Clumsy. That's what she always thought she was, until she went into the mirror shop and there was the one mirror way at the back that showed a whole cluster of spirits and demons clinging to her shoulders and back and legs and...well, everywhere, really. Once she saw it, she felt the pinpricks of their claws through her clothes. She spun to face away from the mirror, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried walking to the store door. She still felt the pinpricks, shifting as the creatures shifted their weight, and she felt the brush of wings against her bare skin now and again. Well, she thought, dizzied, that explains it all. Either I'm crazy--but she was pretty sure she wasn't, there were enough stories about the demon-carriers that she thought they must be a real thing--or that explains my clumsiness. And why I'm so strong for my size. If I've been carrying around all these extra creatures since I could walk, my muscles must be stronger than those of everyone else. But why can I see them in the mirror, and how can I get rid of them, and what--what do I do now? She strained her memory for the stories of the demon-carriers, but all the stories had been quest/adventure type things, with nary a mention of how they got control of their...condition. Call it a condition, she decided. She turned and walked back into the store and stared squarely in the mirror. The creatures glanced over at it, and then got excited, standing up on their hind legs and pointing. "Yes, yes," she said wearily. "I can see you. You can see yourselves. Great. Now what do we do?" "Can I help you, Miss?" a polite voice--


Inspiration: "Clumsy" - Jane Jensen
Story potential: High.
Notes: Either a pure second world fantasy or maybe one based on a more recent real-world era. I'm tired of the Victorian thing, and I don't want to do the medieval thing, either. Harrumph. Also, this smells like a novel.

A lit candle, a breath, a tear, a drop of blood. It seemed like such a small token offering, but it was what she had within her, what every person did, and if the offering was taken, she knew it would be more than small and more than token. If the offering was taken, they could use the affinity to take her every breath, her soul, her heart, and even her life. She hoped they'd take it, as she knelt in the cold stone cave that was her only refuge, praying before a carved idol that was ancient and worn and nothing like the newer gods they had worshiped in the town that was now burning below her. It was an old sort of faith--.

Inspiration: Thinking about lighting the morning candle.
Story Potential: Medium-high?
Notes: Think I don't want it to be gods, as such, but spirits of a place (small s). And they take her. And what they want her to do for them is not always good or gentle, but sometimes it is, and there'd be an overall redemption in there for her somewhere.

The face looking back up from the pond was her own, but it was not the face that she had ever seen herself wear before. It had a quizzical twist to its eyebrow, but it's eyes wore the expression of a hawk mantling, longing to be after its prey. Despite the torn shoulder of the reflection's dress, the girl in the rippling surface of the pond looked like she was the hunter, not the prey. Involuntarily, she reached forward, and so did her reflection. Their fingertips brushed against each other over the surface of the water, and for a moment, she felt the roughened fingertips of a fighter beneath her own. Then she felt only the cool ripples of water in the holy pond--

Inspiration: "Happy - Bile" by Nocturne
Story Potential: Medium.
Notes: Eh. Either a sort of divine-possession, or changeling for a purpose, or some such.