Three Twisted Knots

Tales of the Fae Lands

A Storm is Coming

Being a Seer sucks sometimes.
Being a Seer sucks sometimes.


Being a Seer sucks sometimes. Ok, it sucks most of the time, to tell you the truth. I remember making fun or Maric for his constant gloom and dooming recently, but the truth is I’m no better. I just see it in advance, and I figure his is all based on some obscure vampiric paranoia I don’t understand. That said, this vision was particularly unsettling because it had an air of terror about it: it seemed that everyone in the Wylds was fleeing for their lives, even Aerodine, who somehow always ends up being the heroine of my visions. I guess that makes them true, since I only know her in the sense that we’ve fought some battles together and I’ve discussed the visions with her.

I came to tell Nathaniel, but they wer all there.
I came to tell Nathaniel, but they wer all there.

I came to tell Nathaniel about the vision, but they were all there — Aoibh, him, and Maric. They’d heard something like thunder. And of course I had no good news for them: just a vision of boiling skies and the sense of a dim light at the end, some kind of hope. I guess any hope is good hope right now, but things feel bleak in Ashmourne. Part of me wants to just flee into realm-hopping, and I know Isabella wouldn’t fault me if I did that, but I just can’t leave Nathaniel and Aoibheann alone like that. It wouldn’t feel right, and besides, they’d be cross. Cross probably isn’t a strong enough word for what they’d be.

In my quest to honour my promise to Nathaniel and give Maric the benefit of through, at least, I could tell he was worried about the village. The thing is, I’m still not concerned he isn’t worried about it just as a source of fresh blood for himself. But I’ll keep that worry to myself for now: Nathaniel trusts him, and I will have to: that much is clear.

Nathaniel wanted to know if the storm I sensed were more physical or supernatural. I couldn’t just look at him, roll my eyes, and go, “Duh,” so I answered the question straight, as if it were an intelligent question. “Supernatural,” I said. Like anybody couldn’t have guessed that. Seriously. Sometimes I wonder about my beloved.

Maric was worried.
Maric was worried.

If Maric was worried, Aoibheann was agitated and borderline insane, but that’s her usual speed these days. I try to just love her. Her only concern was for Ardan.

Aoibh's only concern was for Ardan.
Aoibh’s only concern was for Ardan.

OK, I get it. He’s a tree. She loves him. But seriously. Right, right, right. I will try to assume good intentions about everybody, and I cannot assume Aoibheann is the same as me about everything, because she’s just not and it would be weird if she were. It would. But she’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister, and while that makes me obviously overprotective of her, it also makes me want to wring her reckless neck sometimes.

And when the fuck did I become the grownup? Nathaniel is meant to be the grownup.

Note to self: Do something completely foolish and self-serving, STAT.

Sometimes, the thought of making that other choice, going back to London, and finding out whether I’m in a coma or what looks pretty appealing. Because then I could go down the pub, slag off my students over a pint, hook up with Richard… whoa, I’d never do that. Sometimes I want to check in on him, though, see how he’s doing. Even though I barely knew him, when I think about it.

Anyway. Enough self-reflection. Aoibheann had a half-scale freakout and insisted on going to check on the fucking tree. Maric insisted on going with her. Fine.

They do almost seem fond of one another.
They do almost seem fond of one another.

They do almost seem fond of one another. Until you consider that at a moment’s notice, Aoibheann would ditch him for a tree. Or the Huntsman. Or the Seelie King. Or get kidnapped by any number of sluagh, demons, forest creatures — I’ll be she could get kidnapped by a microwave with very little effort.

I’m obviously in a pissy mood. Probably has to do with all the wine Nathaniel and I drank after they left. I was never very good with wine.

Once they left, I tried to make light of the whole situation by telling Nathaniel a story I’d heard about what happens in New Orleans before there’s a hurricane.

Hurricane Party at Nathaniel's. You're not invited.
Hurricane Party at Nathaniel’s. You’re not invited.

Basically, everybody gets pissed as newts, fucks each other silly, and pretends it isn’t happening.

So we decided to do that, too. That’s why the wine, because that’s what Maric mostly has on hand. I would have been fine with commandeering a keg of cider from Hal, but the thought didn’t occur to me until I was about half a bottle in and remembering what happens to me after I’ve drunk a shit-ton of wine.

And that is why I am in such a foul mood. That and the fact that Aoibh would probably dump me for Ardan, too.

Good goddess, I can hear the fucking mist moving outside. That’s how hung over I am. I probably should stop swearing and tossing around ‘goddess’, now that I’m bound to one and all. Will provide me an excuse to go back to cursing like a sailor. Surely everyone will love that.



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About Me

Narrators Gwyneth, The Amazing Catwoman, Friðrós, Davi, and whoever else springs out of The Author’s head, live in the parallel universe of Second Life. You can read their stories here, or just scroll down to see what Gwyneth was wearing when she wrote it.

Gwen Enchanted is a story blogger, a fantasy fashion blogger, and a thoughtful in-world photographer.

Caution: contains poetry.

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