You're welcome to read this, but it was really just to test the length limit of posts. it appears to be at least 11,000 words lol. Chapter One: If the Dress Fits Frey marveled at her surroundings as she was escorted to the royal table. Opulence oozed from every corner of the banquet hall. Grandiose chandeliers, burning hundreds of candles, hung from the vaulted ceiling. They cast a flickering golden hue over the rich tableau below. “How did they light those candles all the way up there?” She mumbled to herself as a servant pulled her chair out. She stepped towards the table and waited for the chair to be slid under her before lowering her bottom as delicately as possible. “They winch them down, light them, and winch them back up,” the servant replied in a low whisper as he leaned over and spread a napkin across her lap. “You might see the pulleys attached to the cross beams if you look hard enough.” Frey blushed and chastised herself. She should be more careful. A proper princess would, of course, know how they lit the candles. Or, more likely, wouldn’t care. Keep your mouth shut, silly girl! Beneath the chandeliers, white linen dressed a dozen long feasting tables. Their silver and crystal place settings reflected distorted images of the diners taking their seats. Bedecked in exquisite fineries, the kingdom’s richest and most influential characters were earnestly engaged in high society chatter and gossip. They canoodled and cackled while waving their goblets at scurrying waiters. She admired the gowns worn by the ladies. She knew from her mother that fabric of any blue shade came at great expense, being the most difficult dye to procure from nature. Here there was a predominance of blue and indigo, violet and mauve on display. Clearly, these people enjoyed exhibiting their wealth. Almost as much as they enjoyed the King’s wine. But the garments were nothing compared to her own dress. An azure cloud of mulberry silk floated around her. Without breasts large enough to hold the strapless garment aloft, handmaidens had used hidden tape, stuck directly to her skin. Frey fought the urge to scratch her itching chest.

Tell us who you are, and what you write. You don't need to share your name. You don't need a publishing credit or a finished manuscript. All you need is a love for dark, fearless storytelling. Tell us: What kind of dark fiction do you write or read? Which author or book pulled you into this world? What are you working on right now? We'll start, this is a place where your darkest ideas finally have a room to breathe.

From "The Butterfly Defect" a novel currently at 150,000 words that will never see the light of day. In this scene, Tracy, having already been led to the dark side by Simon before he died, finds out what he left her in his will. And when she wonders what to do about it, she finds out even more about herself. -------- The contents of the box revealed themselves to be eighty thousand pounds in cash, which Tracy asked Adam to bank for her, a tangled bunch of war medals, pouches of rare coins and a rust stained dagger with a swastika and "SS" engraved in the hilt. She recoiled at the last item. "Is that what I think it is?" "It is. And it's illegal in the UK and most of Europe, being genuine Nazi memorabilia." When he saw Tracy frown, he added. "Oh, don't worry, it wasn't Simon's originally. He liberated it from East Berlin after the war. Nevertheless, you can't put it on the open market without risking a stiff penalty. But we have contacts if you'd like us to sell it for you?" Tracy thought for a while. Her first instinct was to have it destroyed, but her inner, darker voice spoke up. To do so would be to invalidate whatever Simon had endured to acquire it. Maybe even death-defying efforts, for all she knew. And who was she to just write that off? If he'd wanted it destroyed, it wouldn't be here. But still… "What would you think of me if I tried to make money from that?" she asked. Adam took a large swig of whisky. "It's irrelevant what I'd think of you," he said, turning the dagger so it caught the light. "I suspect you know that. But you also might like to know that I wouldn't care in the least. See, this firm has quite a niche clientele, with Simon, and now yourself being prime examples. It's okay, don't be shy about it." He placed the dagger back on the table and flicked it into a slow spin with a pudgy finger. When the spin slowed, then stopped, it was pointing right at her. "You're special, Tracy. It's no surprise you and Simon found each other. We're a little special here, too. People have their own interpretations of morality. You, Simon, me and the other members of this firm share an interpretation that's somewhat distant from the middle of the bell curve, shall we say?" He looked up from the dagger and right into her eyes. "You've not only entertained Simon's butterfly collecting, as he called it, but you've enjoyed it too, yes?"

Connect 1 on 1 with other members, specifically to swap critiques of each other's work. Post the work you'd like critiquing, including details of its genre, themes and any trigger warnings. Its also a good idea to stipulate what kind of critique you want. eg, general reader feedback, in-line edits etc.. Don't feed other member's work into AI critiquing tools without their permission. If you're critiquing someone's work try to be constructive and helpful rather than critical and harsh. Unless they've asked you to go hard! :-)