At My Fingers and To My Whims

To the page or to the type, the warriors go.

Skinny or stalky or large and ruddy.

Wearing their armor, festooned in fatigues and acid washed jeans.

These warriors to the play pen; all clever and adept, all precious and all loving. Some cruel and some callous. Some manipulative and some bleeding.

They can fight and they can die. They can love and they can lie. But by the swipe of the pen, by the twirl of the God Queen's fingers. They're all her tragic puppets.

Her beloved and bleeding victims.

Donna Hathrow, lush dark hair and forest green eyes.

Tragedy, when she is formative and young. With only one witness but too young to speak, too young to know the hideous face of evil.

Swipe. In five years, her burden is too much to bear. This secret that already killed secrets swapped between brother and sister. A secret that under the night sky of a November night she may be choked from her throat.

Seth Morgan, oh! I've talked about him here before but a refresher for those who aren't aware...

Seth Morgan, the older brother by a double six rule, yet he could never protect and could never reach, what his other half would graze in the sky. Of little fairy wings that were really gaping eyes. And as Drake Morgan is placed to bed in the Earth, he becomes yet another unseen fairy wing.

Swipe. He'll bleed and he'll hurt, a sword to his chest, hold it in your fingers that hilt of the blade, so the metal twists and it writhes as his now empty heart does. May the bereaved hold the weight of the world, of their sins upon their dead. May a Wishing Ghost choke on scrawls of paper and ink from the spirit speaker becoming the spirit.

Molly Jones. Swipe, hers is swift and it is final. The busybody mystery gal. Exposing secrets and giving chase. The detective whose parents played pretend on the stage for the millions, for millions who couldn't care less and who hide things. She'll bag adult cases not too far in the future.

A barren room and an adult man who didn't want to be a kidnapper, has McDonalds in hand.

Carly Andrews.

Swipe.

Tyler, mouth with incisors and rotting of stillborn blood.

Swipe

Beholden to his monarch; Sammy.

Swipe.

May poison drip its purple hue down his lips. May ash line his lungs like tar where a body was found.

Jocelyn Alvarez, swipe. Love unrequited.

Olli Moors.

Swipe.

Not a modicum of trust, of reciprocity to speak of.

Swipe.

Tragedy upon tragedy, death upon death all observed by the God Queen.

She who so graciously gifted them life and with such hands can so tenderly smother that very life out.

A silken pillow and a final caress as the skin pales and each archetype dies.

For every story, for every series are the girls and boys picked apart and put back together.

The God Queen, a gentle and lovely killer.

The God Queen by the twirl of her pen.

Again and again and again.

Does the author write and redress her cherished victims.

How about it? There are all sorts of nice names to use, yours may just do!