Sai Marie Johnson
A multi-genre author, poet, creative&creator. Resident of Oregon; where the flora, fauna, action & adventure that bred the Pioneer Spirit inspire, "Tantalizing, titillating and temptingly twisted" tales.
Pronouns: she/her or they/them.
The Disappearance of the Oracle Daughter
On a bright and sunny day in the middle of June, the youngest of the Tamira Twins was born and she was called Essence Solstyce Tamira. At the time of Essence’s birth, it was noted that she had distinct tribal markings which ran the from the nape of her neck down her spine until meeting their end at the swell of her back. These tell-tale markings were a sign from the gods that Essence was born with a purpose that made her special. A gift that few elves in Tamira had ever been blessed with. The markings were easily recognized as those of an Oracle, a rare elf who could prophesy, and foretell the future.
History Mustn't Repeat Itself
Delaehla: Imogen Simone Boehm was born on April 12th 1929, the German child had been the first, and only daughter to the Maximilian Theodore Degen, however she was the illegitimate bastard of a love affair with an actress named Magdalene Bianca Boehm, a famous German opera singer during the height of the Third Reich. Imogen's father was a renown scientist who was a part of the esteemed Deutsche Physik scientists. Imogen lived a tumultuous existence, and the girl often had to remain hidden from her mother's countless suitors, and sordid love affairs. It was with some degree of luck that at age 13 her mother happened upon one gentlemen who found that the young Imogen was quite the pretty young lady, and could soon follow in her mother's footsteps. Magdalene, however, was a slightly unstable woman mentally whom had come to rely heavily upon methamphetamines, and Russian Vodka. Upon hearing that her daughter might be on the up-and-coming she grew very envious and began shouting accusations, and insinuations at Imogen. It was her belief that girl must be trying to win over or steal away her attentions. Magdalene was a notoriously vain woman, and insanely jealous when need be. Even towards her own daughters.
The Seminole tribe was not unlike any of the other Native American tribes that had been driven out under the sheer force of the United States Army, but what set them apart was their will to face anything even the things, which most people would be appalled by. Menewah, had been the second son to the chief of their people, but this gave him less responsibility towards the governing, and more towards the fighting, and hunting aspects of which were needed for their small community. The young brave had never really desired to lead the village as he watched his father’s battle scarred face become etched in worry lines. The old man’s eyes had yellowed, and his skin appeared like leather from the sun’s unrelenting rays beating down on it.
The Soul Swallower
Noemi awoke to the sounds of thunder, lightning flashing through the tiny window pane caused a shadow of the bars upon it to cast a inky shadow upon the simple bleached tiles of the room she slept in. Young, and scared she called out for her Mother, her need to be comforted high within her. No one came, instead the small child known as Case Study 10014-02a blinked back her tears as shivers ran up her spine.
Since the dawn of time the Unseelie Court had a council set up in order to prevent any of their darker fae kind from spooking any humans to the point of retaliation. VELEBREZZA was one of a set of twins who were in line to become the next of the Morrigan line to fill a seat on the council, but only one of them could become a council member.
Chapter One: Initiation A brisk cool breeze filtered in through the open window, birds had already begun to rouse and chirp as they welcomed the rising dawn but Gracielle Watson could only be heard snoring loudly. It had only been a few years since Graci had fallen asleep, after having spent the better part of the night pouring of her anatomy books for the exam that was to take place on this very day, in four hours’ time to be exact. Elen, having risen to take a walk down to Dutch Brothers, had decided to be a dear of a bestie and picked up a huge Caramelizer coffee for each of them. Graci and Elen had been best friends since the tender age of ten, when Ellie’s mother had died of breast cancer, and Elen had moved to Dexter Lake with her grandparents. Both girls had been thrust into the school year with the loss of a parent, or in Elen’s case parents, but this commonality made it possible for an amazingly tight sisterly bond to flourish between them. So strongly that they both planned to go into nursing to help other kids maintain having parents. In fact, Elen and Graci were so inseparable that for many years during their high school season some classmates made up a terrible rumor regarding their sexualities. Now, the two were room-mating comfortably in a dormitory in Titan Tower, right smack in the center of a place totally unlike Dexter; Eugene, Oregon. It was close enough to home but just far enough from Elen’s meddling and devout Baptist grandparents and Graci’s constantly working logger father, allowing for both girls to continue to perform with their choir at Mount Olive Baptist Church and participate in the chamber choir competitions across the state.
Embers of Ecstasy
Prologue: Spell Crafting Revelation Whoosh! An arctic wind fluttered across the landscape, lifting fallen leaves in a swirl that carried them in a dancing motion across the village yard. It was an eerie sort of morn, the sort that caused chill bumps to rise upon one’s arms. And surely, the few villagers who were awake at this early hour understood that a change was coming with those Autumnal winds – a change that meant the death of most things and a deep hibernation for all others. And yet one particular woman with intoxicating cerulean eyes peered from her cabin with a deadly expression etched within her flawless visage. So utterly beautiful and with a name of equal beauty. Rumored to be one of the fairest in all the village, Rhiannon was destined to be a great Queen, but pagan beliefs were well on the outs with the advent of the Christian mission – destroying so much of her culture and that of her people, that Rhiannon opted for the sweet name that fell from her lover’s lips on such an icy day,
It singed, the coldness of the place in which she had found herself was a heavy cold. The type of cold that seeped into your bones, and took hours of heat to get out. To her the place was horrendous if not disgusting, to say the least. Yet what would happen there was something she hadn't laid witness to in an age. The bouncing tendrils of each curl upon her head had been wound up into a french bun. This was a place of lusts, and emotional binging, Devi sensed it upon the air. It exerted power, a shift in the electromagnetic wavelengths had made this place useful in the casting of spells. Yet, it was haunted. Frozen by the memory of every spell, death, or conception that had occurred within it. The Sanguine family loved it, however, and that was why Deviaun remained in this place called home. Perhaps, it was the area in which Devi resided that made it even more chilled. No one ever came there. None, save Deviaun, entered this chamber, and there she stayed. The same chamber where she had resurrected Kalene, and even Madam Chalys. Few would remember. The chamber where she wrote spell after spell, and tale after tale. Her thoughts ran to the past with photographic imagery ascertaining that she could never forget anything that happened to her. The time when she had been reduced to mere slavery and bonded within a rope corset. Such a pretty little wench. She smirked, "And that's where they always underestimate me," And it was true. Terms like Deadly Beauty, and Seductress of Death had suited her. Did they now? The removal of her heart hadn't cured her questioning. Still, she was so fucking alone now. "Fucking alone," she repeated the words aloud as if saying them thus would clear the problem any more than she had already played it out. Somewhere there was a new child Vivian had finally given birth to him. Devi shook her headlong had it been since a child had been had by her. She wondered what the purpose for the child would be? What was her sister's new agenda in their beloved little family?
Richard Francis Burton spent the majority of his youth enlisted as a Calvary officer for the British Military. After enlisting at the age of eighteen he spent ten years on various deployments mainly to the East, Indian, and Middle Eastern countries. He prided himself on being the very best at everything he did. A strong, and virile young man he was regarded by women as being the playful, and non-assuming sort who flattered them so they seemed to fall at his feet. After the first 5 years of his military service, he was titled as Captain and later knighted for his efforts.
When I was eleven years old my aunt took custody of me, and my older sister. At the time my sister, Maribelle, was thirteen. After a huge blowout argument between another aunt, and her husband my mother decided that it was best if she split up her four children, and it was my Aunt Danah who stepped in to save the day. Aunt Danah lived out in the country, and I remember when we first went to see her asking if all the roads in Tennessee were bright red like the one my Aunt lived on.
In August of the year Nineteen Ninety-One a beautiful baby girl was born at precisely Seven Thirty-Seven AM. By all accounts she, like most of the other newborn infants in the hospital had a full life ahead of her, and should have been raised with the belief that being American meant that the world was truly at her fingertips. Her parents named her Marisol Evette Jameson, and she was born to a Hispanic mother, and a Caucasian father. Neither of which were actually married by any definitive means of law, but in the eyes of Marisol's mother they were what would have been considered common law married.
Farahilde Ada von Masoch was the youngest of all the fairer, and more elegant young ladies of Limburg, Austria. Born of a scandalous affair between her mother, and a nobleman. She was born out of wedlock, and therefore unable to claim heir ship to anything he possessed, but to her fortunate fate her grandmother was the Baroness of the city. As it were Farahilde was sort of the orphaned Cinderella who by goodwill only barely skid by on being a pauper rather than somewhat proper. Nevertheless it was this lack of pure right to anything that made Farahilde linger more in the shadows than most girls her age. It wasn't that Farahilde was so young she could not be courted, but more so because of her dislike for some of the words others associated with both her, and her family; a subject of rumors that were the lifeblood of these sorts of people. She was stunning truthfully with ruby red lips, and ringlets of silken chestnut brown. They fell like a cascading waterfall over her shoulders, and framed a heart shaped face. She even possessed the pouting lips of a siren, and somehow all she wanted was to find the proper male to kiss them. Like something out of a fairytale as her prince charming descended the next fine twisting staircase.