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How to Make a Mug Cake

/ amynotdorft / 3 Comments

First, you must have a craving. This doesn’t have to be specific, any unfulfilled desire will do, especially when it has had time to age. The depth of want enhances the satisfaction of (pretending to) fill it.

Next, choose a mug. It must fit in your microwave, but be tall enough so that the rising mass of batter does not escape, making an encrusted mess. Mug cakes are for loosening stubborn problems, not causing them. Your chosen vessel must be safe to use inside of microwaves but also comforting in appearance. These are high expectations for a piece of crockery, so always treat it with care and kindness. Like you, it will break under too much pressure.

And yes, a microwave is necessary. This is not a proper baked cake requiring foresight and patience. A mug cake is a reflexive solution to a lack of patience and foresight, a step stool for what you lack the strength or have not grown enough to reach, so in this instance an oven just won’t do. 

The next step is the least important: choose a recipe. It really doesn’t matter which as long as you already have the required ingredients. Although, if I were to be so bold as to make recommendations I might suggest also selecting a recipe that requires no tools but a mug and a mixing utensil, and no steps but mix and microwave. Your future self will thank you. Also avoid recipes with eggs. Please, trust me.

Follow the recipe as best you can. If it doesn’t turn out, you can probably eat it anyway and the small portion means you have little to lose. Worst case scenario, this is excellent practice. Not for baking perhaps, but for failure. 

As you eat the product of your (minimal) labour, take note of where you do and do not feel full. You might feel a twinge of guilt, but you must remember: this is not a guilty pleasure, it is just pleasure, which too many people have made you believe you don’t deserve. I’ve yet to meet a person who does not deserve sweetness, and I often wonder if the people who come closest wouldn’t benefit from it most.

You will probably not be satisfied, unless your craving was nothing but a sweet tooth (in which case I envy you.) But if you’re lucky, the carbohydrates will soften the emptiness so at least it does not echo for a little while. And if you’re really lucky, in that comfortable silence you will hear it whisper. If you listen, who knows what you’ll learn.

This Weird Moment

/ amynotdorft / 4 Comments

It’s been a minute. Or three or four. Where (when?) the hell are we right now?

Over a year ago, Meta decided that I was under the age of 13 (despite being in my 30’s and having had a Facebook for longer than 13 years) and disabled my Instagram and Facebook accounts. I was given no ability to argue my point aside from sending Meta a photograph of my identification, which… no thanks.

To be honest, I was already on the verge of deleting my social media anyway; I’m fairly certain the algorithm was already deprioritizing my posts for inscrutable reasons (even friends and family were struggling to find them), I was sick of the AI scraping, and the environment was just atrocious for my mental health. I hesitated for a long time because, although it fed my insecurities and devoured hours of my time, I had social connections there. Most of my friends and family only keep in touch via Facebook, and I was connected to a supportive community of poets on Instagram. I liked making and sharing poetry and art there.

When Meta did the difficult part for me, I decided to view it as an opportunity to leave the whole thing behind. In some ways it has been isolating, but it has also been freeing, allowing me to re-contextualize myself as the agent of my own life rather than its performer.

Since then, I haven’t done a lot of writing. I won’t lie, letting go of the poetry account with years-worth of poetry and connections, has been demotivating. I did have an honourable mention in a local poetry contest, and I’ve had other quiet successes not related to social media, but it still smarts watching something you built get taken away with no real recourse (by a company that probably also scraped it for AI training to replace you).

I have a bad habit of relying on extrinsic motivation to drive my efforts. Years ago, I wrote 53 Ganymede as a serial so I’d have an obligation to finish the next episode. Social media fed into that desire for external validation, so much so that I did try to make a Bluesky account recently (which I deleted two days later because, in my opinion, it isn’t substantially different than any of the other platforms — there’s more pet pictures and art, but it’s still way too easy to doomscroll and ultimately still encourages divisive, attention-seeking behaviour.)

So what now? What’s this post all about?

I don’t know. This is a weird moment, I wish we all acknowledged that more. Technological products and services are being developed at a pace no one’s ever seen before. All of us alive right now have been through so much change, so quickly, that there’s no way our brains, our behaviours, our understanding can keep up. We’re all children in this moment, barely-literate in one of our primary mediums of communication and community.

As a writer, my head is spinning. I want to create, I want to connect, I want to share, I want to just be. I don’t want to market myself. I refuse to be a product, even though I know that right now, it’s impossible not to be. Even here, even this little space I think of as mine, I’m providing “value” for some company. I know it’s all being fed into the insatiable algorithms and LLMs, it’s providing ad revenue and clicks and attention.

So I’m just going to make stuff. And sometimes I’m going to share that stuff or give it away. Sometimes, if I have to, maybe I’ll sell it. And I’m going to make mistakes and course-correct, and live within all the parts of my mostly-unobserved life, especially if they don’t generate a fucking cent of value.

And sometimes I’m going to come back here and shout into the void. Because I want to believe someone’s listening maybe, or maybe because I’m arrogant enough to think I have something worth listening to, but mostly because… for better or for worse, haunting this vast, intangible space from the remote barriers of our screens is a part of life now, and I want to believe it’s not all bad.

How I Fell In Love With Reading Again

/ amynotdorft / Leave a comment

Six tips for reading more of what you love!

First of all, I’d like to begin with what this post does not intend to do:

  • Make you feel like you *should* be reading more. As long as you are content with the amount you’re reading, then that’s what is important. 
  • Chide you about how effectively you use your time or energy. The reality is that sometimes we go through seasons of our life where we just don’t have the resources for hobbies like regular reading. The only person who can judge that is you. 
  • Tell you what you should or shouldn’t be reading

The absolute last thing I want to do is make anyone feel ashamed or guilty about their reading habits. There are no “shoulds” here, and in fact I’ve personally found they are the absolute nemesis of pleasurable activities like reading. (I discuss this in greater depth below.)

What this post DOES intend to do is share tips and techniques that have helped me to overcome the motivational and organizational hurdles that keep me from doing something I love on a regular basis. 

I have always loved to read, but for most of my adult years I have found myself disappointed in how little time I make for it. And yet, every time I would determine to read more, I’d struggle to maintain my momentum after finishing one or two books. Sure, I had a massive TBR pile… but rather than excite or encourage me, I found it daunting. Like living in the shadow of a mountain I knew I was supposed to be climbing.

So here’s how I surmounted it.

1.) I threw out the mountain (AKA most of my library)

Photo by Robert Anasch on Unsplash

Okay, okay, I know you’re panicking but hear me out. I used to have a bookshelf with over 300 books. And you know what? Most of them were there because I thought they “should” be there. (There’s that nasty word again.) They were books I’d purchased on a whim years ago and had never gotten around to, they were titles from those “100 Books You Have to Read Before You Die” lists, they were pretentious volumes I thought made me look clever. And every time I looked at them, do you know what I felt?

Guilt. Pressure. Shame.

Whenever I felt like reading, I’d look at that shelf, see everything I “should” have been reading but didn’t actually want to read, and end up turning away empty-handed. 

Eventually I Mari Kondo-ed my entire apartment and realized that almost none of the books on my shelf sparked joy. Mostly they just sparked anxiety and dread. So I donated them. Not all of them, of course, but everything I wasn’t looking forward to reading in the near future, and everything I knew I had no intention of re-reading (or that didn’t at least bring a smile to my face when I recalled reading it).

If you go this route, you can donate the books to charity, pop them into a Little Free Library, give them to friends who want them, or bring them to second-hand book shops for credit to buy books you actually do want to read in the near future. And, if you feel daunted about the whole thing, just remember that if you later find yourself wanting to read something you gave away, chances are you value it enough to borrow or purchase it again. But personally, out of the 200+ books I donated… I think I’ve repurchased two or three? And mostly on the cheap from used shops.

And yes, I know, not everyone has a literal shelf buckling under the weight of everything they’re supposed to be reading, but there’s a good chance there’s one in your head that could use a little decluttering.

2.) I started giving up regularly.

Photo by Anastasia Zhenina on Unsplash

Oh wow, you’re thinking, is this possibly the worst advice list in the history of the universe? But again, bear with me.

How many times have you started a book only to find that it really wasn’t working for you? Did you muscle on through? Did you set it aside and try not to look at it? Because that’s what I did. And you know what, all that time I wasted slogging through things I didn’t want to read, or avoiding reading because that unfinished book was hanging over my head, could have been spent immersing myself in stories that brought me joy.

So now, if a book isn’t working for me, I drop it. I give it a chance (sometimes you just have to commit to a few chapters before a story really grabs you), but if I still find myself procrastinating or trying to rush through to the end so I can get to something else, I cut my losses. 

Joseph Fink, co-creator of Welcome to Night Vale, said something on the podcast Start With This once that has really stuck with me. I’m paraphrasing here, but he said that often it isn’t about whether or not we like a book. Sometimes that book just finds us at the wrong time in our lives. Don’t feel bad when a book doesn’t work for you, and you can always revisit it again at a later time. Or sometimes, it’s about accepting that the time for it has passed.

Now, I know sometimes you have to muscle through something because of work or school. Or sometimes you want to because you feel like the book is important in some way. Maybe you think it will impart some wisdom you really need, or help you to better understand a different perspective, or because it’s part of a book club you love to go to, etc. In these circumstances, what has helped me has been to take it easy on myself. To take breaks and read something light and enjoyable in between. The more I choose to focus on what I love, the easier I have found it to tackle the titles I feel I have a genuine obligation to read.

Which brings me to:

3.) I started choosing books I wanted to read.

Photo by Choi sungwoo on Unsplash

Once all the “shoulds” were gone, what I was left with were titles I genuinely felt a desire to read. This doesn’t have to be a single genre, personally I love a bit of everything, but it shouldn’t exclude genres either. There are plenty of articles about why YA is inferior, and you’ve probably had teachers who told you that magazines or comics don’t count, there’s always someone with something to say about e-books and audiobooks. But reading is reading is reading is reading. Whatever stories or genres or forms engage and compel you, that’s all that matters.

If you spend your time forcing yourself to read the most popular book of the summer, just because you feel like you’re supposed to like it, or you try to slog through some high-art classic because that’s what “smart” people do, you’ll just find yourself resenting something you actually wanted to enjoy.

Of course, I encourage everyone to diversify and try something new. I’ve discovered some of my favourite titles in genres I used to think were boring. Luckily, if you give something a shot and it just isn’t working for you, like I said in #2, you can move on to something that does. There’s a good chance there’s a book with a similar story or topic that’s written in a way that better suits your personal tastes and reading style.

For example, my daughter absolutely loves graphic novels while she’s still pretty cold about regular grade-school novels. We have graphic novels about science, we have graphic novels with gender diverse characters, we have graphic novels about immigration, and friendship, ones that talk about difficult emotions, and are also just good fun. And most importantly, she actually wants to read them!

4. I started buying fewer books.

Photo by Susan Q Yin on Unsplash

Look, these past two years I’ve read a lot of books. There is just no way I’d be able to maintain my hobby at this rate if I was buying every single book I read. Not to mention that it can be hard to call it quits on a book that you paid good money for. And so we come to my absolute favourite item from this list: I use my public library.

My TBR list is a couple of pages in my bullet journal (you can also use an app like Goodreads or Pinterest) that I build up from articles online, or from recommendations from friends, crossing things out as I read them or lose interest. When I’m in need of a new book, I refer to this list, go to my library’s website, and put a couple of titles on hold. I have to be careful to pay special attention to new or popular titles which can take a long time to come in and have to be ordered in advance, but otherwise most of my books are available for pickup within two or three days.

If you like the experience of physically perusing a bookstore, then spend a day wandering the shelves. You can also ask the librarians for help finding something that suits your tastes.

Outside of the odd special occasion, these are the only conditions in which I will actually buy a new book for myself:

  • if I read a book at the library and it leaves a huge impact on me
  • if it’s the next book in a series I know I love
  • if I’m pre-ordering a book from a trusted author
  • if I don’t have time to finish a book at the library before I have to return it, but I have a lot of confidence that it’s something I want on my shelf

Now, I am exceptionally fortunate to have a library close by with a large selection of titles, no late fees, an easy-to-use hold system, and a reasonable borrowing window. If for some reason you can’t access a library physically, many libraries now do e-book lending. If yours doesn’t, or it just doesn’t work for you for whatever reason, many cities now have book swapping groups. There’s also used bookstores where you can trade in old books you’re done with and get credit for new purchases.

Again, the same thing isn’t going to work for everyone, and it’s okay to acknowledge that cost can be prohibitive. That’s why I’m such an avid supporter of libraries, but also recognize that not everyone has access to them. Do what works for you, and if you have to put your hobby on hold for financial reasons, that’s okay. It’s a reflection on our society, not your love of reading.

5.) I learned to hack my dopamine.

Photo by Glenn Carstens-Peters on Unsplash

Look, I’m a mom. Almost every task I finish in a day is completely undone by the time I go to bed. Some days, it’s hard to feel like I’ve accomplished anything. I appreciate having something in my life that I can check off, or easily measure how much progress I’ve made.

That’s why I started tracking every book I read. Personally, I love hand-written lists. I don’t make them pretty, just a couple rough pages in my bullet journal. (I find if I start expecting my journal to look pretty I start avoiding it, so it’s pure practicality for me). I love being able to look back and remember everything I’ve read this year (while reserving my bookshelf for favourites.)

I include everything: novels, manga, novellas, poetry collections, etc. Nothing is too short or “easy” for the list. I have considered including how many pages I’ve read, but I don’t want to value heavy reads over light ones. The point is to keep going, keep travelling from world to world, not to judge how many steps I took along the way.

I’m personally very motivated by the idea of adding new titles to my list, especially ones I’ve really connected with. Sometimes I’ll put little hearts beside those. Sometimes not. 

You can also implement a social element to this if you like talking about books. For a while I posted each book I read to Facebook, which sometimes led to conversations about certain authors or genres. It also comes up in my memories so I can see what I was reading last year. But of course, this can take a turn for the worst if it starts veering into performance with all the baggage that comes along with expecting other people to validate our accomplishments. Which is why I stopped using Facebook and exclusively use my journal these days.

I haven’t logged into Goodreads in a long time, but it can also be a nice tool to visually track what you’ve read or are currently reading. If there are other apps or techniques you’ve used, feel free to share them in the comments!

6.) I tried to make reading the easy choice.

Photo by Holly Stratton on Unsplash

This is a little technique I picked up from therapy to help me overcome the motivational hump I experience when I try to do pleasurable things while depressed. Once I’ve been reading a good book for five minutes or so, I have trouble stopping. The hardest part is deciding to pick it up in the first place. This is where behavioural activation comes in handy.

Basically you set yourself a clear little goal. I started with: read for fifteen minutes before bed. 

Now, create a set-up that will make attaining this goal as easy as possible. Use small, approachable steps. This might include setting an alarm for fifteen minutes before you usually go to bed as a reminder, selecting a book you have a high chance of actually enjoying, and setting it on your bedside table (or on your pillow). 

This way, when the time comes around, you’ll be much more likely to follow through (even if you don’t feel like it at first). And if for some reason you don’t, you’re a step closer to doing it next time. Once you do this a few times (and as you get more invested in what you’re reading), it gets easier and easier to do, until you find yourself actually wanting to do it.

Eventually, you’ll fall off the horse and maybe go weeks or even months without reading. Life gets hectic. The kids throw off your whole routine. You get sick. That’s okay! Reset your alarm. Set out a new book. Start all over again. Rest assured, it’s a normal part of the process. I don’t think anyone ever maintains a habit without having to rebuild it from time to time.

And again, no pressure. You decide what goals you want to set. If reading isn’t one of them right now, that’s alright too.

The other way I try to make reading an “easy choice,” is by continuing to make sure I always have a book on hand during those moments when I might have time to read it. The way I do this is by paying attention to the times and places I tend to scroll on my phone. (Nothing against scrolling on phones, but I personally find myself doing it without having actively decided to.)

For example: when I’m waiting for appointments, break times, when I’m on the bus, in the bathroom (be honest!), while I’m cooking, etc.

I try to keep my book in my backpack if I know I might have to wait for an appointment, or I keep it on the kitchen counter (in a safe spot away from spills and splatters) while I’m cooking, or I take it instead of my phone when I go to the bathroom. I don’t always choose to read it, sometimes I choose my phone instead, or sometimes I choose to do nothing at all (an underrated choice in my opinion), but at least it’s always an option. And again, nothing against technology, but when possible I try to leave my phone out of sight so I’m not tempted to play with it mindlessly, something that often leaves me feeling distracted and unsatisfied.

Ten minutes here and there can make a big difference in building a habit, and once I’m invested in a book it’s amazing how much extra reading time suddenly materializes.

Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash

And that’s more or less it.

These are techniques that work for me, and I hope that some other people might find them useful if they’re struggling to make reading a regular part of their lives (despite wanting to). I’m not sharing here how much I read in a year because it’s not about comparison. For one person, three books a year will leave them feeling satisfied while someone else might feel like thirty isn’t enough. We each read at our own pace in our own way, and we all have various elements of our lives that compete for our attention: work, children, other hobbies and goals. Decide for yourself what is comfortable for you and don’t worry about anything else. 

Remember, “shoulds” are the quickest way to turn a passion into a chore.

Thanks so much for reading, and feel free to share your own tips, or let me know what you’ve been reading/ what you’re looking forward to reading in the comments! For me, I’ve been reading a lot of non-fiction science books lately (I particularly enjoyed Bitch by Lucy Cooke), but I’m really looking forward to reading T.J. Klune’s latest: In the Lives of Puppets.

I might make some recommendation lists soon (I find other people’s useful for building up my TBR lists so I’m never out of titles I want to read). Let me know if there’s anything in particular you’d like to see!

(Header photo by Annelies Geneyn on Unsplash)

it’s my party and I’ll cry whether I want to or not

/ amynotdorft / Leave a comment 
33 twirls around the cosmic ballroom
and still I don't know how to dance
feet constantly tripping 
dress ragged and ripping 
each spin stripping me down
to newborn nakedness
and still the tempo increases
frantic intervals of familiar scenery 
like a word repeated to nonsense
I will never understand how loss
can weigh more than gain
but my muscles' tired complaints
assure me that this is true
so let me lay my head down
on your shoulder while I can
and maybe this time around
we can close our ears to the world
let our heartbeats set the measure
and dance something new

bad habits

/ amynotdorft / Leave a comment 
I started picking at the lock again
the one I know I'm not supposed to pick
the one I try to forget exists
until I find my fingers bloody 
victims of the tic 
                         tick
                         tick
                         tick
just need to hear the mechanism click
but the keyhole always shifts
one moment a beckoning silhouette
of an evening off from the kids
flickers into likes and follows
blink and it's parental approval
followed by a dick
and then just as quick
we're back to stranger's clicks
and maybe a sugar fix
or the eyes of the friend I haven't
seen in years but I keep dreaming 
thinks of me and oops we're back
to dicks and now skinny thighs
but nothing fits 
and yes I've tried the trick
with the credit card
and one with knives
and I'm afraid to go down that road
again and so I'll carve myself a key
of words
and I know it will not work but
at least the whittling keeps my fingers
from picking what can't be picked

@amnotpoetry

pyrolysis

/ amynotdorft / Leave a comment 
we do not birth stones
all things born
must bend
like stubborn weeds
through concrete
young sapling hearts
pliable and tender
dancing bending bowing
fragile and resilient
but charcoal
was once a tree
whose dancing
was burned away
we must not forget
that hardened hearts
are manufactured
that the flames
they spread
started not with them
nor will they be their
end
but charcoal
when not alight
can also soften
into an artist's pen
there is no hardness
stronger than our
ability to bend

Antidote

/ amynotdorft / Leave a comment 
Once more the venomous refrain
comes to plague my weary brain:

I am nothing.
I am nothing.
I am nothing.

But I have found within each poison note
lies concealed the antidote:

I am 
I am
I am

So if upon your ears alight
her onerous whispers in the night:

You are nothing.
You are nothing.
You are nothing.

Find the truth within the lie
and perchance upon your lullaby:

You are 
You are
You are

@amnotpoetry

You can also find my poetry on Instagram:

https://www.instagram.com/p/Camox1fO7tN/

A Random List of Confessions

/ amynotdorft / Leave a comment

A random list of confessions:

-I read books out loud when I’m alone. And by read, I mean “act out emphatically.”

-Sometimes I tell my kids “no” when they ask for a cookie, and then eat one when they aren’t looking. It’s kind of a power trip.

-I struggle to read fiction about violence lately. And cheating. And prejudice. And death. 

-I struggle to read or watch anything lately.

-In grade 9 I had a crush on my stage manager. Until now, I’ve only ever told one person about her.

-I think superheroes are the problem, not the solution.

-I’m pretty sure you don’t like me. You think I’m an annoying flake. Not you as in anyone specific, just specifically you. 

-I think you’re right.

-I’m still sore about not beating my ex-boyfriend at Mortal Kombat after he assumed I hadn’t seen the movies because I’m a girl. “You wouldn’t get it,” he said.

-I didn’t read most of the books in university and still managed a decent grade. Most of the books were about war and rape.

-I’m very sensitive. Half of me thinks that makes me a better person, half thinks I’m just weak.

-I think you think I’m weak.

-I know you think I’m a disappointment because I decided to graduate without my honours. “A waste of potential.”

-I think it was the right decision.

-I want to succeed as a writer so you think it was the right decision.

-I think it was the right decision.

-I don’t trust my own opinion on anything.

-In grade 3, I brought a snow globe I loved for show and tell. I put it in my pocket and it broke during recess. On the bus home everyone thought I peed myself and laughed, but I refused to tell them the truth because I was so ashamed.

-I talk about myself so much not because I’m full of myself, but because I’m so empty and I think your validation will fill me. Probably there’s a hole somewhere I should fix.

-I’m not sure if this is a poem about me or you.

-I’m not sure this is a poem.

-I think raisin cookies are better than chocolate chip ones.

VII: Confessions

/ amynotdorft / 2 Comments

Content warning: descriptions of murder and violence against a child, children in peril

When they reached the Governor’s manse, Genevieve considered it skeptically. The smell of smoke still billowed around it and much of the eastern-most wing had been entirely consumed by the blaze. Roofs caved inward and broken windows were patched with rotting boards.

“Are you certain the entire thing won’t just cave in on us?” Darnell asked, his chin also lifted to survey the dilapidated wreck that had likely once been palatial in its enormity.

“Maybe that’s his plan,” Genevieve replied. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, a significantly smaller model than her usual and uncomfortable for any length of time. In truth, she hated the thing – its experimental metalwork frame constantly jabbing through the thin cushions beneath her bottom and behind her back, constantly threatening to tip over from the slightest turn or jolt – but it was a necessary evil. Even Darnell could never heft her other chair over so many steps – Genevieve counted sixteen just to the doorway – and it did have a nasty habit of getting stuck in doorways and causing property damage with its bulk. Considering the destruction, Genevieve worried the floorboards might no longer support her usual chair’s exceptional weight.

As it was, Darnell lifted the light frame with ease and Genevieve grasped its metal arm rests to maintain her balance as they ascended the stairs. The heft of the revolvers, tucked into the secret folds of her dress, gave Genevieve confidence, though she did miss the reassuring presence of her whip. Darnell set her down before the soot-stained double doors where she wheeled forward and rapped several times.

To both of their surprise it was a young woman who answered the door – familiar to Genevieve though it took her a full minute to place her as the mother she had met upon her arrival. The woman’s face was pale and drenched in sweat, and her hand was clenched at her skirt.

“Insurance?” Genevieve asked Darnell, and he nodded in turn. “Bastard.”

“M-my master is waiting in the Great Hall, Mademoiselle. This way,” she indicated with a trembling hand before turning down a passage to their right.

“Has he given you anything to eat?” Genevieve asked, and the woman shook her head.

“My daughter,” the woman whispered, “the eldest.”

“Is she here?” Darnell asked.

The woman nodded. “They all are. But she’s… if she changes…”

Genevieve stopped and slipped a hand into the folds of her skirts to retrieve the smaller of her revolvers. She opened the barrel and carefully removed three capsules, handing them to Darnell. He looked down at her hand but made no move to take them.

“We’ll find them together, after we deal with L’Amie.”

“There may not be time for that,” Genevieve thrust her hand forward again, “You can come for me after.”

Darnell still hesitated. “What if you don’t have enough?”

“Then three more would never have made the difference. Take them. Please.”

Darnell’s shoulders fell with a sigh, but he took the capsules nonetheless. The woman watched this exchange with red-rimmed eyes but said nothing, only leading them on once more when they were finished.

“In here.” She bowed and opened the door onto a long room that was likely once very grand but now showed the signs of neglect and disuse. A grand fireplace lined the left wall, a layer of dust and soot like dirty snow across the mantle, and a cavernous darkness where once a bright fire might have burned. The air was cold and musty, and there was little light save what was provided by the handful of candles gracing a once-elegant table that stretched from one end of the room to the other. The candles and a few small plates of food were all crowded at the far end in front of a solitary figure.

He rose when they entered, bowing his head. Governor L’Amie was not a tall man, and side-by-side he might have only come up to Darnell’s shoulder. He was what they called barrel-chested, the white of his pressed shirt threatening to burst free of his snugly tailored black jacket, and yet this still did not account for the immensity of his presence for, though he was one small man in an abandoned room, Genevieve had the impression that he was staring down at her, his face mere inches from her own. She shook her head and steadied herself for his introductions.

“Welcome Mademoiselle Gregoire. Monsieur Furst,” he motioned toward the table, “Everything has been prepared for us. If you would be so kind as to join me, I would be honoured by your presence. There is much we wish to discuss with one another, I’m sure.”

Like a woman’s costume jewels, Governor L’Amie’s hospitality was gaudy and put-on; Genevieve had no intention of participating in such a rouse.

“I’m afraid my assistant will not be joining us. He will be leaving with this woman and her children. I assume that won’t be a problem, Monsieur?”

A smile flickered across the Governor’s face before he forced it into a look of disappointment as unconvincing as his tone, “If he must. I suppose I will have to resign myself to enjoying your company in private, Mademoiselle.”

“So it seems,” she said in reply, turning to give Darnell a stern look until he finally nodded and backed out of the room to follow the woman to whatever place the monster had locked up her children.

Genevieve returned her attention to the Governor and to the empty space at his right hand where a chair had been removed to make room for her. Her right hand itched beneath its silk glove, ready to release the wheel of her chair and seize her revolver at any sudden movement.

Thankfully the Governor did nothing more than sit, pour her a glass of red wine, and serve some roast and boiled potatoes onto a dainty little plate. Genevieve smiled to see him pour himself his own glass as well.

“You really intend to dine with me tonight?” She prompted, moving her food around with a tarnished silver fork, “I rather thought you might be more inclined to gobble me up instead.”

Governor L’Amie took a sip of his wine and grinned. “I considered it. But I thought I might have you answer some questions first. Though I thought you might be inclined to sick your pet on me the moment you arrived.”

“It crossed my mind,” she admitted, taking a bite of the roast on her plate and rolling it around in her mouth. It was dry, and it had a familiar bitter flavour she recalled from childhood. “But to be honest, I have some questions for you too.”

“Oh?” he inquired, eating a morsel from his own plate.

“Mm,” she said, taking a small sip of wine. Too much and it might make her ill.

“Well, we shall take turns then, shall we? Ladies first?”

“Twenty-three years ago a Hunter came through here, following his quarry. He never returned to the College. What happened to him?” She knew the answer already, but it would be a good way to gauge his honesty.

“I had him hung for assault and robbery.” His grey eyes – a shade darker than Genevieve’s own, crinkled with their own private humour.

“And was he guilty?”

“Of course not. I tortured him until he told me all about these creatures you call Beasts and how such a condition spreads. It wouldn’t have been… strategic to let him return to the College.” The humour spread to his lips now, the deep wrinkles there creasing at the effort.

“Of course not.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” he asked, running a hand over his stubbled chin, cleft like Genevieve’s own, though the skin there was several shades lighter.

“Strength. Influence. Perhaps health. You are hardly the first to have taken on the change by choice.” Genevieve shrugged, watching him pour himself another glass of wine and topping off her own. She took another sip for good measure. “It’s your turn to ask a question.”

“I didn’t know the College allowed Beasts among its ranks. Are companions like yours common?”

“Not at all. Darnell’s mother forced him to undergo the change as a child to cure an illness which should have taken his life years ago. He volunteered with the College on the condition that we aid him to maintain better control over his transformations. Our research has yielded a formula which inhibits the change to a certain degree, though it renders the process much more exhausting to him than to typical Beasts.” Genevieve smiled into her wine at the widening of the Governor’s eyes upon hearing this. Good, she thought, he’s been too busy to pay enough attention to us. He has no idea what we’re capable of.

“I thought the College’s policy would be to kill him on the spot,” he admitted.

“That would hardly be humane. Besides, what use is he to us dead?”

“Ah,” the Governor said, “Very shrewd. Your turn.”

“How long do you really think you can maintain your control here? Your kingdom is falling apart,” Genevieve reached out an arm to indicate the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, and the broken arm of the chair next to her.

“As long as I want to,” he spit, taking another sip of wine to cover up his irritation. Genevieve would have to tread carefully. “My turn. Tell me a little about yourself, Mademoiselle. How did one such as you end up with the College? And a Hunter at that? Were your legs injured by a Beast?”

Idiot, she thought. “There’s nothing wrong with my legs, Monsieur, but I’m afraid I was dropped as a child and my spine was injured in the fall. My mother is an important doctor within the College, so I came to it naturally you might say.”

“Naturally,” he repeated, his eyes devouring her from head to toe. He smirked.

“My turn,” she said, feeling that his patience was drawing to a close. “What was the name of the woman who you threw from the cliffs behind this mansion twenty-seven years ago?”

His heavy dark brows hung over his eyes like storm clouds. “What was that?”

“Oh, perhaps you had someone do it for you? That is your usual method, isn’t it? And you would have been a simple human back in those days, isn’t that right?” Genevieve felt the anger rising within her, the ghost of an ache shooting through the long abandoned nerves of her legs.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, laughing as if she had just told the most outrageous of jokes.

“A prostitute. She had a baby. You threw them from the cliffs.”

“Ah. Yes. I do recall the incident though not the name. If I recall the baby had no name, and she had returned to have me bless it with one. As if I had any intention of breeding some bastard child with a creature like that.” He eyed her suspiciously now, a mischievous smile playing around his lips at the sight of her clenched jaw and fist. “What do you care? It had nothing to do with the College.”

“She was my mother.”

<— Back to VI: What Must Be Done

VIII: Retribution —>

Return to The Beast of Ste Ygrette

Tomorrow

/ amynotdorft / Leave a comment

My every day is balanced
on the knife point
of panic.
Tonight I lost my voice,
my words refusing to file
neatly in line,
rushing so quickly
that they caught in my throat,
my breath trampled beneath them.
My husband found me
on the floor
drowning in a scream
so vast that it left me
silent.

I am not okay.

Life is a trap:
just when I think
I’ve got the knack
of shrinking myself
a little bit smaller,
the walls close in
a little bit tighter.
And maybe the daylight
will make things look
a little bit brighter,
a little bit wider,
but I am not ready
to surrender today
to get to tomorrow.

So I guess this is me
tearing up my white flag,
claiming victory
with the words that sought
to suffocate me:
I am not okay.
I am tired.
I am angry.
I am grieving.
I am afraid of tomorrow.

But tomorrow will come.
I think I am ready now.