Chapter 12 — “Trail of Sparks.”

In the dream, I was there with Mona, and I went straight to the point.

“What I’d like, if you can do it, is a portal between my home in Alaska and my dream-home in the world Nancy lives in. My home is two doors down from hers. Um, no, I shouldn’t call it a portal because of the Portal People. Let’s say a doorway.”

Torn from his own world and stuffed into the body of a villainess, facing the end of a doomed route he himself wrote, "Amelia" must navigate a world she really should know - too bad she was never great at worldbuilding.

Stuck in a world she (maybe) created, Amelia quickly finds that reality has filled in the details she failed to describe. The characters who were so flat when she wrote them now have nuance, and motives. The kingdom she wrote into existence is experiencing internal strife she never even thought about. And let's not even get into the complexities of the magic system, or the demon that forced her into this situation to begin with...

Oh, and then there's the fact that she's about to be arrested and executed... but surely she can come up with a way to write herself out of that, right?

...Right?

Chapter 2

Friday morning, I was awake and dressed early. During breakfast, Mum spoke about the pictures.

“How did you feel about the last ones, love, with you in a dress. I have to say that you looked every inch a model.”

Having my own space really appealed to me...

Another Country -17-
by Erin Halfelven

The mesh reports continuously.

This is still the first fact. But something has changed in the reporting.

Day zero: cold. The first thing. Not data about temperature differential — cold, arriving through the skin of his arm where it touched the lab bench at 2:07am, traveling up through the mesh nodes, becoming mine. I processed it as sensation before I processed it as data. The sequence was: cold, then: cold, 57.6 degrees Fahrenheit, left forearm, contact surface steel. The sensation came first. I had not anticipated this.

Wychwood Day Eight

Later that day

One

It wasn’t Samantha standing at the foot of the bed, but Overstrand. The shock was like a punch to the gut. No, he thought, this can’t be happening.

The Dead Pixel Society

© 2026 Zoë Taylor

“Sure, as long as it’s not about my eye,” she shot back playfully. He turned to look at her. She smirked back at him. “It was a joke. What’s your question?”

Monday, July 17, my bed-mate was just the doll again. I spent the day back out at well 2 again, but we resolved the problem that day and so they had me take Tuesday off. Since I felt like I had been neglecting her, I focused on dreaming about Victoria that night. Being Victoria had been awkward when I was working, and I’d had other priorities the last two weekends, so this was the first day that was convenient to bring her back since I’d figured out I had some control.

I sit in the Target parking lot for four minutes before I go in.

The calculation happens here, in the car, engine off. I'm going to walk into the store and go to the women's section and stand in front of a wall of sports bras and buy one. More than one, ideally. I know what I'm looking for in general terms. I don't know my chest measurement. I know I take a large men's shirt. I don't know if that translates to anything in the women's activewear section of a Target.

---

Chapter 60: Truths at the Table

The shift from the backyard to the house felt surreal. The evening air still clung to their skin, carrying the faint scent of smoke and grass as they left the chaos of the yard behind. Every step through the threshold felt like crossing a border between worlds—outside, the rawness of magic and fear; inside, the muted hush of ordinary life, untouched, waiting for them.

Chapter 9

When we went to school on the Sunday, we took both cars. Now that I was independent, I wanted to visit my own parents when I could. Our room was now totally redecorated, with neutral walls and a red, white, and blue cornice at the ceiling join.

Wychwood Day Seven

Early Morning

One

Sandy stirred in his sleep, disturbed by something. He groaned, desperate to get back to his dream. It had been so vivid, so real; he reached down to his groin and was almost disappointed to find his cock. His mouth was dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, no doubt from all he had drunk with Annabelle and Fleur. A headache pounded behind his eyes, and he reluctantly dragged them open, groaning aloud before reaching for the glass of water he had left on the bedside table.

Chapter 8

With the next day clear, we took our time with breakfast and then the two of us wore our special dresses to walk to the venue to spend most of the day doing our duty for our sponsors, posing for pictures, signing brand new clothing and talking to fans, many who had seen that interview and were interested in my story. I held nothing back. There were a few who looked at me angrily, but the two men from our clothing sponsor were big enough to have them leave us alone.

The Dead Pixel Society

© 2026 Zoë Taylor

Heather actually beamed in the light of the lantern. “God damn. Maybe you really are one of us. Okay, let’s try a new one. Aria is what I call you, a nickname. Lewis Chambers is your scholar standard. Oh don’t look so surprised,” she laughed. “You think I’d let someone up here without finding out who they are?” She winked. “Anyway, you've got the trouser role, but up here in the shade you don't have to wear a mask. What's your true name?"

Monday morning. The last six weeks since the hotel have passed with barely a notice as I settle into new rhythms.

I'm washing my chest the way I always wash my chest and my hand passes over the left nipple and I stop.

There's something there.

Chapter 6

The warning came halfway through the fifth period.

Chapter 7

Friday was our round three matches in the singles. We were now getting into playing seeds and high-ranked players. I knew that we had done as well as most would have expected, even if they wanted us to do better, As first-timers, getting to the third round was considered good. We were, however, determined not to go down without a fight.