7.26.20

The astrologer penned notes on the chart, relaxing in their throne. The room was scattered with little treasures; gifts from the grateful. The astrologer handed the chart back to their client. “You are here, because your Queen does not like me.” The agent smirked. “Is that in my chart?” “You don’t look like my clients.” “Gullible?” “Hopeful.” “You’re a fraud.” The astrologer smiled. “I tell people they are loved and worth loving. Your Queen says they should be frightened and subservient. Which do you believe?” “What’s in my chart?” “Only that after what comes next, I will still love you.”

4.23.20

Branwen, Queen of Spring, emerged from her blossom, fresh and renewed. She was the joy and light of the city. She was every park, every beach, every flower on every window sill. Her wings unfolded, glittering brightly. She prepared herself for the joy she would bring, as she would dance from person to person, bringing love and rainbows and…

Eyes glared down at her. Deep, Dark, and Pitiless. The Mayor frowned at Branwen.

“NOT THIS TIME, YOUNG LADY. GET INDOORS -RIGHT- NOW.”

Branwen, Queen of Spring, clutched her chest breathing rapidly as she hid in the birdhouse by Lincoln Park.

4.19.20

“Soak the herbs with vinegar.  Add dried roses for a pleasant scent.”

She worked on the series of leather masks, the pointed raven beaks filled to the brim. She looked at her elder sisters, all timeless in appearance.

“I don’t get it. We’re immortal. Why are we doing this?”

Each of the women looked at each other, sipping from bags of O positive.

“Since the 14^th century, we’ve discovered that immortality also applies to viruses. We live, it lives in us. Don’t want to poison the stock.”

“The masks? They’re not N95…”

“You haven’t smelled plague with a vampire’s nose.”