Tina Anderson
Stories
3
Chapters
76
Words
161.6 K
Comments
0
Reading
13 h, 28 m
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His life is defined by how much pain he brings his mother. Twenty-two years ago, she left her princely father’s house to live with a coastal Ancalite named Fintan, who, for all his druidic prowess, never suspected her already caught. Her pains began on the autumnal, and her unborn babe insisted on coming out ass first. The old druidess tending the delivery cut her belly to liberate him, and Ciniod reminds her grown son of this trauma every time she must force a fart. Aedan the Ancalite is a bony…-
115.7 K • Ongoing
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His name is Lucius Scipio Servius, or Skipio to those who call him a friend. He stands taller than most with a robust physique, chiseled face, and a captivating mouth no man can resist. His shorn head gleams like ripe wheat, unlike his dark, verdant eyes that run deep like river moss. Vitus Servius is bald like his son. The stocky patrician owns a vast orchard in the northern mountainous frontier. It boasts a thriving walnut grove alongside its primary crop of apples and pears. Still, his only son…
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115.7 K • Ongoing
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Two enormous clamshells sit atop the grill rack, each with golden brown upon their banded domes. Their crusty skin is cool enough to touch, and Niko gently detaches each layer, popping the edges before pulling them free. The thicker, unattractive mold will make a good bottom—this is the story of his life—and that makes him smile. He tosses a handful of semolina into its hallow, spreading and rubbing the grains around before laying down raw cabbage leaves. These large verdant blankets will stop the…-
115.7 K • Ongoing
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Snow white clouds grace the fresco’s blue sky, where tiny birds flock, each a delicate paint stroke that gives no detail to their name. Three walls hold up this seaside sky, with blackened sands and rocky shores that host women frolicking about in their athletic unmentionables. The gynaeceum at Villa Servi lacks a fourth wall, but with its bushy head, the stone pine growing in the peristyle below affords some much-needed privacy. Under her tunica, a skilled tongue performs feats she thought only…
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115.7 K • Ongoing
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Dust gathers on the road as four black steeds trample into view. Their burden is a wooden carpentum with four iron-ringed wheels and the cross-swords of Mars painted upon both its window shutters. A nod from the Servian Lord brings out the day’s groomsmen, a chatty pair of teenagers wearing their warmest best. The young men corral the panting beasts, promising them fresh water, plentiful lucerne, and a soothing brush—they deserve all of it and more after such a laborious journey from…
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115.7 K • Ongoing
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The Bucarati kips upon glossy mudflats. The vessel resembles a timber beetle with its tightly bound sales and dangling oars. It slumbers as men till the wet sands beneath its rudder, digging that will ensure the incoming tide washes her away. Alps-born Romans crowd her surface planks. They wear fur over their shoulders and wool on their extremities. None are clean-shaven, not even their newly minted leader, Lucius Scipio Servius, whose beard shines golden like the short coils on his head. His noble…
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115.7 K • Ongoing
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Crimson rivulets swirl into the grate, drinking the ritual’s bloody remains. Aedan empties another bucket of water over his head, then upends it atop his basted rags, a lopsided pile of pale red. Cardamon oil forms prismatic clouds upon the water’s skin, its heady scent filling the humid air. Of all the luxuries imposed while living among these wolves, he most enjoys their aromatic baths. The steamy pool lures him into its satiating embrace. Ears full of warmth, he surfaces so the chill can bite his…
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115.7 K • Ongoing
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Skipio wakes before the sun, his habit since coming home. The frigid lake arouses his blood, and he floats upon its black stillness, lamenting that the coming winter will force his swim routine indoors. He strokes to the porch, its slick balustrade heavy with moss, and hoists himself into the chilly air. Streaking quickly into his room, he stands before the wall hearth’s roiling flame and dries himself with a fresh towel, courtesy of Welletrix. The blond Gaul reappears with a steaming water bowl…
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115.7 K • Ongoing
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Nothing signifies the cruelty of fauna more than a Roman rooster. Taller than a newborn child, the motley-plume monster slips through a crack in the larder door, head bobbing with every step. It loiters about the pre-dawn darkness before idling near the hearth where the ashes remain warm. It is day three—this cocker’s last day on the planet. With cautious deliberation, it saunters to the lectern, yet before it can raise its feathery head for a sunrise squawk, long fingers snatch its slender…
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115.7 K • Ongoing
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The tarn beside Villa Servi is a typical alpine splash, its airless depths never mingling with the surface water, yet Lady Vita insists it shimmers like the Adriatic when the sun is just right. Welletrix the Veragros knows nothing of the sea, let alone one named Adriatic, but he’s seen his share of lifeless lakes. Caeso and Optio laze on the front porch until he disrupts their tranquility with an authoritative bark. The house cats laying with them are immune, their laziness forgiven after nightly…
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115.7 K • Ongoing
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