Love Potion

Midnight had already fallen by the time Bramwell Grimsbane finally found Ravos Manor, where he was disappointed to learn it was not a masquerade ball.

His twin had led him to believe the route around the city was quickest. Bellamira had made Bramwell feel as foolish as he must look. His emerald velvet suit, his face bare of cosmetics in favor of some gaudy mask he stole from a costume shop—who would believe that he was the infamous Grimsbane apprentice who could control shadows as if they were stringed puppets?

And, gods, who would dance with him? Why go to a party if not to dance with some handsome stranger boasting of fancy footwork? Bramwell always did end up leading, of course. But the night was no longer young, and all the red-cheeked darlings were certainly taken, with Bellamira being one of them. She didn’t even bother to put glitter in her hair tonight, but one can grow less glamorous if they’re taken.

Bramwell hurried to the lurid entryway, flashing his glossy invitation to the guard like one would a dagger. He stepped over discarded invitations as he searched for his sister and her partner, disgusted that some would so carelessly toss away proof that they were acknowledged by Lord Orev Ravos. He was a despicable old councilman, but held the most power—and the most money. Bellamira didn’t even want to attend, claiming she spent too much time trying to appease her lover’s dubious father.

And yet, Bramwell found his twin laughing like a fool, dancing with her lover, Shoshana. How tempting it had been to cast a spell of slow feet upon her, or maybe curse her to say the opposite of what she intended to. Alas, Bramwell hadn’t seen his sister smile so brightly in years. He would wait until the morning to torment her, perhaps release a cacophony of crows into her room when she was pitifully hungover.

“Brother!” she exclaimed upon seeing him. “You finally made it.”

“Indeed I did,” Bramwell smiled. “Your little plan failed, sister.”

Bellamira hummed. “You wearing a mask to a normal ball wasn’t part of my plan, but it plays right into it. And that suit makes you look like spinach.”

“Ah, well, everyone knows it’s best to eat your greens.”

Shoshana giggled at the euphemism, but Bellamira only grew red in the face.

“Why must you be like this?” she asked in a furious whisper. “It’s hardly been a month since that scryer from Trosa left you. I don’t think you should rush into another relationship.”

Bramwell sighed. “Bellamira, I’m only seeking a little bit of fun. I appreciate your concern, but I will be alright.”

“Did you not drunkenly denounce love just last week?” Shoshana chimed in.

“For the gods’ sake, I just said I’m not here to find love,” Bramwell said. A passing servant carrying trays of champagne briefly stopped to offer the trio some, to which Bramwell took two glasses for himself. Bellamira muttered something about broken hearts, but Bramwell couldn’t hear his nagging sister over his downing of one, two, two and a half glasses of liquid courage. The poor servant took the empty glasses with a grimace, hurrying off before Bramwell could swipe another.

“Thank the gods you wear a mask,” Bellamira scoffed. “I wouldn’t want anyone thinking we share anything more than a face.”

“You’re just a jealous lightweight,” Bramwell said, downing the rest of his champagne and handing the empty glass to his fuming sister. “Now, excuse me while I get drunk and kiss a few sweet strangers.”

Just to see his sister truly lose it, Bramwell pressed a kiss to Shoshana’s hand, bidding her a pleasant night before leaving. The sound of his twin’s frustrated swearing was a song more lovely than the playing melodies.

It wasn’t long before he found someone without a partner, nursing her champagne while swaying to the slow waltz.

Bramwell was immediately captivated by her dark dress glittering like the night sky, emphasizing her blonde locks. She would do for one song, at the very least. Perhaps when he was through flattering her, he would try his luck with the red-headed gentlemen with a booming laugh who lingered near less appealing men. But wooing a boring man could prove fun, too.

“The night lacks a moon, I see,” Bramwell said as he approached the swaying girl. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her brown eyes. “Would you allow me to join your orbit?”

“You are not the first to compare me to some celestial being,” she deadpanned, taking a generous sip of her champagne.

“Ah, I see I must try harder,” he said, plucking the glass from her hand and taking a small sip, lips pressing over the stain her black lipstick left. She watched him with an odd expression as he handed the glass back. “Tell me no one has indirectly kissed you yet.”

The girl blinked. “I suppose that could be seen as such, but it appeared to me like you just stole my drink. Judging by your breath, it seems this may not be the first time tonight you’ve pulled that stunt.”

Bramwell could feel his confident smirk fade. “I was trying to amuse you, is all.”

“Drunks don’t amuse me.”

“And sullen ladies don’t amuse me. Maybe more drink would do you well.”

With a scornful glare, the girl left.

Inara would always giggle when Bramwell stole her drinks or used miserably bad pickup lines. She would wake Bramwell up with his own lines he planned to use that day, having seen it in her scrying, somehow always rising early after their long nights spent together.

He swore he wouldn’t think of Inara tonight, but picturing her in that dress of stars, her dark skin complimenting the rich color—she’d appear as the celestial goddess Aurora, glowing with magic, come to bless Bramwell with a gentle kiss.

No, getting caught up in memories would only ruin his night. He was here for fun, not love. That girl didn’t seem like much fun, anyhow. The red-head with the curls, on the other hand—

—was dancing with the sullen star girl. Zephros had his unlucky arrows aimed at Bramwell, it would seem. Why couldn’t the god of misfortune target Bellamira instead? There she waltzed with Shoshana, both girls grinning like lovesick fools.

If only he had courted Shoshana first. The eldest daughter of Lord Ravos was a true vision tonight, donning a feathery black gown befitting of her family’s crest of crows. Her olive skin caught the light of the chandelier, looking almost as radiant as Inara had each morning.

Bramwell’s best option was to drink himself until he somehow forgot he ever had a lover. In his pursuit to avoid the gaze of his sister and find someone capable of giving him a damn jug of champagne, he tore his mask off, crashing into someone in the process.

“I’m terribly sorry—” he began, but went silent at the sight of the man before him. Handsomely dressed in black save for the intricate gold embroidery of his cape, Bramwell wished he were a scryer so he could foretell the perfect line to capture this alluring stranger’s attention.

“Don’t worry about it. I seem to be having that effect on many people tonight,” the stranger laughed, his voice richer than a dragon’s horde. “Though none have been nearly as...dangerous.”

It took Bramwell a moment to reply. “I would have used beautiful or drunk, personally.”

“Those apply, as well, Bramwell Grimsbane,” the man said. Bramwell felt a pleasant chill surge through his body at the sound of his name in such a wonderful voice. “The shadow manipulator from Grevmire. Tell me, do the rumors of you dramatize your powers?”

Another mage after his talents rather than his good looks. This was surely the worst night Bramwell had had in a while.

“It depends on what you’ve heard,” he said for what felt like the millionth time since arriving in Canaterra. “My sister and I can both manipulate shadows, though that’s where the similarities stop. I’m the pretty twin, and she’s the smart twin.”

“Oh, I only care about you,” he said, moving so closely Bramwell could make out the hint of a scar running down his pale cheek and cutting into the corner of his mouth. “You’re the reason I came here tonight. I need a favor, and I’m willing to offer my own magic in return.”

Typically, the Grimsbane twins avoided such requests of their rare power. But something deep within Bramwell was intrigued by the man and his keen interest in him, be it the champagne’s effects or the stranger’s dangerous smile.

“I don’t make deals with nameless mages,” Bramwell shouted over the sudden booming music. How horribly coincidental he would make a deal when none could hear.

“I am Killian Geossa, apprentice of potioneering and alchemy.”

“Apprenticed to whom?”

“No one of consequence,” Killian waved off. “But they did teach me how to brew rather potent elixirs. Potions for sleep, silence, blindness. Even one for love.”

Bramwell couldn’t help but scoff, “A love potion? Do you think I'm a fairytale prince?”

“No, I think you’re a pretty fool in dire need of affection,” Killian said. “I saw that girl stomp away from you, and no happy man chugs champagne alone.”

“Gods, you sound like my sister.”

“Are we wrong?”

“You both need to mind your own business,” Bramwell snapped. “Unless you seek my companionship, you have no right to pry into my love affairs.”

Killian raised a brow at Bramwell’s outburst, one he would have continued had he not caught a glimpse at Bellamira resting her head on Shoshana’s chest as they danced slowly even to an energizing song. Inara used to do the same to Bramwell when she tired of learning the steps to a pretentious waltz. She would smile softly, and sway with him so serenely that Bramwell had always envisioned they’d dance like that on their wedding day.

“All I ask is that you help me steal a talisman from my brother,” Killian said after the music died down to another soft melody. “In return, you may have a vial of whatever potion I have with me tonight. Come find me in the gardens once you’ve made up your mind.”

With that, Killian was gone, cape billowing behind him like some fairytale hero. Or a fairytale witch, as only they offered such cryptic offerings in return for wicked deeds. Why would Bramwell steal a talisman? Such things offered protection from malicious spirits and spells, and if Killian’s brother wore one, he may have done so out of fear. Everyone feared the Ravos family, but why bother showing up to a Ravos ball, then?

Bramwell didn’t fear them, nor did he fear handsome strangers making dangerous promises. He did fear what sweet memories of Inara would resurface if he did not find more drink, so he set off in search of a servant or refreshment table. He instead found a sea of happy, loving mages drowning in glitter and idiotic passion. It made him wonder what sort of dress Inara would have worn; a shade of red, definitely, as was her color. A lovely gown with a low neckline and billowing skirts that made soft sounds when she walked, ones that could be so easily pushed aside—

“Gods damn me,” Bramwell cursed aloud, wishing he could bash his head against a wall and rid himself of his longing for the scryer.

“Careful what you say, or they will,” a low voice said. It belonged to a skull-masked mage wearing a simple purple suit. “You’re at a Ravos hosted party, and yet you spend it sulking and tempting the wrath of deities?”

Bramwell could barely see their dark eyes behind the horned skull mask. “I’ve heard whispers that the gods don’t dwell here. I feel I’m safe to enrage them.”

The masked figure scoffed. “Pitiful Grimsbane. You’ve likely enough enemies dancing around you tonight without inviting the gods to put their daggers to your throat as well.” 

Feeling painfully sober at the veiled threat, Bramwell demanded, “Who are you, anyhow? And while you’re at it, give me a reason not to show you why I’ve made so many enemies.”

Removing their mask, Bramwell was shocked to see a nearly spitting image of Shoshana. Though male and much taller, their wild curls and olive skin resembled the charming girl his sister had danced with. His cheeks blossomed with red from where the mask left its indents, but Bramwell speculated the mage was also blushing.

“I am Lucian Ravos, and I am not as amused by Grimsbane antics as my cousin is.”

Bramwell cleared his throat. “A pleasure to meet you. I—”

“I saw you speaking to my brother,” Lucian interrupted. “He isn’t truly my brother, but he’s my mother’s apprentice, so we’re as close as siblings. Whatever he promised you, forget it.”

Suddenly, Bramwell noticed the talisman Lucian wore around his neck. A small ruby wrapped in bloodied string, hanging from a chain of gilded, barbed vines—a homemade talisman against some evil. But what could Lucian have to fear about his own family?

“He will only bring you trouble,” he went on. “Killian speaks like a trickster spirit, twisting his words until you believe anything he says. You didn’t take a potion from him, did you?”

“Not yet.”

“I strongly advise you not to.”

Bramwell thought of Inara then, and how she would always force him to promise not to cause trouble. But trouble was in his blood.

“I owe you no promises,” he said to Lucian. “I came here for some fun, and danger always proves to be entertaining.”

“Then you’re a fool,” he scoffed. “If you find yourself turned into a toad after drinking Killian’s potion, then I will not offer you my aid.”

“All the better. Your kiss may only make me an uglier toad.”

Blushing a deep scarlet, Lucian struck Bramwell clean across his face, something he wasn’t a stranger to. The action drew gasps from nearby mages, but none were as wide-eyed as Bellamira as she pushed through the crowd. She stood before her twin and the seething Ravos for a moment as if deciding who to yell at first. Thankfully, she chose to rear on Lucian.

“Who do you think you are?” Bellamira snapped. “How dare you—”

“He deserved it,” Lucian asserted, putting his mask back on to hide his blush. “I didn’t know that Grevmiran children aren’t taught manners.”

“You’re certainly one to talk, walking around wearing such a garish mask.”

“Perhaps you should wear one as well, and do us all the favor of not needing to see that horrible Grimsbane face twice.”

It was too easy. Lucian’s vision must have been obscured by his mask, as he scarcely reacted to the slithering shadow slipping up his suit and sneaking over his collarbone, where sharp tendrils cut away the chain of his talisman. Quickly shrouding the charm from all without the shadowseer gift, he called back his power to him and pocketed the talisman. A small crowd had gathered to watch the two mages hurling insults at each other, Shoshana one of them.

Backing away, Bramwell deliberately bumped into Shoshana as he left, whispering, “Have fun with this, darling.”

The Ravos called after him, but had no choice but to pry her lover’s hands from Lucian’s shirt as Bellamira attempted to shove him to the ground. It was just the distraction Bramwell needed to sneak off into the gardens.

He could still hear the shouting voices as he traversed the flowery maze, too busy searching for Killian to admire the stone statues of crows and half-dressed mages of old adorning the lavish walkway. Finally, he spotted the potioneer near a statue of the moon god Noc.

“I’ve always admired the Moon Father,” Killian mused aloud as he turned to Bramwell. “Merciful in his judgments, but never hesitant to unleash his power when needed. Do you think he triumphs over his sister?”

The debate of the moon god and the sun goddess was one older than the deities. Noc and Sola had never shown contempt for each other, but humans had a twisted way of injecting competition and hatred into everything.

“As a twin, I personally believe they are unique in their own right and needn’t compete for mortal validation,” Bramwell said as he observed the carefully carved statue. Noc’s sharp face was pulled in a tight smile, his hands holding up a crescent moon. “They say Noc is on good terms with the trickster goddess Levna. Are you a devout follower of hers?”

Killian shook his head. “No, but my brother prays to her every morning. It will take much wit to steal his talisman, if you’re here to ask where you may find him.”

Withdrawing the talisman from his coat pocket, Bramwell beamed, “I am the famed shadow manipulator. None are trickier than I.”

Killian reached for the talisman, but Bramwell made it vanish with his powers.

“Not until I get my reward.”

“Of course,” the potioneer smiled. “A love potion, was it?”

He pulled a small vial of pink liquid from his coat, the cork stamped with a heart. Bramwell accepted the vial as he handed the talisman over.

“Drink it all, Bramwell Grimsbane, and a sweet lover will be after your heart.”

Bramwell carefully observed the vial. It was clear, the liquid lacking any fizz as he shook it. “And this won’t turn me into a toad?”

Killian laughed once more. “I promise you will remain human.”

Thinking of Inara, Bramwell uncorked the vial and downed the potion in one swig like he would a strong shot of liquor. It gave him the same feeling as one; he felt warm, overwhelmed, dizzy. When he nervously exhaled, he noticed his breath briefly came out pink.

“The potion’s magic will fade once the sun rises,” Killian said, retrieving the cork and vial. “When your love finds you, and you will know when they do, seal the spell with a kiss, and it shall be done.”

All Bramwell could do was nod. He reached out and grabbed Killian’s arm, waiting for the heavy feeling to disappear from his chest before attempting to speak.

“We should go out sometime,” he managed to say to the potioneer. “I must learn where you get your suits.”

Pocketing the talisman and vial, Killian said, “Apologies, but I’ve no interest in romance. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go find out what’s causing such a commotion in the ballroom.”

A tremble went through Bramwell’s body when the potioneer left, a sign he took to mean the potion was in effect. The way Killian phrased it sounded like Bramwell needn’t hunt for whoever his love was—rather, they’d find him. Perhaps even in the gardens. For a manor said to be haunted, the Ravos estate was like a fairytale come to life. Bramwell set off further down the walkway, heart pounding and feeling like it settled in his throat.

Fireflies illuminated the night, going their lazy ways around the flowers as Bramwell idly observed the statues of deities, waiting for someone to find him.

What would his love be like? A talented mage dressed in rich colors, or one who shies away from magic and cloaks themselves in hues of the sun? Without meaning to, Bramwell summoned shadows to dance around the gardens, moving to the beat of his racing heart. A strange sound slowed his steps, and he finds himself before a gilded statue of Levna, the trickster goddess, beloved of Zephros.

“Neither you nor your husband shall continue to ruin my night,” Bramwell smugly said to the statue as if it could reply.

Only, it did.

Laughter filled the chilled night air, the sound unmistakably coming from the statue.

With a jolt, Bramwell watched in horror as the statue of the trickster goddess began to slowly move, her arms stretching as though she had just awoken from a long nap. Bramwell carefully eyed the spear the goddess held as she looked down upon him. With an unbearably loud ringing, the goddess flashed a fanged grin and continued to laugh.

Bramwell’s legs refused to move as he exhaled a cloud of pink.

“You have stolen from my worshipper,” the statue’s voice boomed. Her spear pointed at him, she continued, “In love’s pursuit, you fall prey to trickery, you who controls shadows like limbs. Do you know not of my punishments for greedy men?”

Bramwell’s mind scrambled for some old tale of Levna. She gifted mortals with the ability to lie, and they thanked her by planting a lush rose garden to the goddess. But once upon a time, a warrior unknowingly trampled her rose garden, and she—

And she ripped his heart out.

With a filthy curse directed more at his own foolish actions than at the statue, Bramwell cloaked himself in shadows and dashed back to the manor, his head pounding from fear and too much champagne. Heavy footsteps clanged behind him, but the statue was too slow, for he was already through the door and running for his sister. She’d know what to do.

After dashing inside and looking for Bellamira, he caught a glimpse of Lucian frantically speaking with Shoshana. The Ravos turned away from his cousin, holding his mask with trembling hands. Lucian’s panic ceased as he spotted Bramwell, however, and his worry quickly turned to rage.

“You—” he stammered. “You stole my talisman!”

“I can explain everything later,” Bramwell shouted as the Ravos cousins stomped over to him, catching the attention of a few lingering guards. “Where’s my sister?”

It was Shoshana who answered, “Tossed out, of course. She attacked my cousin.”

Bramwell knew he shouldn’t be shocked, for his twin did put her hands on the nephew of the party’s host, but for Shoshana to so nonchalantly admit it? He was about to comment on how heartless she was being, but he would soon end up literally heartless if he didn’t find Bellamira.

“Give my talisman back,” Lucian ordered like the noble he was.

“You’ll have to ask Killian,” Bramwell sighed. “Do either of you two know anything about the garden statues? Are they cursed?”

Lucian said, “No, but it seems you have been. Did you accept a potion from Killian?”

“Of course I did!” he looked behind him, finding nothing but judgmental mages and watchful guards. “A statue moved. Spoke to me. I—”


He knew that rich voice from his dreams and nightly fantasies. Only, it wasn’t a voice he needed to hear at the moment. The Ravos cousins turned their glares on Inara as she approached, her dark skin shimmering with glitter, making her look like a goddess in her flowing skirts the color of a sunset. The scryer ignored Lucian and Shoshana, her soft hand finding its place on Bramwell’s still-red cheek.

“Gods, what happened to you?” Inara asked. Bramwell didn’t get the chance to answer.

“Nothing compared to what will happen should he continue to test me,” Lucian snapped. Inara scowled at Lucian, hand still caressing Bramwell’s cheek, healing it with her touch. He leaned into her palm like a lovesick puppy, the thought of Levna gone from his mind. Inara would have foreseen any danger, and certainly wouldn’t stick around for it. He was safe.

Shoshana sighed. “Lucian, do you have this under control? I wish to go check on Bellamira. Gods know she must be lingering about the grounds, refusing to leave.”

“Drop the act, cousin. Even if that girl had killed me, you’d still be in love with her.”

Shoshana’s face reddened, revealing her facade, much to Bramwell’s relief. Bellamira deserved love, even if her foolish brother found himself cursed because of it.

“You and your sister have such tempers,” Inara giggled. “Now, what sort of mess did you get yourself into?”

Bramwell drew in a breath to begin recounting the night’s events, but his words died on his lips when he saw wisps of pink dancing in the air. With a strong exhale, a pink cloud erupted, momentarily obscuring the faces of his love and enemy. Lucian startled, but Inara remained calm, eyeing Bramwell like nothing strange had happened.

“Killian’s guilt potion,” Lucian breathed. “That bastard.”

Head pounding, Bramwell withdrew from Inara’s touch, her silent promise of love only making him dizzier. He was the pretty twin, not the smart one. He should have just gotten drunk at home, or found love for a hefty price and a short night. This was too much.

“I know I said I wouldn’t help you, and you are a rotten thief, but…” Lucian trailed off. “But I can’t let Killian do this. I’ll find him and get the antidote. Stay put, lover boy.”

Bramwell felt an odd spark in his chest. Lover boy? What sort of nickname was that?

Inara’s eyes never left his own, but it made it more difficult for Bramwell to think.

“Who invited you?” he asked her. “Was it Bellamira?”

She shook her head. “A friend did.”

Killian had said Bramwell would know when his love would find him. Perhaps the pink cloud was a sign of that, but it was the same cloud that seemed to awaken the statue. Inara wasn’t a terrifying deity, and she held no weapon.

“Why must you tease me, Inara?” he asked, wishing he had a glass or three of champagne. “You said our relationship would never work, so why do you smile at me so adoringly?”

“Maybe I was wrong,” she whispered. “Maybe I didn’t look close enough into your beautiful eyes. Maybe I didn’t cherish each kiss as I should have.”

Inara pressed a peach flavored kiss to Bramwell’s lips, followed by another, and another, until Bramwell found his arms around her, found himself once more submissive to her gentle passion. Killian said to seal the love with a kiss.

Her hands roamed his body despite being at a noble’s gathering, those soft palms slipping into his shirt to press against his skin, against his chest that could barely contain his pounding heart. Bramwell felt her nails playfully dig into his skin, but his smile faded when nails turned to claws, and playfully turned to murderously. Inara pulled away, sharp teeth nipping at Bramwell’s lip.

“Would you once again give me your heart, dearest?”

The eyes of the creature wearing Inara’s face turned a metallic gold, the same shade as the statue’s. Bramwell’s struggles to escape her grasp failed, and not even his shadows could split the two. Passing mages scowl at the pair, seeing playful lovers teasing each other with magic, and not a goddess about to eviscerate a lovesick fool.

“Release me,” Bramwell grunted.

“Not for all the kisses in the world, lover boy,” Levna taunted.

Something flew at the pair, striking Levna in the head and giving Bramwell the distraction he needed to wriggle from her arms. Lucian’s skull mask lay on the ground, a crack now formed in the center. The mage’s bare face was twisted into fury as he spoke a word Bramwell couldn’t place, but it must have been what caused Levna to crumple to the floor, screeching in agony.

Bramwell threw his shadows around the shrieking goddess, drowning her out to non-shadowseers. Lucian didn’t have to see the goddess to know what happened next, how her body began to glow before going up in a cloud of pink smoke. Retreating his shadows, Bramwell exhaled pink one final time as pain erupted once more in his chest.

Lucian was by his side in a moment, supporting the shadowseer until his pain passed. Bramwell noticed the talisman hanging at Lucian’s neck as he went to retrieve his mask.

“I shouldn’t have brought Killian with me tonight,” he grumbled, shooting glares at any mages who came too close. “I thought I could find him a lover and get him off my back about finding one of my own, but then he goes and almost kills one of my uncle’s guests with his guilt potion. It seems to have manifested as heartbreak and godly fear for you, but the illusions are laughably easy to dispel if you know the word to break it.”

Bramwell’s heart still raced, and his nausea had only grown worse. “Is your mask alright?”

Lucian tested the crack, cursing when the whole mask split apart. It must have been thrown with magic to have stunned a creature made of metal.

“So now you have no excuse to hide that cute face,” Bramwell found himself saying.

Letting the remnants of the mask tumble to the floor, Lucian reared on Bramwell, blushing madly. “You almost had your heart ripped from your body, and you still have the energy to flirt with me? You are truly a lovesick man, Grimsbane.”

Bramwell was working up the courage to ask for a dance, trying to save his horrible night, but Lucian wasn’t finished yet.

“Killian heard all about you from Shoshana,” he rambled, still blushing. “How you’re irritatingly charming. How you had your heart broken. My despicable brother thought that made you a perfect match for me, and cursed you to, as he put it, ‘awaken my heroic side.’ I only wear this talisman to ward off his silly potions. The talisman that you have yet to apologize for stealing.”

“My apologies, love,” Bramwell said. “I’m not sorry for falling for Killian’s ruse, however. I’m honored he thought me worthy of you, terrifying as his methods are.”

“I’ll smack you again,” Lucian warned. “Your sister isn’t here to protect you.”

“Oh, whatever shall I do if you put your strong hands on me?”

Bramwell grinned at Lucian’s deepening blush. Perhaps he could still turn this night around. He’d just need to think of more teasing words to torment Lucian with. And more champagne to drink. Much, much more champagne.

Victoria Wraight is a recent graduate with a BA in English from SUNY Fredonia. When she isn't reading or writing fantasy, she can be found searching for the cryptic and strange in her hometown of Buffalo, New York. Her work is featured in Miniskirt Magazine and Not Deer Magazine.