1. a state of equilibrium or equipoise; equal distribution of weight,amount, etc.
2. something used to produce equilibrium; counterpoise.
3. mental steadiness or emotional stability; habit of calm behavior,judgment, etc.
4. a state of bodily equilibrium: He lost his balance and fell down the stairs.
verb (used with object), balanced, balancing.
18. to bring to or hold in equilibrium; poise: to balance a book on one's head.
19. to arrange, adjust, or proportion the parts of symmetrically.
Source: Dictionary.com (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/balance)
People seem to scoff at the term "resolutions" quite a bit nowadays. As if they're a joke, a trifle. But there's reasons people grip onto the idea of resolutions at the end of another year. They want to be better. And that is always an admirable goal. This is a year when I truly embraced the resolution. Not resolutions to chat about and then throw out the door as soon as the clock strikes midnight in the new year because they can't be maintained. But realistic resolutions. Ones to live by. To live a healthier existence and thus be a better mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, editor and writer. To sleep more. To not take on SO much all at once. To find balance. These may seem like a lot, but it's really not. I believe it just requires some serenity and a few moments to take stock, slow down, and realize what should be priority.
Balance. It's a word underused and under-appreciated. And yet, there's quite a few literary thoughts on balance that don't see eye to eye:
“Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terror, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.” -Anaïs Nin
(Perhaps a tad dramatic, eh? I like to think I can obtain balance and create something great without great terror or instability.)
And on the flip side, we have:
“Without balance, a life is no longer worth the effort.” -Olen Steinhauer
(Again, this one seems a bit over the top.)
Personally, my favorite is Ellen's. She's always spot-on with her observations:
“My point is, life is about balance. The good and the bad. The highs and the lows. The pina and the colada.” -Ellen DeGeneres
Yep, right on, per the usual.
Balance can play different roles in life, but my personal imbalance comes from several years of running myself ragged trying to keep up with life's demands and ones I've put upon myself. I've suffered from guilt while writing my own books or spending time with my son or husband because I needed to do work, and I've felt guilty for working when I felt I should be devoting more time to my family. So I'm working on ridding myself of that guilt and taking on only what I can reasonably handle.
Over the years, I've found I can obtain balance best by incorporating a number of past-times and activities into my life:
-Experiences v. stuff
-Afternoons soaking in sunlight and fresh breezes (will have to wait for spring, I suppose)
As 2016 takes hold, I wish you all a balanced journey, and I will be working toward bringing a steady and guilt-free equilibrium to my world. And that includes spending more time writing what I love, connecting with readers, and finishing projects.
I was on my way home from my son's little soccer class tonight when we passed a house shining with the soft glow of the season. And lit up on the side of the house was the word "Believe."
Around this time of year belief plays a large role in movies and books—whether it surrounds believing in Santa Clause or faith—and in our interactions with our children as we strive to create one more magical Christmas where it's plausible an Elf sitting on your shelf truly flies or that Santa is truly watching.
My son has a logical little mind, and there's a part of me that thinks this might be his last Christmas believing. He asks questions and points out implausibilities on a regular basis. When asked if he thinks magic exists, he'll usually answer in the negative. But he is buying the Elf on the Shelf bit this year, at least I think he is. There's also the chance he's just playing along with Mommy's madness.
Belief recently played a role in an interaction I had with him at bed time, but this one was a little different than Santa Clause and elves. I was folding laundry while he ran around the upstairs giggling insanely as small children do when he came up to me with a blanket wrapped around his head like a bonnet and said in a high-pitched voice, "Hi, I'm Amy." I laughed and played along, although I had been surprised by his choice of names since I didn't know of anyone with the name Amy that he might know. Of course, there could be someone at school with the name, or maybe he'd heard it on TV, so I shrugged off my wonder.
A little later, after we'd read a story and had laid down to talk for a few moments before I left him for sleep, he said in the same high-pitched voice, "I'm still Amy." So I said, "Can I have [Son's name] back now?"
And his response was the catalyst for the next few minutes when he said, "[Son's name] isn't here right now."
Now, there must be at least a dozen creepy movies where a child is possessed and says something along the lines of what he had said. Of course, I just laughed and told him he was silly. He then turned to the side, whispered something, and turned to look at me announcing he was himself again with a thrilled little grin. But then he continued to turn to his side every minute or so and whisper to his new friend, "Amy." So I asked more about her, and he explained she comes from the mirror, and when I asked if she was invisible, he said, "no, she's like a ghost." He then told me she would come back through other people. Umm, like possession? I thought, feeling my skin crawl as my son wove his tale.
I have to say, that despite my rational nature and my intact skepticism, there's still a part of me that for a split second thought he was possibly talking to a ghost. I mean, I am a writer after all. Our imaginations some times get the better of us. Plus, he'd been talking about the "people in the mirror" since he was three.
Of course, I was home alone and I texted my husband our creepy little conversation, which he found hilarious. The next morning my husband asked my son about "Amy" and once again he started talking in a high-pitched voice. Then my husband took on the moniker of Christine and the two of them pranced around the family room talking like girls. It made for great entertainment while I sipped my coffee and laughed. I of course should have just asked my silly little creative boy if he was playing pretend or if he thought what he was saying was real. Because his answer the next morning was, pretend, of course! Sillier mommy.
Although only four, my son has inspired a story idea or two, something about the People in the Mirror. I feel a Middle-Grade novel in my blood, but it's still brewing alongside the developing mind of my growing son.
I DO believe that magic can exist in even the skeptic, as long as creativity is allowed to grow. So although my son may not believe in Santa Clause next year, or maybe he will, who knows, I know his imagination isn't lacking in magic.
Let's talk epic.
Epic fantasy comes in many shapes and forms. Take for instance Tolkien's Lord of the Rings and Sara Douglass's Axis Trilogy and Wayfarer Redemption series. Tolkien is a household name, while only those really into fantasy seem to have really read Douglass. But they share the title of being epic. In both, there's adventure, traveling, magic (of course), major conflict from a major evil, a hero/heroine born, and unlikely connections made.
But let's break it down into what I believe makes a story truly epic:
I could go on with more thoughts about what makes a story epic, but I'd love to hear from others about your thoughts. Also, if you do like epic fantasy, be sure to check out Epic Wednesday on Facebook during the first ever Virtual Fantasy-Con.
We don't fall in line with guidelines or rules, we like the unique as well as the tropes. We're all-genre lovers, but we must admit, fantasy and sci-fi appeal to our whimsical, magical natures, just a bit. We're sisters talking about books, writing, and anything in relation to stories, fables, and myths. We'll yarn some, we'll darn some, we love to try some .... books.
My sister and I just launched a vlog, called the Quirky Book Sirens, in which over drinks, we discuss various themes in books and the industry. In our debut episode we discuss YA horror, throwback style, meaning we reminisced on the likes of R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike.
Check it below:
Chicklit lovers should check me and my sister's book review for the latest giveaway, Lisa Becker's Clutch, which launched Monday. Here's the links to the blog for more info about the author and book and the link to the Rafflecopter:
Cellar Door Lit Rants & Reviews (w/ info about Clutch)
Congratulations to Vanessa Maseko, Brandy Jeffus Corona, Krysta Banco, and Michelle Willms for winning the giveaway. I've sent you all emails with more details. And thank you to everyone for playing, commenting, and visiting! It's been a fun blog hop! <3
Grim paced in the solitude of her quarters, her scythe leaning against the wall an arm’s reach away should Hades or one of his minion children attempt to break into her room and finish the fight. Yet, she knew that wouldn’t happen. Somehow, she had ended up exactly where Hades wanted her. Accused. On the brink of banishment for a crime she knew she hadn’t committed.
Whirling toward the door, she paused, tilting her head as the soft rap of a fist on wood came purposeful and in secret. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she opened the door as quickly and quietly as possible and yanked her sister into the room, shutting the door behind her.
“Did you hide it?” she breathed, noticing the pallor that tinted her natural bronzed coloring.
“Si, Hermana,” she said softly. “It is hidden well, with an old friend … I should not say where, as long as you truly believe it is necessary … Surely, the council does not believe you would kill Pluto? He has always been a friend.”
“Yes, that may be true, but the council also understands there is no love lost between Hades and I, and if I was aiming for Hades, then it is possible they will believe him … I do not believe that matters at the moment, though. I have a sense of darkness, a dread within me. I … I believe Hades has somehow gained control over the council without either your or I ever knowing.”
Seba shook her head, her brow wrinkled in concern, a red flower that had been woven into her dark curls floated to the ground and stained the floor like a bright splash of blood. Seba bent to retrieve it, offering the token to Grim, who took it and tucked it into the folds of her cloak. “His children should not be any trouble, Hermana. They cannot be a challenge to us,” she said confidently.
“They are legion,” Grim said softly. “A problem we could not have foreseen.” She turned away, following the sharp curve of the scythe as it rested gleaming against the wall. She had no doubt it was the instrument of death that Hades was looking for. There was untapped potential within it, and if he were to ever get his hands on both scythes, well … but as it stood right now, he’d have to kill her to get the scythe. He could not take it from her as it was bound to her, and the only way for him to even touch it would be if she gave it willingly, and that would never happen. She glanced back at her sister, who was watching her quietly, a glow of fear flickering in the softness of her eyes.
Seba had always embraced the human spark of compassion more closely than Grim, and for that reason she radiated with warmth and a kindness that could be manipulated. That was why Grim couldn’t risk her sister’s scythe. Seba could possibly be swayed to give it up. Grim couldn’t.
“All I know is Kali wouldn’t look me in the eye. Kali,” she said, placing emphasis on the deity’s name.
Seba held up a hand to stop her sister from going on any more. “I must go, Hermana. Perhaps I can convince them how wrong they are, otherwise we are both lost.”
Grim held her sister’s eyes for a moment, a surge of sadness nearly drowning her as it crushed her chest and robbed her of breath. Grim had never been overly emotional, even at the height of soul crossing, although she’d had her share of moments. But now … she lurched forward and wrapped her arms around her sister, burying her face in Seba’s flowery scented hair. She released a breath as her sister’s soft, warm embrace enfolded her for a moment. When she pulled back, Seba’s eyes were glistening.
“I must go,” she whispered. “We will make this right.”
Grim nodded, watching her shut the door behind her. “I should never have given up my reign,” she murmured softly, annoyed she’d ever thought diplomacy was the way to rule the underworld. Sunrise would be soon, she needed to … what could she do? Gritting her teeth at her momentary powerlessness, she jerked her head to the door when a quiet, yet determined knock made her jaw clench.
She opened the door slowly and stepped back, nodding to the deity who passed her, the necklace of skulls that hung around her neck jingling together. “Kali …,” Grim murmured, holding her equally dark gaze. “I am surprised you are here. It was quite apparent in the caverns that you had chosen your side.” She said it without a hint of malice, but disappointment dripped from her words and, without her meaning for it to, betrayal.
Kali’s face rippled in dismay, then smoothed out once more. “It will not matter once Hades has had his way, so I will tell you.”
“Please … what sins, what power does that masochist have over the entire council?” She heard the plea in her voice, and she pushed the darkness that was beginning to creep inside her away.
Stiffly, Kali nodded and greeted her gaze full on. “Believe me when I tell you I have always been your friend, Grim. I have no affection for Hades. I find him cruel, greedy, power-hungry, and unstable. But my people, my souls, are my first priority, so when that is jeopardized then I must protect them first.”
Although baffled by the direction of the conversation, Grim nodded. “I do understand, but what could—“
“Our soul gates.”
Silence permeated every mote and speck within the room, floating in a standstill of shock. “What did you say,” she hissed.
“You heard me right. Somehow, Hades has located our soul gates. Almost all of them, I believe. He asked me to take a walk with him one day and that’s where he led me, to my soul gate, which is now guarded day and night by several of his sons and daughters. He has begun keeping count of which souls cross and who they belong to. All of our gates are guarded this way. He has so many children we are outnumbered.”
“To what end?” Grim breathed, the walls of the room seeming to close in on her as fury welled up within her. A deity’s soul gate was where their specific souls crossed through into Abbadon. Each deity reigned over the souls of their culture, and only passed over those with cultural, religious, or geographic ties. Grim could not reap Seba’s souls and her sister could not take hers. For this reason, the gates were sacred and secret, and it was forbidden to seek out another’s gate. How Hades had found them when they were hidden deep within folds of underworld and reality, she did not know.
“Control. To control you, Grim. If we do not abide by his requests he shuts the gates down, blocks them somehow. The souls cannot pass then, and then they wander.”
“How do you know?”
“I did not give in so easily, at first, Grim. I would hope you would know me better than that,” she said, her tongue lolling out as she grinned ferally, the darkness lighting up her inky eyes, letting Grim see that Kali the warrior still existed. “But then he blocked my souls for a day … it was excruciating. I am here to be a shepherd to my souls, and if I cannot be the protector and guide they need I am not leading my people.”
“He has gone too far,” Grim seethed, a rage burning though her so hot the acrid scent of feathers burning forced her to quell the rage.
“There’s more …” Kali said quietly, the lovely lines of her face set seriously, regret and sadness heavy on the bow of her shoulders. “Hades has taken Seba. He apprehended her on her way to reason with the council and is furious that she has hidden her scythe. He means to use your love for him against her … You may be our marble goddess, but your love for you sister is apparent to all, and he means to use that weakness against you.”
The full range of human emotion seemed to be possessing Grim, because her stomach twisted at Kali’s words. “I will smite him, everyone,” she hissed.
Instantly, she knew it wasn’t rational, she knew that--
“If the death deities cease to exist, or are unable to pass souls through their soul gates, well, I don’t need to tell you that it would be cataclysmic. For the deities. The souls. For the world,” Kali said softly. “I am sorry, but the deities and the council have no choice but to stand with Hades.”
The enormity of the planning that Hades’s had put into his takeover—possibly centuries—halted Grim. She had underestimated him, thought him a buffoon to look down her nose at, and now it could cost her far more than she’d ever thought possible.
Stepping quickly to her scythe, she snatched it from the wall and turned back to Kali. “How is it possible his offspring could overpower us? They are children, half-human, and surely do not have the power we do. We are ancient, while they're still naive enough to believe Hades is a good role model.”
“He has allies, Grim. It is not just his hybrids. He has deities who support him, like Styx, who has aligned herself with him, giving him access to the caverns that is detrimental to us. And those that do not have been sent to their rooms under lock and key.”
“Seker and Persephone,” Grim whispered.
Kali nodded. “And more.”
In her thousands years of existence, she had never felt more helpless or alone. Despair threatened her, flickering against her consciousness, but she batted it away. “Certainly eliminating his offspring would not impact any balance. They are merely extras in the death dance,” Grim murmured.
Kali’s dark eyes widened. “You would never break the sacred rule.”
Nodding, she remained silent. Kali was right, of course. She could not, would not, take a life. The irony of being Death. But she also could not allow him to cut off the gateways to the souls. “It is time, is it not?”
Kali nodded, both deities sensing the night lifting. “I am sorry, Grim. Truly. I do not know what we can do. I fear for the souls, for our home.”
Grim reached out her hand, and Kali took it, her wide lips curving in a bleak smile, the tight lines around her eyes eased away with Grim’s gesture. “For now, I will do what is necessary to protect you, my sister, and the balance. I must find out what Hades’s ultimate end is before I can act. But I give you my word and oath as the Grim Reaper,” she said, squeezing Kali’s hand tightly, “Hades will not destroy us. I will restore Abbadon. Until then, keep your souls safe.”
Grim slipped the flower Seba had given her earlier and tucked it behind her ear, then she dropped her cloak to the floor. A whoosh and a breeze sailed through the air as great, inky black wings unfurled, darkening the hallway as they stepped into it. “I wouldn’t want to attend my banishment without these.”
I hope you all enjoyed Grim's Fall. For now it stands as a short story on its own, but I may eventually serialize more of her adventures after the banishment. Thanks so much for reading! And for those of you who entered the giveaway, I'll be announcing the winners tomorrow night! Also, any new subscribers will receive their copy of Fairytale Lost tomorrow as well as the latest edition of my newsletter for details on my Fairytale twisting contest. Thanks for jumping to our October Frights Blog Hop, it's been a blast.<3
The October Frights Blog Hop is almost done, so I wanted to share an excerpt from The Reaper's Daughter. Look for Part III of Grim's Fall, coming in the next two days! Also, don't miss the giveaway, which will end in two days:
THE ROLLING GREEN of her eyes was dimming fast, losing color and life to the quick click of time that beat out her days and nights, a perpetual circle that was now fading to a close. Light brown hair that had been recently styled into looping curls was limp against the black pillowcase―a metaphor for her wilted spirit, I mused, thinking offhandedly how proud my English professor would be at my thoughtful use of language.
I sighed. I didn’t want to be here.
When her eyes met mine, I knew she saw me for who I really was—what I really was. She reached out an eager hand to take mine. I didn’t want anything to do with it. But it wasn’t because her fingers were slick with blood, deep crimson dripping down her arm and fingernails from where she’d so precisely placed a razor blade to her vein and dug deep, thinking she’d be free of her pain. It was because her face reflected back to me all the times I’d felt I’d been given a shitty deal. Current situation: case in point.
“Hi,” she whispered, her once pink lips fading with every pump of her life, which was idly dripping away from her to the plush white carpet below. I could smell the newness of it, the fresh aroma of a recently laid floor. That’s going to be a bitch to get clean.
I looked around her bedroom, at the dance trophies and pictures of smiling friends, and wondered why. Why me? “Blake …” Hearing my mother's warning tone, I looked over at her where she stood in the shadows, overseeing my tutelage.
“Why can’t we just call an ambulance? It’s not too late. They could save her,” I whispered fiercely, staring at the girl’s hand stretched out to me as if I were her savior and not her end. “We should save—”
“It’s not for us to decide, you know that. We are only here to bring souls over, not save their mortal lives. Take her, she wants to go.”
“And will she still feel the same when she’s looking down at her body?” I asked, not even bothering to check my mother’s expression when she didn’t answer. Suicide wasn’t a peaceful death. It was pain―that much I knew.
I choked back the tears that wanted to rise in my eyes for this girl, for me … I turned to her once more and leaned down, brushing a strand of her hair from her graying face. “What’s your name?”
Barely blinking, her pale eyes darted to me. “Carly,” she said, choking around her words.
“Just hold my hand and I’ll help you cross,” I said softly, forcing myself to meet her gaze so that someone would witness her ending as they had her beginning.
She smiled slowly, and I saw that in life she had been pretty. When she’d believed. When she’d had hope.
“The light?” Her eyes widened, glittering green for a brief moment in their otherwise colorless depths at the prospect of going somewhere beautiful after this life had been so cold.
I nodded, although I didn’t really know where she would go. I was only in training, but I hoped it was someplace good, where her tormented soul could rest.
She had small, feminine hands, I thought, as she laced her slippery fingers around my longer warm ones. She didn’t last long, her pulse giving one last flutter before sputtering out.
The room was suffused with the silence left behind in the absence of such a simple thing. The thundering lack of a person’s heartbeat had never seemed quite so loud. As life departed Carly’s mortal coil, her soul lifted from the body, but unlike some souls I’d seen that were light and buoyant, at peace with the next step in their existence, hers was outlined in darkness, and it rippled, suspended in space like a special effect in a bad horror film. Her gaze turned from her body to me, sorrow coming to settle on the slope of her bowed shoulders and in the recesses of her eyes. Regret was a fickle creature. It always came too late.
“I hope you find what you wanted,” I whispered to her soul, waiting to feel the energy that usually infused my body during a crossover. As she blinked out, all air was ripped from my lungs and I was left clutching the bedpost for purchase, grappling for oxygen and drowning on the echo of Carly’s anguish. The room spun around me, and my rasping heaves hurt my chest as I struggled to survive the sharp, bitter sting of loss that clung to the drapes and walls and assaulted my nose with its acrid scent.
I inhaled deep breaths when air returned, staring at the pool of red on the floor, thankful the bedspread had been black. She looked like a zombie, gray and without light, her once green eyes staring into a void that held nothing for her now. Without thinking about it, I reached forward and closed her lids with the lightest touch of my fingertips. The hands of Death.
“Blake,” my mother warned again, a chastising edge to the velvety lilt of her voice.
I turned to look at her and sighed, feeling the darkness in the girl’s room overwhelm me, irritation surging inside me at my mother’s emotionless manner. “Don’t you care?” I asked.
She stepped forward from the shadows, her shroud of black hair sweeping around the marble pallor of her face. “Of course,” she said. But I had a hard time believing her when her features remained composed in an expression of sculpted apathy. “But it is what it is, Blake.”
“This was the worst.”
“I’ve seen much worse,” she said, her voice lacking the deep resonance of human compassion. It was flat, a monotone observer in a world colored by grief and heartbreak.
“Gee, thanks, way to make me feel better about this whole gig.”
“That wasn’t really my intent. This is who you are. You will have to deal with tragedies that far surpass this.
Tragedies far more encompassing. This was one girl. Be grateful it wasn’t thousands.”
I could barely look at her, nauseated by the way she acted as if one girl hadn’t been everything to someone. I opened my mouth to retort with something equally nasty, my body tensed to storm past her for the last time, but I was caught in mid-motion by a soft knock at the door. My head swiveled.
“Carly?” A soft voice came from the other side, concern coating the lightness of her tone.
Oh god, I absolutely could not stick around to watch Carly's parents find their daughter dead from suicide on her comforter.
Turning quickly, I pulled a fleecy black blanket, folded so carefully before, up over the girl’s chest, trying to make the scene look less gruesome before I headed to the window.
“I’m outta here,” I told my mother. To her credit, she didn’t try to stop me with more inane platitudes.
“You could just flicker out,” she said dryly. The doorknob was turning, and I shook my head. I’d tried her way of traveling through realms to no avail. If I was going to make an exit, it was going to have to be the human way.
I hurled myself through the open window onto the tree outside without thought of my physical safety, only glancing back once to see that my mom had already disappeared.
Sliding down the tree, I hit the ground with a grunt, my sneaker-clad feet stinging from the impact. I didn’t pause, pumping my legs to power myself down the sleeping streets as fast as I could to get as much distance as possible from the death scene. But I didn’t run fast enough, because her mother’s shrieks of agony followed me from two blocks away. They don’t ever think about who they leave behind.
I blocked my ears and kept running, the late winter air biting at my cheeks with the hope of spring hanging heavy in the wind, even on such a desperate night.
When I got to my own house, I paused at the stoop, sucking in a few breaths and trying to make the images in my head go away. Smoothing back my long, dark hair, so like my mother’s, I checked my hands for hints of blood. But just like any normalcy that had previously existed in my life, the blood I’d seen stain my fingers had vanished. Licking my lips, I put my key in the door and pushed it open, stepping into the foyer.
My dad looked up from the living room, where his nose was buried in a book. “Hey, B,” he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing tired eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought you were staying at the dorm tonight.” He arched his brows and glanced at the cable box clock that glowed a green 11:15 p.m.
“Yeah, I was going to, but Shelby wanted me to stop by her parents’—you know, it’s weekly game night—so I figured that since I was so close, I’d just crash here tonight. I’d better get a little reading in though, so 'night, Dad.”
He didn’t stop me or question me, which I was thankful for. I bounded up the steps to my room. Movies always made it look so easy, but living a double life was going to be the death of me. Pun intended.
After closing my bedroom door behind me, I sat down on my bed, tossed off my shoes, and quickly headed for the bathroom to shower. My skin felt dirty with the cloak of death, and I wanted to wash it away. Even though I knew it was impossible.
I was struck by my reflection as I closed the door behind me and turned to the medicine cabinet. It was like looking at a younger version of my mother. Only my eyes were a pale crystal blue. Hers were black. I was thankful for the difference.
But what we had in common even more than looks was a legacy. A long one. You might have heard of her before; she’s really quite famous, although most stories have gotten it wrong and made her out to be a dude. She goes by the name Grim, but her full name is Grim Reaper. Do you know what that makes my mother? Yep, that’s “right. She’s Death.
So what does that make me? The Reaper’s daughter.
When people think death costumes at Halloween, it's fairly easy to find a Grim Reaper costume. But through my research writing about deities I've found there are far more than I ever realized. Of course, some I was familiar with before I started. Most people know Hades, as he's often depicted in literature and Greek mythology as one of the more popular and well-known mythologies. But we are a world of many cultures, so here are five different death deities that would make for fun and unique costumes:
Kali: Her very name means "She who is Death" or "She who is Black." Kali is a Hindu goddess, and she's long been a favorite. She is associated with empowerment, while she also been called the destroyer. Appearance wise, I usually see her depicted as being blue with many arms and a necklace of decapitated heads. You might have to get creative with the arms, but don't worry about necessarily painting yourself entirely blue, she's depicted in a number of hues. Unless of course you want to paint yourself blue. After all, Halloween only comes around once a year. Going blue might be fun. You can also get your inner Miley Cyrus on, because in some depictions, Kali likes sticking her tongue out. Regardless of which way you decide to dress yourself up, Kali could be a pretty bad-ass costume. I think I have an idea for next year!
Anubis: This Egyptian protector of the dead is often depicted as either a canine or with a canine head, wearing black or shirtless with a toga-like garment around his waist. This could be interesting ... (visions of a shirtless dog-headed husband dance in my head). Okay, that might be kind of weird, but that's what Halloween is for! And Anubis also has a female counterpart, Anput, who very occasionally is depicted with a dog head as well. Can you say couples costume!
Atropos: One of the three Moirai, better known as the Fates, Atropos cuts the threads with her shears. This is definitely one for the girlfriends, because this Greek goddess of death could easily be paired with her two sisters, Clothos, the spinner, and Lachesis, who measures lives. All three friends need do is don Greek-style robes or togas, and each one carry a different tool: scissors, needle and thread, and a tailor's measuring tape.
Santa Muerte: Okay, so she's not totally abstract, but I love her and I'm actually being her for Halloween. I'm a bit in love with the Mexican Day of the Dead art, and she's a character in The Reaper's Daughter, otherwise known as Sebastiana, and she's just my favorite. She's an easy one to do because most costume shops sell facial decals to give your face the colorful, day of the dead appearance, plus there are plenty of Mexican Day of the Dead costumes now available. I'm not using any of them, of course, because they're the "sexy" costumes, and not Santa Muerte specific, but I am using the decals and some makeup for my face. If the results come out as I hope, I'll definitely post a spooky Halloween selfie.
Santa Muerte isn't just a deity, she's actually a Mexican folk saint, and she's venerated. She's often depicted with a cloak and scythe, and sometimes with black angel's wings. See why I want to be her for Halloween?
Mythology in itself is vastly fascinating because these stories have been crafted from age-old beliefs within any given culture. Whatever you decide to be, remember that the personification of Death has many forms, so in stories and in real life, honoring other cultures by knowing more about their mythology and beliefs can also open the doorways to creativity.
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Dead? It wasn’t possible. “Pluto,” she called, ignoring Hades, who stared at her, his craggy face having sunk into deep pockets of rage and despair. “As the former queen of Abbadon and head council member, I implore you to reveal yourself.” Normally, the reminder that she had once ruled the underworld would have sent Hades into a fit of rage, where he’d wax on about the offset of power among the deities. But not this time. Instead, he continued to stare at her from the face the two deities shared. They were counterparts, deities that shared such a common history and personification that when they’d come into existence, it was as two deities in one body. Pluto had been the good one.
Had? What was she thinking? Shaking her head, she met Hades’s gaze calmly. “You’re blocking him.”
Glowering at her, Hades straightened up and flipped his long hair over his shoulder, a common gesture from him that never failed to induce a low chuckle from her. But the way he’d done it just then had seemed menacing. His dark eyes glinted with stone and she couldn’t tell if it was from newfound malice or just because he generally disliked her. “When you hit me, it was him you hit. You killed him.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she seethed. “I did not strike a killing blow.” It had been hard, but not enough to kill a deity. The scythe would have to draw blood to kill …
Rising to his feet, he towered above her, fury seeping from him. And some other emotion she couldn’t name that mingled with his rage and seemed like triumph. “My brother is gone.”
It wasn’t possible that she’d killed Pluto. It wasn’t. If she had, that would mean … “And I am to take your word for it, Hades? After all of this?” She spread her hands, gesturing to the teenagers surrounding them. “Eighteen years ago I said no. I turned you down. And now you have an army of bastard hybrid children, spawned from mortal women. What makes you think I’ll believe anything you have to say when you brought your hoard to our home and demanded leadership of the council.”
“You killed my brother!” he growled, his face creased in a mask of sorrow. “And why would I not bring my children here? This is their home too.” Even under his mask of pain, his rational words, she didn’t believe him. There was something off. He was playacting at pain, like he often did when he crossed souls over. And it wasn’t a good performance. By the nature of death deities, being in touch with humanity was what essentially kept death deities in touch with human emotion, and mortal empathy and compassion was a big part of that. Hades had always seemed unaffected, a sociopath within the death deity society.
Grim paused, gazing at him for a moment, the dawning of awareness coming quickly and chasing her uncertainty away. All the moments he’d demanded she turn over the scythe to the council and the countless times he’d spoken about opening the doors between realms flashed through her mind. Pluto was not dead, she was sure of it. Her sudden conviction eased the pain in her chest, and she sighed with a momentary pang of relief. It was the scythe, she thought, following the smooth, sharp curve of the tool—the instrument that allowed her to pass the dead over into Abbadon, the underworld. He’d wanted the scythe all along.
“You know,” she said, glancing up at him once more. “All these years I thought it was really me you were after. I thought you were angry that I was not some lesser deity to be forced into a disgusting relationship with you. Not some poor Persephone. After all, I was already queen, with no need for a king …”
Hunched slightly over, Hades took a menacing step towards her, his gaze a fury of hate and desire. But the desire wasn’t for her, it was for the gleaming tool she held in her hands, capable of destruction, of life. “You killed my brother.”
Grim ignored him. The truth was, Hades had been the stronger one of the two brothers for as long as he’d existed. The two deities shared a body, but more often than not, it was Hades calling the shots. Pluto could be trapped within him. “Pluto wouldn’t interfere.”
“He—I wanted to give you a message.” Hades stopped talking abruptly, his expression twisting, and he slammed his hands to his head. “I … I … It’s so quiet in here,” Hades moaned, clutching his head in his hands.
Rolling her eyes, Grim gazed unseeingly beyond him. There had been a moment when she’d thought, for just a split second, that a different expression, much more like Pluto, had surfaced on his face. Shaking her head, she blew air out and glanced at Hades again. She was certain he was lying, she just wasn’t sure why. “What are you going for here, Hades? Do you think to see me banished?”
A smile seemed to flash across his face, but it was so fleeting she couldn’t be sure. “I only want retribution for my brother.” He moaned again, and then the council flooded the chamber, surrounding Hades’s hybrid children.
“What madness is this?” It was Osiris, his thin, angular face set severely as he turned his gaze from Grim to Hades, pausing on the Greek deity of death. “Why have you brought discord to our realm, Hades?”
“He is after the scythe,” Grim said. Osiris seemed unaffected by her comment, turning his bony features to her.
“I am certain I asked Hades the question.”
Grim nodded, disliking the suspicion that hung in the cavern air. She was the oldest of the deities and at one time she had ruled Abbadon, but hundreds of years before she had relinquished that control and formed a council, and Osiris had long been one of her most senior members. She respected him. He was a shrewd deity. Surely he would not believe Hades’s lies.
Hades raked a hand through his long hair, tears streaming down his face. She would have laughed if the situation didn’t seem suddenly dire. A sense of loss washed over her, and she glanced to the council, catching Sebastiana’s gaze, her sister’s warm brown eyes glowing with concern. Her sister clutched her own scythe, the only other one in existence. Before the council turned their focus from Hades to her, she caught Seba’s gaze hard, willing her to understand. The two had always had a strong bond, so she felt a flush of relief when Seba glanced at her scythe and then back at Grim, nodding. Ducking her head, Seba slipped off silently into the cavern halls, the rest of the council members so intent on Hades they’d failed to notice anyone escape.
When Grim glanced at the council once again, they were sliding their gazes to her. “Hades has made the grievous claim that you have killed Pluto. As you well know, it is against deity law to take the life of another death deity,” Osiris said.
“He lies,” Grim said, trying to catch Kali’s eye, who had been staring at her beseechingly only moments before, but the Hindu goddess slid her gaze away quickly. A rumble of unease shivered through Grim, an emotion she was mostly unfamiliar with. Kali was a strong deity, and she had always backed Grim when it came to opposing Hades’s machinations. Something was very wrong within the council’s ranks, she thought, watching as Osiris held her eyes for only a moment before quickly glancing away. They’re afraid. But of what?
“He appears to be grieving true,” Mors said softly, her pale face drawn in grief. She’d been close to Pluto, but did she think him truly dead? The hybrids shuffled, and Grim felt the intensity of their gazes on her, ready to wage war on her at Hades’s word. Was the council afraid of these children? Surely not, she scoffed inwardly. There were many, but not enough to take the council, she was—the ground shook beneath her feet, and her attention flew to Hades, who was staring at her with a small smile tucked within the harsh planes of his face, his eyes glittering with victory. But what that victory was, Grim wasn’t yet sure.
“What was that?” she asked quietly, glancing at the council and noticing for the first time that several members were missing. “Where is Seker? Persephone?”
“Unavailable,” Hades murmured, never taking his eyes off her, all the grief he’d previously worn gone like a mask, but only she was seeing his true face. “And that sound was the rest of my children, coming to grieve their uncle and offer support to me in this darkest of hours …”
“You have more children?” Grim asked, feeling pity for the mortal women who’d bedded down with him. She shuddered. “How many women did you copulate with? The entire planet?”
Hades grinned slowly. “I’ve been making children for a while now. You’ll find that they are more than willing to—“
“Enough!” Grim’s voice boomed from the cavern walls, resonating against the stalagmites dripping with water and bringing the world to silence. “Surely, you must know he has planned all of this,” she said to Osiris. But resignation had settled on the ancient Egyptian god’s face.
“To kill a fellow death deity means banishment. We will meet at sunrise to give judgment on the murder of Pluto at the hands of Grim.”
“I did not strike a killing blow,” she said icily, trying her best to bring rationality back to the council.
“Is it true the scythe is the only means known to us to kill a deity?” Osiris asked.
“Yes, only the scythes have the power to deal a death blow. But I did not.”
“Have you killed a death deity before?
“No,” Grim said stiffly, the movement of more hybrid deity children filtering into the cavern filling her with a sense of dread. In the history of the council, no deity had ever killed another because only she and Seba held the power. What would banishment even mean? For the souls? For her?
“Then how do you know that you did not deal a killing blow?” Osiris asked, arching his prominent brow.
Silence hung heavy, like in the wake of death among loved ones. It was a sound she was very familiar with. They were already grieving her departure. “I suppose I do not know for sure,” Grim finally said, meeting Osiris’s gaze with her own.
“We meet at sunrise,” he said, turning. The remaining council members followed him, exchanging uneasy glances as they filed past the thousands of death deity hybrid children Hades had spawned, which were now taking over the underworld. Her home.
“Don’t forget to bring the scythe,” Hades said.
Smiling slowly, Grim nodded. “Oh don’t worry. If all else fails, I’ll level you with it. To Tartarus with the consequences.”
The smirk that had lit Hades’s face vanished, and she smiled to herself, turning and exiting the cavern. Hopefully, Seba had been successful hiding her scythe far from Hades and his legions of children. Regardless of what happened next, the underworld would never be the same.
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Stay tuned for the conclusion to this short, which will be featured later this week!
K.M. Randall writes fantasy and paranormal for both a general and young adult audience. Her debut novel, an epic fantasy called Fractured Dream, launched in June 2014, and her second book, The Reaper's Daughter, launched May 2015. Randall also published Fairytale Lost, a prequel to Fractured Dream, as an exclusive on Wattpad. She blogs about dreams, female heroines, and activism and its relevancy to the literary and fictional world. And when in the season, sometimes she just likes to talk about Halloween. She is currently hard at work on the second book in the Dreamer Saga series, Shattered World.