InkStainedDuchess

The baby was sleeping peacefully, one tiny foot stuck outside the blanket and a fist holding the opposite end as if pondering the merits of chewing on the corner later. Sage stared at his nephew, tracing the closed translucent eyelids already crowned with coal lashes, his tiny nose, and pursed lips, with an artist’s eye, committing it all to memory for later. He wondered if he and Holly ever looked so peaceful; he doubted it, but it was a warming thought. “He’s beautiful.” a voice softly remarked from behind him. June sat on the floor beside Sage, dropping a suitcase and leaning comfortably against the couch front. “He really is. They mixed well.” “Where is Holly? Did she abandon you to take care of her offspring to go off on an adventure?” “Kind of. The hospital called about Matt.” “What’s wrong with Matt?!” “He - what? How do you of all people not know?” “I’ve been in the country for twenty-eight hours and in town for half an hour.”

In the beginning, at the start of everything, everyone had wings. It wasn’t as strange or abnormal as the history books would later claim it to be; wings were just an extension of self, used for fashion, a mode of transportation, and sometimes even a tool of seduction. Some were born with their wings, this was a cause for an extra celebration; wet and sticky as the rest of their body, fluffing up like a duckling as they were cleaned and dried. Others prayed to the Void for wings, more gave money to the businesses that cropped up creating beautiful works of art that worked just as well as those naturally born when attached to the spine and nerves, and still others were content to have a smooth back without adornments. Wings as Fashion: Feathers were of course the traditional, paying homage to the birds or the long-forgotten heavenly beings; but, membrane and bone (like the bats that float in the twilight) or scaled (like those land-bound lizards that haven’t forgotten

“Mommy?” a tiny voice drifted through the darkness from the hallway, Holly blinked awake in confusion, trying to see something without her glasses and without light. “Mommy?” She finally pinpointed her son and held out a hand to the more grey feeling darkness; his tiny fingers closed around hers before he climbed into her bed with kindergarten efficiency. She tucked the blankets around him and hugged him to her. “What’s the matter my little night owl?” “There’s a monster under my bed.” “Probably. He’s there to protect you.” “I think he wants to eat my toes.” “I mean, that’s always a possibility with monsters. Do you want me to take you back to your room and have a talk with the monster?” “Could I stay here instead?” Holly yawned into Kane’s dark hair, he held his breath as he waited. “That’s fine too Kane.” “Will you tell me about the seahorses Mommy?” Holly opened a sleepy eye in confusion, the clock on the

“You’re a witch!” the voice screeched through the kitchen and into Holly’s brain. She looked to the ceiling in hopes of a dose of heavenly patience while being elbow deep in the soapy steel pot. Kane barreled into the room, knocking against the breakfast stools, the closed pantry door, and the corner of the counter before coming to a stop by the sink where his mother stood on a circular rug. “You’re a witch!” he repeated at the same volume; Holly raised an eyebrow at him, “Inside voice love.” “Sorry.” “Now, what’s this about me being a witch?” Holly went back to her scrubbing, sometimes melted cheese is the most stubborn material to remove from a cooking pot. Kane took a deep breath, “Inside voice.” “I was reading my book just now and the main character was describing his mom and it made me think of you! You do the salt over the shoulder thing,” “It’s for good luck.” “You’ve got pots of green things in all the windows-” “Those