Nov 11 2014

Remembered, Never Forgotten

It is the tradition here on the Tale for there to be a moment to remember on the 11th of November those that have given their all. This year the day is more to the fore because of the events that occurred on Parliament Hill in Ottawa.

There is an image, one that has been seen far and wide that brought this work into my thoughts… It might not say enough, but it says something at least…


Remembered, Never Forgotten
By TeraS



The place is quiet, still, calm.

Two dogs wait in silence together.

They lay upon the path he walked.

Turned to watch, anticipation in their eyes.

The day arrives, his return expected.

A return never to be, they not knowing this.

But they wait, watch, remember.


The place is quiet, still, calm.

A family gathers in silence together.

They stand by the fresh grave where he lays.

Turned to grieve, memories in their eyes.

The day is too soon, too unexpected.

A return never to be, they still not accepting this.

But they wait, honour, remember.


The place is quiet, still, calm.

A nation gathers in silence together.

They stand by the monument where he stood.

Turned to honour, promise in their eyes.

The day is more powerful, meaningful.

A return never to be, they still not understanding this.

But they wait, pause, remember.

Nov 11 2014

Heartfelt By TeraS

On this day I celebrate my heart. I know that he expects nothing on this day. I know that he knows what he means to myself and my Eternal and this never has to be said. I know that. I do. But sometimes the words that can be said are not quite enough or cannot say all of the things that we want them to.

But the words are nonetheless…



By TeraS


To be called one’s heart is a very special thing. These are two words that are not said casually, offered at a whim, or said for just any reason. They matter. They speak to a connection: perhaps knowledge that is known, but cannot quite be explained.

There are tales about souls knowing one another. Perhaps one sees another from across a room, on the other side of a field, or through the electronic ether. There’s something in that moment, that instant, where eyes glance, words are spoken, or a line of text appears on a screen that opens one soul to another.

With that comes … a feeling … that you know the other … somehow … that there’s something familiar, comforting that allows you to say hello, offer your hand freely and without fear. As that realization comes, it also follows that the parts of yourself that you keep close, hold to yourself, and never quite share finds their way to the surface and they come from you.

You talk about things. You speak of family, of faith. You express the beliefs you hold and you accept that what you believe in isn’t a matter of ‘just because’ for that alone isn’t enough to explain. You find there is a truth in the universe, in the vastness around you, that is core to who you are. Sharing that truth, opening yourself to it, to allow that there is a soul that accepts you as you are, faults and all.

You admit your own fears. There are many of them, of course, for they are part of life, of living, of existing in this world and any other. Once, you thought talking about them, speaking about them, sharing them was foolish because, of course, no one would do the same. But you do, you give that part of yourself that you fear to show, because the one you share with can accept you for all of those fears, worries, and know them.

The moment is there, from the beginning: that instant when you know you have found your heart. The meaning of those two words perhaps isn’t as clear as you might think, or know. But, inside, you find there was something missing in the moment before … and it isn’t missing now. Where there was once an empty part of you that you were aware of, but didn’t understand, there is a warmth, a feeling, an acceptance that the part of you that you thought was lost … isn’t.

Some cannot understand what that means exactly. To try and explain what matters, why it does, and what that knowledge has changed in your life takes more words than you have within you. But you try nonetheless. You express, in as heartfelt terms as you can, what all of this means. But you also know, as the last word escapes you, that you haven’t done justice to the truth. You cannot manage to put into words what your heart means to you.

You shrug a bit as you reply, by voice, by expression, by the letters on the screen, that this person is your heart. As you speak the words, there is an undercurrent of thanks in your voice, your fingers as they dash to try to keep up with the thoughts in your mind. You want to tell, to share, to put into simple terms what this one soul means to you. All you can come up with, finally, is that this is your heart.

As the words escape you again, you feel that you have done wrong … somehow. That, in telling of how you feel, of how much your heart matters to you, you have done this one wrong in a way. Not that you have harmed her or him, no, for doing so would tear you apart, leaving your soul in tatters. You would rather suffer an eternity before letting that ever happen. You ask, always, if what you have shared is alright, if your heart is alright.

The thought is not of you, it never is. You think of the other, of your heart, every moment. You offer yourself and it is one of the happiest days of your life when your heart calls you “Dear One.” You know without a shadow of a doubt that you have to live up to that honour. That dishonouring that gift would be the worst thing you would ever do. You worry about hurting your heart, disappointing her, causing him pain.

You try to hold within you the things that would hurt your heart, causing worry or suffering, for that is not, in your own eyes, what one should do. You believe, strongly, that keeping things away from your heart, holding them away is the best thing … because. It is not a reason, of course, but it is that what you have within you. You care too much, too deeply, and you are not ashamed of this. You are never ashamed of having your heart or being his or her Dear One.

There are the moments when you are speaking with your heart when you are close to tears. There are the moments when your worries for this heart overcome you and you cannot help them as they come. They cloud your vision, the words blurred upon the screen and you pause, trying to wipe your eyes and hold yourself.

Then you see that he asks what’s wrong, how he can help, will you please share what troubles you. Of course you don’t want to, the burdens are yours. It takes time, so much time, but your heart is there, patient, allowing you to say what you wish and not judging you for being the foolish soul you are at times. You aren’t sure when it happened or why, but, eventually, you share that within you to your heart, baring your soul to them.

The words are heartfelt, every one of them bringing tears. They are things never admitted, expressed even to the ones that are close to you. They are not your heart and as such they cannot be the ones to see you in your moments, when you express your needs, your wishes, your hopes and fears. It is in these moments that your heart sees the real you, and with that comes a truth.

The truth is—and always is—that there is a reason for everything, for every moment. There is a reason, a plan that brought a Dear One to her heart. It might never be explained in this life, it might never be revealed when the time comes. It could be that the reasons are nothing more than ‘it is meant to be this way.’ It could be that this was meant to prove something more.

But, the real truth, the one shared between a heart and his or her Dear One is that, in the end, what is shared is as heartfelt as it can only be when two such souls find each other. It is acceptance in a smile, a word, a moment. It is the telling of what happened, what the future holds, and what their hopes are. It is something more than what these words here can say truly and fully as one would like them to say.

And so the words spoken, always—for that is the way things are and always will be—are the ones that speak all of these things and more.

“Hello, my heart …”

“Hello Dear One…”

And all that follows from this. All of the highs and lows, fears and hopes, thoughts and pondering. All of the worries, the things told, stories shared, love given, prayers said together and apart. All of the comfort in knowing, all of the wisdom of seeing.

All of this and more is what my heart has brought and what his Dear One has given in return. For this is the way of things, how they are meant to be and will be. The heartfelt moments. The heartfelt hopes. The heartfelt prayers. The heartfelt ache. The heartfelt joy.

For that is what my heart means to me. And it is heartfelt every moment of my life.

Nov 10 2014

Sparkly Horn Horror Part II By TeraS

Sparkly Horn Horror needed some additions to what I posted a couple of weeks ago as Part Two. And so I have been poking at things a bit, trying to make this part of the story a bit better, if possible—certainly a lot more verbose, at least …

If you’d like to read the first part of Sparkly Horn Horror, you can find it here on the Tale.



Sparkly Horn Horror
Part II
By TeraS


The scene in the Realm Library was one of organized chaos. The staff all understood what they were looking for, though some of the younger ones didn’t honestly believe that Tera was serious about things until she crossed her arms over her chest and then started tapping the sleeve of her jacket with a finger—a clear sign that she was on the edge of being disappointed. That shocked them into taking the work before them very seriously.

The Queen was very clear that they all needed to search the Library, and that they had just under two hours to do so. They didn’t need that long to come up with an answer: Miriam’s computerization of most of the card catalogue took care of the heaviest searching. So it was in short order and with some worry that she approached Tera’s office and knocked on the door frame. “Your Majesty … um … Tera? There’s nothing. I can’t find a reference to this … thing … anywhere.”

Tera was sitting on her desk in thought when Miriam spoke. She nodded and ran her fingers through her hair: “I’m not really surprised. It is something that my parents would not have wanted to become common knowledge in their time.”

“What do you know about this?”

She looked at Miriam and smiled: “Only the stories that my Mother and Father told me. Keep in mind that, to me, the stories were the sort of thing that was meant to frighten little me and make me go to bed.”

Miriam giggled: “I can’t see you being a problem child, Tera. That isn’t at all like you.”

Her Majesty allowed herself a bemused smile in return: “Well of course not. Perish the thought.”

Miriam walked just inside the door and closed it behind her, fidgeting with her hands as she asked: “Tell me one of them, please. Maybe it will give us a clue or something.”

“Keeping in mind that I haven’t the storytelling ability of my parents …”

The yellow-tailed librarian shook her head: “With respect, I doubt that. I’ve seen you telling stories to the young.”

Tera tucked a lock of hair behind one ear: “Right … Seriously, I’m nothing compared to them. To be honest, I have been mulling over the stories in my mind and none of them are really specific. But then they are children’s stories, so there are a lot of bogeymen in them to scare and not a lot of facts to hold onto. The one that I remember the most is one my Mother told often.”

Miriam looked at the clock and then at the Head Librarian: “And?”

Tera had a faraway look in her eyes as she spoke: “It came from the dark and touched the lost, the seeking, the needful. One by one they all succumbed to the hungers they held in check, waiting. A wave of what was came across the lands, unstoppable by those who were. All seemed lost until the moment when the lost were found, and then the battle was won, save for those that were never to be found. The lost were taken, never to be seen again.”

Miriam was quiet for a time, then said: “Not really all that useful, is it?”

Tera shrugged: “Remember that all stories have some truth in them. There is an answer in there; we just have to figure out what it is.”

The strawberry-blonde succubi nodded and looked out the door at the library: “Well, the answer isn’t where we can find it.”

The brunette pushed off from her desk and walked towards the door, taking Miriam by the hand as she did so: “Then we look in the places that aren’t meant to be found.”

Miriam stumbled a little as they marched through the Library and then started to walk down the spiral staircase towards the Grotto and the Special Collections far below. “Tera, there’s nothing down here that we haven’t cataloged and indexed. All of the Collections were checked, and your friend in the Grotto hasn’t any idea of what’s going on. I asked.”

“Miriam, I know this will come as a shock, but there is one part of the Library that you have never seen and were never meant to.”

Miriam came to a stop on the stairs and watched as Tera continued on her way: “Hang on a second. I know every inch of the Library. I know this place intimately.”

The Queen didn’t stop as she called out over her shoulder: “Oh, I’m sure of that. You and Irving do have the most fun late in the evenings, don’t you?”

Miriam’s blush was redder than red and her tail turned just that little bit more yellow than it usually was, even for the most strikingly yellow of all of the yellow tails in the Realm in at least a hundred years.

“Come on. Not mad at you. I mean, Keith and I have had fun in every room of the Castle … twice? No, no … more times than that. I’ll have to check my diary when I get home.”

Miriam shook her head and replied in a sing-song voice: “Not listening!”

Tera looked over her shoulder: “Not coming either.” Crossing one landing, she added: “Point is that there are some secrets which you aren’t meant to know until the time is right. Perhaps this is the time when you are meant to.”

She watched Tera come to the bottom of the stairs and then wait for her. When the younger librarian arrived, the red-tail explained: “There is a part of the Library that only the Head Librarian can open. It isn’t meant to be a place where anyone can get in, because it holds the most cherished secrets of the Realm.”

Miram nibbled on her lip: “Like?”

Tera took Miriam’s hand and led her towards what appeared to be a solid wall of red stone, roughly cut into, unfinished, and seemingly out of place with the rest of the Library. Miriam recognized it, though she really hadn’t paid much attention to it before.

“Like how old I am?”

“Okay. Seriously, Tera.”

“I am being serious. Okay, I admit that it is not the most vital secret, of course, but it is one of them.”

They stopped just short of the wall and Miriam asked: “So? Now what? Does it open or …” The rest of her sentence was swallowed by a flash of purple light which surrounded the two of them and, in the next moment, they weren’t there any longer. Miriam found herself gripping Tera’s hand tightly in a place which seemed to be no place, with nothing around them at all. There wasn’t even a glimmer of light around them, and Miriam couldn’t see a single thing.

“… something?”

“Welcoming, isn’t it?”

Miriam’s answer was an uneasy sounding: “Your Majesty …”

“Just wait. It has to wake up.”


“Yes, “It.” This might take a bit. It hasn’t been woken in a very long time.”

“How long is long?”

“Not since I became Head Librarian. There hasn’t been a need to trouble it, to wake it from its rest. This is not the sort of thing one does simply out of hand. It does not like being bothered for the sake of trivialities.”

Miriam’s tail wrapped itself around Tera’s waist as they waited. The red tail did the same, drawing Miriam a little closer to her: “Hopefully it is in a good mood.”

“Great. I hope Florence is okay.”

Tera gave her a hug: “I have faith in her.”

Florence, meanwhile, had been hunched over her desk back at the hospital long enough that her back was beginning to complain loudly to her about it. She had gone over what little information Miriam had found, and it was very little indeed. Worse still was that the reports of what she was facing were, to be blunt, so superficial that they were next to useless.

She swiped the glass of her desk and looked over to where John was still pacing: “Time, John?”

John stopped and looked at her in what appeared to be irritation: “Will you be specific? Really, Florence, you must learn that skill.”

She leaned back and sighed: “How much time until I am infectious?”

“Assume approximately one hour. I have deducted some time, as your exposure time cannot be accurately calculated.”

She looked at him with a slight smile: “Who’s the one that keeps talking about being specific, again?”

John’s glare was surprising. If he had been real, Florence might feel hurt by it.

She rubbed her right horn and looked at the blue flakes that came away in her hand: “It’s rather insidious, isn’t it? Can’t really be sure I am or I am not. So, have to assume that I am.”

She considered her hand, rubbing the flakes between her fingers: “We don’t even know the actual transmission method, or if there is a means to resist it.”

John walked up to the desk and glared: “Really? Your mind must be dulling. Are you only thinking of sex already?”

She stood up and glared right back: “Fuck you, John. I’m all here, and I’m not looking to have a cock up my ass or to be eating out someone.”

Florence thought he actually looked angry as he replied: “You will, Florence. And soon it will appear in your thoughts based on what legends say. At least you had the sense to get away from those in the isolation ward.”

She looked down at her desk and sighed: “What is their condition?”

John turned away: “At the moment they are both rutting away. I believe that they each have reached orgasm at least ten times in the past hour; possibly more. The stamina of those in the Realm is legendary, after all.”

She considered this: “Okay, if this is specifically tied to what we are, then we have to assume that our sex drives are compromised, which isn’t much of a stretch. And what do you mean exactly by ‘rutting’?”

He was short and to the point: “The definition of ‘rutting’ in animals notes that rubbing of horns upon trees and so forth is common. They have been doing so in their captivity.”

“Which means that the flakes are being spread throughout the room, and it follows that anyone entering that room would then be contaminated, or, if protected, their protection would be, and, if that gets out, then it spreads.”

“Precisely. But also, the added material in the air speeds up their own transformations.”

She looked at the little pile of blue flakes on the desktop and the floor around her: “And I’ve been rubbing my horns absentmindedly.”

“Yes. But it seems not to be speeding up your changes. It may be that, once infected, a host must be exposed to others who are infected for there to be an additional effect.”

“Well, that’s something to consider. Isolating the infected in time could slow down the spread.”

“It does not provide a solution. It only buys some time, if any of that is of value in this crisis.”

Florence was normally a calm, thoughtful individual, and the growl that came with her words was surprising: “Of course it is, you idiot.”

John walked to the edge of her desk and shocked Florence when he yelled: “Focus! Now! Get control of yourself!”

There was confusion in her eyes as she stuttered: “I … I … That is …”

John wagged a finger at her: “The drifting of your thoughts is a clear sign of danger. You must focus on the problem. All else is immaterial.”

She thought for a moment, then sighed: “Let me see them.”

“This is not advisable, Florence. You do not know what the effects would be.”

She laughed bitterly: “I know that if I am in the room with them I’m doomed. I need to know how far the two of them are. At least then I’ll have a clue what’s coming.”


She slammed her hand on the desk: “Dammit, John, stop fighting me! I have to know what to look for, what the signs are, or at least know more than I do. You aren’t helping me at all! You’re being a pain in my ass, and I’ve just about had enough of you!”

John’s scowl was piercing: “Very well.”

Across the room, one wall shimmered as an image came into focus. It was of the isolation room where Adam and Deborah were trapped. If someone else had been viewing the image they might have assumed that what they were looking was wasn’t an actual hospital, but rather more likely the set of an adult movie. Deborah was bent over one of the gurneys in the room, completely naked, and Adam was right behind her. Florence idly remembered that Adam had a lot of stamina, and yet, somehow, he seemed to have even more than she remembered.

The sound was off, but it was clear that Deb was screaming her head off in pleasure with every thrust that Adam made. She seemed to be looking into the camera, her eyes deeply purple instead of the normal grey that Florence remembered. She couldn’t see John’s eyes, but she assumed that they were every bit as purple.

For a moment she wondered why they both looked odd, and then it struck her. Their skin was as purple as their tails—in its own way very erotic she thought—and then another thing about the image hit home: they didn’t have feet; they had hooves.

She walked around her desk and approached the screen … to have a better look … not because there was a dampness between her legs … nor because her breathing had become deeper … nor because her eyes had slightly glazed over … nor because her nipples were achingly stiff as she rubbed her fingers over them.

Standing in front of the screen, she traced one hand over Deb’s face and remembered the feeling of Adam’s cock thrusting into her own sex, recalled how he brought her to the edge of climax over and over again until finally he pushed her over the edge. Her other hand slipped between her legs, a fingernail stroking … slowly … She licked her lips and the thought came that she needed to go to them … needed to be sandwiched between them … needed to be fucked by them both.

That would be so deliciously hot, Adam pounding himself into her while she nuzzled her lips against Deb’s sweet pussy. A seductive smile passed over her lips as she imagined the scene.

She imagined herself on her hands and knees, tongue lapping at Deb’s folds, Deb’s legs spread wide while she licked and tongued Deb. She felt Adam as he pressed his shaft against the folds of her cunt. A moment later and she easily took him when he thrust his way into her. Her lips bounced against Deb’s pussy, her tongue being forced in and out as Adam fucked her roughly, animal-like. It felt so right, so hot that she wanted to be completely absorbed by the heat that was building up within her. Florence crested as her fingers slipped inside, finding that one spot that made her cum and cum so hard that her toes curled. Her knees failed and she fell to the floor as the pleasure ripped through her.

She cried out in lust: “Oh, fuck me!”

Her mind began to lose focus as the fantasy slowly took over ever-deeper parts of her psyche. The thought came that she didn’t need her intelligence, her soul, who she was. None of that mattered, for all she needed was her so-fuckable body … nothing else. Giving in would be wonderful and forever …

The sound of an air horn blasting in the room shocked Florence out of her daydream and she screamed in surprise at the interruption, turning away from the image of Deb and Adam as she started to yell at John.

John stood there, the horn continuing to wail, his arms crossed as he mouthed something, but the noise was so loud that Florence couldn’t hear a word.

She walked up to him and swept her hand through the air where he stood and then the horn stopped … and there was silence for a time before John spoke again.

She saw his lips move, but the words weren’t being heard over the ringing in her ears. Shaking her head, she yelled at him that she couldn’t understand him. What followed was John ranting about something she couldn’t hear, but whatever he was saying meant something to him. He pointed at her, slammed one hand into his other, and, strangely she thought, he seemed to have an expression that, on someone else, would be called “terrified.”

As her ears cleared, she caught a few words here and there, but they didn’t make any sense. Something about being stupid, about putting … someone … in danger. Finally her ears cleared as he said: “Why the hell can’t you listen?”

“I’m listening now. What the hell were you thinking?”

His expression became neutral as he spoke: “You were not listening to me, you were entirely focused on the scene and nothing else. It was clear that you were slipping away. Obviously, your sexual drives are higher than normal for you to be turned on so quickly.”

She shook her head: “No shit. Anything else you learned from my stupidity?”

“Clearly, the outcome of this syndrome is to turn those of the Realm into what they were before: creatures of sex and nothing more, both physically and mentally.”

“Again, no shit.”

John waved his glasses at her, and she wondered why it was that he needed glasses, being that he wasn’t real: “I believe the term is: ‘The shit has hit the fan,’ and the fan’s on high.”

Florence turned away from him to brace herself against her desk: “Five hours. Then I’ll be there, too.”

John just continued to glare as he put his glasses on: “One hopes not, and …”

The pause made Florence turn to look at him, but in the midst of doing so, another voice echoed in the room: “Um … Doc? Where’s Adam? And what’s going on?”

Standing there in the room was a pink tail with green hair and a confused look in her eyes.

“Oh shit! Abby …”

In all of the rush to try and figure out what was happening Florence had forgotten that the rest of the hospital wasn’t quite empty. Abby, the pink tail who was a hypochondriac and had a doctor fetish a mile long, was trapped, as well. Florence had forgotten about her, and now she was likely infected as well.

Abby had a confused look as she asked: “Doc? You don’t look so good. There’s something wrong with your horns and … umm … wow … you’re really horny, too … I mean … wow!”

Neither Florence—nor John, for that matter—had a response to that.

Nov 09 2014

A Review of Sucker For A Succubus by Lady Sakimura

Sucker For A Succubus by Lady Sakimura

Sucker For A Succubus by Lady Sakimura

One of the things that I have been aware of is that Succubi in many parts of the world, especially Asia, are seen to be more vampiric than anything else. Personally I don’t tend to enjoy that view of Succubi, but quite a few people seem to. I found two books by an author that are said to be their first works in English and I decided to have a look at them. They will appear today and next Sunday on the Tale as well.

The thing about both of these works is, unfortunately, the author needs some help in their English to make their words better than they appear to be.

  • Title: Sucker For A Succubus
  • Author: Lady Sakimura
  • Length: 13 Pages
  • ASIN: B00IW8H49W
  • Publishing Date: March 8, 2014
  • This work at

The work tells of:

The wildly popular Japanese doujin author makes her English debut in this funny story of forbidden lust, in which the sexually frustrated Eric inadvertently summons a beautiful man-eating demon called a succubus from the nether realm to his house. The tables turn on the succubus, however, when a coincidence forces her to become Eric’s slave. This is her first story in English.

Eric finds a book and summons a Succubus named Morgan who wants to eat him… literally. But she appears on a day when she must grant his wish… and the story goes on from there.

I found this work very hard to read for several reasons, but the overwhelming one is that the text reads as if it was directly translated from Japanese to English with no real understanding or editing of the words to make the sentences read better or to make the story be comprehended better. The words are clunky, the thoughts are scattered and the storyline reads like a comic book that has been turned into a story with the dialog being taken directly from it.

There really isn’t any sort of plot as well, mainly going from one sex scene to the next, the characters alternating between sex and suffering for the most part. There ls lots of blood as well which I didn’t care for, though the reason for it made some sense at least.

Somewhere in this work there is a story, but it is overwhelmed by too complicated situations, explanations and situations that kept making me pause and try to figure out what exactly was going on. I do understand this was the author’s first story in English, I do understand they had an editor. But honestly I have to wonder if there was all that much editing for how odd the story reads.

One of five pitchforks.

Just very hard to read, the writing was just… off. Overall it isn’t a bad story idea, but honestly it reads very much like the story was put through a translation program and that hurts things as a whole.



Nov 08 2014

A cute Succubus pencil art YouTube…

I’ve never really liked Castlevania’s Succubus. I just have problems with her in many respects at least how she acts within the game itself. Image wise she has her moments however and I found a work-in-progress YouTube of an artist drawing her in pencil which was interesting…

And if you cannot see the video on the Tale, try this link:

And the finished art itself:


I like that she is drawn… softer I suppose is the best way to put it… There’s a touch of anime cuteness in her and that I think makes her more that she otherwise is.

Perhaps the next game, if it ever happens, might have her appear like this?

It is a thought at least…



Nov 07 2014

A Review of Cut Crimson, Bleed Fire by T.T. Escurel

Cut Crimson, Bleed Fire by T.T. Escurel

Cut Crimson, Bleed Fire by T.T. Escurel

There are some truths in the universe that cannot be ignored, changed, or taken to task. One of these is love, for it overcomes all given time. Some may not be able to see its value, and in that they are less. Some may believe it a weakness, and never find the strength it gives.

The meeting of two souls, in whatever form they are, when they are meant for each other, creates more than can ever be torn apart. The lesson, sadly never understood by some, is that love when shared creates belief… and that overcomes anything the ones in love face. Even themselves.

  • Title: Cut Crimson, Bleed Fire
  • Author: T.T. Escurel
  • IBSN: 9781311794178
  • Publishing Date: November 1, 2013
  • This work at

It tells the story of:

Zech is a half-archangel faced with a daunting choice: Embrace his divine blood and forsake his humanity, or become mortal. Before he makes his decision, he wants to understand what it is to be mortal. He finds his shelter in the beautiful and somewhat quirky Lexi.

But Lexi isn’t as normal as she appears. As the offspring of a succubus and her prey, Lexi is running away from problems of her own. There is one thing she can’t outrun… the gnawing hunger of her succubae blood, slowly driving her mad.

The war is over. Heaven is victorious, but all is not right with the world. Hell is now in the hands of an order of angels known as Redeemers who are sworn to hunt down the last of the demons and wipe them from the face of the earth.

All the demons must die, including Lexi.

Trapped in the eye of the storm, Zech and Lexi fight to protect their fragile little corner of normal without knowing that it is shared with the enemy.

Could you kill the one you love to save the world?

Zech meets Lexi in the oddest of moments and their lives become intertwined. They do not realize who, and more importantly, what, the other is. But that isn’t as important as the feeling they have for each other, what those feelings mean, and what transpires as a result of them.

The universe the two share is violent, more than that, it’s really an ongoing tragedy for humanity, demons and angels which seems to have no purpose or reason to it. It’s mainly chaos that grows into being something far worse than that. The question of why this happens, the reasons for it, are so wrapped up in ideology and internal belief in what they believe to be right that more important things are forgotten or cast aside indifferently for many of them.

But not for Zach or Lexi and that, over the course of the story, becomes the point of it. In spite of all of the forces that try to tear them apart, make them turn from a simple truth they are both trying to come to grips with, they stumble, make mistakes, and are so very human in that.

Zach isn’t completely human, nor is Lexi for that matter and that also makes them both different from all of the angels and demons around them. Humanity, having a soul, isn’t seen as being a strength, it is a weakness to them. Really they should know better by far how wrong they are.

Lexi is a Succubus and there are hints of her being so here and their in the work. But there is a truth about her, one that really matters, which makes her much more than a simple Succubus. That secret really fit her well and it made who she is as a person that much better.

There is another Succubus in the work who appears but for one moment to tell of Lexi’s past and that is her mother Lanixis. From what little is seen of her, I would have liked so much more to be told. In one short passage there is a rightness about her, a strength, a love, that isn’t told. There are hints of it, what she did for the one she loved, what she did for her daughter. But… I just would have liked to know more about her. I think that’s a story sadly untold.

The story has a lot of violence in it, a reflection of this universe and what it was based on. There are parts of it which reflect in what happens in our world every day, but to an extreme that if it was commonplace in the here and now would raise a vast number of questions. In this work, all of the battles and so on are… glossed over… by those that live in this world which felt odd. Considering some of the battles and the wreckage left behind I’m surprised that there is a building left standing anywhere.

The strongest characters are Lexi and Zach, there is no doubt of this as the story is told from their perspectives.The supporting cast are also well told, each with their own stories to tell and actions made. There is bias and worse that appears throughout the story directed at Lexi and Zach which beats down on them almost constantly. But in spite of all of the lies, hate, and anger that envelopes them both, a small spark remains that, thankfully, keeps their true character whole when the world around them goes off the deep end.

While the story as a whole was well told, the ending left a bit to be desired I felt. After all of the story telling, the pain and suffering, the ending felt… Rushed. While it tied up all of the loose ends, explained why things happened, and who, ultimately, was responsible for everything that happened in the story, the very last page just didn’t work for me in one important respect. That comes to a question of what the point of the entire story was when the ending itself is considered. I’m not going to spoil it, but I will say that I would honestly have wished the last page not exist for what it represents. There’s a sadness in what transpires in that many gain a miracle, but those that are said to be Important do not. And they are the ones that have suffered the most.

Four out of five pitchforks.

A story of mirrored lives, loves, and needs. Two souls that battle not so much their own natures as the forces around them. Perhaps a bit of an ending that lessened the impacts of the story, but one in which what matters comes clearly through.

Anyone can love, given the chance to.



Nov 06 2014

Succubi Image of the Week 356

Time for a really lovely piece of Morrigan Aensland art today for the Succubi of the Week. I have often wondered what a formal portrait of Morrigan might look like and while this one isn’t quite “official” I think it is really a beautiful expression of Morrigan’s personality…

Morrigan by EnricoGalli

Morrigan by EnricoGalli

This art is the creation of an artist on DeviantArt named Enrico Galli. You can find the original page I found this art here and this artist’s site on DeviantArt is here.

I’ve always said that Morrigan need not be drawn “over the top” to be powerful and this art I think is a very good example of that. There is a lot of her personality shown here in her smile and eyes which are beautifully shown. But there is also a lovely contrast between the flowers that surround her and her own form.

It seems very much like a portrait of Morrigan the woman in many ways. There is the sensuality of course, but it is a but muted by the expression and setting.

The details are exquisite, Morrigan’s hair, the fringe hugging her curves, the shadow and blush in her cheeks. All just come together to make one of my favourite Morrigan works of the year by far…