Bad Girl Blogfest – Amelia

Bad Girl Blogfest – Amelia

BIO – Amelia

• Name: Amelia (surname unknown)
• Novel: The Immortals
• Role: Supporting Character
• Created: 2009
• Setting: America 2400 to the year ~5300
• Aliases or Nicknames: The Sky Goddess, Amy, Ames, Sky
• Nationality: Originally American
• Position: Sky Goddess, one of the Twelve Immortals created by Death Angel
• Age: yes (she doesn’t age…hence the “Immortal” tag)
• Synopsis: REDACTED

Excerpt

CONTENT REDACTED

Sorry folks, this is a current WIP and I didn’t want to leave it up. Thanks for your interest!

Bad Girl Blogfest – Viola

Bad Girl Blogfest – Viola

BIO – Viola

• Name: Viola Willimante
• Novel: Steam Palace
• Role: Ally, Mentor, Sidekick
• Created: 2009
• Setting: Alternate History New England, 1901
• Name, Aliases or Nicknames: Vi
• Nationality: New Britannian
• Position: Dome Girl on the Steam Palace
• Age: 23
• Synopsis: Viola carries a secret that links her to a woman whom she has never before met. She plots that woman’s ultimate destruction: to bring her into the horrid sorrow of Viola’s life, a quagmire of humiliation, self destruction and abuse, and soul-crushing wickedness.

Excerpt:

September 28, 1901, aboard a mechohorse-drawn wagon on the River Trail.

Viola eyed the poor woman hiding under the bench. Such an innocent flower, Sophia wouldn’t last half an hour aboard the Steam Palace. She had an attraction about her, an irresistible cuteness that sickened her. Curly red locks, a button nose, freckles, and a wide smile would make her a quick favorite among the men—until one of them used and broke her like every Palace Girl, and she became as black as Viola.

Viola smiled and rubbed the woman’s knee. Men of wealth and women of high repute populated the wagon as it rumbled along the river trail. She was perhaps the only woman of lesser repute aboard, although she dare not openly show it. She winked at a man who caught her eye, and he blushed. His golden chains and silver buckles intrigued her. What might such a man might offer her for a night of pleasure? More than that, she shivered at the thrill of seeing poor Sophia’s reaction if he were to advance. The girl crawled back up on the bench, her face tinged green. Viola slid next to Sophia and threw an arm around her, all the while staring at the man. She rubbed her lips, then licked a finger. He approached as she expected, his hat in his hand.

“I—I don’t exactly know how to do this,” he said, “I’m not familiar with the proper—intercourse—for this type of arrangement.”

Ahh, another Steam Palace newcomer. The women next to her stared at the man without comprehension. Viola declined to explain, enjoying the man’s incoherent turpitude.

He sat down on the other side of Sophia and leaned in. “Pardon me. You see, this is my first visit, and my friend over there,” he nodded to another man dressed in a similar manner, “claims that you are Palace Girls.”

“What is he talking about,” mumbled Sophia, trapped in the middle, holding her stomach and sipping water.

“We are no common Palace Girls. We are Dome Girls, the finest women upon the Steam Palace,” said Viola, ignoring Sophia’s query. Let her squirm. “Both of us for you? Or to share? Do you have a preference? Ten Royals buys your every dream come true.”

Sophia’s face turned a satisfying shade of black and she clutched Viola’s ruffles. “Tell me you did not just sell my services to this man—”

Viola turned to her. “You owe me, and you will repay it exactly as I say.” The woman didn’t respond, she only bent further at the waist. “Sorry, sir, she’s new.”

“Well I don’t have ten royals,” said the man, his gaze glued to Viola’s bosom. “What can I get for a fifty-crown?”

Fifty measly crown? For a Dome Girl? Viola beamed at him. “It’s what we call the ‘backseat special.’ Follow me to the rear of the wagon.” She rose and took the man by the hand.

Sophia tugged at Viola’s dress. “Please don’t do this. Don’t leave me here alone. I’m feeling most dreadful.”

“Be quiet!” Viola snatched the coin from the man, placed it inside her corset, and led the man to the back, to a small platform behind the luggage compartment, out of sight of the passengers. She reached up and held onto a bar. “Now pull your pants down, just down to your ankles. Good. Now close your eyes.” Once ready, Viola lifted herself up by the bar, swung her feet to the man’s chest, and kicked the man right over the rail. He landed heavily in the mud of the trail and rolled to a stop. Viola screamed every epithet in her vocabulary at him. “You vile dog! Don’t you ever touch a Dome Girl!” The nerve of some people. He jumped to his feet, pulled his pants up, and gave chase to the wagon, but the mechohorse outdistanced him. He fell to his knees screaming and waving his fist. A fifty-crown? Really?

She watched the landscape slip by, slowed her breathing, and then returned to the front. The man’s friend peered behind her. “Where’s Frederick,” he asked. “I thought I heard something.”

“Oh, he’s recovering,” she replied, sweet as molasses. “Why, is it your turn?”

The man pushed Viola aside and headed to the rear.

“Get ready,” Viola told Sophia who now lay on her side. “Cause I kicked little old Frederick from this land train.”

Sophia swallowed. “What? I thought you were—”

Viola pulled Sophia back to a sitting position and approached so close their noses almost touched. “Who exactly do you think I am, Stratton? I’m a Dome Girl, not some cheap gutter wench. That man insulted me, and he paid the price.”

Her companion rolled herself up in a ball, holding her knees. “Whatever.”

The man returned, his face red and spittle-ejecting. “What have you done with Frederick?”

Viola smiled and shrugged. “I guess he got off at the wrong stop.”

“Why you—” the man charged, his hands reaching for Viola’s throat.

Viola whipped out a thin knife and waved it in the man’s eyes. “Come one step closer and I’ll gut you.”

The wagon jerked to a halt. A shotgun-wielding man catapulted from the cockpit of the mechohorse and ran back to them. “Drop that weapon and get the hell off my wagon! Now! Both of you harlots!”

This is from a scene that is slated to be deleted because it is very similar to another scene. But it will live on here forever. Viola has a strange sense of pride about being a Dome Girl and loves embarrassing Sophia whenever she can.

Primal Scream Blogfest – Dawn’s Rise

Primal Scream Blogfest – Dawn’s Rise

Thanks to Raquel Burns for hosting the Primal Scream Blogfest. Follow the link to check out all the other entries!

Also, one last, final reminder that the Bad Girl Blogfest is Friday! Yay!

This excerpt comes from Dawn’s Rise, set in 2101, when a series of unprecedented disasters threaten Earth and life itself. Dawn has been captured by the evil Chairman, the leader of the world, and she has insisted that Dawn, a budding psychic, provide her a reading. The reading reveals a great deal, but suddenly Dawn sees something much more prescient.

Dawn staggered around the room, her visions furious. “No, no! Please, something terrible is here. Now! We need to get out of here. Death! Death is coming! Oh God, oh God, we’re all going to die—” Her throat screamed. Her eyesight flashed.

“Guards! Get her out of my sight,” the Chairman raged. “Put her back in the Hole. I’ll deal with her later. Do not let her talk to anyone!”

Guards threw on a hood and cuffed her wrists. Dawn fought against their rough hands. They herded her into the elevator and then tossed her into a waiting vehicle. An engine purred to life and they eased into the busy Charlotte streets while Dawn strained against her bonds.

The vehicle flipped. Dawn’s head smacked something hard. Stars shot into her vision and pain wrapped her head. The vehicle hopped and vibrated on its side. Bitter concrete dust and coppery tasting blood filled her mouth. A rumble thundered all around. She pulled off the hood. Dust filled the van and invaded her lungs. Black clouds darkened the sky, blotting out the sun. A guard lay at her feet in a dead heap. Escape. Dawn keyed his pad and unlocked her bolts, coughing and whimpering.

The van shook like jelly. Dawn kicked open the back. Dust boiled in every direction. The street overflowed with piles of debris and wrecked vehicles. Small particles rained. Dawn grasped the van for balance. Grit seared her eyes. Beams and blocks protruded from the dust clouds, the rubble from countless collapsed buildings. High above her tall buildings swayed and shimmied, their façades peeling off. Run! She bounded away, dodging cascades of falling rubble as she ran through the pulsing streets. She climbed up a small hill into an old cemetery. The dust cleared to provide a small vision of Charlotte. Gaps appeared where magnificent one-hundred-story-plus buildings used to stand.

“Okay, time to wake up,” she wheezed on the dust that clogged her airways. “I’ve have enough of this vision. C’mon, wake up.” She activated her Eyespy which reported, “Emergency Standby Mode. Instructions forthcoming.”

A motion caught her eye. “No—no—what is that?” In the distance, a wave of destruction flew across the landscape, a boiling tsunami of devastation. The violent upheaval of earth raced towards her, flinging rivers into the air, tossing cars like toys, and detonating the ground like a vast field of dynamite. This was no vision, no crazy delusion. Her bones rattled, her knees shook, and stomach clenched. Death approached. The wave swept down the streets, lifted the buildings, and before she could take another breath, flung her and the contents of cemetery high into the air. She sailed through the boiling soil, tensing in anticipation of the final impact that spelled her doom.

She slammed into a pile of loose dirt. Her breath escaped her pain-wracked body. Dirt and debris poured down. Her eyes refused to focus, her limbs refused to respond, and raining dirt prepared to bury her with the other corpses. Dawn clawed at the soil, gasping, suffocating. Survive. Just survive. She grasped a large tombstone that had nearly crushed her head. With her free hand she pulled the dirt from her eyes and froze. The grand HQ building, a kilometer high and the pinnacle of modern architecture, imploded and collapsed into the streets in a massive cloud. Thousands of people, crushed in an instant. But behind that—the Edenville Sky Towers. All 325 stories tilted and slid into the earth, thundering and generating towering clouds. “Rose!” Not Rose. Please, not Rose! This vision has to stop. This can’t be happening. I want it to stop. Now! Her stomach convulsed and purged itself. She rolled away, choking on dust and vomit.

The earth shivered and trembled. Dawn crawled from mound to mound, avoiding the churning soil. A smaller wave slammed through the dying city and flipped Dawn like a rag doll. The earth churned and bucked while Dawn clung to a toppled tree, wracked with coughs. Nothing in her visions had prepared her for this terrifying onslaught. Day became night.

The ground opened beneath her, a maw of a giant earthen whale with teeth of broken pipe and rebar. Dawn tumbled down, the bars ripping her clothes and cutting her flesh. A casket gaped, its contents spilling out as the dead rolled from their graves. She grabbed a pipe suspended above the chasm. As the earthen jaws closed in, she fought, climbing up the pipes and bars and out onto the heaving ground. She panted and gagged in the choking dust. Soil slid back towards the hole, but she pulled herself away before the chasm could swallow her again.

Steam Palace Cover Art

Steam Palace Cover Art

Wasn’t planning to post anything today but I needed to come up with a cover for Steam Palace for a web site I may use to get critiques and feedback. Click through to see full-size (8”x12”) versions.


Here’s Version One with both Viola and Sophia:

And here’s Version Two with just Sophia:


I had to go with the second version on the site because when it’s reduced to a small size, the first one looks bad.
I don’t love the font either. But definitely look at the full-size version because the background is pretty kewl. I also think I need an airship in there somewhere. But if you look carefully you’ll see lots of gears!
Next post will be my Primal Scream entry, I promise!
BTW if anyone’s interested, I got the images off of http://www.fairygothmother.co.uk which looks like it has really wild goth/steampunk/victorian outfits, so you can actually buy what they are wearing!

Bad Girl Blogfest This Friday!

Bad Girl Blogfest This Friday!

Already 30+ participants and counting. This will be a lot of fun!

Blogfest Rules (all completely ignorable except #1):

1. Sign up below so people can find your entry.
2. Suggested length ~500 words but longer is fine…it’s your blog!
3. Link back to this post in your entry!
4. Follow me or subscribe to my feed ('cause you love me 'n' stuff).
5. Advertise this Blogfest on your blog.
6. Don't hold back or edit because you think it’s too graphic. Bring on the bad!
7. On Friday, if you read an entry, please comment even if it’s horrible (be nice…not Bad in your comments). And I encourage all participants to try to read everyone else’s entry over the weekend if you can.
8. If you don’t have a post I can delete your entry if you want me to. But I encourage you to at least write an entry about some woman you don’t like much and how she’s ruined your life. Everyone has one of those. :)

 

NOTE: I have closed the list to sign-ups and deleted all links that do not lead to a blogfest entry. If I inadvertently deleted a good link, add a comment here with your name and URL and I will add it back.

Now I pontificate on “What Makes a Girl Bad?”

So what makes a girl go bad? It could be any number of things. Growing up in a broken home. Suffering abuse. The strife of poverty. Or it could be some kind of trauma later in life. Many Bad Girls come from good homes and are college educated. Some are highly skilled professionals. What turns them to a life of baditude? Maybe they lack a sense of morality or a conscience. Maybe they can’t deal with pent-up anger. Maybe they need to avenge events from their past. Maybe they chafe from living in a male-dominated world and seek to settle the score. Who knows? All we know is that they’re Bad.

But there is one thing all Bad Girls have in common. They get what they want, and they don’t care who they have to hurt to get it. They don’t adhere to society’s mores. Rules don’t apply to them. They are passionate and emotional, even if they don’t dare show it. Their feelings are not to be taken lightly. To cross a Bad Girl is to invite your own death. But I also think there’s something deeper, some primitive need that a Bad Girl has unfulfilled, and if you can satisfy that need, you can turn a Bad Girl into a woman more awesome than any Good Girl could ever hope to be. It’s a fine line that few can successfully navigate, so would-be Heroes beware.

So why do we love to read and write so much about these castoffs from normal society, these strange women who live in the shadows of our culture, the people no one wants to talk about (except they always do)? Why do we turn them into our Heroines and Villainesses? I think it’s because these Bad Girls can do what we cannot—eschew the “normal” rules that guide us and pretty much do whatever they want and damn the consequences. (I was determined to get “eschew” into this post). We live through their exploits, and fantasize about having even a piece of their freedom and ferocity.

So All Hail the Bad Girls! See you all back here on Friday!

(Except for my Primal Scream Blogfest post on Wednesday…which involves a female character who is not in any way a Bad Girl unfortunately).

And of course check out all the other upcoming blogfests!

Baking Scene Blogfest – Steam Palace

Baking Scene Blogfest – Steam Palace

Thanks to Charity Bradford for hosting the “50 Followers Baking Blogfest”. The idea is to show a scene where your MC bakes something. Well, I have this scene where they aren’t exactly baking, but since it’s the only cooking scene in the whole novel I figure I’ll run with it.

Also, don’t forget that the Bad Girl Blogfest hosted on this blog is this Friday, May 7!

I feel I need to issue a small warning before posting this scene. I don’t want it to be offensive to anyone, but it does depict a bit of racism that’s inherent in the time/place of the novel. I know that’s a sensitive subject for people, so hopefully this doesn’t offend.

This is a scene from Steam Palace. Now a bit of background. Sophia was on her way to court Duke Dunstan when a hostile airship descended and captured her. She’s been held for a little while without explanation, but she does know that this is a royal flagship and her King might be aboard. The King and the Duke are deep rivals with opposing plans for the future of their country.

The officer ordered Sophia onto a stool and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone in the airship’s galley. She fingered the ruffles of her dress in nervous dread. Why place her here? Countless accouterments of cooking covered every available spot. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling alongside copper pots. Latched cabinets doubtless stored the bulk of the apparatus. An icebox dripped in the corner. Sophia’s stomach rumbled. A towering, coal-dark woman entered and glanced at Sophia with white-and-black eyes, obviously the ship’s cook slave, judging from her simple white tunic and blue cotton work pants. She pulled an apron off the wall and tied it on, then threw another at Sophia.

“Go on, put it on, child,” said the woman in a heavy Southland accent. “Dinner ain’t gonna fix itself now.”

Did a galley slave just command a woman suited by the Duke Himself to help her cook? Sophia considered the stained apron in her hands. This couldn’t stand. She had her pride. “I may be a prisoner upon this vessel, but I shall not take orders from you.” She tossed the apron on the ground.

The woman heaved a sigh. She tied her long curly black hair into a bun. “Suit yourself. That don’t confront me none ‘cept I figure you wanna eat sometime.”

The impertinence of the slave! The woman pulled a copper pot out of a cabinet and measured in some rice and beans. She filled the pot with water from a jug, then slid some levers under the cooking surface. “We can’t have no open flame in here,” she said, “so we just have this here closed boiler. Enough to heat water but not to cook nothing proper-like.” She fingered through cupboards and threw in spices. In no time the savory scent tingled Sophia’s nostrils and teased her stomach. “You never had no Southland cooking before, child? You sure you won’t help me none? I’m all but famished.”

Sophia sighed. Was this why she was captured, to cook for an airship’s crew? “I do not work with Southies. I am a woman of culture, not some slave. Please inform your master that I am ill of sitting upon this stool for who knows what purpose. Why am I being held here?”

The woman stopped and eyed her, holding a knife. “Well. You ain’t being held, hon. You’re a guest of His Majesty. And he’s waiting for his dinner. Now you either scoot your chicken butt over here and help or he’ll be mighty perturbed. Would you now?”

Sophia clenched her fists. Well, there was a certain honor in cooking for King Sterling. “Very well.” She snatched the apron off the floor and tied it on. The slave directed her to procure various legumes and utensils, but she mostly stirred the pot, huffing under her breath.

“Oh, that smells delicious.” A man walked in, wrapped his arm around the woman, and kissed her neck. Sophia’s eyes went wide. It was King Sterling Himself, his face unmistakable with his royal whiskers and blue-and-red imperial uniform. Was her King taking liberties with the slave? She gasped. No, it’s couldn’t be…

Sophia dropped to the floor. “Your majesties! Please forgive me! I did not know!” The woman—she was no slave. She was her Queen.

“She done think I’m some servant I reckon,” said Queen Magnolia, “and called me a Southie! Why I—”

“I beg of you, had I known—” How could she cause such an affront to her regent? They should cast her off the bow. But a Queen, cooking her own meal? She covered her head with her arms.

The King extended a hand. “Stand up. We forgive you, provided you promise never to speak ill of Southlanders again. They are our dearest friends.”

Sophia’s guts leaped to her throat but she fought it down. “Please, your Majesties, allow me to throw myself from the railing for such an offense.” The King laughed and maintained his arm. She clasped him with a shaking hand and allowed him to lift her, then stared at her palm. Never in her life had she imagined she’d be face-to-face with her King—and to verily insult his wife—

“I am so sorry,” she said, tears flooding her eyes. Her chest shuddered.

Queen Magnolia waved her hand. “’Tis nothing. Leave her to me, sugar, dinner be ready in two shakes.” They kissed and the King departed.

Sophia stood with a bowed head, sniffling, ashamed of her own petulant arrogance.

“Child,” said the Queen. “Child! We gonna burn our dinner, come now. All’s forgiven.” Sophia reached for the spoon but kept sniffling, afraid any second that she would be dropped from the ship. The woman draped an arm around her shoulders, a warm, matronly hug. “Now you hush.” She knelt so they could see eye to eye. “Listen, sweetie, you ain’t the first. I’ve been called much worse. We Southlanders ain’t nothing what you been learnt. We’re a free, happy people. We ain’t got slaves, or kings, or nothing for over a hunnert years. I might be called a Queen but inside I’m just a woman like you. I love my husband with all my heart, and I’m learning to love this here land you call home. And I sure love to cook. I know you folks are big on manners, so then…would you please assist me with our meal preparation if you wouldn’t mind? I would sorely appreciate it.”

Sophia nodded, swallowed, and looked up her face. The woman was indeed beautiful in a strange dark way, with wide eyes, a flat nose, and impossible thick hair. Her luscious lips held a friendly smile, and her eyes portrayed no malice. Sophia understood why her King courted such an exotic beauty. “Yes, at once. It would be my honor.” Everything she heard about this woman, that she was a monstrous freak, a conniving tyrant, or a magical witch, all melted away. She was the most ordinary woman in the world…which made her the most extraordinary.

I just want to point out that Queen Magnolia is college-educated with an advanced degree, but she fell in love with the King when he was just a Prince studying abroad in her country. She has been universally hated every since they married, for no good reason except that people want to use her to dethrone the King, so they’ve fomented a lot of bigoted hate against her. The next scene is the actual meal where they press Sophia for access to the Duke’s secrets.

And yes, I totally have Gina Torres in mind when I think of Queen Magnolia. How could I not?

Last Line Blogfest – 30 Days

Last Line Blogfest – 30 Days

First of all, many thanks to Lilah Pierce for hosting the Last Line Blogfest! Go check out the other great entries!

Secondly, Friday May 7 is the Bad Girl Blogfest hosted by yours truly. Both characters from this entry will be back in reworked scenes showing their true badness.

Now onto the Last Line Blogfest. I just can’t reveal the ending of Steam Palace like this. Sorry. But I can repost a somewhat edited ending of my NaNoWriMo blogvel 30 Days: The Singularity Matrix. Actually, this is what I call the “alternate” ending. The last we know, these women, who have been mortal enemies for two books, are left to die on the Singularity-Matrix-powered Queen Carrie battleship, Carrie trapped in a cage and Ellie shot in the abdomen by Carrie. Note this is from Ellie’s blog which she posted some time after the incident in question. The Singularity Matrix has been armed, and will result in a nuclear-magnitude explosion. They only have moments left to live. Note that this is a rough draft so go easy on me. You can actually read the whole story online here. :)

The Reports of My Death...

[Posted November 30, 2008 @ 11:59 PM]

have been greatly exaggerated.

For a moment, maybe just a moment, I lost consciousness. Alex reached me as I lay flat on the stage. I remember him next to me, talking to me, and then he was gone. My vision swam, and my face, chest, and legs felt like I had been hit by a train. I groaned and rolled over on one elbow.

“Holy shit, you’re alive,” shouted Carrie from her cage, like a ghost had just sprung out my body.

“Yeah, well,” I mumbled. I felt around the bullet holes. Both were clean, passing right through my body. That meant they only hit soft tissue, nothing that couldn’t be fixed, as long as I got treatment in time.

I looked at the pool of blood beneath me, trying to judge how much I had lost. Enough to make my heart race trying to keep up with my dwindling blood supply.

“I can help you,” said Carrie. “I have people. You don’t have to die here.”

I shook my head. “This is as good a place to die as any other.” Blackness crept along the periphery of my vision. My feet felt cold and leaden.

“Listen,” Carrie insisted, an urgency in her voice. “We’re up against something huge. Bigger than what I can handle. I’ve been trying to get inside. Maybe—together—we can do it. This is something bigger than the Singularity Matrix. People are involved at all levels. At all levels. Elena, listen. I can get you inside. If you get me out of here, we can crack this thing together.”

I sighed, my vision swimming. “More of your conspiracy theories? Park, you’ve played that one too many times.” I laid down and stared up at the chandeliers on the ceiling.

“This ship, who do you think built this ship? It wasn’t me! It wasn’t the Chinese! They have more of them, and not just converted freighters. Not just seagoing vessels. They’re building an army of these things. This was just a test, don’t you see? They didn’t care if I lived or died. Why do you think I got stuck with such an incompetent crew? Why do you think they supplied me with the twin singularity? So I could destroy this thing when it was all over, and hide all the evidence. Ellie, these people are moving quickly, and we can’t hesitate. By now Alex has armed the Matrix, and we’ve got ten, fifteen minutes tops.”

The conversation stumbled through my neurons, but certain things didn’t quite add up. I struggled to sit up. “If you’re lying, your next torture session will be far beyond anything I’ve done before.”

The scrawny bitch rattled her bars. “Okay, fine, just get me out of here. Ellie, you’re my only hope to get out of this mess. I’m serious about what I told Alex: I want to change. Just give me a chance, please.”

Right. Everything out of her mouth is shit. But I needed answers. Maybe it was 100% fiction. I had to know. None of this makes sense. I dragged myself along the stage, and slapped the button to raise the cage. Carrie limped out, and picked up my gun.

She aimed it at me, and I closed my eyes. “Let’s go, Galistina,” she said, shoving the gun into her waistband, then reached to help me up.

We supported each other over to a door which led to a room which held a large powerboat. We flopped into the boat, my guts screaming with pain, and Carrie flipped some switches. A door burst open, propelled by explosive bolts. The boat roared to life and catapulted out on to the river. Above us, a helicopter leaped off the deck and flew off to the northwest—Alex and his friends. We raced east down the river, and in a few minutes, the sky lit up with the terrifying detonation. Fortunately, we had covered enough distance to avoid the radiation and heat blast.

I’m now resting comfortably, essentially a prisoner of Carrie’s, but not completely. More of a detained guest. She’s filling in some details, and so far it checks out.

I’m going to have to go far undercover now. Forget Elena Galistina. She doesn’t exist anymore. My facial reconstruction will change my look. I’ll look a little more Southern European, if I can.

I’ve sent the bulk of my estate over to Alex as an “inheritance.” My official estate will probably be held in court for years, but my private untraceable assets will become immediately available to him. I’ve also set up a trust for Julia, which she’ll find out about in due time. I owe that kid my life.

Well it’s been fun. I hope Carrie’s “change” is real. We’re more alike sometimes than I like to admit. Stay safe, and I hope we can talk again sometime.

Peace,
Elena Galistina (soon to be…?)

Well, I guess I can’t really let anything end, can I? I hope you enjoyed it!