged plump buds.  Just as quickly as the bullet left its chamber, flowers blossomed and stretched towards the sun.
    Reality changed.  Death was rebuked and life triumphed, only life persisted in an entirely new form.  A weapon of expunction fertilized the soil of her flesh, and the fabric that was her body became woven into the earth where she lay.  When the last echo of the shot faded, she had transformed into an exquisite garden, never again to walk but forever to be marveled upon." -M.D. Walter

"When her father passed away, the sword became hers.  The topaz in the saber's hilt had an unnatural glow, a thrumming aura that pulsed at her presence.  At an early age she could manipulate it not with her dexterity but her mind.  Without as much as a flinch, it became a floating guardian that deterred any attacker.

    The local gang of bandits, frustrated by numerous failed attempts to steal the prized relic, took to a cruel alternative.  Her brother and sister were bound and dragged to an abandoned executioner's block where they were used to lure their sibling.  She abided, but only in time to see them both murdered before her eyes.  The bandits descended upon her, thinking their trap to be a success, only to be greeted by whirling flashes of steel.  Her unbridled pain and emotion were expressed viciously, and the ground surrounding her became thick with dusty, coagulated blood.

    Knowing she brought this upon her beloved kin, she issued forth one final command.  The sword rose above her and rotated to down towards the earth.  Slowly, she opened her mouth and extended on her toes to greet it.  When she felt the cold blade against her tongue, she did not lack courage nor lose her conviction.

    As her life left her, the brilliant topaz dulled into a yellow matte stone, passing with her into another realm." -M.D. Walter

"When she was young and her parents would fight, she would lay out in the field next to their house and watch the monarchs flutter about as if dodging the wind itself.  Their flights, both erratic and graceful, seemed to be the expressions of joyful creatures laughing their way through the meadows.  Years later, when the handsome boy from the farm down the road took her by the hand and lead her to a lonesome tree to kiss her, gently and innocently, the monarchs were there as well.  Bundled against him and the bark of the elm, she could hear their amber wings as loudly as the brook below the hill.  And when her father killed her mother and then turned the gun on himself, she watched out the window of the police car as every butterfly she had ever seen dipped and rose in unison while leaving her home for a better world.

    She heard she was being sent to live with relatives in the city, and the last thing she did before she left the pastures of her youth was run into the field one last time to retrieve the only source of comfort she had ever known.  Ever so delicately, she collected as many fallen monarchs as she could along with a piece of plastic from the garage about the size of a window frame.  When she arrived in the city, she glued the deceased butterflies to the transparent plastic and put it in front of her window.  Every day and every night, no matter how loudly the cars honked or the sirens blared, the monarchs outside her window would never fly away, never leave her ever again." -M.D. Walter

"She almost returned it fearing that there wasn't actually a plant in the pot at all.  But she was patient, and a bit stubborn, and kept putting water on the dirt each and every day.  After about a month, the room seemed unusually warm but the pot showed no signs of foliage.  A few more weeks and the room was noticeably humid, with beads of water condensing on the widows.  Not long after, a green stalk finally protruded from the ground and seemed to inhale loudly each day.  By the end of the second month, a greenery more forest than plant poured forth from the enveloped pot, and air so thick with moisture gathered into clouds near the ceiling.

The second week of the third month, she awoke to a steady percussion, a constant patter from down the hall.  She crept towards the now jungle-like room and opened the door to find rain.  Droplets broke on her forehead and hands as stepped into the room.  She looked up to find not a ceiling but the night sky, the moon casting pale light from behind roaming clouds.  Another step forward splashed water from a puddle onto her leg, and she quickly realized there were no boards underneath her feet.  The waterlogged earth that her toes sank into clang to the soles of her feet as she trudged forwards, parting the dangling leaves with every step.  She knew the front door was no more than ten feet further, so she ignored her fear and continued.

After summer ended they had no choice but to stop looking for her body.  The house was foreclosed and eventually sold to a new family, who found the previous owner had left nothing at all but one clay pot hanging from the ceiling."

-M.D. Walter

 

"She grew up in a rich port city with one of the most active and exotic markets in the land. Often she would stroll through the bazaar and see what the merchant ships had brought in, gazing in awe at the rare goods.

 

One afternoon she came upon a purveyor of curious flowers, their colors, shapes, and sizes defying reality. She dwelled there, sniffing and caressing the petals, until the man who ran the shop approached her. He asked if she would like some flowers grown especially for her, and she couldn't contain her excitement. As he handed over six enormous crimson roses in full bloom, he grabbed her by the wrist and spoke:

 

"These roses represent the years you have left. Tonight, one of them will ignite and begin a slow, unstoppable burn. Many years from now, when the first flower is entirely scorched, the second will, in turn, begin its steady and fiery demise. When the last petal of the last flower is scorched, your life will be extinguished with its flames.

 

She now wanders to the corners of the world, seeking wisdom on how to break her curse and suffocate the unquenchable flames of her unwanted gift."

-M.D.Walter

“Its master and creator was the Witch of the Mountains. The Witch, finding her ambition greater than the finite number of hours in each day, took upon constructing a golem, a mindless servant to carry out her bidding. The golem was meticulously crafted to be in the form of a beautiful young girl, allowing it to function near the townsfolk without causing alarm. Many obscure and rare reagents were gathered by the golem over the years, mystical components to be thrown in its master corrupt cauldron.

 

The townsfolk eventually took it upon themselves to capture and burn the Witch of the Mountains, and as the flames consumed her she cackled and laughed long after her corpse had been reduced to carbon. When her shrieking finally faded, the golem was obediently crossing a skree field in search of a powerful demonic ingot. The moment the Witch was no more, the life force that powered the automaton left with a howl. It collapsed to the ground, the human tones of pink and red that allowed it to walk unnoticed now faded and reverted to the rocky greys of the stones it lay amongst.”

-M.D. Walter

'Her genetic condition rendered her skin extremely vulnerable to the light produced by the Sun. She was forced to live under the shade of a protective umbrella, a constant accessory that kept out damaging rays and also the world. She was ridiculed and shunned for both her affliction and the ever-present umbrella. Rejected by society, she began to talk to herself - at first inaudible mumbles, then vocal conversations - and her umbrella began to respond.

 

When she was informed that her condition had miraculously been cured, she was mistrustful. She continued to live under her umbrella, and instead of merely responding to her rantings, the synthetic canopy now incessantly whispered judgements and condemnations about those around her. Its words grabbed and tugged at her sanity, stripping her of her ability to approach the world.

She became a recluse, a servant to the biddings of the umbrella, her lifelong companion, unwavering protector, and sole confidant.” -M.D.Walter

    "She put her everything into him.  He was her guide, her buoy, her hope, her reason.  When she was asleep, she saw him, and when she was awake, her eyes looked for him.  It was love, and of that she was quite certain.

    When he left her, suddenly and for another woman, depression hit her hard.  The world, which in his presence seemed so small and welcoming, became distant and harsh, an endless desert of red sand, scarred rocks, and arid shrubs separating her from connecting with another human being.  Whenever she did find the courage to leave her consoling mattress, she felt his hands like shackles on her ankles, his oppressive grasp a leash that tethered her to isolation and loneliness.

    He kept her there without his knowledge, unwittingly dictating her every thought and movement. It was so even when she had him, and it was still so without him." -M. D. Walter

    “The desert was a quiet place both when the sun scorched the dirt and the moon made the world metallic in its light.  For many, that silence was a tranquility eagerly welcomed into their lives, periods where life's chaos was triumphantly rebuked and the only noises were sounds that were present long before humans arrived.

    There was one noise, however ancient and peaceful it may be, that was no one wanted to hear.  There was, on rare occasion, a spellbinding melody emanating from the rocky hills.  The mystical tune was played by an desert siren, an evil nymph of the parched plains.  It was gracefully strummed on a harp made of bone, no doubt the bone of a creature she consumed herself.  Plucking and singing, she wandered the barren lands enticing man and beast to seek out the source of the divine harmony.

    The hapless souls that followed their possessed ears and hearts to this infernal creature were butchered in manners one would not like to dwell on.  And for this reason, may all desert nights be tranquil and still and perfectly devoid of life's organic or demonic chaos.” -M.D. Walter 

    “She had been poisoned by a jealous admirer the day of her wedding.  It took hold of her quickly, paralyzing her body and blackening her world.  She was mourned intensely by her fiancé, family, friends, their salty tears joining the splashing rain on its way to the river.  After two days her body was laid into a small boat with a beautiful and bright bouquet of sunflowers, a vibrant reference to the eternal inner flame.  The vessel was cast out into the flowing water and the current carried her away.

    The next day she awoke, her body still paralyzed but her mind sparked to life by the sun's warmth.  The poison had crippled her but lacked the conviction to extinguish such a marvelously pure soul.  She gazed frantically toward the sky, the muscles in her neck locking her gaze upward.  All she could see was blue, the periwinkle blanket that encased the world on a cloudless day.  As the hours passed, her anxiety had no choice but to wane.  The clouds that invaded her view became welcome guests she awaited with anticipation.  When the sun set and darkness fell, the shimmering stars blinked and sparkled in recognition of her tragic fate.

    Day and night cycled on until there was no life behind her open eyes.  The boat had become mired in a shallow pool that was no match for the glaring heat of the fiery globe above.  As the water evaporated and the surrounding vegetation wilted away, the heat nor maggots nor scavenging beasts had the courage to disturb her.  Indeed, even Death himself seemed to pause in reverence of the tenacity of her grace.” -M.D.Walter

    “Their town was assaulted by the three sister gorgons - Stheno, Euryale, and Medusa - when her mother was on the verge of giving birth.  As the monsters tore through buildings and soldiers, her mother's eyes caught the gaze of Euryale, turning her flesh to stone.  The monsters rampage eventually ended and her father ran to the side of his statuesque wife.  Cursing the gods and the twisted fate they had brought him, he grabbed a smithing hammer and dagger and struck at his pregnant wife's stone belly.

    To his dismay and joy, his daughter was still alive, encased not only in a womb of membrane but also rock.  He cradled her as she wailed and squirmed, completely unaware of her miraculous existence.  Over the next decade the town rebuilt and she blossomed into an exquisite beauty, fair and soft in every way.  It was only on the celebration of her 18th year that the ashen blemishes on her face began to appear.

    The diabolism that thickened and hardened her mother's blood was transmitted to her in the womb.  It lay dormant there for years before finally infiltrating her circulation.  Once inside her, it began to finish the work of the gorgon, only much more slowly.  As her face became more of a hardened mask, she wore a white veil of fine linen to hide her malady.  Known as the "Bride of the Bedrock", she wandered the many gardens of the kingdom in futile hope to detect their perfume.” -M.D. Walter

"The mystics of her village said she was touched by the gods. She had never known her parents, but was told her mother was a patron deity of flame. She was touched from birth, be it curse or blessing, to resurrect upon death in a flash of divine fire.

 

Many were jealous of her exalted boon, but grave warnings were issued to her by the temple's priests. No one knew what she would experience if she ever did indeed die. The miracle of her fiery rebirth was shrouded in mystery.

 

When she was dragged from the fields of her farm, they threw her body in an enormous abandoned stone fireplace set atop a funeral pyre. Her still warm body was lit ablaze and the bandits rode away.

 

True to the prophetic portents, she soon was reborn in a divine conflagration, blinding the surrounding wildlife with its intense flash. There she stayed, her arms clutching her body that showed no sign of the ravaging she recently endured. Her mind was not as easily redeemed as her flesh, and she shared her tears with the earth.” -M.D. Walter 

“She kept her prisoners in an iron cage that hung from an enormous beam spanning the ceiling.  They dangled there, their arms and legs tied, swaying side to side as they struggled to free themselves.  In the days after they were caught, they always had so much energy and spirit.
    After a week they weren't moving much due to emaciation and dehydration.  This is when she called for her vermin to feed.  With a motion of her arm and a ruby glow from her eyes, the disheveled cabin awoke with life and movement.  From every floorboard and wall crawled insects and rats, scattering toward the cage with a crazed vigor.  The descended upon the restrained victims, their desperate screams lasting for hours as they were devoured bite by bite, thousands of legs bracing against their skin as minute mouths ripped tiny bits of flesh away.
    When silence finally returned and the feast was over, she entered the cage to claim her prize.  The bones, picked perfectly clean by her miniature servants, were collected from the bloody floor.  She cleaned them meticulously and adorned her walls with them, letting out a deep sigh of satisfaction as the gruesome ornaments gave her soul pleasure.” -M.D. Walter

“One day, without noise or commotion, the hole appeared.  Her older brother found it out in the dry plains surrounding the farm.  He ran back to the house yelling at the top of his lungs that he found a hole that went straight to the other side of the Earth, but father didn't give much attention to it.  Dinner was made and chores were done, but her brother wouldn't stop ranting about the hole.  She went to bed but sleep never took her.  Even her own dreams couldn't match the wonder of this mysterious hole.

The next day, she journeyed out to the hole with her brother and her father.  As they approached, they all cautiously took up positions around its circumference.  For a long while, they all just stared in silence and the black void beneath them.  As if breaking a spell, her father suddenly backed away and grabbed a nearby stone.  With a nod of approval and flick of his wrist, he tossed it into the crater.  Leaning in unison, all three strained their ears for the clatter of the stone hitting the bottom but never had the satisfaction.  The stone seemed to still be falling when her father ushered them towards home.

All night she again stayed awake as if the hole had a gravity of its own, drawing her thoughts and her soul towards it.  When the morning sun cast enough light on the dusty prairie for her to remember the path back to the hole, she slipped out of her room and took off running.  The relief she felt upon finding it was greater than anything she had felt before.  She anxiously paced around it, her pounding heart a drum beating a rhythm of encouragement.  She placed her toes on the very edge and took a deep breath, only to see her brother ten feet away, staring with terror.  "Don't be afraid," she smiled, "they said I'll be fine."

With that, she jumped.  For a brief moment she did not fall; instead she hovered just above the opening, her form  seeming to oscillate and flicker ever faster before finally being inhaled by the blackness of the pit.  Her brother screamed and dove forwards, his outstretched hands only grasping the cracked soil where a moment before the hole had been.” -M.D. Walter

pt 2/4 

“When the ferry did arrive, it was not empty as she expected.  There in the boat was herself - a ghostly mirror to her likeness, veiled in white linen and stern with intensity.  She saw into the specter's soul and was taken aback by how corrupt it was.  All the atrocities she had dutifully committed were now seen to be the diabolical acts they were.  Her composure lost and fearing she had been struck with madness, she hesitated to board the ferry.

The apparition's eyes grew angry and fire sprang up from the boards of the ship's hull.  The flames were all consuming and the ghost seemed to wisp away into the air with the smoke and sparks from the burning wood.  As she watched it disappear, she suddenly regained awareness and clarity.  The ferry was there in front of her, no specter, no flames, fully intact on the still water.

A shift had begun inside her.  Not knowing any other option, she boarded the ferry and it set off for the world of the immortals.”

-M.D. Walter

pt 3/4

“The ferry made its way across the Lake of Transcendence without anything propelling it.  Indeed, it was as if the boat were being pulled, true and steady in its course, by a magical and invisible tether.  The calmness of the water did nothing to content her anxious mind and heart, however.  With every passing second she felt weight added to her shoulders, so much so that she labored to breathe.

Perhaps the time on mortal soil left her vulnerable to irrational emotions.  Regardless, it was undeniable that she felt remorse.  She became conscious of her actions and wished she had not committed them.  Not only that, but she felt grief for the pathetic humans she used to laugh at from above.  Tears ran down her stoic cheeks as she stared out on the horror she inflicted.

She did not want to return to the world of the immortals.  She did want to continue as the executioner of the gods.  But to not return would be to invite the wrath and scorn of powerful deities eagerly looking for a way to end their boredom.  A soft light began to saturate the air, signaling her imminent arrival.  The Ethereal Gates were near.” -M.D. Walter

pt4/4

“The sight of the Ethereal Gates forced her into action.  She stood with her toes on the edge of the ferry's deck.  Beneath the water of the Lake of Transcendence lay the bones of innumerable individuals.  Some were humans attempting to enter the immortal realm; others were demigods being thrown from deities' courts.  Regardless of the bloodline of the person who entered the water, their life was sapped from them immediately by the power of its magical enchantment.

Knowing her conscience could not be cleaned, she was set on destroying her awareness of her past.  With a final deep breath, she calmly flexed the muscles in her legs and leapt into the lake.

The magic was, indeed, strong and took effect instantly.  Her body locked up and became rigid.  She felt herself being dissolved, not violently or horrifically but simply the fabric of her body being removed from existence.  The eradicating flame that she possessed was extinguished like a match dunked in a small cup of water.  Before she ceased to be, she distinctly felt herself liberated from the crushing gravity placed on her soul.” -M.D. Walter