Heather lives in Studio City with her life partner Steve and their cat Zatanna. She manages Earth-2 Comics Sherman Oaks and hopes that being a Vocal member will motivate her to write.
Find Chapter One here! https://vocal.media/fiction/the-circle-kcopu0dtl Chapter Two Ten Years Before The seaside city of Otera was primarily fishermen, sailors and merchants, all except the family for which it was named. Lord Muran Oterak was a nobleman from a long line of noblemen, who had many years earlier bucked the arranged marriage that would have united the House of Oterak with that of Benvik and ended a generations old feud between their very similar peoples. Instead, he had fallen in love with and married a pretty thaumaturge named Yora. She was a sorceress, but had not used her powers on the young lordling. After all, hers was the magic of the green. All magic was devoted to a color, of course, just as each person is aligned to either the dark or the light, and green was creation, a versatile and powerful talent that had been passed down from parent to child since the beginnings of the magical in the days before the coming of the Oracle. Creation of love might have been possible but this was not how Yora did things.
Plant a Seed
“You know, when you swallow a seed, it grows in your stomach,” Max teases me, once I finish coughing. “I sure hope you like pears because a tree is gonna grow right there.” He pokes me in my stomach, making me laugh harder, the tiny pear seed that found its way down the wrong pipe weighing heavy in my gullet like a stone.
It was on a flight from one dull state to another equally dull yet altogether different state that it came to me. I didn't ask for it, I beg you to believe that. Even in the darkest times that came after, I tried to turn from it. Lord help me, Gentle Reader, I tried.
No Shadows Great Appear
There are marigolds on the window box of my apartment balcony. They are a riot of orange and yellow, chosen because they are easy to keep alive and my thumbs are decidedly not green. Most of the things I have loved have died… but not these little flowers. Not the marigolds.