Our story starts with a seemingly normal day in March. 

 

It just so happens, on this blissfully normal day in March, the Queen of an ancient kingdom gave birth to the first–and only–heir to her and her husband’s kingdom. What made this day peculiar after all of the usual normalcy of the quiet spring, was the child herself. The Princess seemed to be perfectly healthy (which was a relief since both of the royals were in their elderly years) but she was different. It seemed like there had to be a curse set on the Queen or the King, or just the royal family, but there was none that anyone in the court could remember. But there she was, their daughter born with thin leathery wings, bright red scales, and tiny little claws. It was obviously the King’s Daughter as well (‘She has your eyes, sire!’ one of the midwives had said; ‘And look at that face shape, definitely akin to yours, Your Majesty!’ another had butted in while helping clean up the room from the mess of a long and complicated delivery), so it wasn’t like the Queen could have had an affair, and she wouldn’t have anyway. They had married for love, after all, and still spent great amounts of time together despite their busy schedules. 

So what could have possibly happened to cause the Princess to turn out this way? No one knew. The King immediately sent for all of the curse breakers in the land to try and cure their darling baby before the curse completely sunk its claws into her. But no one knew what was happening or how to break it. So, they learned to live with her curse. They loved their girl after all, and she acted like a completely normal baby–despite the circumstances–so what should they do other than treat her with all of the love they held for her? 

They loved her without expectation and absolutely cherished their daughter–even when she was fussy or would cry at the smallest of things, as she was a very small clumsy little girl growing up. You could chalk up her clumsiness to the large wings on the back of her body and no other sort of dragon representation to learn to walk properly. The King could never even think of denying how proud he was of the Princess, whether it was when she clapped her hands for the first time or was running around like a chicken without a head. When she had flown across the room for the first time at three years old, he had cried joyful tears despite being in front of his court. He remembered that as one of the happiest moments of his life. Of course, there were ups and downs–the Princess was still a child, after all, and she had her deal of tantrums and fights with her parents–but they all loved one another as much as they loved their kingdom. Even though the Princess was not keen on the countless lessons she had to attend (especially the ones on how to act with proper manners and how to rule the kingdom) when she would much, much, rather be playing in the garden or curled up and reading a book in the firelight of the hearth in the castle library–the flickering light showed off her scales so prettily and she reveled in the comfort and heat fire provided to her–she understood, to a basic level, that learning was important in the role she would grow to be. She was the sole heir of her kingdom after all; she had to do well, or else she would never be able to do anything good for the people she loved so well. 

All in all, the little Princess had a very happy life. She loved everything about it, from her friends with the servant children and maids to being able to sleep with soft blankets and pillows. But despite being such a pleasant little girl, she still had a streak of mischief, and there were plenty of other children for her to play with–and play with them she did. They played many make-believe games, and she never minded being the villain (she was the one with the best evil laugh, when it came down to it). They would play elaborate pranks (and by the standards of small children, that meant sneaking into the kitchen and playing with flour or stealing pastries meant for other noble families visiting the Princess’ parents). Which they got in trouble for, of course. The punishments were never bad, but standing while holding thick books over your head was never fun for any of the children involved. The Princess, however, never stopped with her mischief streak for well into her adult years. It simply changed over time, as many things do. 

Despite people being afraid of the Princess when they met her, she never let it get her down; she knew she had to work extra hard to get people to like her. Most of the time it wasn’t an issue. Even though she could be very headstrong and brash, the Princess was a kind girl and minded her manners most of the time. Of course, she had a few mishaps in her meetings with other nobles, who were dreadfully boring. Was it really her fault that she accidentally lit the table on fire when across from her the son of a noble was making faces at her? He was asking for it. But her welcoming personality and brave streak almost always drew people around her. She was a bright child, and was as sweet as could be for a girl that grew up with a few too many sweets for her own good; what parent doesn’t spoil their kids just a little when they are able to? Especially when hers were so loving and had great means to be able to spoil her.

She slowly grew into her form from the little dragon that could actually fit into clothes if she tried hard enough to a gangly teenager that refused to wear them altogether. How could she possibly help it when they felt so tight and unnatural against her scales? And who would want to hide them in the first place? They were prettier than any other gown at the time; they sparkled like rubies in the sunlight and were as hard as steel. The ones she shed and preened out of her coat were beautiful accessories as well, but she did not give them out if she could help it. She only gave them to the closest people to her as a display of trust. When she had first explained the concept of it being a sign of love and trust (she had read it in a book on a study of dragons with an interview of one of the ancient dragons of their time) to her parents as well as presenting both of them one that she had personally polished and carved little designs in, they all had a cry together–wish for anyone she didn’t care about deeply to have one. She was such a happy girl and it would stay that way into her teenage years–up until the attacks started.

When The Princess turned 14, she was brought to a castle out in the country during the summers. It was a tradition for royals in her lineage to do so, in order to be able to focus more on their studies and practices. It was also believed that time away from the sometimes-suffocating hold of the parents was healthy for any child. Of course, she still had staff in the castle to keep her company, but there were hardly any people her age to talk to or spend time with. This was to keep her focused in the important time for brain development of any creature.

The only people she would really get to talk to were other royal families that were invited for a few weeks in the castle. It was to practice the Princess’ skills in hosting guests as well as a friendly invitation to keep good relations with their neighboring kingdoms and people of power. It was on one of these visits that her life changed for the better. 

It was a day in May that was rainy despite the warmth surrounding the land. The Princess had been preparing to meet a royal family that her parents had just made an alliance with. She was to welcome them to a couple weeks vacation. It was after the first slightly awkward dinner full of polite smalltalk and even more awkward looks. The Princess could see that the royal family was uncomfortable with her and assured them several times over their meeting that they would not see each other much during their stay. She was extremely busy, first and foremost, and didn’t want to take away from their own explorations of the neighboring towns or the small castle and its grounds. It was usually much better to do so when it isn’t raining, but she didn’t judge other people’s actions.

She didn’t get to see the princess of the neighboring kingdom because she was feeling ill before dinner started. That dampened her mood a little bit, but she didn’t let it bother her. This trip was to make the other family comfortable with their kingdom and with the future ruler of said kingdom; it most certainly was not about her talking to people who felt uncomfortable around her. So when she saw a strange person in the gardens under a gazebo, she was shocked to see that it was the Other Princess. It was her intention to be able to visit when the visiting family wasn’t there in order to enjoy it for herself, and the girl there did not seem to be any of the small staff at the castle. The Princess hesitated for a long moment before she strengthened her stride to the gazebo and got out of the rain that was quickly picking up. She smiled at the girl and introduced herself with a low bow. The girl hesitated before she dipped her head in the direction of the Princess before she simply continued to look out at the rain. 

The Princess tried to ease the uncomfortable silence with some respectful small talk to the girl. What she got in return was short answers and no responding conversation. Once the Princess fell silent herself, she was already making plans to amend her mistake when the girl spoke up.

‘Do you think that humans or squid came first?’ 

The Princess was shocked into silence for a few moments. She stared at the girl before promptly looking away and out into the scenery. 

‘I think squids did. Humans are more complicated, so it would make sense for them to come after.’ She didn’t look at the Other Princess to see her reaction and continued to look out at the rain. It caused the ground to shimmer and the plants to drip beautifully. 

‘Most people respond with humans.’ The Other Princess remarked, sounding sort of smug with an underlying tone that the Princess couldn’t describe. 

‘If you haven’t noticed, I am not like other people.’ The Princess replied with a small laugh. She was not even a “people” as most would describe her.

 She finally looked back at the other princess to find her looking directly back. She grinned in response as the Other Princess sighed and looked away again. 

‘Of course a dragon would understand better than a human.’ That comment made the Princess bristle as she sat up slightly straighter and hardened her face. People didn’t usually remark on her being different right away, especially those of social standing who are trying to keep an alliance. 

‘Not that it’s a bad thing. I like it. I don’t like people,’ the Other Princess continued, seeming to sense her companion’s discomfort with the word.

‘Surprisingly, that does not make me feel better.’ The Princess said with a tight smile and sharp words. She had relaxed a little, but she was in a position that she had never been in before. She was the one who usually made people uncomfortable with just her presence. 

‘Sounds bad for you,’ the Other Princess said, looking back to meet her gaze. ‘But I usually don’t care about people’s emotions. They’re fickle things that don’t matter in the long run.’ 

‘Well, why say anything then?’

‘What?’

‘Why say anything when you know it is going to offend people? Or not people as I am being described as?’

‘To weed out the ones who are pleasant only out of need and not by person. People who yell as soon as they’re questioned are not the sort I wish to be around.’

‘I see… and that doesn’t seem flawed to you?’

‘Who are you? One of the people my parents hired to help me “open up”?’

‘Are they usually dragons that walk out in the beginning of a thunderstorm?’

‘Nope.’

‘Then I guess I’m not someone your parents hired.’

‘I guess not.’

‘…’

‘…’

‘Do your parents often try to expose you to other people?’

‘Don’t yours?’

‘No, I have been told I’m a bit of a “social butterfly”.’

‘Huh, do you think some of that will rub off on me?’

‘I don’t think it works like that, unfortunately, Princess.’

‘Sad, isn’t it. I guess I can’t be normal.’

‘That isn’t a bad thing. Societal standards are not always the best.’

‘I guess you’re right. But pointers wouldn’t hurt.’

‘Pointers?’

‘Yes, you should give me pointers on how you are able to be a social butterfly. Make small talk during dances and such.’

‘Okay.’

‘What?’

‘I can do that for you, it would be my Pleasure.’ The Princess said as she stood up and walked over to the other, bowing and holding out her clawed hand. She had a good foot on the Other Princess, but that didn’t bother her. The Other Princess cautiously took the Princess’ hand and stood up as the Princess kissed it before standing up to full height. 

‘You know how to waltz. Correct?’

‘I’m a princess.’

‘Just checking.’ The Princess’ voice was lighthearted and cheeky as she started to dance along to a silent waltz, taking the lead in favor of following; she had started the dance, after all. They stayed quiet for a long few minutes before the Other Princess spoke up. 

‘I don’t feel woo-d yet. Or anytype of social wisdom sinking in.’ She said sarcastically as she looked up at the Princess, craning her neck. 

‘How unfortunate, that was not my intention.’ The Princess was smiling and suppressing laughter at the Other Princess’ face. ‘Well, what would you like to talk about?’

‘I thought you were a natural at this.’ The other said with a scowl that made the Princess break and pause to laugh, causing the Other Princess to scowl more. 

‘You’re bad at this social thing.’ 

‘We don’t have to dance here.’

‘Where else would we dance?’ the Other Princess asked as the Princess pulled her out of the protection of the gazebo and into the rain.

‘We have an entire garden, Princess!’ The Princess exclaimed joyfully with a wide grin. ‘It’s a waste to be in such a small place!’

‘Maybe small for you.” The Other Princess grumbled but started to dance along with the Princess again. It was a silent but quick paced dance that led to them both tumbling inside full of giggles after their skin grew numb from the cold (well, the skin of the human princess, the Princess was still warm as a fireplace, something that extended their time outside to a much greater degree then possible for two humans). The Princess asked one of the maids to make them a pot of hot chocolate as well as bring the Other Princess a change of dry clothes as she dragged her to the library. 

It was wall to wall with books and a large fireplace in the center, surrounded by plush furniture. The Princess started a fire as the other left to change in one of the nearby bathrooms. When the Other Princess returned, the fire was high and the Princess was bringing over some blankets from a chest. She handed one to her companion and set the rest of them down on a couch. The night ended with them talking and eventually falling asleep next to each other in the library. 

They grew closer and closer until the day the Other Princess was forced to leave with her family. She promised to write letters and visit whenever she could, but they were both incredibly sad when they were forced to part with one another. 

They didn’t get to see each other until the following summer despite many letters and gifts sent between them. They were both agonized by the distance, but managed to keep themselves sane and busy. The Princess did so by throwing herself into her studies and tending flowers by her window. Even through the cold and harsh winters she was able to keep the flowers (and various other plants) alive in her room, away from the beautiful death of the snowfall. The Other Princess kept to herself and stayed in her usual life the way she always did. She was not the heir to the throne once her baby brother was born, so she was able to spend more time doing things she enjoyed rather than studying and lessons day in and out like the Princess did.

By the time they got to meet each other again, the Princess had taken to wearing flowers braided into her hair (if you could call it hair–it resembled a mane on a horse rather than human hair, but less coarse). She did the majority of it by herself, but she did receive help from her handmaidens from time to time. They reunited for another summer happily and agreed it was much less awkward than when the Other Princess’ parents were hovering over them in the castle. 

That summer went off without a hitch.The two of them were able to spend time together and officially start a long courtship process with official dates and gifts bestowed on each family by the other one. Both of the Princesses’ parents were very happy for the arrangement–The dragon’s for finding love at such a young age and the human’s for marrying royalty and into further nobility. It was a fun summer and they were able to grow closer and closer to each other then possible with only being able to write letters that wouldn’t get read for several weeks.

 The summer passed by all too quickly, then the next, and the next, with only a few interruptions. It wasn’t until the summer of the seventeenth year of the Princess’ life that things got more serious. Warriors and soldiers were coming almost every week from other kingdoms to ‘slay the beast’ and ‘save the fair maiden,’ whatever that was about. The first time it had happened was a surprise to everyone in the small castle and the countryside. It was a warm day and everyone was relaxing in the sun per the Princess’ request. She wanted to have everyone be able to enjoy the sun with her and gave them the day off. When the Warrior burst into the palace, she was with her handmaids and the Other Princess, doing some personal care for one another. She was in the middle of applying a homemade mud mask to one of them and abruptly stopped and looked up in shock. She was not expecting anyone to burst in, and she did not recognize the man. When the others with her did not recognize him either, she started to ask questions. 

‘Who are you? Why are you here?’ She asked, setting the bowl aside so she could have her hands free. 

‘I am here to slay you and release all those you hold captive!’ The Warrior exclaimed, as he drew his sword and raised it towards the Princess. He lowered it in shock when all of the handmaidens and maids around him started to giggle amongst themselves. The Princess sighed at the proclamation and stayed sitting on her bed.

‘There is nothing to be slain, I don’t know what you heard, Sir, but I-’

Enough of your talking, fiend! I will not stand for you using your silver tongue to entice me! Speak no further and we shall battle!” the Warrior spat as he glared at the Princess.

‘No.’ she said simply and glared at the Warrior. ‘Please leave the premises before I have to ask my guards to escort you on their day off.’ 

‘Day off??? What is this madness you speak of, evil beast!’ the Warrior demanded an answer as he raised his sword again towards the Princess. He was so focused on the disapproving look on the dragon’s face that he was almost knocked over when the door opened from behind him, the Other Princess walking in with a plate of cookies and some fruit. She looked puzzled upon seeing the Warrior and looked around at all of the other girls either gawking or giggling behind their hands at him. 

‘What did I miss?’ she asked, still holding the food as she closed the door with her foot and took a step back.

‘Fair Maiden!’ the Warrior exclaimed in return, not taking his eyes off of the Princess. ‘I am here to protect and save you from this beast!’ 

‘I don’t need saving. This isn’t my castle,’ the Other Princess stated simply as she moved in a wide radius to the Warrior so she could stand uninterrupted next to her betrothed. ‘Who would I even need saving from in the first place?’

‘The beast you are currently standing next to! Are you blind?! Are you under some sort of spell?!’ The Princess rubbed her temples and sighed. 

‘This early in the year? I would have thought them to have been done by now.’ She grumbled as the Other Princess rolled her eyes and set the food down on the bed. 

‘As fun as this is, you should leave before you get punched in your face,’ The princess who was human said while she crossed her arms over her chest. She did not look amused and looked like she was the one who was going to do the aforementioned punching. 

‘I will not leave until all of you are safe from the beast!’ The Warrior, of course, did not pick up on this look and seemed to be stuck in his head of what is right and wrong, as most warriors of the time period did.

‘Then this is news for you, good sir, I don’t need saving. No one here needs saving. You should just leave before I stuff a pillow down your throat.’ The Other Princess snarled, to have the dragon place a hand on her shoulder. 

‘It’s fine, you do not need to resort to violence,’ the Princess said calmly, ever the peace-maker and diplomat when she could be.

‘Shut up! You aren’t a part of this,’ the Other Princess retorted as she continued to stare daggers at the shocked Warrior in front of her. 

‘That is no way for a lady to speak! Are you the one casting a spell? To make yourself look like a proper lady when you are a blithering old hag?’ The Other Princess looked like she was going to actually assault the man when the Princess stood up and stopped her. 

‘Why don’t we have tea? you look like you’re extremely weary,’ she said pleasantly as she looked at her handmaidens who were already getting up to prepare it. ‘You all stay here, this will be done in only a few minutes, please continue what you were doing,’ she continued before she simply walked past the Warrior and made her way out of her bedroom. The Warrior was too stunned to speak, less move, and had to be pushed by the Other Princess to even seem to wrap it around his head. He was quickly shut up and angrily led to the small sitting room where the Princess had already prepared tea and some biscuits. She invited the Warrior to sit down and they had a very long conversation that the Warrior was far too dazed to really take a part of. Once they were done, he left with a few extra biscuits. 

A very similar process happened repeatedly that summer, to the point where the Princess made a sign and put it at the front for people to stop walking in at impossible hours. No one ever paid attention to it, of course, but it was the thought that counted. 

On the day of the Princess’ eighteenth birthday was when she proposed to the other Princess with a ring and one of her scales elegantly carved and strung on a cord. Of course the Other Princess said yes. They were planning the wedding in the spring of four years in the future when the King and Queen announced that they would be stepping down from the throne. It was just two years later when they announced it; they were old and tired of ruling and thought that the twenty year old princess was ready for it all on her own. She hesitantly agreed with the promised support and guidance from them and her fiancee. With the overtaking of the throne, the wedding between the two Princesses was placed on hold in return for the added stress of ruling the kingdom as a twenty year old Dragon. The Princess was not fully ready to take over, but it wasn’t like she had a choice. Her parents were getting old and if she wasn’t ready soon she would have to start her rule when her parents died instead of with their guidance. The dragon’s fiancee was as supportive as she could be despite the stress causing the Princess to freak out sometimes and start small arguments. It kept happening and happening until the Princess’ Fiancee stopped her in the middle of a stressful spiel. 

‘Love, stop.’ she said, rubbing her temples. The Princess immediately did what her partner asked of her, but she did not look happy. In fact, she looked confused. 

‘You were going to cause an argument because you’re stressed planning a wedding and getting prepared to take over your parent’s kingdom.’ she continued as she gently placed a hand on the Princess’ shoulder and moved closer to her. 

‘That’s enough work today, okay. Let’s go back to bed.’ The Princess’ Fiancee’s tone was not that of a question as she basically demanded the Princess to stop working, even if just for the night. She started to pull her towards the bed when the Princess suddenly stopped

“I… but, Darling, I need to finish this. These reports are important and then once I finish I can work on our wedding finally without it being interrupted by more work.’ she protested as her fiancee stopped and looked back, placing her hands on her hips. 

‘Love, if you do not go to bed this instant, you aren’t going to be able to plan a wedding because you make horrible decisions when you are incredibly tired. And I have the right to veto everything you do for our wedding that is happening in four years.’ the human was done putting up with her fiancee and was ready to deck her if that meant she would finally get some sleep.

Instead of getting mad or upset, the Princess simply laughed softly, ‘Fine, fine, my love. You know best.’ the human relaxed at her dragon partner’s words and gently took her hand instead of harshly grabbing her arm. ‘But,’ the Princess continued, grinning to herself, ‘Does this mean you don’t want to dance with me tonight? Not even a little bit?’ 

‘Oh my gosh, no, Love. Go to bed.’ they were both laughing now as the Princess slowly undid her hair and her partner watched from under the covers. They cuddled close to one another and quickly fell asleep.

 

Even though it took much longer than either of them had wanted it to, they both were wed soon enough. The day it happened was a beautiful day in Summer that was as warm as they were hoping for when the two, a human princess and a dragon queen, originally planned it. They were both so blissfully happy and couldn’t believe anything that was happening to them. It was surreal but ever so good and happy. The Queen was now able to relax just a little bit more when she was with her beautiful bride and the Queen Consort, the previous human princess, was just happy to finally be able to fully separate from her parent’s control. 

They ended up not having a honeymoon and had more of just a break from working for a while. But they were both more than happy because Life was busy and wonderful for the both of them. Even as the Queen Consort got older and older, until her hair had strands of gray and she could not dance for as nearly as long as she used to, they still loved each other unconditionally. 

When the two of them were in their forties they decided to adopt a child to take the throne after them. The Little Prince was adopted by the Queen and the Queen Consort because they had found out that the latter was not able to conceive and the Queen was not willing to carry the child. He was welcomed into the family nonetheless and was also loved as he grew up a kind and thoughtful young man. The years were getting to the Queen Consort and it just wasn’t for her dragon partner. There were more silences between them now to avoid talking about something they knew was coming. Even if it was for just a bit longer. Neither of them wanted to admit that they weren’t going to be able to both spend the rest of their days together. 

As the Little Prince grew from a small child to a young man, and then an adult, the Queen Consort caught an illness that forced her to stay on bedrest with very limited motion or movement allowed. Everyone was devastated for the state of the The Queen Consort, and none less than the Queen herself. She was doing her absolute best to keep it together and refused to take it out on anyone or the kingdom, but she was not perfect and was going through the possible death of her beloved wife and life partner. Despite this, she was still as pleasant as she could be. She was still as attentive as a mother and a partner, and still a wonderful Queen for the kingdom.

For a while, things got better. The Queen Consort was able to get up again and move around. She could even walk around the gardens with the Little Prince and her wife, the Queen, for an hour or so before she had to go back to bed. At the news that she was getting better, everyone was overjoyed and celebrated. All of the kingdom’s citizens loved both the queens and were all devastated to hear the news that the human could die soon; so when there was large news that she was getting better, celebrating was the only proper way to react. There was a large party once it was announced that the Queen Consort would be able to walk whenever she wanted and be able to resume her visits to the central city as long as she took frequent breaks. Everyone was overjoyed, but not as much as the Prince and the Queen herself. 

Soon the years had gone by and the Prince was close to his twentieth birthday. The queens and their son had talked about it at length and the Little Prince  decided that he wanted to learn more about ruling before he became King of the land. He didn’t want to make mistakes that the Queen had made early in her rule that cost the kingdom. The Queen agreed and they made a plant to wait until the Prince’s 30th birthday before they spoke of it again. 

The Queen and her wife danced as often as they could. They were almost always silent and it was always very slow, but in the moonlight neither of them cared. They loved their dances and they loved each other more than either of them could describe. The dances were getting shorter and shorter over the years, but the Queen didn’t care. As long as she had her beloved bride, she didn’t care how much time they spent together. They were inarguably in love and happy with one another. Not one person in the kingdom–as far as anyone knew–disagreed that fact. You could see it in the way the queens moved and looked at each other; they seemed to be in sync and it was impossible to tear them apart. They had their own activities, of course, but they would share things they did with each other and take great joy in doing so. 

The years continued to speed by at what seemed all too fast. Soon enough, the Prince married at age 29 to such a lovely girl that he met while riding one day. Then three years later,

he was 32 and, with guidance from his mothers, took over the throne and married his wife. He was eager and happy with his new partner. The kingdom was joyous and there was little hardship in this perfect Golden Age of prosperity.

Unfortunately, it had to come to an end all too soon. 

The queens had danced for hours one night (something they were not able to do for such a long time), twirling and swaying together late into the night. When the Queen finally coaxed her bride into bed to sleep, she was peaceful. She was happy. It had been a good day for both of them despite the Queen Consort’s condition. She was getting old and the Queen knew it was going to be soon, but when it finally came… She couldn’t handle it. 

She had woken up that morning to a cold body curled up beside her. A cold body with a smile still on her beautiful wrinkled face. A cry of anguish and pure raw pain tore through the castle, waking everyone up as the Queen scooped up the body of her true love and cradled her to her chest. She couldn’t stop as her son burst into the room; couldn’t be strong as the cold dead body of the most important person in her life was motionless, still, and pale. 

Never again would she ever hear her laughter, see her smirk when she got her way or when she was proud of herself, never see the caring look whenever she looked upon the Queen or the Little Prince (now King). Never would she get to hold her hand, whisper ‘I love you’ to each other in the dead of night with only the stars to witness, never sneak a kiss and see her beautiful face flush.

She would never get to hold or see their grandchildren. Never get to look upon the stars or see another meteor shower. Never get to have another flower crown placed upon her head in place of the diadem she normally wore. 

She would never get to dance in the pale moonlight ever again. Neither of them would. 

 

The funeral was only a few days later, but they seemed to both go by in a flash and drag on painfully slowly. The Queen Mother and the King were silent. The Former Queen was trying so hard to be there for her son, to be strong and be the rock for him. He just lost one of his parents at such an early point of his reign. She tried so hard, but she was not able to hold back her own tears, her sobs. She wanted to reach out to the stars and beg them for another chance to be with her again. Just one last time to see her, but she knew if her request was ever granted she would never let go.

 

After the Queen Consort was buried, her son joined her sixty years later. Then her grandchildren, her great grandchildren and everyone past that. She disappeared suddenly after her great great great great great grandchildren were born and no one has ever seen her again. 

 

~~~

 

‘There you have it, the story you were hoping for. Was it all you expected it to be?’

‘It ends like that?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought stories were supposed to have happy endings.’

‘Very rarely are any of the endings ever truly happy. You just get to close the book before you see the sad bits.’

‘…She was you, wasn’t she?’

‘Whoever do you mean, youngling?’

‘The Princess.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘You’re a dragon.’

‘Not all dragons are the same, child.’

‘I know but-’

‘You should get home, finish your tea and I will lead you to the trail.’

‘Can I come back tomorrow?’

‘Whatever for?’

‘For another story/’

‘That was the only one I know.’

‘How about I tell you one tomorrow!’

‘That sounds nice. Thank you.’

When the Sorceress heard that she would be overthrown one day by a child in a no name village, she did not react violently.. She did not kill the messenger, nor strike down the divinder who had the premonition of a little brat ruining everything, no. She knew far too well that doing any of those things would just seal her fate as “Evil Enchantress” (despite the fact that she is not an Enchantress or a witch). Instead, she calmly called the head of her guard and planned a siege of the village. If she was going to have someone overthrow her, it was going to be in her control, not some brat who is a “Savior of the people”. Thinking those words only made her want to vomit. How could someone come and ruin her beautiful world and all of her effort to clear the world of horrible rulers? And how was she the heartless one for not wanting it to be ruined? 

So here she was, standing in front of a burning village; fire always made her happy, the smell, the sound of the cracking wood and the screams of people not yet dead. She was waiting for her minions to come back with what they came for. Soon enough, she was in front of five children of varying ages. They were screaming and crying in the soldier’s arms, all except for one. A small baby with bright green eyes, staring out at the fire with delight and giggles.  She was even reaching out to touch the burning cleanse, enamored by it and its power. The Sorceress drew closer to her, hooking her umbrella on her arm to take the small child from the silent soldier. 

She made the small girl look at her directly in the eyes–something that made hardened warriors shake and fall to their knees to beg for mercy–and she giggled. She didn’t look away or start crying, she just squealed with delight and reached out to touch the wixen’s face. She looked beyond happy despite her family being dead and four other crying children behind her. 

The Sorceress was confused, but continued to examine the small child until something caught her eye. A bright pink streak in the little hair she had, as well as a small mark on the side of her head; a symbol reserved only for those blessed by Lady Magic herself. 

She immediately waved the other children away to be killed as she cradled the small girl in her arms. She was sure that this girl was the one destined to overthrow her, so she simply would care for her herself and grow her up to be a proper ruler of the kingdom and keep the idiot people from ruining everything she worked so hard to build by putting awful thoughts in the darling little baby’s head.

As the other children were led away, still screaming and crying, The Sorceress simply held the happy girl. She summoned a small ball of magic to her hand and showed the girl her first glimpse of the very thing she would learn to harness and use to rule in her adopted role. It lit up the baby’s face as well as the Sorceress’, revealing the bright purple streak in her own black hair that was previously hidden in the dim light of the fire.

The distant screams of the lost innocent lives finally faded out as every single one of them perished in the fire or the wixen’s soldiers. The Sorceress would make sure that she would have guards continue to check the surrounding area for any survivors and keep an eye on the land so there was absolutely no chance of another child trying to overthrow her and ruin her and her child’s life. 

As she cradled the baby in one arm, she pulled her umbrella off of the other and pointed it at the sky, watching as a purple stream of light shot out, visible to everyone miles away if they were even away. She cooed at the squealing child as she stepped into the light, letting her look forward as both of the chosen walk into the next step of their lives.

“Welcome home, Meteora.” 

 

Into the Dark

A Short Story by Ari Hensley

You wake up. 

It’s pitch black and you don’t know why you woke up, other than the mildly unsettling feeling running up and down your spine. You can hear some groaning and rumbling noises, but your house is old, and old houses make lots of noise. 

Instead of waking up and getting some tap water to clear the dust settling in your throat like you normally would, you just lay back down. After all, you have a new baby brother in the house and he is such a light sleeper. Your dads need their sleep too. 

As you settle back into the bed, closing your eyes and concentrating your breathing into a measured manner (in for four, hold for seven, out for eight), you hear some scratching noises underneath your bed. You groan, turning around and beckoning your cat to join you on your bed instead of sleeping underneath. 

Instead of a soft chirp from your black cat, you instead hear silence, only broken by the wind out–

  BANG!

You shoot straight up in bed. That isn’t a house noise, no, not at all. 

As you look around, straining your ears to catch where the noise came from, it sounds out again–

BANG!!

It’s louder this time, and coming from your closet. You wonder if things are falling because of the sheer amount of stuff inside of it. 

You slowly slide out of the warmth and comfort of your soft bed with the quilt your grandmother made to welcome you home from the hospital, bunching it at the foot of your bed to make room to get up. You shudder as the cold air hits your skin and feel goosebumps run up and down your arms. 

As you walk towards the closet, the world darkens around you; the nightlight must have gone out, but that doesn’t make any sense. You just put a new bulb in the other night. How could it have gone out already? The lack of light makes your chest swell up with dread. 

You hate the dark.

You reach the closet door in darkness, only now noticing that the only light is some red spilling out from underneath the doors. Did you leave the LEDs on in the little nook between all of the crap in there? You hardly ever had them on red, as you hate the color. 

As you reach for the door, it opens all on its own. The things you had stuffed in there fall all around you as you stand there, blocking your head from the debris crashing to the floor. You curse to yourself–you could have woken up your brother and now you need to clean all over again! 

You start looking for the cause of the noise when your cat runs out and starts to rub against your legs, purring softly and glad to be let out of the stuffed closet. You pick it up, scolding them softly, when you hear the scratching noise from under the bed again. You stop dead in your tracks and stare at the space under your mattress; it was covered by your blankets and you couldn’t see under it, but there was definitely something scratching up, and it wasn’t your cat. No, he was safely in your arms, his hair sticking up as he growled at the duvet. 

You feel your feet move towards the bed again, unable to stop them as your curiosity runs over your fear of whatever could be moving underneath your bed. It moves out, and stares up at you. It flashes a grin of spikey machinery as the teddy bear clicks a picture of you with its innards. It rushes forward and grabs your ankle tightly with its claws. They sink into your soft skin easily. It latches on as the voicebox, now distorted with water damage, plays automatically; “Ỉ̴̭̾͠’̷̭̼̗̽m̵̡̜̓̍̕ ̶̫̠̑͆͝y̶̢̢̾͝͝o̶̜͓͘͝ú̶͕̘͘ŗ̷͎̃̈ ̶̝̤̔̅̈́f̶̪̓r̴̡̬̙͆͊i̴͙̒͝e̸̙͓̞͂n̴̞̍ḑ̵̟͊̽̀~̵͙̞̟̕” It just latches on harder the more you try to kick it off. “ ̶̹̟̈́̑C̷̜̎ͅo̸̗̩͙̅̀m̸͓̰̗̉͂̂e̴̦͍̟͛͗ ̷̯̽p̸̣͔͖̚ĺ̴̤͍͝ͅa̷̦̒y̵̢̗̪̋̐ ̵͖̈́͝w̸̲̱̻̿̊͌í̷̟̖̝͂́ẗ̶̰́ḫ̶̬͆̽͂ ̷͉̎̃m̸̬̙̻̋e̴̢̘͂~̴̨͔̲̓͑͆” it continues as it bites you, the voice box still going as your blood stains the metal and the fabric of the toy, adding to the already present stains of blood and other liquids. You hear more shutter clicks and throw your cat to the ground to use your hands and try to wrestle it off of you. You manage to grab a heavy book and beat it over the head. Screws and Springs splurt out and break off as you mercilessly destroy the bear. 

As soon as it is off of you, you rush out of the room, scooping your cat up again and locking the door behind you before you leave. All you hear after the door is closed is one last line from the fading voicebox; “Ỳ̸̥̯͒ŏ̶͚̫͉̾̅u̵͈̯͓̽͒̕’̵̡̪̼͑͛r̷̠͈̋̔̃ë̶̖̞́̐͂.̵̢̨͒͒̕.̴̱́͑͒.̸͇͓̜̋̈̍ ̸͈̇s̴̤̎̒̑a̴̹̿̽͠à̵̲͔̈́̕a̴̲̲̞̎f̸̤̎͝e̷̯̒ ̸̙͚͊̒̚ẁ̵̦́͝i̵̻̾͗t̴̰͔̀ḩ̴̟̔͒̾.̴͇̹͍͝.̸̫̙̀͆̓͜.̸͇̱̒̒̚ ̵̛̻m̸̡̫̰̓-̶̢̟̺́̌̄ṁ̸̧̨̠͘.̵͔͊̎.̵̻̿e̵̱͐̐e̴͉͉̠͋͊”

You breathe for just a moment, closing your eyes and resting your head against the door. You don’t know what’s happening or why it’s happening and you just want to go to bed again. You need to tell your parents what happened. They’ll know how to fix this. They may even make you hot chocolate like when you’ve been waking up from nightmares after you came home. 

These thoughts are interrupted by quiet mutterings that sound like they are from the kitchen. You cautiously follow the sound and peek into the kitchen, expecting to see your parents quietly talking to one another. Instead, you find her staring out the large bay window. She looked different then when you last saw her, no longer wearing orange either, but it was easily recognizable to you who she was. 

So, you cautiously approach. You are confused why she was in your parent’s house; they made it very clear that she would not be allowed to see you without your permission, and you did not want to see her in the slightest. 

Like she sensed you, her head turns completely around despite her body not moving a muscle. Her eyes are white and her skin gray like dirty dishwater. Her mumblings are getting louder and you could hear that she was talking about ungrateful children. You stare at her, determined to face her rather than be scared and hide again or run away like you always did. 

She did not like that one bit. 

Like she was struck by lightning, she suddenly appears by your side, the only hint of movement beforehand was the creak of the floorboards under her feet. She turns her body to match her head as she grabs your arm. Her nails dig into the uncovered flesh as she leans over and breathes rancid breath into your face. She’s speaking louder and louder until her quiet whispers turned into screams. She grips your face with her other hand, nails feeling once again like claws. She calls you horrid things that she always did. Despite the repetitions, however, it still hurts to hear. You open your mouth to try and respond, but the words die on your lips as they always seem to lately. You can’t bring yourself to talk anymore then you could earlier. . 

You close your mouth as her claw-like nails dig further and further into your skin. She smirks as poison drips from her mouth like the viper she is. “If I kill you right here, do you think they’ll throw me in jail again? Or do you think anyone will care at all?”

You pause with that as she starts to pull on your arm. Suddenly, your cat jumps out of your arms and starts to attack Her with a blinding fury. You are frozen to the spot for only a moment before you too jump into action. You don’t want to die, not yet.

You grab a large cheese knife from the block and knock her to the ground. She falls as your cat makes a run for it and you climb onto her back. You start stabbing before you can think of anything. Blood is rushing towards your ears, blocking everything out and keeping you from hearing anything other than her cries for mercy as she oozes black blood that burns your knees and hands like acid. You are too panicked and adrenaline-filled to be able to process this, and you only pause in your own survival instincts when she starts to sob and call herself terrible. That she never should have left you and that she is just horrible and shouldn’t be forgiven. You stop your onslaught and watch her silently. Your hands are trembling and you don’t know if you’re too scared to stop it or if you want to watch her like this. You know she’s lying; she always does this. You don’t want to be scared of her anymore. 

So you take the plunge. 

She turns to dust and the only remnants of her are the burns on your legs and arms. 

You take a moment to catch your breath. You bested her. You did it. You didn’t fail like you thought you would. 

You’re still alive. 

You get up and are tempted to throw the knife away, but keep it with you in the end. You never know what might happen or when you might need it.

So you walk away with your cat following you behind. 

 

You enter the back yard and almost fall to the cool dewey grass from the way your legs are trembling. You want to cry, but as sobs threaten to leave your throat, not a sound escapes you. 

You need to keep going.

You need to get out of here with your life, and you are going to do it. You cannot fail, no matter what. You need to wake up. 

You want to stay in the calm, cool, air for a few more minutes

Your cat brushes against your legs, chirping softly as it looks up at you with bright green eyes and a calm look. You feel some of the edge erode off of you and you pick up your cat, burying your face in its fur to just… pause.

You hear rumbling. 

You tear your head away and your cat jumps out of your arms to growl in the densest part of the fog that closed in around you. It seems to be rumbling on its own. It doesn’t sound natural. 

Soon the rumbling reveals itself for what it truly is: laughter. You are frozen to the spot as the recognition sparks in your brain. Soon, you see a dark figure of tar come towards you. It leaves behind a path of dead grass and more of the tar. It’s laughing at you.

When it speaks, it sounds like Him, but it’s distorted like the sound is coming from an underwater speaker. You can see that its mouth doesn’t move when it makes any sort of sounds. It’s stuck in a permanent smile as it stares at you with blank eyes. 

“You really think that puny jail cell could hold me?” it asks. You know it does not expect an answer. It is smarter to stay quiet around it anyhow; it can’t tear you down if it can’t get into the cracks. 

But it knows you’re scared.

You hold the venom covered knife tighter in your clenched fist. You don’t want to live in fear of something you knew would try to hurt you no matter what you ever did. When it sees this, it just laughs again. “You think that little thing can hurt me?” it taunts as it gets closer. You can see that there was nothing under the tar as it laughs and jiggles. It isn’t solid. You won’t be able to get rid of  Him like you did with his counterpart. 

You know you won’t be able to escape with the way it is moving towards you and how the fog continues to follow as it moves. You would get lost if you tried to run away, but you can’t fight it. 

You run back inside of the house, locking the door behind you to buy yourself some time. You feel like you could run for hours as you look for something that could kill it. You hear Him enter as well as you hold your breath. You have to hide, but you know he would be able to find you. He is like a bloodhound–able to find anything with the slightest hint of a scent. 

You manage to find a lighter in the junk drawer in your frantic searching. You hold it up and look towards the door for a few moments. 

Before you can act, he enters the kitchen once he manages to tear the back door off of its hinges. He grins that everlasting smile at you as he stops to a standstill, trapping you. He tilts his head slightly and you know you only have one shot at this before you get caught and are unable to escape his poisoning grasp. 

You lunge for the stove on the other side of the room close to where he is standing, hardly noticing that he is surprised that you’re not running away. You manage to turn all of the knobs to light the stove to the side so they would release gas but not light just yet. With that, you turn towards him and face him down with a scowl. You are shaking, but holding your ground yet again. This causes him to chuckle and move just a little closer.

“The kid grows a backbone, huh?” it asks rhetorically. It doesn’t expect an answer and you are not going to give it one. You hold up your knife like you could really do something with it as your cat growls at it by your feet, readying itself to charge into battle if needed. The tar tilts its head back while it has a fit of laughter at your idiocy. You continue to stare it down as it bubbles until you could smell the gas leaking into the room. When it finally stops laughing at your obvious misfortune, it turns back to you and reaches out to grab you. 

You light the lighter and dive out of the way with your cat.

The explosion that follows is loud and causes your ears to ring. You don’t have time to watch the tar scream while it dies a horrible death. You don’t want to stay and watch it, no matter how much it hurt you while you knew Him. 

You instead run out through the garage, the only place in the house where the floors are not wooden. You exit the house and scramble away, falling into the grass several yards away from the burning house. You turn back as you catch the breath you had been holding for far too long. As you stare at the flickering orange fire, breathing in the crackling and scent of a new life, you know this isn’t over. Not yet. You can not ever truly defeat the things you’ve been through, but… This was a good start. 

 

My Struggles to Accept my Sexuality

A personal essay by Ari Hensley

 

When I was a kid, I used to pretend to have crushes on people. 

I picked a person I thought was cool, decided that I was going to like them, and pretended that I did so. I did this a total of three times from kindergarten to sixth grade because I decided in sixth grade it was stupid, and that I didn’t want to be like everyone else with silly “crushes”. What I didn’t realize, however, was that people were legitimately feeling romantic feelings for people. I thought that wanting someone to be your friend and having a crush on them were the exact same thing. 

The first person I had a crush on was a kid who I’d picked in kindergarten. I thought that it was time for me to start feeling things and liking people, so I dug my heels in and refused to move him from “crush” status up until fourth grade. This kid was in my class for four years and I had talked to him about five times. Not only did he never talk to me, he was also a little annoying and not fun at all to be around; in hindsight, even if I did genuinely liked this guy in a romantic way, he would have never paid any attention to me, and now he wants to get concussions for a sport he’s mid at (football). But I didn’t care to begin with. I thought it was totally normal to choose who your crushes were, and that you only didn’t get to choose anymore once you were in high school because that’s when “adult” feelings would come out. Obviously, that is not the case.

My second and third crushes happened one year apart from each other. They were both what I like to call “friend crushes”, where I genuinely liked them and just wanted to be their friend rather than actually harbored romantic feelings for either of them. The second one happened in third grade where this guy joined my Quest group (Quest was a program in my school where the smart kids would be pulled out of class and taken to do things that were extracurricular), and I will not be saying his name because I did not ask permission to use it. I thought he was really cool and had similar interests, so what did I do? Did I go up and tell him that I (thought) I had a crush on him? No. I was just an awkward kid and thought that if I talked to him he would hate me and never want to talk to me again. He is now one of my close friends and does not know about the fake crush–only that I wanted to be friends with him. 

I ended up carrying the second “crush” for a while and it continued to fester while I started to harbor another friend crush for–yet again–another person who joined my Quest group. She was the first “girl” other than me (when I still thought I was a girl) to join, and I thought she was awesome. I probably would have pretended to have a crush on her if I knew what the LGBTQ+ community was back then, but I didn’t and was just confused about my emotions towards her. It was so similar to the crush I thought I had on my now friend (crush # 2). This turned into yet another example of a friend “crush” that I had in elementary school. 

 

~~~

 

It wasn’t until two years after elementary school ended that I found out that I was really different from most of the population.   

It took me till the middle of seventh grade to learn what the LGBTQ+ community was, and I immediately knew that I was a part of it. Call it instinctual, call it wanting to feel different, but I was certain that I fit somewhere among the alphabet soup of people who weren’t how I saw characters in books or TV represented. 

At the time, I was “dating” my now best friend. They asked me out in September and I agreed in life science class, the last period we had together, because I asked him to let me think about it. Looking back, I only agreed because I was scared that he wouldn’t be my friend anymore and didn’t want him to hate me. I came out to him as bisexual a few weeks later because that’s what I thought I was. In mine, having zero romantic attraction for everyone meant I liked everyone the same, after all; if I had to recatagorize it now, I would probably call it being pansexual (blind to gender while bisexual means that you do like all genders but in different ways. I remember the night I was going to tell him–I was laying in the bed of the house we used to live in. I had just gotten a crappy phone from my father because he hated my mom and I was debating with myself whether or not to tell my new “boyfriend”. After all, I had just gotten closer to this guy and I didn’t want our relationship to be ruined. I was so nervous that my friend was going to hate me. But, it turned out that he was totally chill with it. The text conversation went a little like;

“Hey, I have a question for you…” 

“Yes?”

“Are you cool with gay people? o.o”

“Yeah”

“What about Bi people?”

“Yeah”

“Hypothetically, if I was Bi, would you be mad?”

“No”

“Are you bi, ari?”

“Yes…”

“Okay”

“Glad you aren’t mad! <3” 

“ovo”

 My anxiety was, yet again, not worth it, as you can see. 

 My friend and I were “together” for about a year and three months; the only thing that came from this time was us hanging out at his father’s house on Valentines day. I remember that he got me a crappy chocolate rose that was broken (not his fault, I just don’t like chocolate that much and holiday chocolate is the worst) and played Hungry Hungry HipposTM after his dog scared me by furiously barking. I was wearing a hat, and that triggered him into attack mode (for the record, he did not actually attack me). Then we watched JaidenAnimations videos on her YouTube (her Pokemon Ruby Nuzlocke and a few other videos) for a while afterwards, and my mother picked me up. Our first and only “date” since we were middle schoolers and both of us thought romantic stuff was stupid (it is still thought that way by both of us except I like to read romantic literature and he does not). 

As someone who is in the spectrum of Aromanticism, it doesn’t mean what some sources will make you think. I still feel love and all of my emotions (too many emotions, if you ask me) but I am unable to feel romantic love for people. I still love all of my friends platonically and my family with familial love. I also can still find things and people pretty despite being asexual. This is because we are still people with emotions. Think of it like not liking chocolate cake in a world where all people talk about is how delicious chocolate cake is. When you are the only one you don’t know who doesn’t like chocolate cake, it doesn’t mean that your taste buds are broken or you are incapable of tasting things, it just means that you don’t like chocolate cake. Obviously, this isn’t a perfect analogy, as there is an entire spectrum of people on both asexual and aromantic spectrums who feel varying levels of romantic and sexual attraction, but it is an easy one to explain and understand. Humans are so complex, it would be almost impossible to find a perfect analogy. 

I didn’t realize that I was asexual until much much later in the year after Covid started and I finally downloaded TikTok because I was bored. There, I found an entire world of different sexualities and genders that I hadn’t known existed before. Because of that, I found out what Asexulaity is and that it fit me perfectly. For those who do not know, asexuality or being asexual means that you experience little to no sexual attraction to people. There is quite a large spectrum of this sexuality with different varying degrees of attraction, and all of them are valid. 

I quickly snatched that label up and it made me feel better about myself. I remember being so happy about being able to understand myself better and knowing that I was getting closer to being able to figure everything else out as well. 

After this, I quickly started to look at my gender identity and tried to figure things out. I initially stayed using she/her pronouns, then she/they, then they/them. I used they/them for a very, very, long time until I realized earlier this year that it wasn’t that I was nonbinary, rather it was that I experienced no gender. Since this is a more controversial topic for many readers, gender is not equal to sex. Gender is a social construct of our society and wherever people fall is normal. Gender is expressions of how you feel and not always how you look. For example, one person might not relate to their assigned sex at birth and may feel like they are the other one, or a mix of all, or none at all! What’s important with understanding gender is to just be respectful to others and how they choose to identify themselves. Now, you can very well be non-binary and not feel gender at all, but agender–which means that you experience no gender whatsoever–is how I define myself and my lack of gender. This does not mean that I do not experience some gender dysphoria (even if I didn’t, whatever gender you are should be based on euphoria, not dysphoria) along with body dysphoria in general; even though I do have low dysphoria, it does not mean that I don’t want to chop the mounds of flesh on my chest off with a butcher knife. This took me a long time to figure out as well, but I am very happy with how I am able to define myself and be in a place where I feel like I belong because it has been extremely difficult for me to feel that way due to other problems with my brain and such. Feeling like you’re in a place of belonging and being able to love who you love, or be who you are is entirely what the LGBTQ+ community is all about. I am very glad that I am a part of it despite what people think of it, or think that I don’t belong in it. 

 

~~~

 

Back when I was still denying being Aromantic, it was for a very specific reason that I am a little ashamed of now that I am accepting of it. I chose not to believe who I thought I was because I was scared of not being able to feel love (specifically romantic). I always wanted to fall in love and be able to love that person romantically for all of my life before we died together. After all, that is what our world pushes: everything is about falling in love or looking for love, especially when you’re looking at how society treats women. When you see someone on TV that’s weird as a kid (when watching more adult-ranged shows at least), you learn and see that everyone is only happy when they fall in love with someone and are “fulfilled” by that. There is more education and representation on television than when I was a kid, but it’s still only about love a lot of the time when it is there. 

Since I am Cupioromantic–which is a subclass of Aromanticism where the person wants to have a romantic relationship or feelings but can’t because they don’t feel romantic attraction–it was even harder to admit that I have no romantic attraction because I still do want that romantic relationship. Unfortunately though, I cannot and that has frequently broken down my mental state to little shreds that I have to slowly pick up over time to be happy again. Sad love songs are what usually get me into that funk. 

To provide context, I do not think I–or anyone else on the Asexual or Aromantic spectrum–am broken. I am very well aware that what I and other people like me are experiencing is very normal and may be harder to understand for some people–not only because it’s not in the “norm”, but because it’s a harder thing to understand. Humans typically feel romantic and sexual attraction, so when you try to explain what it is, they tend to not believe you or think that you’re faking, or something else. It is a difficult process to go through, and that is one of the reasons I do not like explaining it to people, especially because many of them don’t try to get it when they ask. A lot of people would just prefer to live in their bubbles and pretend to be supportive of different sexualities and people when they don’t fit into boxes, or decide to tell people they aren’t that thing because they don’t fit into those boxes.

 

~~~

 

I remember exactly what happened when I finally admitted to myself that I am Aromantic. I was laying in my bed of the apartment (I slept on the bottom bunk while my little brother made a fort on the floor that he preferred to sleep on) and I got the notification from JaidenAnimations channel on YouTube that she posted a video titled “Being Not Straight.” I was really excited because I had gotten The Vibe from her that she wasn’t (my Gaydar is surprisingly accurate most of the time). As I watched the video, my mood slowly changed as I realized that I had also experienced almost everything she talked about. From scoping out people to try and see who I liked, to interpreting how my feelings worked (zero attraction for everyone is still equal) and I just felt… bad. After the video was done. I laid in the silence of my bed for a while, just trying to process everything and not to cry, which I ultimately failed on both parts. After twenty minutes had passed, I was a sobbing mess. Of course I was happy–I had been questioning and denying things for a couple months at this point, but I was also incredibly mad and upset. I didn’t want this for myself; I wanted to be able to do things that so much of the population could, but now I just admitted after so, so, so long of denying it and denying it. It was really hard to truly accept it and not cry every time I thought about it.

It still gets hard sometimes, but I am more happy now then back then and do plan on joining a queer platonic relationship (this is where it’s not romantic feelings, but it’s a commited more intense platonic relationship with someone) when I am ready/find the right person in my life. 

 

~~~

 

My reasoning for making this essay was three main things. 

One, I wished to share my experience of struggling to accept it because finding out your sexuality is shown as an incredibly easy thing to accept a lot of the time. There isn’t a lot of self-hatred showing because we already get such little representation as a community. You want to make that seem like a positive thing to people, especially because people already try to infantilize us by saying that we don’t know what we’re talking about. If it’s shown as an incredibly hard thing to accept sometimes, we would be taken even less seriously and it could hurt the community in multiple ways. 

Two, I wanted to talk about how Aromantic and Asexual people actuallly are because we are far too often portrayed as robots or emotionless beings because we don’t or feel little sexual/romantic attraction. We’re humans, not robots, or aliens, or psychopaths. Those narratives greatly hurt the community and don’t teach who we are at all. It is horrible for people to figure out who they are when they have no resources to do so. If you see a robot, a villain, aliens, or just emotionless people  as the only representation of you and who you are, you don’t feel good about yourself and your identity. This can be especially bad because the way people learn is through exposure, so when people learn that all aromantic people on TV are evil or emotionless, they tend to have that idea cemented in their mind. We see representation for aromantic people not very often in films because it is a more elusive identity (and newer shows like The Owl House and Steven Universe have done a wonderful job with their aromantic characters (Lilith Clawthorn and Peridot)) in addition to when people are making headcanons (thoughts about a character from something put in narrative about how they act/their identity) they choose the loveless characters, the villains, the aliens, or the robots for our “representation”. One blaring example of this is Lord Voldemort himself. Even though people do not normally see JK Rowling as a good writer in general, people very often tend to make her villain character of Harry Potter Aromantic which is not a good look on your community that you are trying so hard to fight for and prove is real and aren’t incapable of every kind of love. When there is only negative representation in media (of anything, not just sexaulities), it causes people who are that way feel like they aren’t real, or like they’re bad because of things they can’t change; and people who only see that content for people believe that all of those people are that way (evil/emotionless/robotic). Far too many people (including Aromantic and Asexual people) feel like they’re robots becauase they can’t change who they are. 

Three, I wanted to explain how I feel and how I knew I was both on the Aromantic and Asexual spectrum because I want for other people to be able to learn about themselves in a positive way if possible. It sucks to be struggling for years on something you can’t control because you don’t know what it is that you’re feeling, and for people to think you are weird when you try to explain it. If I could possibly offer a way for people to learn about experiences and for them to learn about themself if it pertains to them, then my goal for this is complete. I think that teaching people about personal experiences is a terrific thing and I’m glad I got the opportunity to share mine.

Murderous Boat

By Ari Hensley

 

Boats are not normally used in the winter; that’s just a plain fact. That begs the question of where you store them when you are done using them for the summer? Well, in a very snowy April 2013, my grandparents thought that it would be a wonderful idea to store their boats/various other machinery at the bottom of the bluff behind their house. 

Rhonda Johnson, mortgage specialist for the bank Alaska USA at the time (she was/is still currently on shopping carts in Safeway) is my paternal grandmother and was there on the scene of me busting my face violently on one of her boats, and she was flabbergasted once I was brought inside of their home. She and her husband, Roger Johnson, had seemingly forgotten about the many boats, unused/broken motorhomes, and other scraps of  machinery when they let their three favorite grandchildren don their coats and winter gear to go sledding on their property. 

The neglect of knowing that children are normally not the smartest creatures concerning thinking about their actions and how they will affect things makes her at least partially responsible for what happened that dark, dark, April evening. But if we were to blame anyone for what happened, I would bestow that honor to my grandfather out of spite. This is because he said that I would “be fine” when I had a black eye and blood running down my face.

Children, as we know, aren’t able to take care of themselves for the most part (and they shouldn’t ever have to) and often are forced to “go with the flow” when they are overwhelmed or just don’t understand what’s happening. I was not excluded from this and often had to bite my tongue or got punished for accidentally speaking too loud (blame goes to the nurospiceness). We, as children, are forced to do things that we don’t want to and sometimes those things go past our boundaries; for example, hugging someone we don’t want to. As gentle parenting shows, having boundaries are important and respecting those boundaries provide more well responded adults who do not hide their emotions because of trauma. Children are like sponges and what we do and teach them affects them for the rest of their lives. If you punish a child for something that you haven’t communicated with is wrong, or if you punish them without reasoning, you’re giving them issues in the future. Too few people think that they can boss around and hurt their children whenever because it “teaches them discipline” when, instead, it worsens your relationship and teaches them to be scared and hide things from you when they do go wrong. Their entire world is adults taking care of them and teaching them stability and structure is important. 

 

The Injury:

 

My siblings Vincent and Colhin (eight and five respectively) and I went to our grandparents’s house along with our parents–Maureen and Christopher Hensley–in late April to have a family dinner with some of our uncles, aunts, and older cousins. We had sled many times down the bluff in their backyard whilst waiting for dinner to be done. I had gone under one of the boats several times by the time we were called back inside and thanks to my prefrontal cortex–the decision making part of the brain–being underdeveloped because I was seven, I didn’t realize that going down the same hill and consistently going under or near hitting a boat every time would most definitely lead with me getting hurt eventually. Unfortunately, there was no adult watching us as many of my female family members were inside of the house helping make dinner, and many of the men were being useless. Due to this, I had no one to tell me that going under a boat several times isn’t exactly a good idea (which was needed because I had no common sense at seven). A nick in the arm was somehow the only injury I sustained before we were called inside for dinner. 

After we had gone inside to eat the dinner our grandmother and aunts made, and successfully warmed our tiny bodies to prevent hypothermia, we begged for our Uncle Tommy to take us to our dad’s old decrepit treehouse in the woods. That was when little me thought it would be a brilliant idea to sled down the hill again. The next thing I knew, I was sobbing in the snow under a boat until my uncle pulled me out from under and had the audacity to ask if I still wanted to go see the tree house (best babysitter ever, he should have gotten a reward). We went back up to the house, and that was when I was taken off to the hospital by my mother, who did not listen to my grandfather’s advice to just let me sleep it off when I had a black eye and blood running down my face (not to mention the tears). So I was hoisted off again, in a car while my face felt like it was fully broken. 

Flash forward twenty minutes of speedy driving from Kalifornsky Beach to the Soldotna Hospital, our little protagonist (me) was brought to the ER. My mother continued to say that after both of us got registered at the ER, we waited a little while (like, twenty minutes) before we were taken to a room, a full 40 minutes after the accident. I was hooked up to a few different machines and the nurses had to come check on me every 10 minutes or so, which is standard procedure for my concussion that didn’t seem to be dangerous after evaluation from the staff at the hospital. I was in a very angry and overstimulated state of mind (partly because it was getting close to my bedtime, partly because I was in pain and wanted it to go away). I was irritated with the nurses for doing their job, and wanted to go to bed rather than be in the loud hospital. I was angry with all of the questions the nurses were asking me. Things such as “Who’s your teacher”, “What’s your favorite color”, and “What’s your mom’s name” were being constantly asked every ten minutes or so. In hindsight, because I am not an irritable child anymore, I understand that when someone–especially a child–has a concussion, you have to check on them and make sure that they do not fall asleep or hurt their brain anymore than it already was. As a child I did not understand this and just wanted to go to bed rather than be asked questions over and over and over again. Both my mother and the nurses thought that it was funny when I eventually snapped at them (“My teacher is Mrs. Ralston, I am in first grade and am seven. My favorite color is red. My mom’s name is Moe, now can I go to bed”) and it remains one of her favorite stories she likes to tell to embarrass me.

I was ultimately fine with a concussion, black eye, and permanent fracture in my face. I was eventually allowed to go home, and slept soundly. 

 

Tonsils:

 

During that same visit to the ER, it was found and confirmed that I had inflamed tonsils the size of chicken nuggets. The doctors scheduled surgery and I was taken under a week later. I, of course, was unaware of almost everything that was going to happen and had happened until years later when I was asking my mom.

According to my mother, at this time I also had excess tissue in my nose and talked like one nostril was plugged all of the time. She said that the doctor we were talking to–who was explaining what would happen during the procedure in ways that I could not possibly understand–was, apparently, the one to help birth me at the hospital when I was first born and was making fun of how my voice sounded because of the extra tissue in my nose. I yelled at him to shut up and tried to storm out of the room, which he found very funny (I have no memory of this). 

 I don’t remember much of what happened during this incident or the surgery following it in general, due to being seven years old (and not being all that smart). The one thing I do remember is being in the hospital gown after drinking the medicine the nurses gave me (“night night juice”) and watching the fairy portion of Sesame Street, which was the only part of Sesame Street that I enjoyed as a child. I remember the exact episode that was playing (it played on the TV in the corner of the room and was barely audible, but both me and my mom were quiet as we waited for me to fall asleep. We had missed the opening of the episode, but didn’t miss too much and got the context that Blogg, a nontraditional fairy muppet, was self-conscious about his wings when they were going to go to a festival with his family and friends of his kind. He hid them under a very itchy yellow sweater before going with his friends from fairy school to the festival. The turning point of the episode was when A guy was stuck in the air after a dragon–or dragon like creature–was upset and throwing a tantrum. Blogg was peer pressured into the air because only a creature like him and his family could calm the dragon; so he was forced into action. Once he got the guy back on the ground, no one was making fun of his wings like he expected and he learned that having things different about yourself doesn’t make you weird); before I fell asleep. Once I woke up, I had no no tonsils, no more excess tissue in my nose, and I had some gifts that my mother bought from the very overpriced gift shop in the hospital. 

After I went home, I was only allowed to eat soft mushy things (like mashed potatoes, soup, and ice cream) with instruction from the doctors, and was held home from school for three weeks. 

The three week time period that I could not go to school caused trouble with my first grade class after I got back to school. First grade is a time where we’re learning how to count by fives, add, and other basic life skills that people use for the rest of their lives (outside of horrible spelling tests and bad teachers). This included learning how to read an analog clock, the kind of clock that is used in every single classroom. That’s right, you heard it here first–I did not learn how to read an analog clock until third grade. This is because my teacher refused to teach me anything about them since I missed the entire unit and no one thought to explain how it worked after I complained that the teacher wasn’t helping me–thank you so much, Mrs. Ralston. This is another example of how children are reliant on adults and when they don’t get what they need (someone teaching me how to read an analog clock in this case) it can have consequences. When children learn that they can’t have people help them–either because the adult refuses or they lash out at the child for not knowing–which can lead them to be missing huge chunks of things or not understanding what to do, which can lead to even more problems.

 I eventually learned it on my own when I figured it out during a very boring lecture in my third grade class, though I hurt my neck trying to read the digital clock at the very front of the class to see how it worked. 

Eventually, through time, almost all of the remnants of an injury in the first place–other than some pictures and posts on my mom’s Facebook page–were completely gone, except for a small dimple on the right side of my face that remains to this day in 2022.