You will be able to find all links to all entries by all participants at the

Worth1000 August Blog a Day Project at Multiply.

I hope everyone has fun, and I am looking forward to read what all of you come up with.

Then life. Issues. Some of them nice. Most not. But now I am back, for now.

Also, I decided to enter a Worth challenge of

30 DAYS OF TEXT

There will be a different word or topic given each day, and I and the other participants will write about it.

What does that mean for you, oh well-disposed reader of my blog? It means that there will be an entry every day. At least I hope so.

Starting August 1st. Topic: Multifaceted.

“Sometimes, light is more than just light”. My father had said that. We had been hiking through the woods, just he and I. “Look”, he said, pointing. Between the dark pine trees, some rays of light were shining, visible beams of sunlight transforming the creeping mist into flowing, golden threads of enchantment. “Light”, my father said, “is all around us, all the time. If there were no light, we could not see each other, not a tiny little bit, no matter how good our eyes are.”

“But sometimes, there is light like this… light you can see, enchanted light. If you let the rays touch you, it will be like a kiss of God. It will fill you with goodness and grace”.

He scooped me up in his arms then, and carried me, giggling, to the small clearing, and sat me down in the soft evening light. I sat motionless, letting the sunlight tickle my nose, feeling full of goodness and grace, and Godkissed.

This is my best memory.

My worst is how I died.

Despite my notoriously bad habit of regaling myself with killing, none of my victims had ever walked in on me in the middle of the night. It added a nippy spice to the late hour, and tangible arousal stirred in the air.

The sallow light of the moon illuminated Claude’s slender form. I smiled. He had been worthy. His exsanguination had been a true masterpiece. Of all the lives I had quelled, none had been more delicious and inspiring.

A wide-brimmed hat shadowed Claude’s face, but it was unmistakably him. For a split second, an exiguous smile illuminated his lips. Then he beckoned. Without waiting for my reaction, he turned and left the room. I never hesitated.

His shadow grew and shrunk in the passing light of the street lanterns. Our journey ended in a dark, twisted alley, in front of a fading neon sign. “Chained Melody” it read in blood-red letters. I dimly remembered this place. Fetish bar. I occasionally picked up aspirants here. None had proved to be worthy enough to be a victim.

Claude entered and went straight to the bar, murmured something to the barkeeper, and turned to me. With one flowing movement, he took away his coat and hat.

It wasn’t Claude. This was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And she had Claude’s features. His huge, deep blue eyes. His narrow and rather long nose. His lips. I remembered the taste of his blood on his lips. My arousal became rigorous and probably visible. She had the same lips. I wanted them. I wanted her.

When I came closer, I caught the first major difference except the gender. Her smell. She smelled of vanilla and warm milk. I couldn’t help moving closer, until her breath became a perceptible caress on my skin.

“Claire. My name is Claire.” Her French accent was stronger than Claude’s.

“Claude’s twin sister. I am looking for him. I spoke to him yesterday morning, and he said was meeting you.”

Her eyes were wide and fixed upon me, she never flinched. If she was lying, she was an extremely good actress.

“I don’t know where he is. I met him in the afternoon. He mentioned another date in the evening.”

“That is strange.” Her breath still nipped my skin. “I came here yesterday evening. We were supposed to meet at the train station. It is very unusual that he did not show up.”

“I imagine. Why should he stand up a lovely sister such as you?”

She smiled. Score.

“Giving it a second thought, he mentioned someone. Perhaps he was … distracted? A woman?”

“Claude wasn’t into women.”

Oh yes. I knew that quite well.

“You seem to be, though.”

Her gaze was steady and challenging. Was she trying to hit on me? She had Claude’s eyes, huge and innocent, but with a naughty core, like a chained beast waiting to break free. I remembered Claude’s eyes the moment I had finally released him, the very moment his soul had left his body. I remembered the flicker and the burning, their everlasting beauty shining through the haze of tears and blood and choking breaths. And now Claire. She could be the peak of my oeuvre, and she was here, right here in my hands.

Her beauty was to die for. And she would.

“Yes, I cannot deny it,” I answered her proposition huskily.

“That’s good. I know they’ve got rooms here”.

Wait. This was going faster than I thought. I did not want to lose control. I needed to plan this, to go carefully. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. They could find Claude’s body soon, perhaps even tomorrow; there might not be another chance. And she was challenging me.

The room was dark. There were pieces of furniture and accoutrement for the clientèle of the establishment. I discarded them. These were gimmicks for those too craven to indulge in the real thing. But not having my own equipment handy, I did have use for the chains. Claire obviously enjoyed the game. It wouldn’t have aroused me, had I not known the fear that was about to come. When it came, I knew I had been right. Her death would ennoble her. She’d be eternal. I would take my time. I would honor her.

My face was close to hers now. I wanted to look into her eyes when she left, as I always did, as I had with Claude. My knife resting in place, waiting to push her into the nothingness, waiting to canonize her forever. Her eyes were wide open. I knew what I had to do to make this flawless.

“I killed your brother,” I whispered. “Just like this. With this same knife”.

Her eyes widened.

“I know,” she said. Her breathing was ragged with the pain I had dealt her. “In five minutes the place will be swarming with cops. You have two choices.”

I glared at her.

“Two choices,” she repeated. “Either you leave now. You might get away. But you will never have this climax you seek. You will never see me die.”

How had she known?

“Or you stay. Kill me. Enjoy me. It will be too late then. Caught in the act. Put to justice. But you will have me.”

How did she know me?

“Do it. Behold me.”

I had no choice. She was the apogee.

(written for a Worth1000 H7H against 6 very talented writers. Challenge was 1st person bad guy story, noir style. I came in 3rd. You can read here who was even better )

Therefore, we celebrated the Towel Day.

I happened to coincide with a medieval reenactors encampment I participated in, which made it even more … luscious. Best thing were the people who asked: “Why do you have a 42 written on your forehead?”

Because we could answer: “Because I also have a towel with me.”

Thanks ManFromSun for telling me.

Chrome, read it or you’re doomed.
All others, read it if you’re open minded enough.

ISBN: 0765342987

So we have the “Kushiel’s Legacy” series to begin with:

Kushiel’s Dart

Kushiel’s Chosen

Kushiel’s Avatar

What is seen as the fourth book of this trilogy (R.I.P. D.N.A.!) actually seems tobe the start of the second trilogy — the ‘Imriel Trilogy‘:

Kushiel’s Scion

also announced for June 2007 is “Kushiel’s Justice” and — most likely — there’ll be another (final?) yet unnamed sequel.