Copyright J.B. Norman
Witch-Princess Tenebella stands tall before the fire burning in the centre of the chamber, flickering bright with unearthly hues and moaning with bodiless voices from beyond the boundaries of the world of Terrace.
The great stone chamber, dark and grim and secret, is where she comes to work the secret forms of magic and work the darksome runes and staves that she has learned from of old, passed done generation to generation down the long line of the sorcerous dynasty of which she is the latest scion, beloved daughter and only child of a mighty Sorceror-King.
And much as her father rules over a vast domain with an iron fist and an iron law, this room is her own kingdom. It is her sanctum, inviolable and—
—The door groans open.
Tenebella turns away from the eldritch fires and stands blinking in the light streaming into her dark chamber, shielding her eyes from the unwelcome intrusion. Like her father, she is a creature darkness.
Her mother Karen, on the other hand, is very much not.
“Mom!” Tenebella exclaims. “I’m intoning paeans of dread before an altar of eldritch fire! You cannot just barge into my room like that!”
“I’m making pudding for dessert, honey,” Sharon says, ignoring her daughter’s protestations. “Do you want chocolate or vanilla?”
Tenebella stares at her mother in disbelief. “You interrupted me for that? By the Powers, Mom! I’m trying to commune with the uncanny gods of the Sublunar Realm!”
“Well,” Karen notes, “the sooner you decide on dessert, the sooner you can go back to talking to your little friends.”
Tenebella heaves an exasperated sigh. “…Vanilla,” she murmurs.
Her mother clears her throat.
“Please.”
“Thank you, dear,” Kaen says. She begins looking around the dark and lofty chamber. “You’re always cooped up in here. This room is so cold and drafty. We really should redecorate in here, honey.”
Tenebella rolls her eyes.
“New curtains, maybe,” Karen continues. “Some nice rugs. Or we could hang up some cute quilts on the walls.”
“I’m a Witch-Princess, Mom,” Tenebella protests. “Hanging up quilts would ruin my mystique! No Sublunar Deity will want to commune with me!”
“Mystique isn’t going to do you any good when you catch a nasty head cold from all this cold and damp,” Karen notes. “You need to think about your health, honey. At least try to get some fresh air every day.”
“We live in a volcano in the middle of frozen wasteland, Mom,” Tenebella counters.
“Right,” her mother says. “Think of all the nice, long walks you could be taking instead of locking yourself up in here to talk to your Moon Ghosts. Just make sure you wear a warm sweater.”
Tenebella groans. “They’re not ghosts, Mom. They’re Sub. Lunar. Deities. Powers, Mom, you are so lame.”
“Don’t use that tone with me, young lady,” Karen scolds. “I may not understand much about all this scary magic you and your father do, but I’m still your mother.”
“Sorry,” Tenebella mutters, acutely aware that ‘Witch-Princess’ is outranked by ‘Mom’. “By the way, Mom, after dinner, Dad wants me to lead the hordes to—”
“You’re not leading anyone anywhere dressed like that!”
“Mom!”
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