Deepwater Writes

#3479
When fae become bored of human captives, they often release them in their own realm, too lazy to dispose of them properly. But mortals are hardy, and can do untold damage unchecked.
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#3383
The water in our village is polluted with memory runoff from the burial grounds. We live our lives remembering at random: day to day chores of days gone past, and dark secrets best left buried.
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#3379
The Prince’s regalia includes the shed skin of an Ouroboros, one unbroken loop worn as a sash. I long to learn how to breed these creatures, a carefully protected royal secret.
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#3418
The glass balls looks empty in the harsh midday sun. “Careful with those,” says the captain. “They’re full of moonlight. Only way to see, after dark out in the Wastes.”
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#3123
The prince owns twelve, sleek black cats, familiars bound to do his spying, run his errands. They say each was once some boy of which he was jealous.
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#3114
No vet can agree on whether our cat is pregnant or not. They say it must be Schrodinger’s Syndrome, and we need to report it at once to the Bureau of Space Time.
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#3093
My family breeds monsters to sell to the Hunt. When a prophet says the Queen will die in one’s jaws, they come to slaughter them all, and us for good measure. I escape, with one newborn.
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#3091
The house has long been haunted. Even the detectives know. While my hidden body rots, the list of suspects stands: four close friends, ten hungry rooms, a curse, and the previous ghost.
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#3082
The tattoo looks like tea leaves scattered across her chest, drifting even as I watch. “It’s a prediction spell,” she says. “A good one. Go on. Read them.”
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#3081
The letter literally burns to read, your eyes tearing, growing hotter and more painful as you go. You need a Witch Glass to look through, so I have no choice but to seek one.
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#3079
Emotions are easily distilled with magic. I regularly order gin tonic spiked with unrequited love, a tremulous taste, so good it hurts, and wonder who the bartender is suffering so greatly over.
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#3077
Ghosts like to have jobs, running my bakery almost all on their own now. The loaves of bread have a strange, comforting smell to them; old books, and warm skin, a sad, sweet memory.
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#3072
Most life in the universe can survive without water, which is good. The last water exists inside the last human, suspended in time, the prisoner of my family since long before they died out.
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#3071
Vampires and immortals are two entirely different things. The society exists to match endless blood with endless thirst, creating eternal families, whose passion and politics rival that of gods.
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#3063
The city is strange, built under white arches so massive they skew perspective. “A god died here,” they tell me, pointing up at what I realize are ribs. “Where do you think we got our name?”
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#3057
I finally locate a witch selling tiny black flowers, grown and plucked from her very own skin. They are poisons and love potions all at once, for when you want the worst type of revenge.
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#3051
It’s lonely on the farm. Feeling sorry for me, father plants a strange black feather in the ground, and pulls up a boy with black wings three days later. “There you go,” he says, “a brother.”
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#3047
My family is in the strange and horrible, but time honored tradition of breeding haunted houses. We know which ghosts get along, which wood best holds hatred, and a thousand flavors of rot.
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#3049
Children who dig in the forest often unearth strange glass eyes. They are presents, the Elders tell us, and we should leave them on our nightstands to keep watch while we sleep.
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#3041
Our world has the misfortune of hosting two powerful death gods. They do not get along. And they like to compete.
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#3045
The only human child ever raised in the night market, every seller I know wants my teeth. In the end I trade them all to a stranger in dark silks, who promises to find me a friend.
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#3035
My monsters are raised on our farm, then bought, and fought to the death. I grow to hate heroes and gamblers alike, as if there’s really a difference.
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#3027
The girl I hire to help mind the stall says she was born in the spaceport. “No way,” a passing mercenary tells me. “She’s royalty, somewhere. That’s a black hole strung around her neck.”
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#3033
Something strange is caught in our net, a bulbous fluttering fish with no face. “Mermaid hearts live outside their bodies,” says the captain. “Bizarre to catch one this close to shore.”
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#3017
To gain entrance to the citadel, you must sacrifice one of your bones. Choose quickly, or the city will choose for you.
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#3020
The butterflies pinned to the board in my father’s office flutter sometimes. Strange men that must be fae visit often, calling him Warden, and I realize it’s not a decoration. It’s a jail.
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#3011
The royal family were a vicious bunch, shapeshifters who hated all magic but their own. Some say the last prince survived the coup, turned into a sword, just waiting for someone to find.
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#2997
The orphanage rises straight out of the sea. A home for children of shipwrecks, or abandoned to the waves, it is visited solely by Gods.
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#2985
I come to the pub to cheat college kids at cards, pretending not to notice the back table. Five regulars sit there, gambling on a game I don’t recognize, in a language I don’t think exists.
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#2065
They say the bone cats were death’s pets, before they got bored and left. Wicked smart, tough as nails, they are nigh impossible to lure into domesticity, but ridiculously useful once you do.
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