Wednesday Whispers

Serena Mossgraves
Serena Mossgraves

This was a story written in high school…I have used it to start a novel. The novel is not one I am working on currently though I plan to go back to it. The Journal will be the title of the novel. Still it was a short story at one time…

To whoever may find this,

              I realize I was fairly naïve. I believed the world would change for me. I thought I would be able to do anything. I know better now. I should have known then. I ask that you reserve your judgments until my tale is finished. It is the year of our lord fourteen ninety-eight. I had thought that in the reign of Henry the VII that England would be civilized. I was born into a noble house and have always had plenty of money. I never abused my wealth, Tis against my nature. I was simply myself, nothing more. I started healing various ailments. Having a small talent for the herbal craft, but having little patience for the training the doctors went through. The idea of using leeches disgusted me. The church endorsed their use, thus it became the accepted way to deal with all illnesses, but I did not see where it helped some of the ill at all. I oft healed those the doctors thought to be hopeless. Simple herbal remedies that brought comfort to the ailing and aged. Arthritis to madness, there was no one I would not treat. And I expected naught in return. If I had paid heed to the tongues that wagged, I would have been prepared. I gave freely to the poor and the wretched. I spent much time with the ill and insane. I spoke of acceptance to those who had sinned. For why would God not forgive, when it is what was promised?

          My father begged me to hold my tongue about such matters. He said my flaming hair would garner accusations and my shrewish tongue would prove them. I was beautiful then, of this I have no doubt. Though then it mattered so little. Vanity was not a sin I have ever committed.  ́Most of  ́the accused committed no other crime than that. A lord’s daughter should not be so reckless. I suppose now I should have heard clearer what he said. You understand, of course, I knew it all then. I had no shame, only pride.

           I ignored the witch hunters. I was no witch, so I saw no need to pay them mind. The whispers around town were of torture and evil things being done to the accused; the whispers spoke of jealousies and false accusations as well. None of this touched me, It should have. The accusation was made a week ago. I assumed the wealth and power my father had would free me or the magistrate would dismiss the clear fact that it was nonsense. When the hunters came, I was unafraid. I stood up against the mob and the jeers. For what could hurt me? I had the truth, and I had God. I would soon find out how little that was.

    I was stripped of all my clothes and belongings. I was allowed no modesty. Nor any comfort was I given. I was even denied all traces of humanity. The magistrate and his helpers searched for the mark of the beast that would prove me false. A mark that did not even exist. They looked for a symbol or a brand, even a mole or blemish. I am sure any mark would have sufficed. For this would prove their accusations, at least in the eyes of the court. I did not cry then. The exam was embarrassing and long.  ́I was made to stand the entire time. I was pinched and poked. Then prodded with cold metal to see that I yet bled. Yet, even then I was unafraid. I was stretched on a rack and told to admit myself as the witch. I was left for hours pulled taught and in pain. I would not lie. My jailers refused to believe anything I said. The days got worse as each passed. I found torture to be too kind a description of the cruelty I endured. Forced to endure thumbscrews and hot pincers that left me weak. I have felt my health flee me as the days have gone on. I smell the infection set in. For the last two days, I found myself left alone with my thoughts. That was the worst of torments, as it can easily drive one mad. I was given naught except for moldy bread and dirty water every evening. After a time I ate and was thankful for it. 

        As the seventh-day dawns, I find fear in my heart and prayers on my lips. I have never broken the covenant with God nor man, but find that my death approaches faster than I ever thought it would. I write this on the parchment left for my confession, will be seen as such regardless. My flaming hair hangs matted now, as bathing has not been allowed me. I fear the filth has caused fever to set in. I hear whispers at night of a young man’s voice. A voice is deep with possibilities. The voice speaks of freedom. I am sure the voice is a sign that my mind is cracking or my will breaking. Either way, I cannot remain here.

           Come to the dawn I will try escape, and perhaps the voices who whisper of aid they will lend me are more than just my fever speaking. Either that or the attempt will mean my life; it will be an ending to my torment. I pray God is with me.

́                                                                                                         Elizabeth

Monday Poetry

Poetry




Wednesday Whispers

Serena Mossgraves
Serena Mossgraves

Monday Poetry

Monday Poetry
Poetry




choices

I always do this with my poetry volumes and nearly never with Serena. She’s nearly done with Illumination and has decided to let the masses pick the next poetry volume she will pen.

Wednesday Whispers

Wednesday Whispers
Serena Mossgraves
Serena Mossgraves

The Making of A Matron
Chapter one Teaser
By Serena Mossgraves

 Her satin skin was soft in the dim light. Quietly, she pulled the hood of her cape up to cover her long ́silver white hair. Stealthily, she was ducking through the shadows, hurrying towards the tavern. Not a place she would normally frequent, thus perfect for tonight.
Stopping long enough to hide her belt pouch, she stepped in and quickly found a table at the rear against the wall. Careful to keep her identity hidden, Jhaelindra Vrinn scanned the busy ́common room, looking for her contact. Being a noble-born daughter of a drow house meant never being sure where the next deadly attack would come from. Yet such things were of little concern. As the top assassin for the temple of Lloth, Jhaelindra understood death. For her, who had never failed a contract, death was the most intimate of lovers. Dealt with as efficiently as needed for an assassin of her caliber.  
  Today, however, her mind was occupied with other matters. Her contact claimed to know the whereabouts of a man who has eluded Lloth’s justice for the last four centuries. Her brother, Nym. Though few knew it, Jhaelindra was the first daughter in a forgotten house, House Pharn, fostered before the assassins came to cleanse the house. House Pharn had owed an alliance to House Vrinn. That saved her. Still in her heart, family loyalty ran deep. Matron Vrinn taught her of both houses, although discreetly. She knew at least one of her siblings yet lived. She also knew the temple wanted his death. Although she did not yet know why, it’s something she desperately needed to learn.  
   She had been searching for fifty years, unable to find the reason for the order to purify House Pharn. All she had found is that the head priestess had claimed the house destruction was a directive from Lloth herself. She knew both of her brothers had left for the surface, something the temple was unaware of. Knowing her divided loyalties could cost her life, or worse, she was very careful. She was uncertain of her sister’s fate. When Jhaelindra had fostered, she went into temple assassin training. This meant no contact with anyone outside the temple or her Matron. So much of the details were beyond her ken.
   The tavern was filled with trash of all varieties. Very few drow among the many patrons. The service was horrible, and the food was worse. Jhaelindra had no intention of eating or drinking here. To do so was to ask for food poisoning, or worse. ́This was merely a convenient place to deal with her informant. One she was unlikely to be noticed in. Hopefully, he would have useful information.
    She showed none of the rampant fear and impatience that was filling her heart. Seeing her contact working his way through the dark common room did nothing to lessen it. He was a cloaked figure among many. However, she recognized the way he moved. ‘He moves like a weasel,’ she thought. A grimace of distaste briefly flashed across her strong features. Her lavender eyes flashed as he sat in the chair across from her.
                   “Well, weasel?” Jhaelindra purred softly with deep malice. “What have you for me?” Knowing this woman and her infamous quick ́temper, he quickly passed on his information, gathered payment, and escaped again into the maelstrom of the common room. Jhaelindra quickly left before she could be discovered. The weasel brought turmoil with his information. She was going to have to leave the Underdark, and soon. After hearing that both of her brothers, Nym & Kyr, and her younger sister Valaedra, yet lived, she could not remain with the temple. She could not be the one who betrayed them. Jhaelindra only hoped they would have the answers she sought. She quickly and almost absently made her way to the house she had claimed for most of her life. Deep in thought, she almost bumped into a half-orc slave. Inwardly cursing the absentmindedness, she swept quickly by her. She was known for a foul temper, but for a control that was not matched. Preparations had been underway since the cleansing for an escape. Jhaelindra knew the temple would have her killed, or worse, should her true house affiliation ever be discovered, it would bring House Vrinn down as well. Matron Vrinn was the only one left alive ́who ́knew that Jhaelindra was not born to her house. Matron Vrinn would understand and expect her to follow the family. The Matron of Vrinn had been good to her. Jhaelindra had no intention of putting her or her house in danger.
    She made her way through the house, quietly gathering what supplies she knew she would need. Packing as if for a temple mission. Then she made her way to the matron’s sitting hall. She excused herself, telling her matron that she had a contract to fulfill. Requesting formal leave to go. It was a lie, but only a little white one. Yet it was an acceptable reason for her to be gone. One the temple would not look too closely into. The temple must not look into her absence. She had to disappear, quickly.
    Her destination was on the surface and to the south. A coastal town with little population and an island temple floating south of it. The informant spoke of undead wandering the island. Jhaelindra wondered if her siblings would remember her. She figured it didn’t matter and started the long journey. She left Menzoberanzon as stealthily as possible, avoiding the patrols.
           Questions were too sticky. She needed to avoid detection. The trip out of the Underdark was quick and uneventful, thankfully. Because of her training, Jhaelindra could sleep lightly and for no more than two hours at a time. However, such a state of alertness causes deep fatigue. The exit from the Underdark she chose should bring her out near a surface city. There would be an inn and, hopefully, anonymity ́to be found there. Jhaelindra knew she would have to be cautious even then, but perhaps a decent rest could be had there. Unsure of what lay on the road she had ahead, Jhaelindra had enough supplies to live on the road for a month. Hunting and fishing, when possible, could stretch that well into longer.
     She could easily blend into the crowd in any city. Reprovision, and then move on. The target was to reach her siblings before another temple assassin could. Having the advantage of being the only one with knowledge would end soon. Jhaelindra knew the weasel would only hold the info back until his money ran short. Which considering his tastes and ́predilections would not belong. She figured she had a month at the most. Then he would contact the temple and sell it discreetly to another. When he did, she knew she might become the next contract. Killing him, although a satisfying thought, would only bring the attention of the temple sooner. After all, such creatures were always more valuable alive. No, Jhaelindra knew how the game was played.
           She herself played it too well not to. She only hoped Nym, Kyr, and Valaedra remembered the rules. After all, it could mean all their lives.

This one is still in progress but I am inclined to write on it again…so maybe I will have more soon.

Monday Poetry

Monday Poetry
Poetry



Cut poems have references… Here is the song list I gathered from for this one…Of Course I added words as needed to make the poem work.

(I’ll bite my tongue til it bleeds by Halocene, Hurt by Johnny Cash, Secret by the Pierces, Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel, Dirty little secret by All-American Rejects, Silence by Grace Carter, Live to Tell by Madonna, Bad Habit by Steve Lacy, Bite my tongue by You me at six)

Wednesday Whispers

Serena Mossgraves
Serena Mossgraves

Monday Poetry

Poetry




Wednesday Whispers

Serena Mossgraves
Serena Mossgraves

  Teaser from a new story – This is one I am writing for a charity anthology. I will be posting more on this soon .

Revenge is best served Family style

Cold Played Anthology

Serena Mossgraves

Reddit has nothing on me. I got the best story of Nuclear revenge, and it was just deserts. Though I am still not sure if I believe it myself.  It feels like I am living in a dream.
    You see I was engaged…To a right bastard. I should have walked away the first time he laid hands on me. Somehow, he convinced me that he was sorry for his actions. I covered the bruises, hoping that he was actually sorry. After all, he was everything I was supposed to want. He was a doctor from a good family. He even had one of those funky pretentious names, Dr Gerald Theodore Ellington the third. His family were community pillars, and rich as they come. The bruises and his drunken nights were just a window to what I would be living with for however long I lived with him. His sister would come over when he was at work, hang out with me and tell me how I deserved better. 
    At first I was confused. I knew that  Gerry and his sister did not get along. She was older than him, and he was older than me. I was barely eighteen, too young to understand the mess I had gotten myself into.  Stephanie, Gerry’s sister, was a thirty something sweetie who seemed to take me under her wing.  Gerry was five years younger than her and wouldn’t talk about her. She was something of a black sheep in her own family,  and if I am honest I didn’t understand why. She was intelligent, soft spoken, and elegant. 
    Gerry was attractive enough, I guess. The same dark hair and light blue eyes that was on all of his kin was on him. He did not keep it as clean as his brothers and sister.  Stephanie  had apparently inherited the family home and the other siblings hated it. Their parents had died in a plane crash before I met Gerry. I originally was taken in by his charm. He could be very charming if the situation called for it.
    Gerry had a nice place in Old town Alexandria but the family home was in Sterling. It was a palatial estate with a good twenty acres of land. I moved in with Gerry when he proposed