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Sep 2024

Teaser for this week's episode coming out on Friday


Just outside the office, I stop to check my makeup in my selfie cam.

The last thing I want is to be going anywhere looking like a cheetah…

I gingerly scratch a bead of fever dew from my lashline studying the pale face on my cracked screen - a jagged line of glass dribbling toward the plain gray case like a trail of tears.

I’m impossibly furious that I let myself get angry enough to cry -

If I could only take a pill to make myself less emotional-

My brain freezes mid-idea - my train of thought crashing into that look in his eyes.

I wouldn’t.

My fingers dance anxiously over my febrile lips.

“Going to meet up with your boyfriend in the wheelchair?” A voice asks from behind me.

I almost drop my phone, whipping around quickly to look at Mrs. Howard who somehow showed up behind me without my noticing.

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I love my vilainesses... they can be sexy (if you're into femdom)

Akala...

Lucia...

Eiris (somewhat villainess... just contextual...)


22 days later

Here we have more Emelia:


“Do you have any reference images other than these?” Ms. Howard asks suddenly, and I look up skittishly, wearing a much less intelligent expression than I would have preferred.

I barely feel like I’m awake…

  • Maybe this is another one of those nightmares-

“Other references…” I try to make myself focus, but every second of my painfully slow thought process, I watch her frown deepening by hairline increments-

Maybe I’m just imagining it.

I half expect her to grow a second head.

“All the references I had I sent to Mrs. King,” I say a little feebly. “They should be in the folder…”

I can’t begin to comprehend the meaning behind that look in her eyes.

There’s no sound from the mannequin-ish frame - but I feel it - one shifted line in the poise of her mouth-

“It’s a pretty redundant spread, don’t you think?”

“I-”

“Do you have anything that strays outside of this Picasso-meets-wilderness look?”

I don’t even know what to say to that, my lips parting in thoughtless confusion-

“Um…there are some other samples on my website…” I manage a little breathlessly, feeling like I’m being dragged through deep water - or a shallow riverbed - lacerated by pebbles and sand-

“I was pretty sure there were some pictures in the folder that weren’t of animals…”

With a curt frown like a no-nonsense college professor, she holds out her hand across the desk, and I stare at it blankly.

“The website,” she says irritatedly. “Pull me up the website.”

“The Woman”

"Let me have a little taste of what you give her." The Woman whispered, her lips pressing forward against Silas'. In realization, the Collector pulled back in revulsion. The humiliating moment was quick but long enough to be caught by Sky before out of the circumference of another of Silas' oncoming swings, the Woman leapt back laughing. Her violating act would not go unpunished.

This is Kursenima Siten, High Priestess of the Morrin Temple at Sarkorn. On the surface, she seems like a well-accomplished priestess with many accolades under her belt, who suffered an unfortunate death. But recently, it seems like a string of murders are tied to her...




OH NO!!! THAT CAN'T BE!!! LYZA ON HER KNEES!!!!

So far, I have Kamy but I have a villainess in store... hoohoohoo! She will terrify you but won't show her, yet. But so far, we have Kamy and she was quite the opponent for Lyza. Two hot (or cold) bloodied ladies going at it.

17 days later
23 days later

More of everyone's least favorite character in my book, just because she's so ridiculously rude:


“Well, we’ve got some great news,” she says it like it’s sarcasm, or an inside joke, as her navy blue sleeve rustles back and forth across stacks and stacks of printer paper.

“Another museum wants you to make an exhibit for them,” she oozes drily, looking up at me now.

It takes me a minute to register that that really is good news.

“Oh- y-you’re serious? What museum, where?”

“The Arthur Rose Museum of Contemporary Art,” it’s almost a sigh or a yawn, but she stifles it, fixing her glasses as she examines her notes. “It’s not very popular but, you are just starting out, so I suppose we’ll have to take whatever offers you get.”

I just bite my tongue.

“We also have some messages here that Mrs. Xochitl forwarded at some unholy hour last night. There’s a Journal, “Still Life,” looking to do an interview with you and one of their weird photoshoots. They like recreating paintings as photographs and seem to be under the impression that all artists are conceited little hens who care more about having their faces on magazine covers than the art itself. But I can just let them know if modeling’s not your thing…”

It’s a trap.

But I don’t care. Before I can even stop my tongue I find myself saying-

“I’ve actually done modeling before, for quite a prestigious photographer.”

I don’t even like it but-

“I’m fine on camera. Which picture did they want to recreate, and when?”

That same look on her face -

But this time, there’s a hint of someone else.

Like she didn’t want me to say yes, but she was ‘so certain’ that I would.

23 days later

My phone buzzes, and I slip it out to find a text from Beth all in scrambled caps with misplaced punctuation.

“Hey, I know I said I’d call Mom today, but something just came up and I’m not gonna have time for a long chat. Can you tell her I said I’m sorry for not showing up yesterday?”

I think ‘chat’ is too glib a word, given the context.

I start to formulate a reply, but before I can hit send, her second text appears on the screen.

“Thanks in advance. I love you.”

I…

“No problem. I love you too.’


(a teaser for an unreleased chapter)

8 days later

Did a speed paint of my villainess

20 days later

Well...technically by definition...


A thousand blurry nurses swarm every which way like a nestful of lady ants in brightly colored emoji scrubs - various states of worry and hurry.

Amongst the tumult I recognize the sound of Kattar’s mother, weeping and mumbling phrases I can’t make out through the insufficient quantities of morphine stirring the universe into a slurry before my eyes. How and when she got here is beyond me. Most likely while I was still unconscious. She whispers hurried prayers in a mixture of English, Hebrew, and Spanish, all slurred together into a homogenous, trilingual sob. I catch my name amongst the others “Alicia. Kattar. Jesus.” So steady it’s almost a chant. An incantation. The room swims again.

I can feel my legs, but I don’t want to. An overwhelming burning scalds me from the outside in, like the Styx took up residence in my skin-

“His ribs are broken-” I hear someone say. Kattar’s face is as white as a specter. I’ve never seen him without his mouth moving, let alone asleep - if you could even call it that. The expression on his face is frighteningly angelic as a burly nurse gently yanks the long tresses back from his forehead to reveal a river of blood.

“Cuncussion” someone else yells.

Gurnies crisscross through my vision as Kattar vanishes into the white light at the edge of perception. One bears a stranger, the other driver no doubt - his face a massacre of bloodied flesh. I can’t tell if he’s young or old. Alive or dead.

“He was stinking drunk,” a nurse says. But so was I. And I can’t help but think that if it wasn’t for Kattar, this accident might have been MY fault...

“Careful! We are looking at severe spinal damage here!”

The prayers turn into a smothered wail, gentler than silence.

She’s going to lose her only son. I think to myself. And she’s going to know it’s my fault.

She’ll hate me for the rest of one of our lives.

20 days later

How about a villain buff woman with a big sword! My Māori elf raised by dragon, Taniwha! She’s a bruiser who kicks @$$ without mercy and gets on an epic fist fight with my heroine! :muscle:

20 days later

Judith is a bit of a mastermind, but whether she's truly evil or not remains to be seen:


You wake up to find that you fainted at the first sign of danger.

Pathetic.

This feels like one of those choose your own adventure books I used to pick up from the Rookery library where I always ended up getting myself into a nasty scrape, or worse.

Fear and self loathing scratch at my brain behind the dizziness, but I’m still too dazed to feel anything as strongly as I should.

I’m on my own bed, that much I know - I mean - my bed in the George’s house - and the room is almost pitch black. The only light comes from the hall light creeping under the thin gap beneath the bedroom door.

When my ears start doing their job again, I can hear Judith on the phone, saying my name, saying that Therese called her.

This is one of those moments where I can feel her disappointment.