A Clover and a Bee

Lark reclines on a pool float, soaking in the sun. A bead of sweat rolls down the back of her neck. It’s a surprise--it’s never this warm in Aurora Skies, even at the height of summer. But it’s also a welcome rarity. Maybe if she stores up enough of this heat, winter won’t be as biting.  She breathes in and out as the pool float buoys back and forth on the water. She can hear sharp calls of birds, the rustle of wind through nearby trees, and the faint sound of the waterfalls crashing into the fish-filled lake. Life surrounds her: plants, animals, bacteria, fungi, all of it miraculously everyday. Even her body is host to its own ecosystem, hordes of microbes that regulate her organs and help fight disease. The day her high school biology teacher had mentioned gut flora, the class gasped in horror. Lark, however, was struck by how paradoxically empowering and belittling that was--she is neither the smallest creature in the universe, nor the largest, and she’s never alone even when...

It’s a windless day, cool and still. Steam rises off the geothermal lake, carrying with it the faint smell of sulfur.

  Lark frowns as she runs her fingers over her jawline. A series of fresh pimples meets her touch. She rustles through the vanity's drawers, cursing under her breath as she searches for cotton balls and a bottle of witch hazel. She soaks a cotton ball and touches it to her face. The cool of the astringent is temporarily soothing, until Lark angrily rubs the cotton over one particularly prominent pimple. A sting accompanies the pop, but she feels no relief. She’s nearly 30 and way too old for breakouts like this. In fact, the last time she had a breakout this bad was when she was pregnant with Fenrir.

Lark recoils, her eyes widening with fright. “Will it hurt?” she whimpers. “It doesn’t hurt, Lark. You ask that every time and it never hurts, does it?” “I’m just nervous, okay?”

The days fly by.

It’s barely morning--long enough after midnight for someone to be starting their day, but too early for that someone to be a reasonable human being. Lark is jolted awake, disturbed into consciousness after something jumped into bed next to her. Her heart races as she blinks at her surroundings, which take on nefarious qualities in the low light of dawn. It takes a moment for the panic to subside--she’s in her new room in her new house.

Karl’s home is nothing like Nikolas expected: it’s a large, meticulously kept house in the center of town. Prime real estate, really, something that doesn’t seem fitting for someone as crude as Karl. A messy apartment, a rundown rental house, or even a dilapidated trailer all seem more appropriate. Perhaps that would have been his digs, had Karl not inherited the house from his mother.

“Morrigan, Tide,” Aletheia spreads her arms and smiles widely, “I appreciate you heeding my summons so late into the evening.” “We have business to discuss--no need for pleasantries.” “Pleasantries--” “With all due respect, Your Grace, we were told that you would be sending the girl to the mortal realm, and we would no longer be responsible for her,” Morrigan snaps, “what is she doing back in Faefall?” Morrigan’s cruel eyes focus on the changeling girl, who is happily at play with Bjorn. “Our would-be son’s parents came to claim him, and I decided--” “Decided to what? Renounce our oath?” “Patience, Morrigan--we will resolve this.”

Dominic stares at the child. She stares back. Their eyes remain locked until Lark speaks. “Thanks for coming,” Lark says, “I didn’t know who else to call.” “No problem,” he says absently, “so you found her in Bjorn’s crib?” Lark nods. “I looked everywhere for him,” her voice cracks as she holds back a sob, “but I can’t find him.”  Lark kicks at the floor. Her eyes are puffy and red, her cheeks tear streaked.

 Life hasn’t made the drastic improvement that Lark had been hoping for. In fact, it seems to be spinning out of control: in Nikolas’ absence, laundry has been piling up, the refrigerator has begun to empty, and Lark’s patience is wearing thin. Her agitation is also fueled by exhaustion. Every other day, Nikolas would get up with Bjorn so Lark could sleep in. It was a small luxury, one she enjoyed deeply. But now she has to go to bed early every night in preparation for a 6 AM wake up call from Bjorn. Furthermore, her new role as single mother has rendered her unable to work. She doesn’t like the idea of leaving Bjorn with a babysitter--nor can she afford to pay one--and she can tell he wears out her parents. She’s currently relying on a small savings to make it day-to-day. She’ll have to come up with a long-term plan sooner or later. And then there’s the matter of how to explain the change to Bjorn. Lark initially planned to rely on the poor memory of toddlers in order t...

“Hurry the fuck up,” Lark pleads with the pregnancy test, “please!” It’s early in the morning, barely past sunrise. She had stayed up all night kept awake by two questions, only one of which could be easily resolved. In pursuit of that resolution, she drank almost a liter of water and then waited until morning, when hCG levels are supposedly at their highest. After three intense minutes, the results are clear. She’s pregnant again.

 The Aurora Skies Times Spooky Day Mania: Police Receive Flurry of Reports as Festival Goer Frightens Citizens  Spooky Day is a beloved holiday in Aurora Skies and the annual festival draws attendees from all around the island. Most years, it’s a fun-filled and candy-rich celebration. This year, however, the festivities became all too real for some citizens. It was early in the night the the Aurora Skies Police Department found itself bombarded with distress calls from citizens, calls which soon clogged their emergency line. “It isn’t unusual for us to receive a lot of calls on Spooky Day,” Officer Luke Bee explained, “but this year was just insane. And most of the calls were about the same incident.” The “incident” in question was apparently a festival goer in a frighteningly realistic costume.

Lark draws in a sharp breath. Despite her best attempts to remain as still as possible, she’s trembling. Mere centimeters from her face is the sneering maw of her newly transformed werewolf-fiancé, his glowing eyes narrowed as he looks her up in down. He sniffs at the air, saliva dripping out of his mouth as he snarls. It’s an unsettling sight, to say the least--his new face is similar enough she can still recognize him, but distorted enough to elicit a surreal discomfort. When his growling intensifies, so does her shaking. She knew this was coming, but she didn’t expect it to be so intense. When Karl had transformed during That Batshit Vampire Thing, he seemed to maintain some degree of his humanity. Nikolas, however, has done nothing the past few moments to demonstrate that he is in any way still himself

I was nominated for a Liebster Award by a few people. Thank you FutureCarrie, Urunwa, Heatherfeather, Twinsimskeletons, and Nocriel! Efelkay and MommyIce also nominated me, so thank you! :D

Life returns to quiet domesticity. Before “That Batshit Vampire Thing”--as Lark likes to call it--Nikolas had hired a contractor to build a small addition to the house. Construction is quick, and soon the loft is expanded to include two small rooms: an alcove bedroom for Bjorn and a small bedroom for Lark and Nikolas. The newfound privacy is welcome, though it’s used for nothing more than sleep. Ever since That Batshit Vampire Thing, their conversations have been short and erratic. And Nikolas--perhaps as to be expected--has been cold and distant, abandoning his normal affection in lieu of brooding silence. Lark is trying to be understanding. It is, after all, an enormous change he’s facing. But it’s beginning to take a toll, and a sense of isolation creeps in, bringing with it the paradox of being both tied to and completely severed from someone.

The men gather around Lark. “I think she’s dead,” Dominic repeats himself. His voice is trembling. Nikolas feels like time is frozen. This can’t be real.

  The only peaceful moments in the Bee-Oskarsson household are when everyone's asleep. They’re rare, highly sought after, and enjoyed by all. Soon Lark and Nikolas’ sleep schedule changes to match Bjorn’s in order to accomplish such a feat.

It’s Leisure Day in Aurora Skies, a holiday usually reserved for rest and relaxation. But there’s no way Lark can unwind--she’s several days past her due date, and she has come to the irrational conclusion that she’s going to be pregnant for the rest of her life. It’s a dismal prospect, and the thought of it is taking a toll on her already fragile morale. In a misguided attempt to cheer her up, Nikolas persuades her into visiting Björn Café. But the walk to the café tires her, and none of the expensive, fatty drinks look appealing. Citing the need for fresh air, she excuses herself to the balcony. It overlooks the eastern shores of the island, providing an endless view of the sea, a sublime sight of deep blues and greens. But even the view, a normally reassuring sight for Lark, can’t take her mind off her discomfort. Nikolas follows her to the balcony, a look of concern on his face. “Are you okay?” “Fine,” she replies, “I just feel like shit” He pulls her in for a h...

Dominic Trémaux has traveled a fair bit in his short life, but Roaring Heights stands out as the most unique. There’s an unparalleled commitment to aesthetic, demonstrated by both the breathtaking art deco architecture and the dedicated vintage dress of the city’s residents. It’s interesting, if not a little touristy. But despite the obvious artifice, it’s a welcome change from his normal haunts: Bridgeport (polluted and full of rude people), Champs Les Sims (so provincial), and Faefall (technically on a different plane of existence, thus making it difficult to fit in). But Dominic isn’t here for the beaches or clubs or celebrities. He has burned into his mind an address: 21 Palm Tree Avenue, the home of a man by the name of Gaius Gallus, suspected vampire. And he assumes--perhaps incorrectly--that this home contains what he’s looking for: four wands, priceless and powerful family heirlooms, and an ancient scroll with magical properties. He doesn’t know for sure what a vampire wou...