A coda to Busman’s Honeymoon.
Elithyon & Argent, before the curse.
Bruce sends Tim and his plus-one to sub in for him at a Gotham industry gala. Things do not go as planned.
Haunted by dreams of a sister she can't fully remember, Asra Levesque enters the fairy realm and finds herself locked in the eternal battle between summer and winter.
The island, not to be found on any of their maps, was ruled by a tyrant. A beautiful tyrant, to be sure, of uncertain origin and age, with dark chestnut hair shot through with silver which flowed down the back of her jewelled gowns, and with penetrating eyes the color of the sea; but a brutal tyrant, one who gave no quarter, and whose genius surpassed a great deal if not all of the learned men Stephen had ever known.
You've heard of a naval captain dressed up as a bear? Well, get ready for a bear dressed up as a naval captain.
There is also a weirdo, a pig, and a chicken. Such is life on the high seas Muppet Show.
Amina and her crew set out to find the next Transgression.
"Five shall return and one go alone," the verse said, but it didn't say who would go alone. It didn't say what kind of world would turn on the vanishing of a twelve-year-old boy from Wales, or what the youngest and oldest of the Old Ones would do in a world without the Dark but with all the evil humans could devise on their own. It didn't describe what kind of future three English children would find themselves in thereafter or what paths they might choose within it. It didn't foretell what the world would become without a Pendragon in it, or how it might fall apart in his absence.
Working in Freetown, Elsie gets a mysterious letter that sends her on a journey across Sierra Leone.
Abigail on the move, in so many senses of the word.
"Relax," the emir said in a low voice. “Next time, we'll do something you hate somewhat less than poetry."
Witchgrass
Something
comes into the world unwelcome
calling disorder, disorder—
If you hate me so much
don’t bother to give me
a name: do you need
one more slur
in your language, another
way to blame
one tribe for everything—
as we both know,
if you worship
one god, you only need
One enemy—
I’m not the enemy.
Only a ruse to ignore
what you see happening
right here in this bed,
a little paradigm
of failure. One of your precious flowers
dies here almost every day
and you can’t rest until
you attack the cause, meaning
whatever is left, whatever
happens to be sturdier
than your personal passion—
It was not meant
to last forever in the real world.
But why admit that, when you can go on
doing what you always do,
mourning and laying blame,
always the two together.
I don’t need your praise
to survive. I was here first,
before you were here, before
you ever planted a garden.
And I’ll be here when only the sun and moon
are left, and the sea, and the wide field.
I will constitute the field.
—Louise Glück
from The Wild Iris, 1992
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