Third Place, Stephen A. DiBiase Award

AWARD

I am pleased to share that my poem, "Little Brown Changeling," came in third place in the most recent DiBiase Poetry Contest. Thank you to the judges and congrats to the winners. All of the winning poems are now available to read here. 

 "Little Brown Changeling" also received a Rhysling Award in 2024. It appears in my latest poetry collection, A Food Court in Hell.

Update and Women in Horror Month

NOMINATION

I am very happy to share that my prose-poem, “Soulbirds and Firefoxes,” has been nominated for a Rhysling Award. The same poem also received an honorable mention in the Marrow Halloween poetry contest and has been nominated for a Pushcart. The poem is still available to read at Marrow Magazine, and it is also in my latest collection, A Food Court in Hell.

PUBLICATION

My poems, "The Clock-Drawing Test" and "Things My Uncles Made in Prison," are included in Roadside Assistance: A Roadside Press Reader, an anthology edited by Dan Denton and Michele McDannold. 

APPEARANCE

I was a guest on the Plague Remedy Podcast - many thanks to host Stephen Sacco. Hope you find time to give it a listen!

WOMEN IN HORROR MONTH

March is Women in Horror Month! If you like horror, check out:

Screaming Intensifies - a collection of short horror stories

Our Miss Engel - a vampire novella

The Order of the Four Sons series - while technically fantasy, it is chock-full of monsters and cosmic horrors

Happy haunted reading!

A Food Court in Hell is now available!

 

Cover art by Cory Kirby

A Food Court in Hell is here! Grab a copy on Amazon, or you can purchase copies directly from me, $15.99 + shipping (US domestic only). 

If we're friends on Facebook, please message me there, otherwise my email is laurenscharhag@gmail.com. 

I also still have copies of some of my other books - I will do two for $20 + shipping. (Other titles I still have copies of include West Side Girl & Other Poems, Requiem for a Robot Dog, Languages First and Last, as well as my short story collection, Screaming Intensifies.) 

One of the poem in this book, "Soulbirds and Firefoxes," just received an honorable mention in Marrow Magazine's 2025 Halloween contest, and "Little Brown Changeling" was the 2024 Rhysling Award winner in the long-form category. 

If anyone is interested in reviewing this book, please let me know - I am happy to provide digital copies to reviewers. 

SYNOPSIS

A Food Court in Hell contains poems for the slow-motion apocalypse. With the stars as not-so-silent witnesses, awareness and resignation vie with hope, rumination, and celebration. These poems are a letter to the universe, a reminder that this world is worth saving. Herein, mythology and fairy tales, art and artifacts, natural and manmade wonders, pop culture and mysticism all converge, on the teetering edge of the dying American empire.

SAMPLE POEM

Another poem about the moon

I watched A Trip to the Moon. They knew

firing a bullet-shaped rocket to the moon

wouldn’t get us there. They knew there probably

wasn’t snow on the moon. They knew

mushrooms probably didn’t grow

in the caverns on the moon.

They knew there were probably no moon people.

Now, more than half a century since the moon’s mysteries

have been dispelled, it sits, a particularly unscenic rock,

like a dingy Nixon-era tourist attraction somewhere

in Nebraska, covered in footprints and fading flags.

But we also know now that the moon is the result

of a collision between Earth and some other planet,

dust of our dust, shard of our shard, and from here,

the winter moon is still bright and silver, and the

summer moon is warm and golden,

and still, we photograph it, and we paint it,

and we conjure gods from it, and across 1,000 miles

you and I text each other to ask,

Have you seen the moon tonight?

And even when you say, No, it’s overcast here,

we can still, for a moment, walk together

with the Selenites

through lunar snowfall.

Cover Reveal - A Food Court in Hell

I'm pleased to share the gorgeous cover art by Cory Kirby (who incidentally is also a tattoo artist and has inked my arm). 

A Food Court in Hell is my ninth poetry collection. I think it might also be my weirdest one, which is why Cory's art is just so dang perfect for it. (We call the cover creature the Flamingo Saint.) 

The book will be available in paperback, $15.99 from Amazon on Halloween (Oct. 31, 2025). 

If you would prefer to buy from me directly, I will share when I have copies available. I can take PayPal or Venmo, domestic mail only. 

Cory will also have copies at her tattoo shop, so if you're in Kansas City, stop in at Pegasus Tattooing & Arts! I will share when she has them available. 

SYNOPSIS

A Food Court in Hell contains poems for the slow-motion apocalypse. With the stars as not-so-silent witnesses, awareness and resignation vie with hope, rumination, and celebration. These poems are a letter to the universe, a reminder that this world is worth saving. Herein, mythology and fairy tales, art and artifacts, natural and manmade wonders, pop culture and mysticism all converge, on the teetering edge of the dying American empire.

SAMPLE POEM (I am choosing one of the stranger ones so you know what you're in for.)

Semantics

a collage poem

1. Traduttore, traditore 

An inveterate read/write learner, I crave text. A misophonia sufferer, I am particular about what vibrations I want rattling my cochlea. I know I am not alone in finding actors’ voices drowned out by all those shoot-em-up bangs, booms, throbbing subwoofers, and other cinematic onomatopoeia generators. Truly, the art of close captioning is underrated, whole epics wrangled into brackets and footnotes: 

Human sounds [machine-gun-fire-like laughter] [urinating forcefully] [loudly implied cannibalism] 

Music [tense, percussive] [unsettling, atonal] [dire synth notes] 

Ambient noise [cellphone bloops] [demonic mumbling] [audio warbles disconcertingly] 

Descriptions that, themselves, defy description [Intensity intensifies] [Spock sobbing mathematically] 

Text translation fails [These symbols mean stuff in Japanese] 

Malapropisms and mondegreens that you hope are the fault of poor speech-to-text programs: 

Read Off the Rent Those Reindeer 
I did my job with a plum 
Firefighters deal with people ejaculating 

Sound fidelity implies faithfulness, but we all know the distance between what is spoken and what is heard, between what is meant and what is taken, between access and accessibility, between prayer and wishful thinking.

2. How to Lose Your Accent

In kindergarten, I pretended I didn’t know how to read yet. I pretended to struggle with phonics and sounding out words on the blackboard so I could be like everyone else. In high school Spanish, I deliberately flattened my accent. Same reason. Now, that accent is gone, as is most of the language that I grew up with. In every music class and at every mass, I sang as softly as possible. Now, I can only sing goofy, a warbling falsetto parodying corny power ballads that I still secretly love. In the days when I was beautiful, I hid myself beneath baggy clothes and unkempt hair. Now, I look back at the strewn wreckage of all I have crushed out of myself, afraid to be seen, afraid to be heard, afraid to be.

3. Message Deleted

One morning, I got to the office to find five voicemail messages had been left on my phone. All left after midnight, all from the same man, all in a language I didn’t understand or even recognize, a voice that seemed to float from out of the aether, crossed wires from another time, another place, another realm altogether. Back in those days, caller ID didn’t log calls, so I couldn’t see their phone number. I had no way to call them back to see if we had a language in common. I listened to the messages several times, trying to pick out a phrase or a name, part of me wondering if I was really here in my cubicle after all, or if I was still asleep, having one of those dreams where someone is telling me something very urgent and important that I know I won’t remember after I wake up. 

4. Last Words

As the dementia set in, my grandfather started calling my grandmother Luz. (Her given name was Maria de la Luz, but she’d always gone by the Americanized Lucy.) In 65 years of marriage, he had never called her Luz before. On his death bed, he kept calling for her, calling for his mother, eyes wide and terrified, fixed on some distant point.

Mama, Luz, Mama, Luz

Mother, light, mother, light

I am unclear as to whether I was witnessing one life ending, another beginning, or both. I am unclear as to whether he was calling out for what he wanted, or if he was telling us what he was seeing in those final moments. Decades later, I do DMT and way too many mushrooms, trying to simulate the dying brain. Every time, the visions take me back to that moment, the ICU room, the doctor shutting off the ventilator. Every answer is circular, elliptical, life constantly doubling back on itself.

5. Tetragrammaton

It is forbidden to say the name out loud. Many four-letter words are considered profane. According to some, God is actually a four-letter word. (My grandfather would have said Dios.) But then, so is love. (Amor.) The unspeakable word of God means to be, and God spoke the world into being. Words are the domain of God, the domain of man. I think when people say that they love God, they’re really saying they love the world. Gabriel spoke one four-letter word to Mohammed: Read. Another four-letter word is joke. Did you hear the one about England and America, two countries separated by a common language? Presumably, man and God have a common language somewhere, but we’ve lost our accent. The phrase “Tower of Babel” does not appear anywhere in the Bible. It is simply “the city and the tower.” The name of the city was actually Bāb-ilim, “gate of God,” for language is a gate and understanding is its key and these mortal tongues are so tragically limited. Is every divine message a breakdown in communication, filtered through our faulty hearing apparatuses, interpreted by our even more faulty brains which are already dying? Is every religious text a collection of eggcorns and holorimes and ambiguous syntax, one big cosmic game of Telephone, two tin cans and a string? Now phones dominate our lives. Don’t leave me on read. Now the whole world is our phones, fiber optics like the Earth’s own nervous system. And England and America aren’t really separate, no more than birth and death are separate, or God and the world, or life and mystery. And we are inseparable, indistinguishable, from the world, from God, from each other. It’s been said that area codes have become like ancestral clan names or heraldry, a marker of your homeland. When we die, they say hearing is the last sense to go, which is why doctors encourage us to talk to our fading loved ones. Shema means “receiving the kingdom of Heaven.” Hear, O, Israel. Trumpets, harps, psalms, a voice ringing out. Be the receiver. Four letters, each one a pillar that holds up the universe. Hello, how may I direct your call?

February News

AWARD

I received this earlier this month. Thank you to the SFPA for this honor. Here is the winning poem, "Little Brown Changeling."

PUBLICATIONS

My poem, “At Culver’s Drive-Thru,” is in the latest issue of Locust Shells Journal. Many thanks to the editors for including my work. 

“Father” is in the New Feathers 2024 Anthology (print). Thank you to editor Wade Fox.

IN THE KING’S POWER

In the King’s Power is now complete – books 1-6 are now available as ebooks on Amazon/Kindle Unlimited. Thank you to my readers for following this series. Ratings and reviews are welcome, and I am always happy to supply reviewer copies. 

January News

PUBLICATION

My poem, “Mono no Aware,” appeared in the Chilean magazine, Ultramarine Literary Review.

This is a special milestone for me, as it means I have now been published on all seven continents! Many, many thanks to editor Catalina Bonati.

IN THE KING'S POWER

Part 5 of In the King's Power was released on January 1 as an Amazon ebook. Read a bonus excerpt here.

Part 6, which is the final installment of the series, will go live on Saturday, February 1, also as an ebook, $3.99 to purchase, or free to read with Kindle Unlimited. Read an excerpt here. 

OTHER NEWS

In an effort to disentangle myself from the Metaverse, I have deleted my Instagram profiles. I will not delete Facebook at this time, as there are far too many people and communities there that I don't want to lose touch with, but I will not be spending much time on it, and I don't plan on posting any more writing-related announcements there-- I don't want to contribute to its engagement or Zuck's bottom line anymore than I have to. I am hoping to start separating my work from Amazon as well, as I am able. 

In the meantime, you can find me on BlueSky @laurenscharhag.bsky.social. And, if you are so inclined, I am still on LinkedIn, and can be reached by email. 

 

In the King's Power - Part 6 Cover Art and Excerpt

Part 6 is the final part of In the King's Power. It will be available February 1 on Amazon, free on Kindle Unlimited, $3.99 to purchase. Check out the rest of the series on Amazon here. Bonus excerpts are available here on my blog - access them from the series overview. 

SYNOPSIS 

Reunited with her foster father at last, Alyssa must choose the life she ultimately wants.

EXCERPT

THE coming weeks were every bit as hard as Clayton had imagined they’d be.

After he treated and bandaged the wound, Alyssa began to speak, haltingly at first. He’d picked up a few leatherbound journals in town, as well as some pen and inks, and now, he asked her permission to take notes as they talked. She granted it.

Their progress was interrupted the following day when she took the bandage off. The scalding metal had done nothing to mar the dessin itself—just the flesh around it. Clayton explained that, from what he’d learned from talking with Thia and her Red Garter friends, the dessin was created using alchemical inks, formulated with powerful enchantments. Occasionally, women who’d managed to escape their husbands and keepers found ways to black out the marks, but that was all. Even an alchemist or a healer could not erase it completely. They could remove the colors, but the woman would still be left with a ghostly outline.

Alyssa became quite hysterical at that. She howled, she screamed, she pounded the walls with her fists until she fractured her knuckles, and blood ran down her arms. If she were any other mental health patient, Clayton would recommend a sedative, anti-anxiety medication, but with Alyssa, that just wasn’t an option.

Outwardly, he kept his cool, holding her when she finally wore herself out, tending again to her injuries. But inwardly, he was heartbroken. No parent wanted to see their child go through this. He was also frightened. This was the most dangerous time. What if she hurt herself so badly, he wouldn’t be able to treat it with ointments and bandages? Or what if…?

But no. He refused to even think it. She’d come this far. She’d make it the rest of the way through this.

When he stepped outside to refill the water bucket, he found animals surrounding the house, looking somberly on. He left the door open and some of them followed him inside. Having a fox curled around her feet, a chipmunk on her shoulder, seemed to soothe her.

The priority was to make sure she didn’t hurt herself again. Clayton didn’t think she would. Both times, she’d injured only her hands, trying to destroy the dessin. But all the same, he asked her to stay close to the cabin for the foreseeable future. “Please, don’t go anywhere without me?” He put in only the tiniest hint of a question, to make it sound like a request and not a directive.

Understanding him perfectly well, she nodded. “I won’t.”

Alyssa resumed speaking. Days passed, and she continued to speak. Of course, the story did not come chronologically. She laid it out like a terrible Tarot spread for him to interpret. The cards shuffled and overlapped and reversed direction, but they stuck with it. The individual incidents even sounded like the trump cards of some strange new arcana: the Mute Queen, the Burning Girl, the Forty Slain Men, the Masquerade, the Kiss of Life, the Suicide Princess, the Sword and the Carving Knife.

December News and 2024 Roundup

Happy New Years, friends! This year was not my most productive year. If you weren't already aware, my ever-present health issues have become more debilitating. I am no longer able to work. Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I spent a week in the hospital and am still slowly, slowly convalesceing. Right now, I pretty much spend all my time either sleeping or zoned out on the couch. I am trying to be patient with myself, and hope that I may do a bit more writing in 2025. 

I hate to rattle my little tin cup, but my hospital bills are starting to come in. So far, they are about $2,000. Please consider donating to help us pay them. Any little bit helps. 

DECEMBER NEWS

In December, I released Part 4 of my new dark fantasy romance series, In the King's Power. It's free to read on Kindle Unlimited, $1.99 to purchase. 

Part 5 will drop tomorrow, January 1. An excerpt is available to read here. It will be free to read on Kindle Unlimited as well, and $3.99 to purchase. 

2024 ROUNDUP

Honors

I had four poems nominated for a Rhysling Award: "Below the Bible Belt," "Little Brown Changeling," "The Two of Coins," and "When the Honeymoon is Over." "Little Brown Changeling," was awarded first place. 

My poetry collection, Moonlight and Monsters, was nominated for an Elgin Award.

And finally, my short story, "Feather and Scale," made the Top 50 in the Roadmap Writers Short Story Competition. 

Publications

I had 11 pieces published across six literary venues. I blurbed 500 Hidden Teeth, a new poetry collection by Scott Ferry. I did a book signing at the AWP Conference, which was in my hometown this year, and was a featured author on the Muse's Mic literary series. Additionally, I published three books:

• Ain't These Sorrows Sweet, Roadside Press, June 2024
• Screaming Intensifies, Whiskey City Press, September 2024
• In the King's Power series, self-published, to be released September 2024-February 2025

Thank you so much to my readers and supporters - wishing you all a safe and happy 2025!

In the King's Power - Part 5 Cover Art and Excerpt

Folks, I'm not gonna lie. This is my favorite part of the series, and I am so excited to share it with all of you. If you love it half as much as I do, I can die happy.

Part 5 of In the King's Power will drop on Amazon January 1, $3.99 to purchase, free on Kindle Unlimited. Check out the rest of the series on Amazon here. Bonus excerpts are available here on my blog - access them from the series overview. 


SYNOPSIS

Leo and Christophe are growing up and experiencing the initial pangs of adolescence, which leads to Christophe getting into some serious trouble. His punishment sends shockwaves through the royal household that impacts the rest of the summer, if not the rest of their lives. The family’s annual holiday to Auroch is more eventful than usual when James decides to come along.

In the fall, the arranged marriage takes place. James’ scheme is revealed, and it’s more diabolical than anyone could have imagined.


EXCERPT

Then came time for the annual trip to Auroch. The evening before they were scheduled to depart, Henri and Geoff were discussing some last-minute preparations at dinner, when out of nowhere, James said, “You know, I think I might join you.”

Henri and Geoff broke off. “Join us?” Henri echoed.

James looked at his son, apparently wounded. “Well, only if I’d be welcome--”

“Of course you’d be welcome, Father,” Henri said quickly. “We’re just surprised, is all. You’ve never come with us before.”

“I think a bit of fresh air would do me good.”

“I’m sorry, just—help me to understand this. Was it not you who always referred to the Parthenaises as our ‘poor country relations,’ and to Fermin as ‘the hillbilly duke,’ or am I thinking of someone else?”

“If you don’t want me to come, just say so.”

“No one is saying that.” Henri and Geoff exchanged another look. They both knew very well why James wanted to come. Endymion had been gone now for over a month, with no sign of coming back. When the rest of them departed for Auroch, James would be left alone at Four Mothers. “I would just hate to see you go someplace where you will not enjoy yourself.”

“Why wouldn’t I enjoy myself? I like a good hunt as much as the next man.”

“You know it will mean a procession and you hate processions.”

“I’m aware of that.”

Geoff, sensing the impending argument, spoke quickly. “I’ll see to the arrangements, Your Wisdom.”

* * *

The Parthenais family gathered outside the gates to await their guests’ arrival, as they always did. They were stunned to see the King arrive first on his crimson stallion.

“Your Wisdom!” Fermin cried. He dropped to one knee and everyone else immediately followed suit.

Alyssa had ridden in beside the King. Rainier was not hard to spot, standing right up front with his father and grandfather. Their eyes met for an instant before he, too, knelt.

James dismounted. “Arise, all of you.” Turning to Alyssa, he helped her down from her horse.

Fermin gave James a deep bow. “Your Wisdom, you honor us.”

“Cousin, it’s been too long since I paid you a visit,” James returned. Seeing the two men side-by-side, it was hard to believe they were about the same age—Fermin looked old enough to be James’ father. Fermin was in good shape, but he was unmistakably in his seventies.

As Fermin straightened up, he paused, thrown at the sight of James’ hand still resting on the small of Alyssa’s back. “Ah… I’m afraid you caught us unawares, Your Wisdom. I hope you’ll forgive us if the accommodations are not quite up to your usual—”

James waved off the duke’s concerns. “Please, Fermin, we’re family. I’m here to hunt and make camp right along with the rest of you, so don’t trouble yourself.” He looked up at the castle nestled into the mountainside. “Turns is exactly as I remember it.”

Fermin inclined his head. “Turns is yours, Your Wisdom.”

The others had dismounted and joined them. “Fermin, Arcadios!” Henri said jovially, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “So good to see you!”

Fermin’s relief was palpable. “And you, cousin. But who is this? This can’t be Leopold! Look at you, lad! Damn me, if you haven’t sprung up since I saw you last! How tall are you now?” He ruffled Leo’s hair, pulled him into a rough embrace. Then he held him at arm’s length, looking into Leo’s face. “Your Wisdom, I tell you, this boy grows more and more like you every time I see him!”

James liked that, pulling Leo proudly against his other side in a one-armed hug.

“Uncle,” Leo said, “you remember my fiancée, Miss Calderon?”

“Of course, of course, who could forget so lovely a mademoiselle?” Fermin bent over Alyssa’s hand. She smiled and looked down, mainly because she really didn’t have anything to say to this blowhard and it was considered a perfectly acceptable response for a modest Corbenese girl. Fermin peered at her. “Finally tamed this one, have you? No more climbing trees or roughhousing with the boys for you, eh, missy?”

Alyssa didn’t raise her head, but James said, “Oh no, not tame. But nothing proper men can’t handle.”

Fermin feigned laughter and went on down the line, “Geoff, always glad to see you, lad.”

Geoff laughed. “Listen to that! ‘Lad’ he still calls me.”

Without missing a beat, Fermin said, “You’ll always be a lad to me, boy. Compared to me, that’s what you are. And here’s Christophe. Going to bag us another elk this year?”

After all the pleasantries had been exchanged, some of Leo’s younger cousins ran up, eager to drag him and Christophe off to the woods. Leo and Christophe hesitated, looking at Alyssa, who, in turn, looked at James.

The King chuckled. “You see, Fermin?” he grabbed Alyssa’s jaw, squeezed her cheeks. “She knows who her master is.” Releasing her, he nodded for her to go.

Leo took her hand and, together, they hurried away.

November News

I don't actually have any news this month. If you didn't see my blog post earlier this month, I have been having major health problems. My husband took me to the emergency room the day after the election. The rest of the month has been kind of a blur. I had to go back to the emergency room the week before Thanksgiving and was admitted. I am not actually well, just stable. They sent me home with eleven prescriptions and a whole slew of follow-up appointments over the next few months. This month -- hell, the whole past year -- has been a perfect storm of suck. I'm exhausted and in a lot of pain, but I am hoping to get back into writing and submitting work again. Progress so far has been slow. 

I am no longer able to work, so I must humbly ask that you consider donating to help me out, especially with the medical expenses. I don't even want to think about what the initial emergency room visit plus a week's inpatient stay is going to run us. 

Aside from releasing Part 3 of the In the King's Power series, my only other major news is to say that I'm happy to see Bluesky booming. I moved to the platform back when Musk first bought Twitter, but it wasn't very active. You can find me @laurenscharhag.bsky.social -- I'd be thrilled to connect. 

My only other bit of news is to say that Part 4 of In the King's Power will go live on Sunday. An excerpt is available here. 

I was actually released from the hospital on Thanksgiving, so Patrick and I hit Whataburger then went home and watched Planes, Trains and Automobiles, as one does. For those who celebrate, I hope your Turkey Day was an excellent kickoff to the holiday season. I will post an excerpt from Part 5 of the series around mid-December. I am especially excited to share it since it's my favorite part of the series-- a lot of cool stuff happens. I am grateful for all my friends and readers-- truly, you, Patrick, and writing are what will pull me through this. Thank you. 

October News

AWARD

You guys! My poem, "Little Brown Changeling," won first place for this year's Rhysling Awards - long form category. I am especially moved because this poem is about our little brown changeling, Otter, now dearly departed. (I am a crazy cat lady from way back.) She's been gone four years now, and is still bringing magic into our lives. BIG, BIG thanks to the judges and to the person who nominated this poem. To celebrate, I am going to go hug all my resident fur babies. Please go hug yours. It was originally published in Aphelion.

The little brown changeling in question

 
PUBLICATION

The SFPA has an annual Halloween reading - this year, my poem, "The Ghost Forest" was included. All poems are audio recorded, so please have a listen and Happy Halloween to all who celebrate!

 
APPEARANCE

If you missed my interview on Muse's Mic, here is the recording. Thanks again to James and Sandy for being such excellent hosts. 

COMING SOON

 

In the King’s Power - Part 3 will be dropping on November 1. 

Parts 1 and 2 are already live on Amazon. For bonus excerpts, check out the series overview here on this blog.   

OTHER STUFF

Halloween season isn't quite over yet! Don't forget my short horror story collection, Screaming Intensifies from Whiskey City Press. I still have a few copies, so if you'd like yours autographed, hit me up. 

I also still have copies of most of my poetry books, so please feel free to order those from me as well.

 

In the King's Power - Part 3 Cover Art and Excerpt

Part 3 of In the King's Power will go live on November 1. I had originally planned to charge $3.99 for each section, but I realized that some of them are on the shorter side - Part 3 is one of those. It's only about 50 pages, so I will keep it at $1.99 to purchase, free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers.

If you haven't checked out this new dark fantasy romance series, swing by the overview page. There are synopses for the sections that have dropped so far, links to the excerpts, and prices. 

SYNOPSIS

A bad winter has struck the capital. Thia is sneaking around, trying to find members of the underground organization known as the Red Garters so she can join them, which puts a strain on her relationship with Henri. James and Alyssa come to an uneasy truce that they both know can’t last. 

EXCERPT

James let himself into the girl’s chambers. Sometimes, unbeknownst to her, all he wanted was to watch her sleep. Taking a chair beside her bed, he opened a bottle of wine. She didn’t stir, though it didn’t look as if she were having a particularly restful night. The bedding was quite rumpled from where she’d tossed and turned. Usually, she slept on her side, but at the moment, she was sprawled on her back, one arm thrown out, one leg folded beneath her, hair tangled on the pillow. She’d kicked off the sheets and blankets, and her nightgown had gotten twisted up, exposing her bloomers, one bare leg, and her smooth little belly. Through the light cotton of her drawers, he could see the triangle of her sex, a shadow of pubic hair.

He wasn’t halfway through the bottle when she shifted. Frowning a bit in her sleep, she turned her face away from him, towards the window. Murmuring something too low for him to hear, (it was probably in that foreign jabber of hers anyhow), she stretched out her bent leg and wiggled around a bit, seeking a comfortable position. It occurred to him to wake her then, but for some reason, he did not. Merely observed as her brow furrowed again.

All at once, her limbs jerked as if she’d been electrocuted and she screamed. Without opening her eyes, she began to fight, defending herself from some dread adversary that only she could see. And all the while, she screamed.

Quickly, he set the bottle down. Moving onto the bed, he took her in his arms. “Shhhhh. Chèrie, chèrie, it’s all right. You’re having a bad dream.” He held her tightly, trapping her arms against her sides so she wouldn’t hurt herself—or him. “It’s all right. You’re all right.”

She didn’t appear to hear him, but continued to thrash and cry out, utterly lost to the world. He peered at her for a moment, speculative. Shrugging, he slipped his hand down, into the waistband of her bloomers.

At that, she gasped and jerked again. Then quieted.

Her breasts rose and fell as she breathed deeply once, twice. Her body relaxed, head falling back against his cupped palm. At first, he thought perhaps she’d sunk back into slumber. But then she began to move. Her eyes were still closed, but she was responding to his touch. The muscles of her thighs clenched around his wrist. Her hips began to rock. His fingers worked gently at first, then harder, matching her urgency. She shifted, opening herself to him more fully and he felt the growing wetness, the deep, inner heat of her. She began to make the sweetest little noises, her lips parted in pleasure, and she looked so kissable that he laid her back against the pillows and leaned over her, intending to do just that.

But as he did, her eyelids fluttered. Then opened.

Seeing that it was he, she uttered a cry of disgust. Pushing him off, she scrambled backwards, practically climbing the headboard in her haste to get away.

James bellowed with laughter. “Oho! That brought you right around, didn’t it? And here I thought you’d been exaggerating-- that whole bit about sex acts being grounding? But you weren’t.” Very deliberately, he brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed.

Outraged, she glared at him. She looked like a scalded cat—an observation that only made him laugh harder. Her fist shot out, striking him on the shoulder. “Pig!”

“Ouch!” Still guffawing, he rubbed the sore spot. “No need to get angry. You were enjoying it.”

“I was asleep! I thought I was dreaming!”

“About me?”

“Like you haven’t invaded my dreams before, you perv!”

Smugly, he stood up. “You liked it then, too.”

Alyssa stood as well just so she could shove him again. “Why can’t you stay away from me? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

“I was only trying to help.”

“You wanna help me?” she shrieked with sudden ferocity. “THEN FUCKING SEND ME HOME.” With that, she burst into tears. Her body seemed to curl in on itself and she sank back down onto the bed, sobbing.

Shaking his head, James sighed. “When are you going to realize you are home? All this unhappiness—you bring it on yourself, you know. It’s quite unnecessary. Do you hear me? All you have to do is stop. Stop fighting.”

Turning her back to him, she continued to cry, deep, horrible, gulping sobs. Alyssa hated to break down like this in front of him, but she couldn’t help it.

James sat down beside her. For a moment, he said nothing, just stroked her back. She wanted to pull away from him, but she didn’t want to pull away from him. This only made her cry harder...