Nonsense, Absolute: An Open Letter-- Let's be Happy for What's-Her-Name's 50 Shades Success

Dear Quality Book Readers/Writers,

Yesterday, on Valentine's Day, theaters premiered the much-anticipated film adaptation of E. L. James' Fifty Shades of Vanilla. Unless you live blissfully under a rock with hermit crabs that only bring you quality literature, you probably have read or at least heard of the best seller. Why has this book become the supposed love of horny housewives and the bane of serious writers' existences? Obviously, because it was financially successful without really deserving that honor.

This is simply a repeat of the successful best-seller, and then blockbuster, Sparkly Mormom Vampires series by Stephanie Meyers. Those of us who struggle to write quality, original literature that makes the reader think or at least stimulates their brains more than their groins, burn with envy that these "hacks" make millions off of something that it seems a sixth grader could write. (Though, to that sixth grader's credit, she sure understands marketing and selling a book to its highest potential.)

The difference between Twitlight and 50 Shades is the target audience. While the sparkling undead story could be found in the Young Adult section of your local Barnes & Nobles-- and therefor had the potential to hook both children and their parents-- 50 Shades is decidedly more adult in that its plot is basically around-the-clock boinking. Without the Disney Promise*-- the promise of a film/book that appeals to both kids and adults and therefor makes a millionpajillion dollars all over the fucking world-- it would seem 50 Shades would only have modest best-seller success. However, its influence has surpassed what would be expected. Especially for an erotic novel that is written so...uh...well, un-erotically.

If you have read it, you probably realize by now that it is not the end all, be all of erotic fiction. If it was your gateway drug into erotica, you have probably already discovered better written books that make it pale in comparison.

One does not simply write "vagina."

For those of you who have not read it, I recommend going over to the good ol' Youtube and typing in "Gilbert Gadfry 50 Shades" and allow yourself to be amazed by some of the least sexy erotic writing ever to become a bestseller.

For those of you who frequently read erotic fiction, you probably found it laughable. Especially in the sub-genre of BDSM, 50 Shades comes out looking like a Twilight Fanfiction. Oh, wait. It is a Twilight Fanfiction. Welp, so much for that comparison.

For those of you concerned with the state of the "romance" genre that 50 Shades has heavily influenced over the past years, bringing in more abusive assholes with whips and blindfolds, you will cite that what Christian does to Anesthesia is not romantic, but controlling and manipulative. (At which point I shall direct you to the entire history of romance novels directed towards women.)

To be clear: I am not a fan of this novel. I could not finish the first chapter without laughing and concluded that it was not for me. Though, I have known friends, avid readers, who were able to wing it and admitted it was "not very good." But none have gone out their way to protest its success. 

There is something to be said by those in the BDSM community who protest the book being considered BDSM genre. They have valid points, in that Christian does not follow the proper protocol for a sub/dom relationship. Because of Fifty Shades, some women (and men) may get the wrong idea about what BDSM is and is not. However, need we remind everyone that there are men who abuse their power in any relationship, be it BDSM or vanilla. On top of that, Christian is a fictional asshole just like Edward Collins, and assholes be assholes. If we want better romantic leads, it is time to look elsewhere or write them ourselves.

But to all this I ask for a moment of your time. Let us come together and reconsider before we bash James' success in writing a trashy romance novel with BDSM-themes in it. Writers, readers, protesters, and haters:

Here is a woman who decided one day to write a casual fan fic of Twilight. Somehow, by a divine miracle of sorts, this fan fic became its own erotic novel and gained a book deal. That book became so successful that this Twilight fan can probably live off the money she made writing. Love the book or hate it, this is one fan girl's dream come true. Whether you think this book deserves the attention it receives, you have to admit that James, like Stephanie Meyers, made it. They did what we as writers always secretly hope we can achieve one day. The ability to live off our book sales.

Let us also be forgiving. When she started this thing out, she had no idea it was going to become a national best-seller under the scrutiny of more skilled writers and readers who could easily tear it to shreds with a well-wrought critique. It is her first book series and often writers like this improve over time.

As I said before, I am not a fan. And I think the attention is misdirected while far superior erotica writers deserve it. But I also feel like if this is the fantasy women want to pay to read then that is their right and no amount of my bitching is going to change their mind. In fact, you'll find, if you bitch enough, people will avoid the things you suggest because your bitch-voice will probably be the voice they hear when they try to read your recommendations.

Hey, y'all! Read Claiming Sleeping Beauty and imagine my voice narrating it. So hawt!

Let's be happy for Elroy James and 50 Shades of Vanilla. The movie might even be kind of hawt.And the novel has brought erotica to the forefront of book sales, a kind of gateway drug to the "good shit." 

That is all. With love,
Hisses and kisses,

LB

short story- Gelding & Other Profanities: "A Disgruntled Unicorn"

1

The unicorn was resting a weary head in the royal garden. Though it seemed no matter how much he slept he could not truly rest. He was dreaming of an open valley when the horns of the palace woke him.

"Gelding! Wake! You shiftless beast!"

The creature started, a low grumble sounding in his throat. Large, violet eyes glared at the royal guard who had dared to wake him.

"The Princess is missing! Get your posterior up. Or I will spear you and tell the King it was your fault."

After a yawn, the unicorn's head darted at the mention of the princess. He was not a large animal. Built like a slender deer with long legs and large ears that flicked. He was almost finicky in demeanor. Only a subtle majesty about him made him impressive. There  was snow-white fur and a horn-- so sharp at the end it was a match for a blade-- was imposing. Otherwise, this was a creature built for delicate, aesthetic beauty, all glowing with flowing mane, a long, thin beard and a lion-like tail.

"What did you say of Princess Amethyst?" Gelding demanded of the guard. "Speak up, buffoon. And do so without yelling. My ears are sensitive."

"She is amiss!" the surly, red-bearded guard exclaimed into one of those aforementioned ears. "Amiss on your watch!"

"Err from blaming games and focus will on aiding me to find the girl," Gelding's voice was aged and rich, with a certain chilled detachment.

"A search party forms as we speak!"

"You still yell," the unicorn told the man.

"I give orders! This is a captain's voice!"

"Dulcet. I suppose you expect I join your troupe on its travels." The unicorn gestured to the gathering party before the gates.

"Yes! File in line!"

"I am unworthy of that honor, Captain."

The unicorn bowed on his front legs to the captain, horn swooshing dangerously close to the man's nether regions.

"Careful, beast!"

"Perhaps I am too senile to parade about with your hunting hounds. My horn may turn and render one of your men half-blind, Captain. Nay, I should remain here and tell tales of early greatness to children who pass by."

"Your speaking is nonsensical."

"That I speak at all makes sense?" Gelding asked.

Already, he was turning around without fear. The long tail hit the captain's face once before the unicorn began to trot away.

"You are not dismissed, Gelding!"

"What was that? There is a knot in the abyss?..."

The unicorn was not impaired in hearing. Rather he simply refused to work alongside the King's men. His trot quickened to a gallop. When he reached the gate, he bounded over it and avoided the spikes. He jumped it often because he could not be held captive, even if he was owned by the King.

2

DEEP IN the forest's shadows, a gnarled oak tree shaded a tiny cottage. Within there was said to be a witch.

Our unicorn traveler knew of her, so when he came to the cottage's door he had merely to touch the lock and melt her magic with his own horn.

The witch was at her loom and spinning, humming a somber tune. The hood that cloaked her was up. Perhaps she had known the unicorn was coming.

"Do you know where Princess Amethyst has gone to?" he asked the witch without introduction.

"Nay," the witch replied without looking up. "Why do you ask me?"

"She is amiss. You know the forests, all under your spell."

The Witch lifted her face from her work. "How many times has the maiden been rescued by the unicorn?"

"Numbers mean little to me. You cannot evade me with your parlor tricks. I know you."

"But you ask my help in finding her."

"Amethyst is kind to you. Some people are known to return kindness. If she were in trouble I would think you could care."

She shrugged and lowered her hood to reveal a younger countenance than Gelding had last seen on her.

"A new glamor you wear today. But not a new temperament."

"I can help you," the Witch offered, suppressing a yawn. "For a small token."

"Let me gander at what."

Her eyes fell upon his horn, which was luminous in the dark of the Witch's cottage. Its light sent spiders fleeing.

The unicron's expression was something unamused. He pawed at the floor and turned from the Witch.

"You are not willing to bargain with me? If not your horn then something else."

"I do not trade with anyone who has traded their soul. Clearly poor judgement skills on your behalf," Gelding spoke.

"It would only be your second castration!" the Witch hissed at him.

The unicorn's head hung and his posture slumped but he did not entertain her further. At the corner of her cottage, he squatted and relieved himself on her garden and across the wall.

3

IF THE witch would not aid him, he had the forest itself to turn to. Not the spirits, for demon and fairy folk were devious, but the beasts. Birds and squirrels were good for news, after all.

But none Gelding came upon happened to have seen Princess Amethyst. Until he met a gathering of chattering squirrels. When he asked them where the Princess had gone to, they answered all at once.

"Each his piece and with some semblance of peace, please," Gelding asked them.

They mentioned to Gelding that the Princess had been by, walking alongside a curious animal.

"What did this animal look like?"

Squirrels were not known for their wit, and it took nearly six of them to collaborate and explain how the animal appeared. It had more than four legs and it "crept" rather than walked.

"A skulker or a crawler?"

"Fast! Very fast!" one exclaimed.

"Black! Very black!" another added.

"Are you sure it was Amethyst who accompanied it?"

"Who?" one asked.

The unicorn bowed his head and shook it. These rodents were hopeless. That was when he heard them chittering and snickering to one another about the Princess' penchant for trouble. One looked at Gelding and and whispered to the other "No! Really?"

The unicorn turned his horn on the squirrel to threaten it, purely for amusement. They scattered and the beast smiled to himself.

4

BASED ON the direction that the animals had indicated and his own powers, he found and smelt the maiden's trail at last.

He was on a steady trot when a sharp agony pulsed through his tail. In the shadows someone was hidden, with bow and arrow in hand. She had managed to pin the poor beast's tail to a tree.

He let out a manly scream. Its echo through the forest frightened all who heard. The Witch revealed herself and lowered weapon to her side. "You defecated on my house! Now you will hear my offer! I come with an idea!"

"You might have called my attention in a more pragmatic manner, spittle-pool," the unicorn growled, tears streaming.

"You do not listen to proposed ideas," the Witch scolded him.

"Perhaps because their grounding is unsound. Unpin me."

"Not until you hear my idea."

"All that stands between my path of antipathy is gone. Speak, woman."

"The Princess' tears!" the Witch exclaimed, brandishing a vial. "If you fill this with them then I will unpin your tail. Give me your oath."

Gelding thought that Amethyst would have given this to the Witch for free. But the Witch was daft and he knew that this would somehow hurt the Princess if she felt it must be bargained for.

"You drive a hard bargain."

She smiled, newly youthful features lighting up.

"But I shall not lie to you. I see that this is still a bargain riddled with pitfalls. A maiden's tears are not taken for harmless purposes by shady figures. I will not bargain. But you will release my tail."

"I most certainly will not! You haughty bitch of a unicorn! If you will not bargain with me, you will stay pinned to that tree!"

The horn on his head was aglow again and the unicorn stood on hind legs. This time when he spoke there was something powerful in the voice. It was the very thing poets attempted to capture about the unicorn. As he shone the light, the Witch fell to her knees, weakened. She youth began to melt.

"Release me or I will melt the glamor fully, stripping you to your gnarled truth."

The Witch was set to panicking. She already appeared older.

"I will! Stop! I will!"

She unpinned the bleeding tail and the unicorn kicked, whinnied and bolted from the scene.

5

A CAVE at the forest's edge is where Gelding found the Princess. When his horn lit up the darkness, he saw that it was netted with webs that glistened. But there was no sign of a spider until he found it sleeping. It was tucked into a corner, the giant insect cuddled with with Amethyst.

The maiden herself was curled into a sleeping pose, long black tresses touching the spider. She appeared at peace and unharmed. The unicorn had only to nuzzle her and she woke.

"Gelding?" she yawned. "What time is it?"

"Time to go home..."

He knelt to allow the girl to climb on his back and sit.

"I made friends with a spider."

"Evidently."

"She's friendly."

"Your father is looking for you."

"Oh no! I overslept!" she exclaimed as they exited the cave.

"Only a little."

"How many hours, Gelding?"

"I do not count such things. Those are mortal concerns," he reminded her and carried her home, where he hoped to have a long, uninterrupted rest.

End

poetry from "Shards" collection: Ballerina Music Box

I wanted to be that glass ballerina there,
In the music box, with real human hair.
She spins the moment you open up
and the notes sing us to sleep.
I could stand watch while you dream,
I remain on point  in case you should scream.
Awake at midnight when the shadows
flit across your room.

If I could be that toy
I could be your lullaby.
If I could be that dancer
You could never tell me goodbye.
I shall never judge
I shall never say a thing
And I have faith you will never
break me.

I wanted to be something with tiny gears
That you could turn on for your ears
Around bedtime when lullabies are crucial
For you to find your sleep.
I could stand watch while you dream,
I remain on point  in case you should scream.
Awake at midnight when the shadows
flit across your room.

If I could be yours
I could be your lullaby.
If I could be that dancer
Yours until you would find
Something new to love
Something new to keep
I always had faith  you would
break me.

Am I so easily discarded?
Am I so easily discarded?

poem from "Shards": Maudie Cobwebs

"Your children too good to play with my boy?
Best believe I'll remember this slight!"
Said Maudie to her stuffy neighbor one day
And she forced a laugh when that woman's son died.
"He got a fever and it serves her right
I won't be bakin' no sympathy pies for her type."

"The world done me wrong, so bad and so long,
I'm gonna do it one worse!"
So when Maudie inherited a Funeral Home,
she lived there and she drove her own hearse.
She was a poor pregnant waif 'til a family will gave her wealth
But she kept her curtains drawn and her new gowns to herself.
Poor Maudie Cobwebs.
She never goes out.

"The world don't want my little son,
He came out of wedlock, you see.
So he's gonna stay right by my side and safe."
'til one day in the mirror, only half-shocked
the boy saw he'd grown horns, tail and a furry frock.

Maudie sang:
"The world done us wrong, so bad and so long,
I'm gonna do it one worse.
I'm gonna make a house of this funeral home
and I'm drive around in a hearse.
I don't want no smilin' visitors.
They'd just scream when they see my son
I don't want no charity to give or receive ,
because when I was poor there was none."
Poor Maudie Cobwebs
She had not a friend.

Hardship, they say, hardens most shells,
but it can widen the hearts and minds of the toughest lot.
But for Maudie, they say, it softened her skin,
hardened the heart and it made her brain rot.

Poor Maudie, livin' like a corpse.
Poor Maudie. What could be worse.

"The world done me so wrong, so bad and long.
I'm gonna do it one worse,
Don't need no love, don't want no friends
I've already got son, home, and a hearse."
Her boy done changed to a demon
Her house a southern tourist joke.
If you see her phantom, don't make a meeting.
Maudie is an unpleasant ghost.
But that's just Maudie Cobwebs' way.
She was a bitch, long before she decayed.

poetry: from "Shards"- Serpent's Milk

I call the spirits
To burn my sins, to penetrate.
But all the sweating
and dancing does not sway Fate.

"Please possess me,
Make me pay
in cruelest turns and blackest pain.
For all I hurt,"
I cry and say.
But their answers hiss all the same.

"The serpent's milk.
The serpent's milk.
Only the hurt can serve you it."

When I crossed her,
four shades darker
fell upon my chains.
A shadow slithers--
won't come hither--
as I lie prostrate.

They whisper to me
"You cannot, through rattling
Snakes and your holy beads,
Earn from the crossed, pity."

"Then please help me earn
Please, spirits burn
Even if I must cremate whole,
For parched, charred clemency."

The serpent's milk.
The serpent's milk.
Only the wronged can offer it.

Take my heart and
bravest parts to
feed the fire high!
Grind my bones
to chalk your homes with
apotropaic lines.

"When lunacy stirs you,
Turn 'way from the Moon,
go to your harmed kin in the nude.

"Drink from their cup.
Drink from their cup.
You may heal.
You may die.
But only your victim's cup will suffice."

Only your cup will suffice.

(c) 2013 Luz Briar.

ODE TO JOY: Part 1- Table of Contents with Links!

If any of these links are broken it is because I either found the chapter too atrociously written for human eye and am revising it, or because Izzy stole the chapter and hasn't returned it to me yet. Pooki can be quite mischievous, after all. More Ode to Joy is coming. This is not the end. Izzy still has much trouble to stir up.
 
PART 1
1. Preface
2. Infant Sorrow
3. Madness in the Blood
4. Brigid's Corset
5. Family so Odd
6. Lucy
7. Charles
8. Doctor Felix Knottingson
9. Complications
10. Breakdown
11. Treating the Earl
12. Two Things
13. Test Subjects
14. First Drop
15. Maids Seem to Run
16. Izzy

Ode to Joy-10.3: Izzy

10. Teatime Travesty

ii. Izzy

“WHERE IS THE BEAUTIOUS QUEEN OF DENMARK!”

The voice woke the earl from his sleep.

The first horror that struck him was the thought of his mother ranting and raving.

He saw that the sun was quite down and lit a lamp to navigate the halls. That voice had come from downstairs.

“Mother!” he called out.

The royal red of the hallway revealed itself as his lamp light chased the shadows. His deep voice carried through the mansion.

He reached the spiraling staircase but halfway down a shaky singing voice raced up. This is when Orion slowed his step and his voice sped slightly. A maid?

No, the maids were quiet. They went about unseen. And this voice was clear and certainly not modest.

“Oh, what an unquiet grave!

What an unquiet grave!

Unquiet grave!

Unquiet!

Grave!

Grave!

Grave!”

At last his lantern showed him the person ascending the stairs as he descended.

The words to his own poem-- stashed away in private, vowed never to be published—sung to him by a strange voice. The light revealed the face of a woman. They met at the middle of the stairs. When the light revealed her in the full he saw that she was wearing a pair of rat ears on her head, her hair flaxen white. Her body was donned in a fur suit that lessened at the chest to  peak at her cleavage. Her arms bare and her legs in long pink stockings. And in her hand she held a giant rat tail that trailed from her bottom.

“My favorite poem I read!” she exclaimed in a clear voice. “You are quite a poet. But a tad depressing. Perhaps a sarcastic ode to one of your abusers would be nice.”

Orion blinked at the woman. Her eyes looked almost red in the darkness.

“Can I help you, miss? Perhaps if we work this out I won’t even ask why you’re dressed as a giant rat.”

She gave a small squeak, “I am a rat! It’s me! Izzy.”

She did not look like anyone he knew. “Is this a silly joke of Brigid’s?”

“I am not a joke, my lord. I’ll have you note I am very sensitive. Just like you. So you best not make jokes at my expense.”

There was even that garish pink bow on her head.

“I see the beauteous queen of Denmark looks sleepy. So I put your mother to bed for you.”

“What?” Orion jumped into action, pushing past the strange woman.

He was on the ground floor and rushing to his mother’s room. The door opened easily and the image of his mother sleeping peacefully in her bed was the only thing that kept Orion from reacting violently to the strange girl on the stairs. Deanna lay with her black hair obscuring her face. The gray at the roots were hardly clear in Orion’s lamp light. He swiped the hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. The earl leaned down and kissed his sleeping mother’s forehead.

When he returned to the stairs the girl had her long nails in her own teeth, biting, shaking. “I did good?”

“Izzy?”

“Yes,” she answered, batting her eyes.

“Go back to the pet room and in the morning you will not be five feet tall. This is one of my fits…Goddamn it.” He pushed past her and stomped up the stairs.

“Why don’t you love me!” Izzy called after him.

“Because you are a figment of a deranged mind.”

He could hear swift footsteps following him. Izzy slipped in front of his path and held out her hands. “Is this about the pellets? I could not find any other place to go. I know it’s very unbecoming,” she gestured daintily and pulled at her own tail in anxiety. “Will you forgive me?”

“You are a rat. You make pellets. There is no need for apology. Now kindly let me alone.”

“But you will need me soon…” she gave a soft sigh as he walked past.

“I’m not entertaining this. Tomorrow the new medicine goes.”

“She hasn’t much time, Orion…” Izzy gave a sad noise. “Deanna…”

When Orion turned he saw that there were tears in the woman’s eyes.

“She has wished a guardian for you.”

“…How dare you speak of her so simply and…” he stopped himself. He needed to stop speaking to a figment of his imagination.

“I am your puca,” Izzy giggled.

Orion turned away. His studies in University had leaned heavily on Demonology. He needed no definition of a puca. When he turned around to see the woman again there was darkness where she had stood. A large white rat crawled over his shoe and scurried off into the hall.

“A new way to lose my mind…” he spoke to the empty hallway.

Ode to Joy-10.2: Maids Seem to Run

10. Teatime Travesty

ii.     Maids Seem to Run

Orion seated himself across from the maid and his wife. He was this once willing to hire a woman on the spot simply because he dreaded meeting a stranger’s eyes. After the fiasco with Amadeus surely the whole county was talking. Though the virtue of the maid who ran away, Bri reminded him, was fair and she would likely not gossip of her last employer’s home for this would ruin chances employment elsewhere.

Bri always showed him the practical side of things.

Another practical reason to live with her.

But Bri was aloof in the conversation, allowing Orion to interview the new woman with improvised questions.

“Of course we trust you with the baby. We would just prefer she remain in Julia’s watch most of the time. She is still so tiny. I do not even joke. Her head is about this big.” He picked up a tea cup.

That was when he saw it.

The tiny white creature crawling on the floor, standing up like a person to stare at them. Instead of screaming, Orion nudged Bri.

She gave her sudden laugh and this made the maid jump.

Orion felt his insides coil into a knot. They would not flex even as Bri’s words repeated to him in his head.

“She laughs at everything,” he told the maid.

Lately Bri and Orion had become more forthcoming to their staff, especially about Bri’s bizarre laugh.

“Oh yes. I apologize. It’s quite strange but sometimes I laugh for no reason at all, dear.”

Orion folded the napkin on the table into origami as the women spoke and the large rat ran about the room as though it were her own. Her little pink bow was her crown. He saw tiny pellets left in Isolde’s trail. Orion flicked his origami rat under Bri’s nose.

“That’s adorable, muffin. You’re very talented. Isn’t he just darling?” Bri asked the maid.

To Orion’s surprise the young woman seemed charmed. “It’s a mouse, isn’t it?”

“A rat,” Orion corrected with purpose. “We get them in these parts. The size of cats. Legend has it they can grow to be the size of a baby horse in Dartmoor.”

“Yes, Dartmoor is frightfully haunted,” the maid fueled the fire without knowing.

At last Bri’s large eyes widened and she seemed to see the rat at the door as it scurried out.

“Pardon me, dears.”

Orion watched his wife exit. She did seem rushed and so he made an excuse for her, “Probably maternal instinct.”

The maid nodded, a pleasant smile on her face.

Orion liked her. He gave her a smile back. At this moment his stomach had coiled and knotted and his heart was speeding from the earlier panic he felt but with no more purpose. The thoughts had left and yet his body was reeling from the unpleasant experience. “Well, Miss Summers. I am pleased to welcome you on board here. We like to communicate with our staff and we do prefer you to be comfortable. And…”

He felt the tension reach its peak.

“Excuse me.”

He lifted his tea cup, pinky up and lost the contents of his stomach in it. When he thought it was finished he closed his eyes. But another wave hit him and the water and tea of the day spilled into the tea cup.

Orion picked up a napkin and cleaned as best he could.

“I apologize, miss. It’s not contagious.”

He lifted the whole tray from the table. “My wife will get you a fresh tray.”

The woman’s face was frozen, unable to give a reaction.

“Make sure my mother gets put to bed on time,” Orion reminded Bri.

He was lying in bed while his wife felt his forehead.

“Teatime Sick. Orion’s own recipe. If you were feeling ill, why did you not tell me?” Bri grumbled.

“I certainly did not know I was going to vomit into my tea cup, dear.”

“You need to rest. Take your sleep aid.”

“I cannot. The new doctor told me to avoid anything that wakes me or sedates me.”

Bri blinked at her husband for a long time. “That makes no sense. Half the time the problem is you cannot rest. Without those things, what control do you have?”

“I do not know. Did you catch that horrid monster?”

“No,” Bri spoke tearfully. “Poor Izzy. She’s going to be smashed by someone’s foot or eaten by a cat. She’s a pure blood domestic. Imported from Scotland. Never been wild in her life. Little princess.”

“Princess Rat. I remember that tale. The Brothers Grimm told it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She gets eaten.”

Bri frowned and swatted at Orion with a wet rag that she set on his head. “In a few hours you should eat if you can. Settle your stomach. I will make sure Deanna is taken care of, do not worry.”

“Sometimes she hides in places they cannot find her…” Orion called to his wife as she left the room.

He lay back down in bed and looked to the opium pipe Bri had left on the nightstand. After five days of purging it felt as though he would be trashing his suffering simply to go back to the opiate. But his addiction called to him. And he had been chasing sleep off and on for the past few days. Such purging had made little difference.

And so Orion gave in to his oldest enemy and friend.