The Author’s Stage

I walked the halls… gazing upon the work before me. The work is precise. The world in my mind, crystal. an empty throne. A court jester. The Ship of State. My gown, my crown, my vision.

Am I really building a City from my mind?

I brace for impact. I anticipate the feeling of surrealism that never comes. I know what lies before me.

12 Stones of the Fae.

Show them the Story. I know what I am. What I need… My Imagination was taken from me. My powers, stripped. This is the Story of a Goddess who had forgotten. This is the Story of a Goddess Awakened. This is the Story of a Goddess remembering. This is the story of me reclaiming what I am. Who I am.

“Fae whore.”

The deep, familiar brogue spilled down my back and heat pooled in my belly, dripping down into my thighs. I turned. The smile split my face, and I dragged my eyes over the fine frame of my Bard.

“Bergen,” I purred. His wide chest tightened under my voice. The last time he had seen me, I was a feeble child in mind. Weak and broken. Shaking under the madness of Insanity. This was the first time I stood before him a woman, whole, and sane.

“All the voices in my head are silent now,” I said. “Even you.”

“You don’t need us,” he said and shifted. My eye caught the hilt of his Firstborn still strapped to his back.

“No,” I said. “I don’t.”

“Use all of you, lass,” he said. “Use all of you.”

I felt the tightness in my throat.

“The writing was an emotional prosthetic,” I said. “The story… the pets. The lovers. Raven. Even the City. Broken, even…”

“You’re not here to ask me who you are,” he said. That man always knew me too well. In so many ways, that man was me in every way.

“No,” I said. “I know who I am.”

“Then what do you want, lass?”

“I seek to explore,” I said. “I seek to strengthen. I seek to… I want my power. That is what I want. I want my Power, Bergen.”

“You already know what to do.”

I nodded and thought ahead to the task ahead.

“12 Stones of Fae,” I said.

“Take it back, lass,” he said. “Take it all back.”

“There is a wedding,” I said. “I’ll need to reclaim… 12 Trials. My power is undisciplined. I am awakened. I am remembering and my power is… I cannot control it.”

He shrugged.

“What do you want?”

“Always that question… I want my power disciplined. I want love. I want my Imp. I want my Imp healed and restored. I want my Kingdom and my wealth. I want what is mine restored to me.”

“Make this world, lass,” he said. “Build it. Weave the world. Create the trials. Execute the challenges. Use them. Make them dance.”

“And what of you?” I said.

He crossed the hall to me. My empty throne on the dias beside a second empty throne to match. I felt the heat of his chest as he drew near. For a moment, I recalled another hot body behind mine, and I remembered me pinned between the two men. My nipples hardened and the ache to feel them both again tightened my body. I gulped. My legs parted ever so slightly beneath my gown, and I knew Bergen remembered that night also. His cock swallowed by that mouth.

My god I missed my pet.

“You are Goddess of Manifestation,” Bergen whispered. His face so close to mine. “Make it so.”

“I lived as a human for so long,” I whispered back.

“Kallan or Fand… Or Imagination.”

I was feeling dizzy.

“I’ll need all three of them for this,” I said. I ached for him to kiss me and allow me to lose myself in his body again.

“Not this day, my love.”

I remembered the kiss he granted me on a log in Ireland so long ago. Ten years ago now, was it? I recalled his body pinned against mine with my pet. The blog wars we fought. The bickering. The arguing. The Guinness. The countless times he held my hand while my Owners used me.

“Bergen,” I said. “I…”

I was his creator.

How often does a creator have the opportunity to say this to their creation?

“I love you.” The words came like a breath.

He smiled. His hand went to my face, and he allowed the weight of my head to lean into his touch.

“Aye,” he said, a smile split his face. “Don’t I know it.”

Oracle. Changeling. Goddess. Nymph.

“Open your mind, lass. You’ll need all your names for this one.”

Philosopher. Writer. Inventor. Creator. Actress. Oralstorian. Story teller. Succubus. Bard.

“The Power within,” he said. “It will take all of you to finish this. And when you do… You will Be.”

I wanted to drop the world. I wanted him to cave and pick me up and take me back to bed. I wanted him again so badly… I wanted my Imp. I wanted my Pet. I wanted my Raven. I wanted my Imp.

“Seek out the stones,” he said. “Look within the Fae Realm and UnderEarth… Walk the World of the Abstract. Make them move. Make them dance. Show them what you are, lass.”

“They’ll dance upon my pages and song.”

“Awaken Imagination again,” he said and dropped his hand from my face. He stood taller, if that was possible.

“Aye, lass. It’s always possible, and it’s time that you remember.”

“Bergen.” I nodded my farewell.

“Fae Whore,” he smirked.

The corner of my mouth cracked a smile.

“I’m ready to play with you again.”

“Show them what you can do, Lass. Weave your worlds of gods and Fae and man. Help them all remember.”

He turned and walked back to the door, the pale white moonlight caught his back, and I watched the scars dance upon his flesh. I remember when I first gave him those scars.

I was them. I was always all of them. Even Ciarda. Even his Bat Zabbai. I wonder… if ever he figured that out. If he would make love to me again like he once did.

“The memory is not for me, lass.” His voice was distant now. “The memory is for you.”

And just like that, I realized. It was I who needed to remember and to claim.