Writer. Editor. Leximaven. Game Designer. Vorpal Blonde. Bisexual Brainlicker. Midas's Touch. Schrödinger's Brat.
The first of the crourhounds pushes from the shadow of the kubric like it’s being freshborn. The front all teeth and claws and spider eyes, wet fur oil slicked. The middle all black metal and smoke. The tail end disappearing into nothingness. It’s that empty place where the hindquarters should be that makes her feel most queasy. How can such a beast exist? Live? Hunt and murder? Permalink: The Night Clave
Poison never lies.
But Talia does. Every time she takes the poison, she lies. False words are the only weapons she has left, and she wields them with precision, but not with pride.
She would lie this time too. She had to.
Permalink: The Poison Eater
While the slinger sang, we waited. They don’t talk about that in the stories they tell – and someone, somewhere was going to be telling this story, although they wouldn’t tell it true. The fighting, the shooting, the magic-slinging – those are the easy parts. It’s the waiting that kills.
~"One-Woman Town" Permalink: The Lure of Dangerous Women
This heart, this silly thing of blood that is in her chest, it opens. Winged like a thousand crows. Rising like smoke through the air of her throat. Oh, this is thing the others always spoke of while she was out waging war. She didn’t know. She didn’t know.
~"This is Red" Permalink: Short Stories