Ultana hadn’t expected Erinea– her Erinea, to come forward
and outright say that one of her teachers wanted a conference.
If anything, Ultana would’ve expected a call. She knew Erinea
misbehaved at school– but she had to admit, she was a little
worried about the reason that this teacher was calling her in.

It was a rainy late-afternoon. She’d made the appointment earlier
that week, made sure to let Hugh know where she’d be, and now
she was walking down the halls of Erinea’s school to the classroom.

A breath, and she poked her head through the open door. Her eyes
landed on the woman bent over her desk– no doubt grading papers.
There was an explosion of blonde curls, sharp green eyes– and a
nose that looked uncannily like her own. Well, this was a surprise.
God forbid Hugh ever lay eyes on her. He’d probably want to jump
into bed with her the moment they met.

Focus. Ultana cleared her throat and knocked on the doorframe.

“Professor Song?”


Tubby little thing that woke me up. Happy anxious peeping, and he woke me up, and I found my palms pressed flatflat against the wall.  So perhaps I need to move the bed or move where I sleep entirely.  

If you know of a place I can do sleeping, then do please let me know and I will probably be there one day soon when you have forgotten that you told me about it.  Try not to be alarmed and stave my head in.  I am mostly gentle and will sleep until you sleep, when I will loom about you and taste the air around your limbs and parts.

How about it?

deathdrinkingcoffie asked you:  oh oh you little worry, where are you now? i see the glass of your window but not the little thing behind it. Maybe you grew older, with your birds in summer

Oh yes, endlessly older, all rot and ruin. Sometimes it is difficult to remember how to do the propers, walking and choosing and paying and doing. The reals, and knowing how one looks while one does them. Much much easier to get lost in things and things and thighs and wrings. So we do.

Anonymous asked you:  I love you.

Little greyface. It is nice that you are here, and all blink and beatbeating heart. There is a tiny wooden bridge near my house, barely necessary, but I am always sure to need it all and I try to peer down between the wood and the water to see if you are there. And there is that cat black cat that comes wandering over each time, coming from somewhere someone, with a thing to tell but I cannot figure the creak and mew of it. It comes from meetings with you, I think. And the tree that spitspits and the bird that follows me home and makes the sounds of alllll the birds it can. Perhaps you know them perhaps you taught them. I will find the noises of this bird and put them here so you can tell me if you recognise her chatters. We will know it, you and I.