Porcelain Memoirs

Porcelain Memoirs
by Oni

Story Notes

Title: Porcelain Memoirs
Date Posted: November 2004

Author: Oni
Contact: cutegal_missy@yahoo.com

Summary: A look at our favorite hara from an unusual point of view in Forever. I have tried to keep this not an AU, but I’m not sure how well I succeeded, so it might be kinda AU ish in spots. As to the point of view, read and see! Just don’t get too close. ^.~

Disclaimer: Wraeththu and all concepts, characters, etc, all belong to the wonderful Storm Constantine, who generously allows the fans to play in her world. Also, I’m making no money off of this and I don’t own anything, not even the Tigron’s silver and gold inlaid toilet paper holder.

Spoilers: I’ve also tried to keep this to a minimum, but there are some slight spoilers for all of the Wraeththu books, from Enchantments all the way through to Shades.

Porcelain Memoirs

I have suffered much abuse in my existence; I’ve been thrown up upon, pissed upon, and shitted upon. But such is my lot in life, and a miserable, thankless existence it has been. Never even one courtesy flush!

There are few lots in life worse than that of a toilet, and, having been around for years, my friend, I can tell you all the soiled details many a human, har, cat and dog would prefer to stay permanently buried in my bowels.

I’m not as old as the stars or the moon; I was crafted towards the end of the reign of my creators – men, I believe they’re called. I was a grand thing in my younger days, shiny, freshly glazed white porcelain. Back then, humans sat upon me, then their children, and their children’s children, and the dogs – always the most courteous of all my users – drank out of my bowl while the young ones flushed toothbrushes, watches, and toys down me. One even tried to flush a cat once. I’ve been the eternal resting place of many a goldfish…

Then came the silence, and the whole huge house stilled, held its breath and aged gracefully. They they came. My rusted pipes were repaired, my glory restored, and I was sat upon once more. Never let anyhar tell you that they are better, far superior, to humans! What comes out is still the same, even though they like to believe it smells like roses.

Yes, many a har has sat upon me, and dogs drink out of me. One of the worst offenders was the new master of the house after the period of silence. Terzian’s life revolved around thinking and strategy, and many a plan had been hatched whilst sitting upon me. He used me one day, when he was all dressed in leather with weapons, and has never sat upon me again. Although an incredibly feeble, broken and wasted har visited me a few times, with assistance, before his death. That har felt just like Terzian, only a lot bonier, and he had the same posture, but surely they couldn’t be the same har. But, oh, how I shudder at the memories of that poor aim!

Another unpleasant period was when the thin, light one, Cobweb, who once removed some fresh water from the back of my tanks and mixed it with some other things in a small, blue vial, became heavy with child. He was never as heavy as a human female, nor for as long – unless I’ve grown rusty and merely forgotten the human gestation period – but he visited with me often during that time, sometimes shitting, occasionally sharing the contents of his stomach.

Then things returned to normal for a while, and soon little Swift was being trained to use me like the adults. This process, like his hostling’s hosting time, was nowhere near as long or as messy as humans, and Swift was a neat little creature indeed. His dog, Limba, was another matter entirely. The poor house har who cleans the bathroom knew well the dog’s slobbery calling card.

For a while, I had to endure the chaos of Gahrazel, who often clung to me in a drunken stupor after many a time of sneaking out to party. Then one day he went away, like Terzian, but he never came back.

Then, there was the har Calanthe, whom I got to know intimately well during his time of mental illness, and who carried Terzian’s second child. That time was much worse than when Cobweb had carried Swift. Tyson himself is no better than his hostling. Swift was a good little harling, and Tyson was his opposite. I’ve never had such a wide variety of things flushed down me. To this day, tiahaar Seel’s toothbrush often takes a swim.

Speaking of Swift’s mate, a more meticulous har I’ve yet had the misfortune to be used by. I swear to the great dehar of toilets everywhere that he counts the squares before ripping the paper! His hosting was no picnic, either!

And of Forever’s high-ranking visitors from the most glamorous tribe of all? Pah! They’re the same as everyhar else. Pristine Pellaz isn’t as pure and sweet-smelling as he’d have everyhar believe. By the sacred waters of the Holy Latrine, I hope he’s never with pearl! I pity the poor toilet he’ll use. And it’ll be me, I just know it.

It’s bad enough the messes of Azriel and his chesnari, Aleeme. They used to be such neat young hara! Seel always has been too strict with poor little Azriel, even when he was a baby potty training. And sweet Aleeme was always as nice as his hostling.

But now something terrible has happened to them. They were sick for a long, long time, and still are. Oh, the messes they make, even with somehar there to help them! How hard, really, is it to aim? Is a little consideration too much to ask?

Now that you’ve heard my plight, tiahaar, prove that you truly are better than the humans! Remember: Aim! Put the lid down! Flush after every use! Keep little harlings well away! And make sure your slobbery dogs have a bib when drinking!

The End

Midnight Sorrow

Midnight Sorrow
by Oni

Story Notes

Title: Midnight Sorrow
Date Posted: November 2004

Author: Oni
Contact: cutegal_missy@yahoo.com

Summary: A very short glimpse into the tortured heart of Vaysh. AU-ish.~

Disclaimer: Wraeththu and all characters, etc, associated with it belong to the wonderful Storm Constantine. I’m making no money off of this, and I don’t own anything, not even the pair of moldy, stinky socks Cal planted under Thiede’s bed.

Spoilers: Bewitchments.

Credits: Well, a huge thank you to Storm Constantine for creating the Wraeththu books and for being generous enough to allow her fans to play in her world.

Midnight Sorrow

Living in ice was easy. So simple, to be so frozen in the bright light of day. Too easy, really, to be haughty and aloof, pushing everything and everyone away. It was at night, when the darkness closed in and the secrets hidden by day were revealed, and not even the ethereal light of the moon could soften their jagged edge.

Vaysh clawed at his long, dyed red hair, raking trembling fingers through his tangled locks. The candles in his room had long burned out, leaving everything in darkness, including his tears. He’d been haunted by the dream demon that was forever snapping at his heels, whispering promises in the shadows of day of the torturous night to come. His past was a never-ending torment, an all-consuming black hole in his chest. Him and Ashmael, chesnari. Him dying in Ashmael’s arms. The Vaysh Ashmael had once held in his warm arms on cold nights, held him so close and Vaysh would lay his cheek on his chesnari’s chest, his heart beat luring him to sleep.

But all of that had been stolen, locked away in a precious chest in the very back of his mind. Living with Thiede, it had been easy to forget, to let himself freeze. Then had come Pell, who had chipped and chipped and chipped and eventually burned his way into Vaysh’s heart. Made him live in a never-ending hell of unfrozen memories.

Sometimes, in secret, quiet hours, he could hear the dull echoes of Ashmael’s heart. How he had burned when he first saw him, in Immanion, looking for the Tigron-to-be! Vaysh had nearly died all over again; his heart had stopped, breath caught in his throat and head pounding. Even now, every time he saw him, was in the same room as him, he wanted to either throw himself at the Gelaming general and cry, scream, and beat Ashmael until his soul ran out through his tears and he was no more, or kiss him so hard that his fire would consume them both, burn them to bitter ashes.

Vaysh gave a forced, dry laugh then covered his mouth with one hand, which curled into a claw, burgundy fingernails raking the soft, pale skin of his face. Ashes, ashes… he’d been burned inside until ashes were all that remained. Inside was damaged, no good; he’d never be able to sow or grow children. Never plant his seed inside another, never have a hard, round pearl inside him, pressing against his stomach.

He and Ashmael never spoke to each other, and avoided each other’s gaze when forced to be in the same quarters, yet Immanion’s angel had managed to thrust and twist another painful, double-edged dagger into his already mutilated, bleeding heart. The Incomparable Seel wasn’t the only one who found a warm, privileged bed in Galhea. Vaysh had seen the har, Swift’s hostling, here in Immanion once. He had been up, unable to sleep, leaning over his terrace, watching the moon, when he glimpsed them strolling down the street. Ashmael, with a moon-witch on his arm. That har had had one hand upon his belly, and the Gelaming had stopped, pulling the Varr close to him, kneading the flesh through the loose shirt, stopping and pressing, palm flat, then smiling at the har before sharing breath.

That har carried Ashmael’s pearl. Ashmael would have a baby, a little, mewling harling. Something Vaysh would never have, but wanted so, so much. During the day, it was so easy to forget, to be aloof and cold, focused on the tasks at hand, what must be done today, what Thiede needed, what Pell needed. Easy to shove thoughts of his past to the back of his mind. But during the day, there were constant reminders of the child he would never have.

The Tigrina was another source of pain for him. He wasn’t jealous of Caeru’s position at all, didn’t care much for him, didn’t care what Pell did to him. It was the harling that held his attention. Caeru’s harling. He’d see them, often, floating about the palace, though Caeru did his best to avoid the Tigron. The harling would laugh and play, and come running to Caeru, smiling when he did something he was proud of, wrapping his little arms around the hostling’s legs, snuggling against him when Caeru’s sadness brimmed over in his eyes. And the Tigrina would hold the royal harling close, burying his face in the soft hair, sighing deeply, and the sadness would ebb away again.

Add to that, Chrysm and several other high-ranking hara or their chesnaris seemed to be hosting. Harlings, harlings, talk of harlings, everywhere. And he would never have any, would never have anyone to hold him or be held by him. Alone, alone, he was always alone. Why couldn’t he go back to his tower of ice, when he’d been Thiede’s right hand, alone with his work, no other hara to bother him? He’d been content then, not happy, but alive and content. He hadn’t been truly happy in a long time; so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like.

But he could ease the pain, in Pell’s arms. They helped each other, bodies entwining in sorrow, to push the sadness, the haunting memories and feelings back into their hearts to be locked away and buried. Yet, Pell had a child, even though said harling wanted nothing to do with him, because of the way he treated Caeru. Tigron and Tigrina tried to hide their fractured relationship and quarrels from him, but Abrimel was a bright boy and, though he didn’t know the specifics of it, knew that something was wrong.

Vaysh rolled over, wishing to drown out his dreams. His hands now clutched his pillow, a few strands of red hair caught in between. Why must he forever live in pain?

The candles suddenly lit, seemingly of their own accord, and he felt another har’s presence in the room. His bed dipped, covers pulled off his body, and slim, elegant arms slipped around him. Fragrant, long black hair drifted over one of his shoulders, and a warm, soft mouth pressed against his chilled flesh.

With a hoarse little cry, he rolled over in Pell’s arms. In the instant before their mouths met, he saw tears sparkling in the Tigron’s depthless orbs, and a shallow, fresh cut on his cheek, either from Caeru, Abrimel, or nightmares of Cal. In the dim, intensely shadowed candle light, two bodies entwined, souls seeking release from sorrow’s ripping claws, their tears streaming together to form one small, hopeless prayer, an entreaty in the secret of the night.

The End

The Heart Of Forever

The Heart Of Forever
by Oni

Introduction & Disclaimer

Title: The Heart of Forever
Chapters: 1
Spoilers: The Bewitchments of Love and Hate.
Date Posted: September 2004

Author: Oni
Contact: cutegal_missy@yahoo.co.in

Disclaimers: All characters, etc, associated with Wraethuthu and everything else all belong to Storm Constantine. I’m just writing this for fun and love of the fandom, and I’m making no money off of this.

Story Summary: AU-ish. From Terzian’s and Cobweb’s points of view. Just a little look inside the head of the dying Terzian, and at the end a peak inside Cobweb’s. Has the additional pairing of Ashmael/ Cobweb.

The Heart of Forever


Ah, Cobweb. My dear, faithful, never appreciated concubine. Although, you are no longer faithful, or mine.

Lying here, dying and decrepit, all I’ve had time to do, whilst not longing for him, is think. Though I’m loathe to admit it, even here in the secretive dark, to myself, the other har plaguing my thoughts is you. You’ve always loved me, and I’ve always shut you out in return, and I’m not sorry. Yet, despite all I’ve done to you, you’ve stayed by my side, given me my fine, traitorous, beautiful little Swift. I’ve always claimed him to be mine, but he is you all over. He has your looks- that pale, soft skin and large, haunting dark eyes, and your heart. He’s always been more yours than mine.

Funny how approaching death can make us face the truths we’ve always known deep down but ignored. You’ve never been like that, my once-faithful one. You have an inner strength and resilience- the strength of woman- that let you face truth, that let you stay by my side and love me. Either that, or fear of the outside world kept you here, in Forever’s nurturing womb. You know very well the cruel, hurtful dark things out there in the world. Perhaps you truly do belong in the womb of Forever, where it’s an easy, luxurious life, except for the heartache I’ve put you through. Then again, true happiness never would’ve made you happy. You’ve always bloomed under tragedy and misery. The most beautiful, most tragic flower of Forever…

Ah, another thing I can no longer claim. My back stabbing son now holds Forever’s heart, is its new master. But Swift, he is mine; it is my blood that flows through his veins. Blood traitor of a brat though he is, he is still partly mine. ‘Ah, no, not yours, Terzian. The blood, yes, but the rest… Swift is all me.’ Those large, mysterious eyes of yours tell me, Cobweb.

Here is where I’d refute you, snap and tell you you’re mine, you pretty, dark little bauble. But this isn’t true; you’re no longer mine. You are still here, at my side, yes, but you’re no longer mine. I can see it in your eyes, swirling in your secretive depths I’ve never been able to understand. It is only pity for a dying but strong and true to the last, fool that keeps you here.

Yes, tragic beauty, that much about you the once-mighty Terzian knows. I’ve always claimed to know everything that went on in this house. I was-am, am, no was-the lord of Forever, and I did know it all. Except for what went on in that fathomless head of yours, which was why I feared you and treated you as I did. But, for once, you waif of the moon, I have discovered one of your mysteries. Perhaps, on my deathbed, I’ve become less self-absorbed or more retrospective, or perhaps you’ve just let your veiled down more. Either way, it matters not, for I know. Yes, that’s right, I know you’re as much of a traitor as the brat that once passed between your legs and into this world.

Oh, how I’d love to see the look on your face as I told you. But all these things keep themselves locked inside this dying fool’s proud head. My body and spirit may be weak and broken, but I still have my pride. Even they haven’t managed to strip that off of me, although they’ve taken everything else. My strength, my town I built up with my own two hands, my son, and you.

Yes, that’s right, I know of you and the Gelaming Ashmael. I know it is he who has stolen your heart from me. You’ve never had my heart, but I’ve always had yours. I had it when I didn’t want nor appreciate it, took it as just another of my prized treasures, but now when I need it, for he isn’t around, it is no longer there. The Gelaming have taken everything from me.

And how would this fading façade of the proud, strong, warrior I once was know this? I’m sure, moon imp, that even you, with all of you secret, wise ways, wonder this. I’ve never been able to read or predict you-no one has, you’ve seen to that quite well-but I’d have to be blind, deaf and crazy not to know.

I can see it in the haze of your dark eyes, the way they sparkle. They’ve never done that for me. It’s the way you smile a happy, secret smile as you sit with me, staring out the window. Your mind isn’t in Forever; it’s in Immanion.

My presence isn’t even blighted from this earth yet, and already the only one I ever had has left me. I’ve never wanted your love; Calanthe has always held my heart, yet I’ve never been more than a game of revenge, amusement, to him. He bore my child then gave it to you. Ironic, isn’t it? You loved me, I didn’t love you; I loved Calanthe, long to see him one last time before I go. I have to; it’s the only thing holding me here. My desire for him, my last strength. He’s left me; he’s never loved me… But all the same, he’s given me a child, as have you. As you now have Ashmael.

Yes, secret cloud, I know of more than one secret of yours. There is a slight roundness to that flat, slim stomach of yours, and you often have a slender hand upon it. Your eyes shine as they did when you carried Swift.

Your traitory, and your warm, soft body, are all of you that I’ve ever know. Ashmael seems to know all about you. Or as much as you’ll let him. You’ve always loved being a mystery and having all the answers, leaving the rest of us guessing and afraid.

I hear about you and him in the hushed voices of the house-hara. Everyone walks on tiptoe, skirting around me, but I know. I always know, don’t I? I know all about you- that’s why you’ve now left me, forgotten me so easily, and given your heart to the enemy.


Terzian, your body now resembles the darkness in your soul. Dead and blackened ash. You’re gone, and forgotten. I suppose I should grieve for you, but there’s too much going on to be sad. Rest assured I still find time to be tragic and mysterious- how else could I keep Ashmael so enchanted?

But I’m alive and you’ve left no other endearment upon me other than Forever and my precious little pearl. My beautiful little Swift. Yes, Terzian, you tyrant, my son. My son, who has made me a grand-hostling, who is now the Master of Forever and Galhea, who brought to me Ashmael. They say Gelaming do no believe in love, but they do know how to be happy. And happy I am. It scares me, but in a good way…

There are too many memories, too many shadows, for me to leave Forever; I’ve no desire to see the outside world. Forever is my home, and Ashmael visits often, as do Swift and Seel, plus I have the harlings. Forever is changing, as happens in life, and I’m changing with it. But I know come what may, our hearts-and yours- shall always dwell in Forever.

The End