Writing Prompt: "Heir to Damnation" 2

  Writing Prompts:

    1. "It's in your blood. You can't escape this. You won't escape us."

    2. "You get accustomed to the smell."

    3. It began with a whisper, and more whispers joined it until it was a deafening wave of sound.

     "You get accustomed to the smell."

     Dr. Thomas Reed led Detectives Dominic Marshall and Becky Nobel through the steel gray corridor. The gloomy decor would drive anyone mad with depression. The only white was in the cells. Clean, sterile white rooms with thick glass walls. The patients within like rats trapped in a lab waiting for the next needle of drugs to test.  

"Some of the drugs we're given make the patients sick," the doctor explained. "One patient puked right on my shoes during a session." 

"Never a dull moment here huh, doc?" asked Marshall holding his sleeve over his nose. They turned a corner to see Magdalena St. Pierre sitting in her glass cell looking up at the window at the patch of blue sky, the only splash of color in this sterile void.
 
"Usually Magda's pretty calm. Very well behaved. More than most of the other patients," said Dr. Reed. "Actually the most cooperative patient here so we sometimes let her out for a walk." So well behaved that the doctor called Magdalena by her nickname Marshall realized. 
 
"Not sure that's within house rules here," Becky pointed out sourly. 
 
"The state doesn't pay much attention to us," Reed shrugged. "We have our own rules here." It wasn't like the detectives would report on this or anything. Who would listen to 2 lowly detectives? Magdalena lay on her cot in her white room in the light of window. Before Dr. Reed said anything Magdalena said, "Detectives. I assume you've come to take me to get some lethal injection."
 
Magdalena turned her head and faced the grim detectives with a sardonic smile, "Or have you come to kill me yourself?" She actually sounded hopeful. 
 
"We're here about a case," Becky spoke first.
 
"New partner, Marshall?" Magdalena sat up interested now. "She's pretty. Super model even. She's too good for you."
 
 "You sound like my old man," Marshall joked drily. Becky shot her partner a harsh look. They needed to stay on task. 
 
 "So," Magdalena stood up and walked towards the glass. "What can I help you with?" Magdalena was pale with long ebony hair woven into a long braid that draped over her shoulder like a sash. She had an oval face like some of those romantic paintings such as William-Adolphe. Marshall's mother loved that artist. Despite a few years in captivity her pasty skin was clear and flawless. Magdalena's lips were dry and pale and Marshall noticed the little bags under her eyes. Yes her eyes were the real marvel. She always had such pretty eyes though tragedy seemed to lurk behind them. Birdlike ash gray eyes that missed nothing fringed with long lashes underneath dark yet trim eyebrows. The press liked to focus on her looks during the trial. A real life Medusa that stopped any man in his tracks. Despite a few years in captivity Magdalena looked well or at least on the surface.  
 
 Becky took out a file and pressed a picture of Mannix's shredded body to the glass. Magdalena stared at the picture, her face unreadable. She looked like a statue sitting on top a tomb stone. 
 
 "You recognize this man?" Marshall asked. 
 
 Magdalena stood silent. Her ash gray eyes like two grave stones. 
 
 "We looked into the victim and he seemed pretty hard core into the occult," Becky placed the gruesome photo back into the file, Marshall kept his keen eye on Magdalena. Becky pulled out another picture of a symbol on Mannix's ring. It was of ouroboros; the serpent eating it's own tail. 
 
 "And since I'm into the occult I'd know exactly who that guy is," Magdalena spoke drily. "Contrary to what normal people think not everyone in the occult community knows each other. We all don't frequent the same chat rooms on the deep web."
 
 "He was killed the same way a few others were murdered a few years back," Marshall interjected. 
 
 "Well obviously it's a copy cat," Magdalena's sharp tone cut the air. "I'm not gonna do your job for you." There was silence. Then Magdalena jerked her head cricking her neck. Her eye began to twitch and she paused as if hearing another voice in a conversation. She bit her lip and closed her eyes trying to sort out the voices in her head. 
 
 "Miss St. Pierre? Are you alright?" Dr. Reed asked concerned.
 
 "I think there's something you're not telling us, St. Pierre," Becky insisted. 
 
 "I told you I don't know anything," Magdalena spoke a bit roughly, her eyes still closed. Her hands pressed against the glass to support herself. She took deep breaths to calm herself. To those on the other side of the glass it was like watching a wild animal in captivity grow restless. On some days it's calm but others it despises the cage it's living in and would tear a part anyone within it's reach. 
 
Becky pressed the photo of Mannix's body to the glass again.
 
"There's something you're not telling us," Becky accused.
 
"Detectives, I think we should pick this up tomorrow," Dr. Reed suggested. 
 
Marshall noticed Magdalena's usually pure skin begin to actually crawl as if something alive was scurrying beneath her skin. Then he saw arcane symbols in a language he recognized fly across her flesh like fresh ink on paper.



    It began with a whisper, and more whispers joined it until it was a deafening wave of sound. Magdalena tried to keep her cool but the detectives' annoying voices seemed be drowned out by the malevolent whispers in her head. Magdalena looked at the photo of Mannix and noticed a symbol glowing on his flesh within the photo. It looked like an eye, an eye Magdalena unfortunately recognized. The female detective kept pestering her. 
 
 "What did you do?" Magdalena growled. Her head sank between her shoulders, her hands still held in place, the only thing keeping her up. 
 
 "Do? We didn't do anything. You know something," Becky kept going on. "Tell us."
 
 "I don't know...," Magdalena's skin felt like it was on fire. "You need to leave." She could feel the ancient words creeping all over her flesh as if her veins were on the outside. Not now. Please not now. The ancient whispers wouldn't shut up. Just when Magdalena thought she would implode or worse, Dr. Reed saved the say.
 
 "That's enough!" the doctor cried. He buzzed in a nurse and a few orderlies. "Please give Miss St. Pierre a sedative. She's having another fit."
 
 "We're not done here," Becky protested. 
 
 "Yes you are," Dr. Reed's furrowed brow only conveyed his descision to the disappointed detectives. "Please leave." Orderlies whizzed passed the put out detectives to hold down the wild Magdalena who watched after them. There was one voice in her head. It was familiar. It was him. He said something that made Magdalena's blood run cold, "It's in your blood. You can't escape this. You won't escape us."


     Marshall managed to look back and notice Magdalena's eyes go black, as black as a puddle of ink but it was pure evil there in those little pools. 
 
 "She knows something," Becky muttered. "She's either involved or covering for someone. What do you think?"
 
 Marshall was silent trying to work out what he saw. 
 
 "Dom," Becky tugged on Marshall's sleeve. "You with me?"
 
 "Huh? Yeah there's... definitely something wrong here," he said cryptically. 
 
 "We'll keep digging," Becky assured him.
 
 "Maybe I should come back tomorrow," Marshall suggested. 
 
 "You sure?" Becky sounded unsure. Hopes of repairing the apparent rift between them relied on staying together but Marshall's steadfast gaze told her that he wasn't bugding.
 
 "Your ways are too... rough," Marshall tried to put it delicately. "I know her. St. Pierre responds better to light pressure."
 
 "Isn't that how she fooled you before?" Becky asked somewhat acidly. Marshall's eyes became frosty, his whole body going rigid. Becky sighed, "Fine. I'll look into your old case file and see if I can find anything that can help us." Becky walked away leaving Marshall to follow behind, his mind returning to the case out of instinct.

*     *     *     *

     If you would like to know what happens next please comment below. 

Writing Prompt: "Wolves of Rome"

         Writing Prompts:

      1. Pain fogged her memories.

      2. She was not known for her...

      3. "Oh I disagree."


    Pain fogged her memories. Kara stirred. Every bone in her body aching. She had never felt so weak in her life. Kara managed to sit up... that's when she felt the chains. Around her neck was a collar that irritated her flesh; thousands of tiny needles being screwed into her neck. Silver restraints. She was in a dungeon underground. She could smell the damp earth around her among the smells of other creatures like herself. 

It was then part of it began to come back to her. She had been fighting in a battle in her native forest, the barbaric lands of Germania. She was fighting Roman soldiers. She could still taste their blood in her mouth, feel it on her fur, warm and salty. Werewolves against Roman soldiers. The empire had been collecting werewolves ever since it's founding. Getting wolves to fight in their wars but many resisted. Despite their best efforts, the Roman legions had never faced such ferocity from such natives. Not just werewolves but the human tribes as well. How many soldiers will Rome be content to throw at the so called barbarians until they give up? Kara climbed to her feet, she was naked, mud and dried blood caked on her body. 

Kara's heightened senses caught others like her. She pulled on the bars but a female voice called to her. 

"I wouldn't if I were you," she said. 

Kara looked ahead and saw another female werewolf in a cage opposite her. She hid herself in the shadows crouched in the corner of her prison. 

"Though I'm surprised you woke up so soon," the woman said. "Most of our kind that they bring in here sleep for days."

"I'm not like the others," Kara growled. Her eyes glowed yellow. The other prisoners grew restless.

"I know. You're an Alpha," the woman marveled sitting up with interest. "I could sense you the moment they dumped you in here." Alpha werewolves were from pure bloodlines. Always mating with other werewolves instead of breeding with human mates. Alphas have stronger resistance to silver and wolfsbane which is why it took Kara longer to succumb to the poison.

"I come from Germania."

"Heard many Alphas reside there," another voice chimed in. Male this time. He was in the cell right next to Kara's. 

"You'll certainly give them a show," he chuckled dryly. 

"I'm no one's pet to amuse," Kara growled ferociously, some of her strength returning. 

"I used to think that way too," said the male. Then the male curled up in a corner of his cell and attempted to sleep.

"Don't mind Drago," the woman said. "He's been here the longest. His howl is worse than his bite these days. I'm Una."

Kara once more pulled on the bars making a fuss that caused the ceiling of her cell to open.

"Quiet you beast!" called a rough Roman soldier. They poured water onto her, when it hit her skin it was like being bathed in boiling water. Tiny plants of the aconite seared her flesh making her collapse. Kara bit back the scream catching it in her throat. She would not let the Romans see her beaten even if she was in chains.

"It took our entire supply of wolfsbane to keep this one asleep for the journey," recalled a soldier. 

"She'll make for great entertainment," commented one with approval. 

The bars above were shut leaving Kara simmering in wolfsbane.

*     *     *     *

   She was never known for her quiet temper. When Kara woke up again it was to see a tall imposing man in a fine white and blue tunic. He had piercing blue eyes that showed no fear. Kara only glared at him. The man smiled.

"I hear you've been causing trouble for some of my men," he said. "And making some of the inmates restless."

Kara climbed to her feet and once more pulled on the bars though she might as well have been a human pulling on a stone wall. The man laughed. 

"Such spirit," he marveled. "I've heard about you Alphas."

"Then you should know better than to put an Alpha in a pack with other werewolves," Kara smirked. 

"She speaks," he cocked an eyebrow. "Drago here tells me your name is Kara. You may call me Marcellus." 

Kara continued to glare but continued the conversation, "What are these chains, Marcellus?"

"Those chains are nothing compared to the collars," Marcellus explained. "The collars were enchanted by Egyptian mystics to keep you from turning. When the collars come off then you can turn at will."

"For your entertainment," Kara put together already. 

"Not unless you would like to join Rome's Legions," Marcellus offered. "I sponsor this gladiator school for wolves and take the best ones on campaign. I think an Alpha could help us immensely."

Kara smiled then spoke firmly, "You better kill me now, Marcellus, because when I get out of here I'm gonna rip your throat out and feed on your entrails." Marcellus paused for a moment but he matched Kara's evil smile.
 
"You all say that," Marcellus stood up straight, shoulders back, chest puffed out, "but eventually you all bend the knee."
 
Marcellus turned his back on her but Kara spoke angrily  "Oh I disagree." Marcellus continued walking, smiling to himself imagining how Kara was going to be broken.
 
Kara sat back down, exhausted from putting on her show of strength and resistance. 
 
"You should just make it easy on yourself," Drago called out to her. "Just bend the knee and you'll survive."
 
"I'm an Alpha," Kara bit through her teeth. "I don't kneel to others. They kneel before me."
 
Drago scoffed, "Enjoy the pain then."

Short Story: "Sirens of the Belt" Prequel Pt 1 & 2

         This is a prequel to "Sirens of the Belt" and there will also be a sequel. I did use writing prompts just like the last one but I'll just have them in bold type. 

   The riots started over the smallest thing. Cressida station was the wealthiest in the Athena Belt. However, in the case of class warfare it was on the same level of tension as the others. Even 5 years after the disbanding of the Stygian Corps the public still held disdain for the Earth Confederation. It grew worse on the anniversary of Geronimo. It didn’t help that the E-Con was suggesting shutting down the courtesan system. Women of the low class were in an uproar. The courtesan system gave low class women the opportunity to escape their poverty and provide for their families. Now the government wanted to take that away too. 

On Saturday, on the anniversary of the massacre of Geronimo, the disgruntled murmurs of the low class became a full out cry when a Peace Keeper got into a civilian’s face. No one knows who threw the glass bottle but it hit a Peace Keeper in the head. The riot started and ended up making a crack in the wall that vacuumed out precious oxygen. It took a week to repair it. Tensions were further inflamed as the infamous Djinn, leader of the terrorist group Legion made a statement about his approval of the people standing up to oppression. The E-Con had blood on its hands. Despite government efforts to find or squash Djinn’s statements, he continued to plague their air waves.

*     *     *     *

    “Wait, these codes aren’t right.”

Julian Sulla looked up from his slate to his cadet who looked nervous. Security codes to the federal building where the Viceroy made his home always changed everyday to prevent security breaches. Though these codes were different. They would have allowed any novice to walk into any part of the building.  

“Has the Viceroy Seneca seen these?” asked Sulla. The cadet shook his head. 

“Let’s keep it between us for now then,” Sulla smiled. “No need to worry him with nothing.”

“But the security codes—“

“I’ll look into them,” Sulla nodded. “It’s probably a glitch.” Sulla dismissed his cadet with the wave of his black gloved hand. Once the cadet left, Julian Sulla started thinking of suspects… and how this could turn in his favor if at all. 

*     *     *     *

   “Which is worse,” she wondered. “Emotional pain or physical pain?”

“Why would you ask that?” Constance asked her young companion. Leila tilted her head then answered simply, “Just curious.”

“No one’s that curious,” Aurelia said. “You’re a weird one, Leila.”

Constance thought it over nevertheless then said, “Emotional pain.”

“Why you say that?” Leila asked. 

“Because physical wounds heal but emotional scars never do,” Constance explained. “Trust for example. That’s the hardest wound to heal. Trust is easy to build up but almost impossible to repair.”

“My mother would agree with you,” Leila said.

“You two should have been philosophers,” Aurelia yawned. “You’re boring enough.”

“And deep enough,” Constance remarked drily. “Not shallow like some…”

Aurelia glared at Constance whose emerald eyes were already legendary. The Erotic Instructors would talk of nothing else. In a few days Aurelia, Constance, and a few other of their classmates would turn 18. From the time they were 11 or so they were taught elegance and sophistication. Now was time for the physical lessons. Some of the girls were excited. Already some of the Erotic Instructors have bent protocol and peeked at some of their new students.

“I wonder who I’ll get,” Aurelia said as she lounged on her bed. 

“I’m sure you’ll be satisfied,” Constance pointed out. 

“You don’t sound thrilled,” Aurelia accused. She then smiled wickedly saying, “I’m sure whoever you get will be as patient and kind no matter how slow you are to learn.”

Constance narrowed her green eyes. Then with an equally wicked grin Constance said, “And being as personality isn’t an issue here your Instructor will like you just fine.”

Leila laughed. Watching Constance and Aurelia bicker was always a highlight of her day. 

*     *     *     *

  She counted down the minutes. Constance’s birthday was tomorrow. She would be 18 and her real training in becoming a courtesan would begin. Before now she had kissed only girls. It’s what most of the students did either for comfort or to ease themselves into the real challenge; how to satisfy a man. Up until this point, Erotic Instructors were kept away from the students in a separate quarter of Hedone. What Constance learned from the eunuchs and servant maids was that they were all handsome men. An Erotic Instructor had to be late 20s to late 30s. Unmarried. Had to be experienced in the art of sex and have amazing stamina. And he gave up all right to claim a courtesan upon her graduation. 

Despite the rule, a day or week before a student’s 18th birthday they may catch a glimpse of their would be Erotic Instructors. Seemed to ease the girls’ troubled minds. More often it was in a serving capacity. Constance’s duty that day was to serve wine. She was wearing her white sari, very modest. The men were in their bath at midday. Three of them talking about the riots last week. 

“It’s been 5 years and still everyone’s sore over that Geronimo incident,” Ion sighed, scratching his chin. He had penetrating cool blue eyes, a thick golden mane and a muscular build to go with his confidence. He reminded Constance of a lion. Yet his smile was that of a wolf. 

“100 years could pass and everyone would still be sore about it,” retorted Bastian. Constance had heard a little more about Bastian. He was dark in complexion built like a Greek God as many of the maid servants blushed in describing him. Constance poured him more wine and flushed when he winked at her.

“I didn’t take you for an activist,” Theo laughed. Theo had hazel nut skin. His Latin heritage very prominent in his features, which made him more exotic to the women he encountered. Ion turned his attention to Constance.

“Perhaps we should ask an Ashoka girl her opinion,” Ion addressed Constance. Her obsidian prayer beads always gave her away. She was used to it. What she wasn’t used to was Ion’s eyes looking her over with his hungry wolf eyes. Bastian and Theo turned to Constance. All eyes on her and she was frozen in the spot light.

“Come on then,” Ion prompted. “What are your thoughts on the riot on Cressida?”

“I don’t pay that much to politics,” Constance confessed sheepishly. Ion smiled then said, “Alright then do you think the people have a right to still be angry over something that happened 5 years ago?”

Constance paused. She felt a lump in her throat. 

“Leave the poor girl alone,” Theo chided. 

“Ashoka are hard to anger about anything,” Bastian shrugged as he sipped his wine.

“That’s not true,” Constance said. They all looked at her with curiosity. 

“Is that so?” Ion arched his brow. “And what makes you angry?”

“People who think they know everything when they really know nothing,” Constance retorted. If it was one thing she hated it was Covenant followers and nay sayers poking fun at a religion that provided her comfort through out most of her difficult childhood.

Ion rose from the bath, his nakedness on full display, muscles glistening from the perfumed water. Constance tried to keep her eyes above Ion’s waist. 

“I see you’ve never seen a naked man before,” Ion teased. Constance flushed, her tongue seemed too swollen to talk. 

“I guess we can assume that Ashoka girls are also as prudish as Covenant girls,” Theo reasoned. 

She narrowed her green eyes at Ion who met them with intrigue. Everyone held their breath unsure what would happen.  

“Such pretty eyes,” Ion complimented. “Like emeralds.”

Ion reached up to Constance’s face and moved a small dark strand of her curly hair away from her face behind her ear to get a better look at her. The brush of his fingers sent a jolt through Constance. Her heart raced at the sight of his gleaming smile. Bastian and Theo were suddenly invisible to Ion and Constance. 

“Tell me— what is your name?” Ion asked.

“Constance.”

“Constance,” Ion savored the name. “Tell me, Constance, have you ever kissed a man before?”

Constance avoided his gaze focusing on her silver pewter pitcher. Before she could provide a decent answer, Ion took Constance’s face in his hands and kissed her on her pink lips. It was a simple kiss but one that held promise. Constance was too shocked to respond. Ion slowly pulled away, the soft echoing from the tender smacking of lips. 

“Now you have,” Ion commented. Bastian and Theo sat amused. Constance was stunned. Then she heard Lady Euphemia’s familiar strut down the hall and saw her looming shadow.

“Constance.” Euphemia’s commanding voice making Constance jump a little. “I think you’re done serving these men for the day.”

Constance couldn’t make it out of there fast enough. Ion watched her leave, a wanting gleam in his eye and a wolfish smile. That smile didn’t diminish under Euphemia’s intense gaze.

“I told you the rules, Ion,” Euphemia chided. “No touching the girls until tomorrow.”

“It was just a taste,” Ion shrugged as he took a sip of wine. The sweet taste of Constance’s lips made the wine more potent somehow. Or perhaps that was Ion’s euphoria. 

“That girl has potential,” Ion beamed. 

“Constance?” Euphemia raised a quizzical eye brow. “She’s a timid thing. Though on occasion she’ll show some spark.”

“I can turn that spark into a roaring flame,” Ion boasted.

“Don’t keep her to yourself,” Bastian chuckled. But already in Ion’s mind he was tasting all of Constance. Unwrapping her white sari and taking her into a hot embrace.  

*     *     *     *

    “No one will notice…,” Leila tilted her head, her eyes unable to hide their consternation. Aurelia examined the light scars on her body. Each told a story of how her strict Covenant parents disciplined her. Every mistake an outline on her once pure flesh. She touched one on her shoulder blade, a long crescent shaped cut. She had arrived home late and her father, a priest in the church had her cut herself for her penance. 

“It’s not like yours, Leila,” Aurelia bitterly replied. It wasn’t like Constance’s. Leila grew up on Cressida station where Ashoka flourished. Constance was raised in Ashoka. Ashoka didn’t believe in self mutilation or violence. Aurelia would often spy Constance in the group bath and see her spotless porcelain skin shining, almost blinding even in the soft light. When a light beam hit her Constance would glow. It evoked envy and admiration from Aurelia. 

Aurelia wrapped her robe around her body unable to stare it any longer. 

“It’ll be dark,” Leila tried to comfort her friend. 

“As much as I appreciate it, Leila,” Aurelia said softly. “Please shut up.”

*     *     *     *

     “You wouldn’t dare.”

Faro eyed his friend Dex who stood with a knife at the ready.

“Oh I would,” Dex said his voice full of intensity. The men stared each other down. Their silence worse than a scratching on a chalk board. 

“Then do it,” Faro goaded. “If you have the balls.”

Dex set up his target then launched his knife. The knife sailed through the air and hit the apple resting on Faro’s dark head, knocking it off and nailing it to the wall. A cheer roared from everywhere in the Canterbury bar. Faro and Dex perhaps laughed the loudest.

“Still the best shot in the Belt,” praised Faro, roughly patting Dex on the shoulder as he drank his beer. 

“I may be slipping,” Dex joked. “I was aiming lower.” Faro hollered jovially. He and Dex had a grim sense of humor only they understood. 

“I owe you a beer then,” Faro signaled for the bar tender for another round. 

“No no no,” Dex held his hands up in surrender, his balance wavering. “I have to get back and sober up. Got a job to do.”

“Breaking in some new talent, Dex?” asked a bar patron wickedly. 

“Someone has to,” Faro called. 

Everyone raised a glass in agreement. 

“Just one more drink, Jay,” Faro asked quietly. Dex’s face suddenly darkened. He whispered harshly, “You know not to call me that.” Faro shrugged his shoulders but said, “One more drink won’t kill you, brother.”

After hearing his real name Dex wanted to drown out the horrible memories that came rushing back with it. Dex drank until his head swam.

*     *     *     *

    Constance waited on her bed, her hands wringing in her lap, playing with her obsidian prayer beads. This morning she turned 18. First sessions with Erotic Instructors were assigned but later it became less strict and often Instructors would trade with each other. The rule was they would be gone before morning. 

Unable to quiet her mind, Constance got up and tried to read a book but just as she was opening to her first page, someone came busting in. Constance turned around quickly to see a tall man with rust colored hair and a pale complexion wavering in the door way.

“You are…,” Constance began. 

“Your Erotic… Instruct… Instructor…,” the man hiccuped. Constance remembered the name on the schedule: Dex Ransom. 

“You’re Dex Ransom,” Constance was doubtful. Dex stumbled into the room, knocking a vase over. 

“Oops,” he muttered. “Okay… let’s get started.”

“You’re really drunk right now,” Constance stood looking at him sternly. She reminded Dex of an old nun who used to beat him with a yard stick.

“No,” he argued. “I’m not… you’re just blurry.” Dex stumbled forward. Constance reached and caught him before he hit the floor though he threatened to take her with him. She helped him to the bed, the alcohol from his breath was enough to get herself intoxicated. 

“Thanks uhhh…”

“Constance.”

“Constance?” Dex’s tongue stumbled over the name as he smiled broadly. “Weird name. But you’re so nice and so pretty.”

      Constance looked into Dex’s eyes. They were a grayish blue like steel and were foggy from his night of carousing. Then Dex passed out. Constance rolled her eyes. Seeing no other option, Constance placed a blanket over Dex’s slumbering body and sat in a chair, focusing on her book. 

*     *     *     *

Tomorrow I'll post Part 3.

Writer's Thoughts: Should Electra Complex Be Changed?

           We all know the story of Oedipus. Kills his father and marries his mother. Eventually Sigmund Freud uses this as an example of a son's desire to kill his own father and take his place to love the mother. Though it seems unfair given that Oedipus actually tried to avoid that prophecy believing his adopted parents to be his real parents. That misunderstanding aside, the female equivalent to the Oedipus Complex is the Electra Complex, which is the daughter wanting to kill the mother to replace her and marry her father. Both complexes speak of a love/hate relationship between parent and child. Both have an obsession with fathers. But I feel like the Electra story doesn't fit the Oedipus story (in more ways than one).

    First let's talk about who Electra was. Electra was the daughter of King Agamemnon and Queen Clytemnestra. Agamemnon was about to go off to war (the Trojan War) but decided to sacrifice his daughter Iphigenia to Artemis for a favorable wind (instead it's revealed that Artemis just took Iphigenia to an island making her a priestess of her temple). When Clytemnestra heard of this she vowed revenge (because the Greeks love a good revenge plot instead of a more sane option though to be fair, they didn't have the concept of divorce). Clytemnestra took a young lover and they plotted against her husband. When Agamemnon came home, Clytemnestra murdered her husband in a bath. Afterwards fearing retribution against Agamemnon's living children, Clytemnestra's lover has Electra married to a poor old man and banishes her brother. Electra and her brother plot revenge, killing their mother and her lover.

    At best the story of Electra is more of a resentment against her mother for letting her boyfriend treat her so badly than a daughter swearing vengeance because her mother killed her father. If Agamemnon sacrificed his own child for a change in the weather he might not have been such a great dad to begin with so I doubt his remaining children would have shed a tear at his funeral. Which brings me to what this complex should be called: Ever hear the story of Myrrha?

This is more Adonis with Aphrodite

    The story of Myrrha and Cinyras is not well known but it still shows up in Greek/Roman Mythology as Myrrha is the mother of Adonis, Aphrodite and Persephone's lover. Myrrha was the daughter of King Cinyras, King of Cyprus, and his queen Cenchreis. One detail I remember is that Aphrodite heard Myrrha say she would never fall in love which pisses the goddess off (not exactly sure why but the Greek Gods are a vindictive bunch). Or I could be wrong about that and it's just Myrrha falling in love with her father out of the blue. To Cinyras's credit he allows his daughter to pick a suitor but she weeps saying that her mother is the luckiest woman to have found such a husband in her father. 

     Cinyras misinterprets this as an innocent idealized love of a daughter for her father. Bring in the nurse who finally gets Myrrha to confess that she desires her father. Instead of advising her against it, Myrrha's nurse helps her achieve her desire. Best to get dear old dad drunk first and make sure it was really dark. The nurse had told the king that he had an admirer but she was shy and asked to visit him in the darkness during a festival. For a few nights Cinyras unknowingly had incestuous sex with his daughter until his curiosity got the better of him and he held a light up to his mystery lover's face. Understandably Cinyras is shocked and appalled that he had been sleeping with his daughter. He chased her out of his bed and his palace. Myrrha is pregnant and prays that her suffering would end but be spared death. So she's turned into a tree. From her split trunk comes a beautiful baby boy, Adonis.

    It's fair to say that Myrrha is a much more accurate portrayal like that of the Oedipus story though the only difference is that Myrrha knew exactly who she was sleeping with. We don't know how Myrrha's mother felt but it's safe to say that Cinyras probably didn't say anything. Now we all don't really want to sleep with our parents. The object of the Oedipus/Electra/Myrrha complexes is to show our desire to become them or to reject them; it details a complicated love/hate relationship we have with our parents who are either good or mean to us for whatever reason. As someone who has a toxic mother and so very close with her father I can say I'm more like Electra (though if you ask my mother she'll say I'm my father's girlfriend in which case in her mind I'm Myrrha). My mother is crazy but I am more my father's daughter than my mother's. Getting back on track I'm ok with us calling it the Electra/Myrrha complex as it embodies the whole Oedipus complex combining desire and violence against one's parent.

Writing Prompt: "Legacy of the Fall" (Child of the Fallen)

    Once called "Child of the Fallen" I've since changed the title to "Legacy of the Fall". This is part 2 of "Child of the Fallen". 

    *This story contains some sexual scenes. Just a heads up.


Writing Prompts:

    1. The air tasted like dust and her feet were killing her.

    2. "Again?"

   The air tasted like dust and her feet were killing her. Kaila had been traveling for thousands of miles to find the man she sought. Figured he'd be in the Neutral Zone. There was the Djinn Nation across the sea in Europe to Asia. Then there was the Angel Republic stretching from Canada to South America. Australia was the Neutral Zone. A place where those who didn't fight in the Dominion Wars, djinn, angels, and humans living in some kind of tolerated peace. 

Even though djinn and angels had higher endurance and better stamina than humans, even the supernatural have their limits. Luckily Kaila reached her limit at the place she was looking for. It was an abandoned ranch that was rebuilt into a brothel where the supernatural and natural could co-mingle in an intimate way. The wind kicked up sand and dirt. Kaila pulled her scarf over her face then pulled on the silk chord that rang the bell. The door opened and a tall woman with somewhat matted curly blond hair draping over her shoulders wearing a silk kimono robe leaned in the door way. Her make up was a little smudged but she smiled brightly as she stepped aside to let the traveler in.
 
"What's your pleasure, darling?" the woman asked. Kaila looked around seeing angels, djinn, and humans tangled in each other wrapped in silk and leather not caring who was watching them take their pleasure. Kaila turned to the prostitute and said, "There's someone here I need to see."
 
"You've come to the right place for that," chuckled the prostitute. 
 
"I'm looking for the Archangel..."

*     *     *     *

    "Again?" Delphine giggled as her angel lover tickled her neck with his sensuous lips. "You're not tired yet?"

 
"You should know by now that angels are insatiable," he whispered. He drew her up to him nestling her on his lap where his desire still yearned for her loving loins, her legs wrapped around his waist. Delphine's lids drooped as her lover touched her in places where no human man ever reached then let a blissful sigh escape her plush lips. 
 
"Oh God...," Delphine groaned into his mouth. 
 
"What a way to ruin a moment," the angel chuckled though he showed no sign of releasing his human lover. "Calling out my Father's name."
 
"Isn't that why they called it a G-Spot," Delphine laughed biting his ear playfully and grinding softly making the angel groan a little.
 
"Well I'm going to make sure it stands for my name now," he said as he pushed her down on the silk sheets already damp from their mingling sweat. He explored her mouth attentively and was about to give her more of his love when--
 
"Gabriel."
 
"This room is occupied," Gabriel called out irritated. 
 
"I've come from across the oceans at my great peril to find you, Archangel," the woman insisted. Gabriel groaned in despair and frustration. He turned an angry amber eye on the intruder to see a young woman with Asiatic features and long dark hair watching him with cat-like eyes and dark lashes. 
 
"Unless you're here to join the party, which I'm sure Delphine would love a tag in," Gabriel smirked as Delphine chuckled. "Then I suggest you wait outside until I'm finished."
 
"Trust me, honey," Delphine smiled. "You'll be waiting a while." But the woman didn't leave. Instead she charged up to the bed and said, "My name is Kaila and I need your help."
 
Gabriel heaved a frustrated sigh. "In case you haven't noticed," he said wrapping a blanket around his nakedness then jumping off the bed to get a glass of wine. "I'm not in the saving anyone business."
 
"It's about Michael..." Kaila spoke without a thought.
 
Gabriel froze. He hadn't heard that name in a long time. For good reason. The name brought nothing but pain. 
 
"I know you were there when it all went down," Kaila approached the Archangel, "and that it changed you but you're the only one who can help me now." Gabriel rounded on Kaila and grabbed her by the throat. Kaila gasped for breath, the Archangel's strength had not lost it's might despite years of whores and drink. 
 
"You listen to me carefully," he growled. "I'm going to let you live if you leave right now and never come back." Kaila muttered something in Aramaic while touching a gold manacle with a giant ruby on her wrist. The ruby glowed and Kaila materialized into sand then re-materialized on the other side of the room. 
 
"Clever," Gabriel mused bitterly. "Most of you djinn are. But even drunk on my ass I can still take you."
 
"Maybe," Kaila pulled out a long dark curved blade. "But not without your sword. Only something made from ether can kill a djinn... or an angel."
 
 Gabriel's face fell. This woman was really starting to annoy him. His amber eyes were like two burning flames. Delphine wrapped a sheet around her hourglass figure and escaped to a corner at the far side of the room. She knew about angels and djinn well enough that to be in a room with the two of them with tensions this high was a bad idea. 
 
 "State your business then," Gabriel took a huge gulp of wine, seeing the only way out was to listen to what the girl had to say. "What has my arrogant, horse's ass of a brother done now?" 
 
 "He's missing," Kaila said her eyes full of worry. "I need your help to find him and stop another divine disaster that could destroy us all."

*     *     *     *

If you would like to know what happens next comment below.