Elizabeth Noyes
Bio
Cole Elias, he/him, transitioning. Multiply-disabled, transmasculine, demi panro Achillean Autistic writer and aspiring author, animal lover, and gamer.
I love 5cm Per Second, NBC Hannibal, Cozy Grove, Minion Masters, Fortnite, Mass Effect.
Stories (16/0)
The Stolen Name
History is written by the victors. Alcyone scratches the leathery skin that peeks through the breaks in their chromatic chitin plating, their thoughts lingering too long on the topic. A sharp snap fills the cabin as their jaw opens and closes; a bad habit from their youth. Their masseter muscles ache from the repetition. Idly, they rub and prod at them, careful to keep their claws retracted and away. Instead, they manage to divert their energy into rubbing their beak's mandibles together. It's a small improvement.
By Elizabeth Noyes3 years ago in Fiction
Under the Lifeblood Sky
Amélie huddled in the corner of the cold skeleton; walls once bricked and beautiful, now reduced to crumbling faces and soot-like dust. The air was dank; thick with excrement and decay with no outlet to vent itself. It caught, musty and taut in her lungs like splayed filaments of spun cotton, fibrous and expansive. It reeked like the sewers her family frequented, moulding and rancid and so very dreary, but it was home. Something foul was drip-dripping against her forehead from the massive, sagging rafters, but she didn't have the energy to move away. It slid down her cheek, caught in the limp tangles of her tresses, mixed with the fine coating of dust there to dye a wash of raw umber. Amélie longed for the great outside-- up above --the adventures and the dangers and the heaving ocean with its mantle of blue-white seafoam. She yearned to feel the sun switch freely across her face like warm fingers, to have her golden curls laden heavy with morning dew instead of languid with condensation. Of these things she had only tales; sweet stories stitched to the fibre of her heart by rote repetition and the promise of more. The outside was not safe anymore, her mother warned. It had taken her father. It would take her too, if she gave it half a chance. There were monsters there, lurking in the dark, in alleys and entryways, ruins and graveyards and even churches. Hungry, brutish beasts that longed for little more than the opportunity to snatch her away. Mother said she wouldn't give them the chance. Amélie barely cared anymore. They were dying down here, in the lifeless dark. They had to do something.
By Elizabeth Noyes3 years ago in Fiction