02 – Everything Old is New Again

September 23rd

Ryan made a wish.

He could feel the magic flowing in the mirror, static and overwhelming, so vibrant compared to the unmoving body of his recruit.

He let go of the mirror and waited for something to happen, looking around for signs of other people – of fae to avoid, Solstice to fight and other Agency staff to-

Ryan forced his thoughts away from the Agency. Continue reading “02 – Everything Old is New Again”

Um, oops…

So yeah, I really have no idea how to put this.

I’m rewriting Mirrorheart.

And you’re probably sitting there going “I know, I know”. Well, um, let me put it this way: I’m rewriting Mirrorheart, again.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved what I’ve done so far, and I am hoping to save the majority of it – both for MH and MS, but there’s just been something fundamentally wrong with it since I’ve started. At first, I was just sure that it was because it was so different to the existing story that I was having trouble adjusting to it, but the further we got into it, the more  I started to realise that it just wasn’t working.

A big part of why I wanted a clean slate with MH is because in MH2.0, the Agency act like a bunch of fucking idiots. Ok, this was early days, and we were still getting stuff established, but it was like we had one of those things that shoots tennis balls and just filled it up with Idiot Balls. Ryan should have gotten caught the minute he tried to move Stef’s body, which is why I went with the new direction.

I also thought it was a very boring book, and that I should do my best to avoid that on the rewrite – it’s somewhat ponderous, and very introspective, and I didn’t want to lose the momentum from Mirrorfall.

Redoing the site gave me visible over the old text (and was somewhat urged by Wraith doing his own archive binge) that Mirrorheart as it stands is kind of this valuable bit of story – it’s necessary breathing room.

Running straight from Mirrorfall into what is, in all germane ways, Mirrorshades means that we miss out on getting to see the Agency without Stef, on the chance to see characters operating in their natural environments and as themselves before having to deal with the drama that is our stinky hacker girl with a hunk of mirror in her chest.

The reason I started to backfill with those couple of Magnolia chapters is that we hadn’t had a chance to see Angelpie operating before they’re getting dragged up to be main characters, and before they’re involved in a major conflict. In MH2.0, we get to see that, and we need that grounding before we start to grok onto the idea that Taylor is a people.

So that leaves the question of…what to do?

I’ve found a good middle ground between Ryan hiding Stef’s corpse in her apartment, and taking her back to the Agency; which also allows for everything to tie more closely together.

Emma (now named Jane) won’t be appearing in the present day, though will be seen in flashbacks – we start out with a young!Ryan flashback and we’ll continue through that, showing his first mirrorfall, and the results of him trying to grow a personality.

I really hope you can forgive me, I know it’s a strange move to make, but I hope it’ll make for better story.


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Stormy Note: Unsolicited fanfic, my favourite! This short-and-dark noir piece comes from a forum vampire who would prefer to remain so at the moment.


A darkly sticky sweat fragrance lingered in the air; the smell of sweat and tears and sex. It’s a smell that only a private detective could know.

She was leaning against the streetlight on the corner alone, I was stumbling home after a night of cheap scotch served neat and warm, She was youthful,I was exhausted by a long month of missing persons found dangling by nooses and cheating husbands found, with my help, mid fornication by enraged devastated wives

She was tall,I was low, all my capacity to believe in human love and romance and hope and goodness had spilled out of me like grain from a hole in a burlap sack, slowly, piece by piece.

And though the caked on makeup had been touched up in the alley before she again stepped under the streetlight, but you could tell she’d been crying anyway, she was still more beautiful than any whore you usually found in this part of town…

Not that I’m trying to make excuses.

I paid her to take me to bed and make me see something other than bleak black darkness in the world.

I suppose she did…

We entered the room where she transacted her business. As I turned around from closing the door she kissed me with a sudden passion that was so opposite to the timid and hesitant demeanor she had shown on the street corner that it surprised me, in my drunken state, and I pulled back from her. In the instant that we broke apart before she again leapt at me with longing vigor I looked into her eyes. The timid downturned expression she wore under the streetlight had been replaced with a fixed and ravenous gaze, but just in the corners of her eyes, almost hidden by the layers of lustful intensity there was sadness. Just a hint of sadness in the lust.

My back slammed against the bed and she straddled me kissing me with deep and intense kisses. She pinned my arms above my head with strength unexpected in one so beautiful and as she kissed me, straddling me, I began to feel a pleasure. A pleasure like sex although i couldn’t remember our having removed our clothes. It tingled like the pins and needles of a foot fallen asleep but in a toe-curling sort of way, and, although it started in my waist where her body straddled mine it slowly spread, moving up my body and down my legs, as she kissed me with a desperate passion.

The pins and needles pleasure filled me, making the grimy room in a whorehouse seem like heaven but the beautiful girl, tall and youthful, straddled on top of me began to cry. Slow soft tears running down her nose through the caked on makeup despite the deep and passionate kisses.

And her eyes…

the sadness almost hidden by the lust and longing was now just below the surface as if the lustful passion were a quickly evaporating mask through which her internal dialog stared at me.

The pins and needles pleasure filled me near to bursting.

But at the height of ecstasy I suddenly began to slip. I felt myself blacking out, my head growing cloudy. At the same time the pins and needles pleasure near my waist began to fade being replaced with…


As if my body too was blacking out, going numb and disappearing. the disappearing feeling spread slowly just like the pins and needles pleasure had moments before, slowly going up my body and down my legs from where the beautiful whore, tall and youthful, straddled me. She was still crying and the kisses had diminished in tempo and intensity, the lustful mask was gone. As i disappeared, between each kiss she said,

“I’m sorry”,


“I’m sorry”,


“I can’t help it”,


“I have to”,


“I’m sorry”…

I felt myself sinking into nothingness, consciousness blurring into darkness…

Then, where there had been nothing just an instant before, there was a man in a suit with a gun.

In one motion he threw the whore from the bed and against the far wall. The life rushed back into my body pushing out the nothingness and the pins and needles poison. Instantly, I passed out, unconscious but alive.

I awoke sometime later, tired, hungry, cold, and wobbly in a grimy room in a whorehouse very confused but alive.

It must have been a nightmare brought on by the stress and booze, but sometimes as I’d scour the streets looking for missing persons and cheating husbands I’d think about it and wonder if maybe I had a guardian angel out there somewhere…