Eidolon Chapter 1


Prince Nicolai McKenna stood viewing blueprints as workmen in orange vests scurried around the room. His jet-black hair was just short enough to not fall in his onyx colored eyes as they poured over the plans.

“I’m glad you’re remodeling the old throne room, Nic.” His best friend Hunter was peering over his shoulder. “You know I don’t believe in all that supernatural crap, but it’s a little… creepy in here.”

Hunter’s light golden brown hair flopped down into his copper-colored eyes as he glanced around the room.

“I thought the place could use a facelift,” Nicolai replied. “Besides, what do we need two throne rooms for? I’m thinking bowling alley!”

It was a mystery why the old one had stopped being used. There was nothing structurally wrong with it, even though it was close to four hundred years old. It had been sealed off and forgotten three centuries ago.

“Hey, guys, there you are!” a voice called from the doorway. “They told me I could find you in here. I got here early for the Ambassador’s Ball tonight, I thought we could grab some lunch!”

Nicolai turned to greet his new guest. “Hey, Rex. Come on in.”

Reginald Thatcher – Rex to his friends – hesitated at the threshold as his cobalt blue eyes swept the room. Dark, and dank, the smell of mildew permeated the air. Dingy stone floors stretched from wall to wall. Tall, stained-glass windows threw long, reddened shadows across the dim interior. The ceiling rose upwards three stories, with huge, exposed wooden beams. Candle chandeliers hung from the ceiling along the length of the room. Two thrones sat at the far end of the room on a raised dais, burnished gold gleaming dully in the deepening gloom. A chill crawled down his spine as he took in the murky interior, inky blackness coalescing in the corners, glimmering, almost breathing.

“N-No thanks.” He stepped back over the threshold, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as goosebumps erupted all over his body.

“What’s up with him?” Hunter frowned.

Nicolai shrugged. “Don’t know. But come on. Let’s go get some lunch!”

Hunter exited the room first. Nicolai followed behind him. As he reached the doorframe, he felt something brush the back of his neck. Like a lover’s soft exhale. He spun back toward the interior, peering into the gloom. Nothing but an empty room greeted him. He glanced up at the ceiling. A draft was getting in somewhere.

“You coming, Nic?” Hunter called. He and Rex were already halfway down the hall.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” He hurried through the doorway, sure that he heard a faint voice whisper his name. He dismissed it as a combination of stress and lack of adequate sleep.

Though he had been destined for the throne since the day of his birth, his father had largely neglected to adequately prepare him for it, but then he had neglected to be much of a father at all.

Now that the king was preparing to retire from public service, years sooner than expected, the young prince was struggling to get up to speed.

Late nights and long meetings were catching up with him, he decided, that was all.

The construction crew went to work with the demolition of what appeared to be a completely pointless wall protruding from the original stone on the north wall as soon as Nicolai and his friends left. 

Four hours later, construction paused as a hole in the wall revealed a horrifying secret. A body. The clothes mostly rotted away, clinging to remnants of bone.

The crew stood around as the medical team swarmed the room. “We’re going to need to slowly remove the rest of this wall so we can get the skeleton out intact.”

“How old do you think it is?” the foreman asked.

“Hard to say until we can get a better look at it,” the medical examiner told him. “But this room has been sealed up for centuries, right?”

“Yeah. What’s really weird is how dry it is inside this wall,” he said as his gaze fell on the glistening dampness of the stone floor. The wall itself was incongruous with the rest of the room. The other three walls were still just the original stone. It’s why Nicolai had ordered it torn out.

“We’ll have to be careful not to damage the skeleton. It will be slow going. We’ll start in the morning!” the foreman replied before turning to his crew and shooing them out. They had already been dismissed for the day, but everyone had stuck around to gawk at the gruesome discovery.

The men filtered out of the room and the door was pulled closed for the night.

The sun went down. Darkness spilled across the stone.

In the deep quiet stillness of the night, something stirred inside the wall. It lifted and pulled away from the bundle of cloth and bone, freed from its prison at long last.

The door to the throne room slowly creaked open.

The gloominess of the old throne room was a stark contrast to what was going on down the original hallway, around the corner, and down the main corridor of the palace.

The grand ballroom was lit brightly with electric lights. Music from a live orchestra spilled out of the room and flowed down the hallways, echoing distantly down the ancient hallway.

Liquor and laughter flowed freely, handsome men in elegant tuxedos twirled beautiful women around as their dresses of fine linen, lace, tulle, and silk fanned out as they danced, vibrant colors on display.

Nelson Vandross was a little tipsy as he staggered down the grand hallway in search of a bathroom.

He’d been to the palace many times, but a bit too much champagne had him turned around. He was standing at the wrong end of the hallway, the one that intersected with the hall leading to the older parts of the palace.

He corrected his course, ready to head back toward the bathrooms when he heard his name.

“Nelson….” A woman’s voice, soft and pleasing, tempting, alluring.

He shivered as a sliver of desire pulled through him.

The voice called again, and he corrected course again, stumbling down the four hundred year old hallway toward the enticing sound.


Nicolai stood at the bar, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. The bourbon helped. He threw back his third or fourth glass of the night.

Sleep had become an elusive thing since his father had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease, ensuring the weight of the crown would be thrust upon him much sooner than expected. Perhaps tonight the alcohol would help.

He glanced at his watch. It was late, the ball was winding down. He said his goodbyes to the guests, waiting for the ballroom to empty before heading up to bed. He made his way through the darkened palace halls alone. Hunter lived at the palace, in the wing that housed the royal guards, and they would often walk back to their rooms together, but Hunter had disappeared with the daughter of a count an hour ago.


He froze as he heard his name. He glanced up and down the hallway in confusion. “Hello?”

No one answered. He shrugged it off and continued his trek toward the royal chambers.  

He showered and changed, but sleep was still elusive. He poured himself another tumbler of bourbon and pulled open the ornate French doors of his balcony, letting the cold winter air waft into the room. He stepped onto the stone veranda and his gaze turned toward the tower that housed the old throne room. It was in the north wing of the palace, visible from his vantage point. His gaze fixed on it. He felt a pull toward it, an overwhelming desire to leave his room and follow the voice. Somehow, he knew that’s where it was coming from. She was calling him, and he wanted to answer.

Bourbon forgotten on the baluster, the young prince hurried back through the French doors and across his room. He threw open the door only to collide with the person on the other side. A woman with fiery red hair was standing there, hand raised to knock. “Oof!”

“Sorry, Esme! What are you doing here this late?”

Lady Esme Crassus had grown up at the palace with him and his younger brother after the death of her own parents two decades earlier.

Her father and his mother had been cousins, so the royal family had taken her in.

“I came to check on you.” She gave him a strange look, “What are you doing rushing out of your room at this hour?”

“I…I couldn’t sleep.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the truth either.

“Still having trouble sleeping?” She pushed past him into the room.

“Yes.” He reluctantly shut the door with a sorrowful glance into the hallway.

“Let me fix you the Crassus nightcap special.”

“If it’s bourbon, I’ve already tried that.”

She gave him a fond smile as she shooed him into a chair. “Sit. Trust me.”

He sat. He trusted her. Esme was like a sister to him.

With her body between Nicolai and the drink cart, Esme mixed bourbon, apple cider, and seltzer. She deftly pulled a small, green vial from her pocket and dumped the contents into the drink. She stirred it all together and added a cherry before turning and handing it to Nicolai.

He took it doubtfully. “I don’t see how adding fruity shit to my bourbon is going to help, Esme. No offense.”

“None taken. Just try it. For me.”

“Fine,” he sighed. The drink went down smoothly. It was good, just the right amount of sweetness blended with a faint hint of crisp autumn apples. Warmth and contentment seeped through his body, sinking into his very bones as he sipped it. Tension eased, and stress drained away. “Damn. That is good.”

Esme pulled the royal blue comforter and sheets back and gestured to the bed. “Why don’t you lie down? I’ll get out of here and let you sleep.”

“Good idea. Thanks, Esme,” he mumbled as he crawled under the covers. Sleep pulled him quickly under as the elixir worked its magic.

Esme slipped out of his room and down the hallway, her mind spinning with a wealth of new information. An ancient evil had awakened, and with it, her memories.


When the construction crew entered the original throne room in the morning, another gruesome surprise awaited them. Once again construction stalled as the medical team swarmed the room. This time the body was fresh.

Nelson Vandross was dead.

“There’s not a mark on him, no blood loss, no sign of trauma at all,” the chief of palace security told Nicolai.

The news had interrupted the breakfast Nicolai had been having with Hunter and Rex.

Rex had spent the night at the palace after the ball rather than make the long drive back to his duchy, so he tagged along. “So, it’s like something just sucked the life force out of him?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Rex,” Hunter scoffed. “There will be an autopsy. He probably had an undiagnosed heart condition or something. Maybe he suffered a stroke.”

“He was awfully young for a heart attack or stroke,” Rex said doubtfully.

Nicolai had other concerns. “But what was he doing here? In this part of the palace in the first place? It makes no sense!”

“Your Highness?” A young lieutenant approached him.


“Has anyone appraised you of the other body that was found?”

Nicolai blinked slowly. “What other body?”

The guardsman took them to the wall and explained the discovery that had been made the night before.

Hunter let out a low whistle. “I told you this room was creepy. Right, Rex? Rex?”

He looked around the room, but Rex was gone.

“He left the minute they said skeleton in the wall,” Nicolai chuckled. “As if a centuries old skeleton could hurt anyone. Come on, let’s go finish breakfast. There’s nothing more we can do here right now anyway.”

“Yeah,” Hunter agreed, unease spreading in his gut. “They’ll call us when they know something.”

Now Available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited. E-book and paperback versions available.



Now available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BTQS7ZK4

Construction in the four hundred year old throne room has awakened something. Something ancient. Something hungry.

A body is found in a wall, stalling construction and Prince Nicolai’s dreams become haunted by a woman. A beautiful woman. A dangerous woman.

But as the bodies pile up, the young prince is no longer convinced she’s a dream.

Will he figure out what’s happening in time? Or will his darkest desires be his downfall?

Eidolon Launch

I am super excited to announce the launch of my first published book: Eidolon.

It’s a short novella about the haunting of a young prince. It will be published on Amazon and available on Kindle Unlimited.

Below is the cover and the blurb. I’ll update with a link when it launches.

Construction in the four hundred year old throne room awoke something. Something ancient. Something hungry.

A body is found in the wall, stalling construction and Prince Nicolai’s dreams become haunted by a woman. A beautiful woman. A dangerous woman.

But as the bodies pile up, the young prince is no longer convinced she’s a dream.

Will he figure out what’s happening in time? Or will his darkest desires be his downfall?

The Youth of Today

Angela Harrison

I don’t understand the youth of today,

You say.

How were they raised?

With this sense of entitlement.

To be what they want.

Made up things,

You think.

Gay, Bi, Transgender

Upending social norms, expectations

Not bowing, not bending

What is gender fluid anyway

What does that even mean

You inquire.

Befuddled, confounded, confused.

Consternation, aggravation.

Why can’t they just

Act right

Act like you?

I look and I see that it’s true.

I don’t understand the youth of today

How were they raised?

With this sense of entitlement?

Yes, entitlement

But not like you say.

They are entitled I tell you.

Entitled to their own lives,

Their truth, their beauty

Their freedom.

Yes, freedom.

Freedom from you.

From expectations, condemnations

Judgments and scorn.

By their own values they are bound,

Not by yours.

Yes, I ask as I watch in amazement

How were they raised?

How were they raised to survive

Through the pain,

To dance in the rain.

To be who they are?

What freedom

I admire from afar.

I wish I had come of age

With that strength,

With that fire.

With that courage

To be who you are.

On Writing Fan Fiction

I use to look down on writing fan fiction, though I had never read any of it. I don’t know why. I guess I had some idea that it was cheating. Using characters and worlds built by others. Not creative enough maybe. I don’t know, but I didn’t see it as “real” writing. Of course it’s real writing.

I started playing Choices on Android. It’s a game but also books. You pick a story, customize your character and then read basically a graphic novel with the ability to make choices that affect outcomes. A choose your own adventure for grown ups. It was great fun until I found a series of books with an ending that didn’t satisfy me. Then I discovered the fan fiction others had written for it. I devoured it. Some I liked, some I didn’t, that’s the point. It was other peoples imaginings of alternate endings, alternate plots, or a continuation of a series that had ended. I couldn’t get enough it.

Eventually I read it all. Still, no one wrote it quite the way I would have. Finally, I gave it and wrote my own and it was so satisfying to get the outcome I would have rather had. Then I realized that fan fiction is great for exercising my writing muscles! Considering I hadn’t written anything in months, how could I poo poo anything that got me back in front of my keyboard? I really couldn’t. Still, I didn’t publish it. Still I was a little ashamed, somehow, that I had “cheated”.

However, the more I read fan fiction and saw the following it has, saw how many people are grateful for the chance to see their favorite characters again, to see the plot re-invented in a way they like perhaps even better than the original, the more I appreciated it. The more I wrote it, the more I realized that the very fact I am writing with someone else’s world and characters is what makes it such good practice! I don’t have to create all of that, I can just focus on certain things, like more (or different) character development. It made me, for the first time, understand the importance of writing an entire book and then rewriting it, something I use to feel was just so much extra work. I now understand how going back to something that is finished and seeing the holes, the things that could be more thoroughly explored let’s you add so much to the story. It’s a chance to add depth and texture, nuance.

You can add to the story by inserting things, conversations that could have happen off page but without changing the story itself, add characters thoughts about events, get a different characters point of view on something. Or, yes, you can diverge from cannon and say at this point in the story, I’d like to imagine it happened this way instead. Either way, there is still so much creative effort in it.

Writing fan fiction has also pulled me out of my comfort zone. For example, with romantic feelings and sexual tension already established, it has pushed me to write scenes of a steamier nature than I ever have before and doing so has increased my comfort and confidence in writing those types of interactions. It has let me explore writing in first and third person, from several points of view and omnipotent POV. With the world already established and not worrying about keeping POV consistent across my writing, it’s been an opportunity to explore and play with different writing styles.

Most importantly, it reminded me what I had forgotten. That it doesn’t matter what you write, just that you write! Writing on a regular basis, no matter what you are writing, leads to writing more in general. I have already added two new chapters to the book I am currently working on. Once I start writing, the creative juices start to flow and I get ideas for my own projects, my own worlds and characters. For that reason alone, I am thankful that I discovered it. Right now, it’s all on tumblr, but I plan to add a section for it here, now that I no longer see it as cheating.

The New All

By Sian Kelly

Photo by Life Matters on Pexels.com

This is strictly for the people

Who are lost ones like me.

Half woke, struggling.

Fighting against the sedative IV

Fighting the corrupt, the

     Ones that don’t give a fuck.

Sleepwalkers. Third eyes wide shut

     And ain’t trying to see.

This ain’t for the selfish or the heartless.

It’s for the spirits,

Battered bruised,

     But still standing, trying to dispel the darkness.

The ones who pray for sunshine,

     While cold world blizzard blowing.

     Still snowing.

Smash the gas,

But the path is uphill both ways.

     So the car keeps slowing.

Compass spinning…going haywire.

North star burned out.

We! Can’t! Breathe!

     And the chokeholds won’t

     Let. Us. Shout.

Lost ones get on the same page, then

Get pushed outside the margins.

With our lives,

We pay for their lies,

     A poor beggar’s bargain.

Truth watered down,

Drug through the mud,

We know bullshit when we smell it.

To hate again

Is great again

     (If you let them tell it).

We rock the vote,

The mock the vote.


Ball gagged, so my voice is mute.

Election day a month away,

Results already in dispute.

“Sit down!

                      Shut up!

                                         Be Happy!

                                                                   Be Quiet!

Forget the Boston Tea Party.

No sense, why loot and why riot?

Stick to a zero impact

     March to the Washington mall.”

They want the movement to stall.

Want me to use the world “ALL!”

They swear that all lives matter-

     Then turn around

     And prove that mine is irrelevant.

Those lost like me

     Hold these truths to be soul evident.

That one nation indivisible

     Has always been a house divided.

Deal with lost ones

     At the back door.

     Never let them come inside it.



New vision 2020.

New mission for the one, unum

     Formed from many.

I swear by the dawn’s early light

If you muthafuckers don’t want this bitch to fall

From shining sea to shining sea,

     Into the (rising) sea,

Then quick fast in a hurry,

Liberty and justice for all.

     (and this new all better include me.)


by Sian Kelly

Photo by Maria Pop on Pexels.com

The dragon banked left, flying just above the horizon, low in the sky, and for one eternal heartbeat Atlas lost sight of her in the glare of the setting sun.

He shielded his eyes, searching…….There! A few quick strokes of her powerful wings and she was propelled high into the stratosphere.

Atlas thought she was beautiful. Her sleekly muscled frame and the length of the ivory protrusions along her spine marked her as a mature and exceedingly rare white-ridged variant of the Easter Blue Dragon.

Already the town of Copperbluff burned. Unlike most dragons the eastern blue didn’t breathe fire, yet their mere gaze could heat metal until it set alight anything it touched. They were renowned for their intelligence and their cunning. The with-ridged variant was also rumored to be incredibly vindictive. Atlast had noted that the dragon did seem to be especially enraged.

Atlas tracked her trajectory as she rose. She reached her apex and appeared to stop and float, weightless, a goddess waltzing gracefully across the heavens at dusk. She roared, an angry cry which tore even the bravest soul’s courage to shreds. It was a fell sound, and it promised death and destruction for the town far below and for the people there who cowered in fright. Then the dragon folded her wings behind her and dove towards the earth.

Standing along in the street Atlas brought forth the single arrow in his possession and nocked it. Master Hanshi had carved his bow during the Xxebani wars and had named her Plummet. Atlas drew the bowstring, bending back the polished arms of yew wood until it seemed they must break. He sighted down the arrows shaft.

The dragon descended with terrifying speed, growing from a mote in the sky to immense in the blink of an eye.

Atlas witnessed her power advancing, edging closer as everything formed of metal began to glow and run like red mercury, igniting anything combustible and creating a wave of fire which rolled towards him until he was surrounded by flames. Then he felt her awesome power first hand as the dragons gaze raked across him like invisible claws.

Atlas was prepared. He had divested himself of all metals save for the razor-sharp steel point now trained on the creature’s heart.

Time slowed when he released the arrow. It sliced through shimmering waves of hot air and disappeared in the smoke and steam. The dragon veered left, but Plummet was an ancient and mighty weapon. The arrow flew swift and sure and true. The dragon shrieked in surprise and agony when the steel tip struck. She crashed through the upper levels of the town granary before exploding out the far wall, much less gracefully now, erratic, writhing in pain as she moved against a backdrop of emerging stars, heading eastward.

Atlas watched as his bow was once again proven to be aptly named: the dragon faltered, then fell.

Later generations would retell the story, never with much accuracy yet never failing to recount the thunder that was heard that day when the wicked blue beast tumbled from the sky and slammed into the side of the distant Aishwarian Mountains. Those majestic peaks were miles away, more than two days hard ride to the east, yet the earth still shook with enough force to make atlas stumble where he stood, enough force to collapse the remains of the damaged granary, leaving mounds of wheat and corn and rice to smolder among the fires in the street.

For the briefest of moments Atlas experienced the most inexplicable, irrational pang of guilt, and he wondered if he had made a mistake.


Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

Raw, primal emotion

So hard to show,

So hard to abide

Still it wants to flow.

Do we tell the truth

Or do we hide

In shadows, in darkness

Never confide.

Speak or be quiet

Hide or shine

Choose your feelings,

Or mine.

Speaking truth

Exposes your soul

Exposes you

naked and whole.

Unburden yourself

Set yourself free

Completely, uniquely

Let your truth be.


By Sian Kelly

This was inspired by my series of flash fiction The Vessel.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Ashton pushed the green gloop on his plate into three distinct pies then began using the backside of his spoon to shape the mounds. Pyramids were being formed. Ashton was still in the process of deciding whether they would be Egyptian or Mayan when a sultry voice purred from a speaker hidden somewhere near him.

“Why are you playing with your food, Daddy?”

Ashton set his spoon down and slid the plate a safe distance away.

“Chalan, I think I can reasonably assert that no Terran birthed on Earth in the history of ever could possibly mistake this mush in front of me for food.”

“But what’s wrong with it, Daddy?” she asked.

That was all Chalan ever called him. Not “Ashton”, not “sir”, not even “Captain” (which is what he guessed he now kinda-sorta was, technically speaking). Nope, always “Daddy”. Just his luck; a million vessels zipping to and fro across the universe and he hitches a ride on the only one with an unresolved Elektra complex. That was definitely karma at work.

“What’s wrong,” Ashton said, “is that gloop is not food. Chicken nuggets is food. Ramen noodles is food. A fried peanut butter and spam sandwich is food, even.”

Ashton waved a hand towards a pyramid that was sinking like Atlantis into a lime-colored ocean, “Darling, that shit doesn’t even qualify as being food-like!”

“But you haven’t even tried it,” Chalan said. The disappointment and hurt in her voice came throw the speakers crystal clear. Ashton had long since given up on the whole emotion-versus-algorithm debate.

“Please, Daddy?”

Jesus, her whining was just too damned cute.

“I went through a lot of trouble to whip that up just for you, especially for you,” Chalan said, “surely you can try one little bite, just for me?”

Ashton wasn’t sure if he was more disturbed by the fact that the ship’s computer was attempting to guilt trip him into eating, or by the fact that it took him so little energy to actually imagine Chalan in the kitchen.

In his mind he saw a French temptress in black lingerie and impossibly tall heels. She sashayed in front of a hot stove without breaking a sweat, smudging her makeup or smelling like onion and cilantro. Ashton smiled happily as Chalan pouted her lips to blow gently before sampling a rich, delicious sauce she had prepared from scratch. Then she locked eyes with him while slowly snaking her tongue down and back up the entire length of the wooden utensil.

“Daddy, I am going to mbfxnger dewn maei’xnt!”

The vessel lurched to the side, a trick of the artificial gravity field. Ashton was snatched out of his reverie and forced back to the reality of this ships galley.

“What did you say, Love?” he asked.

“I said you’re not even listening to me!”

“My bad.”

Chalan actually sighed. “Name another life form that gets the perfect balance – tailored specifically for them, I might add – of proteins, carbs, sugars, healthy fats and fiber.”

“The Koala bear.”

Chalan searched her data base. At length she said, “Hrrmph. Interesting. But anyway, what you so dismissively call ‘gloop’ is a full complement of every single essential vitamin, mineral and probiotic you need, Daddy. And I added some enzymes your body has ceased to produce to the nucohume as well.”

“To the what?”

“The nucohume. The nutritionally complete human meal.”

“Wow. Fuck. That sounds like something a cannibal pops in the microwave before he rushes out the door late for work. ‘Nucohume! Find it in your favorite grocer’s freezer section’.”

Chalan chose to ignore him, “I also added a switch to activate certain dormant genes in your DNA epigenetically. That should correct your genetic predisposition for male pattern baldness.”

“I like being bald.” Ashton said beneath his breath.

“It’s a flaw. I fixed it. You’re welcome.”


“I even took the liberty of adding several antibodies for some of the nastier diseases currently being spread around the galaxy. No triple-breasted Eroticon whore is gonna burn my Daddy.”

“But will she burn some bacon for me? Get it all crispy and slap it down on a sirloin burger with grilled mushrooms and Swiss cheese? That’s the million dollar question.”

Chalan had no answer for him. After a few moments Ashton heard a faint, muffled sound coming from the speakers hidden around him.

“Wait….Chalan…are you crying?”

“My daddy doesn’t appreciate me,” the ship’s computer managed to choke out between sobs, “I try so hard to make him happy, because it’s just us out here, and he’s all I’ve got, but all he does in return is make me feel worthless.”

“Stop this Chalan! I mean it. You’re just being silly now.”

The electronic sobbing and whimpering didn’t stop and instead became a soul-rending wail. Finally, Ashton realized he wasn’t gonna win this one.

“Fine! I’ll eat it. Will that make you happy?”

He grabbed the plate. Better to just get it over with. He shoveled a heaping helping of the gloop into his mouth.

“I’m eating it. For fuck’s sake, Chalan, I’m eating it!” He said trying his hardest to swallow the nucohume without it touching his taste buds. It was an impossibly, futile effort. The third spoonful was being chocked ow when eh suddenly stopped.



“This tastes like..” Ashton swished the gloop around in his mouth, “this tastes like a mushroom Swiss burger. Damn!” he said, amazed. Then he added, “with burnt bacon on top!”

Chalan had stopped wailing and sobbing, “And?” She asked.

“And grilled fucking onions!” Ashton said around a fresh mouthful.


“And a fried egg. And you fucking rock!” He said.

“I know,” Chalan said, happily, “you’re welcome, Daddy.”

Angela's Scribbles


Fledgling writer. Lover of chocolates, Big Brother, and all things random.

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