The Flight of a Starless Garden

BLOG OF FOG | CROW WRITES 

The Flight of a Starless Garden

This life, I didn’t choose it…

  I would rather be weak than face what lies ahead. Escape comforts my restlessness and embraces my chest with warmth. Oh, to be free of this burden and fly away. I would never come back. No more inadequacy or agony. Along, needless pain and struggle seethes from my people as they drown in worry. How pathetic I am to delay. These primal rifts must reveal my burden. Everyone must see the consequences furrow, but no one does. No one ever does. Animals, they are, born in my captivity. I am trapped in their illusory cage choking on the key. This life, I didn’t choose it. Who would?

 

  “Council members, this atrocious verdict may doom us all. As your king, I implore you to reconsider. God will not forgive us and I will not commend such barbarism.”

 

  My words are firm, but no eyes waver. They are resolute with their presumptuous and shrewd expressions. Restless silence soon follows like always. Ensnared in their gaze, my mind flees to mother’s garden.

 

  As a child, I always ran off at dusk and watched the sun settle under patches of chickweed. How pleasant it is to return. The moon flatters the sky and dims tilled paths only unripe eyes can follow. The tranquil prismatic fragrance of jasmines dots the ceiling of ancient tombs that resemble constellations, yet it was the honeyed oils of oak that gathered me home. Void of responsibility and people, it hums a song without dissonant troubles in its soft breeze.  


“Moonless nights haunt me. They evoke my once carefree life when I dreamed without doubt to what my future could be. I yearn for a time when my mother’s tree swayed beneath the dusk like an amber sea, but the past is locked without a key. Never to return—only flee.”

–King Alston, Stars of Glass


  The song whispers beneath stained windows brimming with heraldic achievements, none my own, and cools the anxious sweat below my underarm. Crudely enough, it plucks me back to my intolerable table adorned with pointless splendor of all the kingdoms my father ruined. The stale stench of tobacco promises to burn my nostrils for days.

 

 “Speak before I lose my patience!” I yell with anger I am newly aware of.

 

  A gauntly-set man with hair, thwarting the unequivocal retreat from the crown of his head, clears his throat. “Sire, I understand your position, but those authoritarian sprites must learn their place. They started this war by attacking our brothers in the north. That transgression cannot be overlooked when the kingdom already questions your authority. Dismissing this problem could create a mutiny.”

 

  His words hold truth I refuse to accept. My hands tingle from the lack of blood as each finger strangles the other beneath the weight of my desperation. I slam my fist with futile vigor prompting the room to stir in uproar. “Mutiny is your concern? What about your humanity? This killing will mark us devils. We must find another way.”

 

  A woman with a boastful gown drags her hem frontward. “Humanity?” she says biting her lip and debating her next words, “there will not be any humanity to save if we continue this dovish mentality.”

 

  The room whispers in agreement. “Sire, this crude act will darken our hearts. None of us desire it. It would be absurd to think so, but this is a matter of self-preservation,” a youth interjected with deceitful poise as tendrils of discomfort sway in conflict. 


Art by: Tomas Honz


  “I need time to think,” I declare.

 

  Doors open and fresh air whisks parchments in to temporary flight. The polished tiles click as guards clad in argent armor file in and escort me out. Before anyone else speaks, I am gone. I walk briskly to avoid spiteful eyes as murmurs of dissatisfaction ring like mosquitoes at dusk.

 

  I will deny them. They will not take my blood. The distant buzz behind me echoes down the great halls as every soul kneels at my presence.

 

  There are times I feel my bones strain under the weight of all lives dreamt. My life is everyone’s fantasy. What silliness they dream. How astray their desires.

 

  I travel to the tower of secrets and order the guards to leave. I watch them carefully as they vanish down the pebbled path—dry and white in the sun. The birds chirp above rustling trees as I breathe.

 

  I trek up the serpentine stairs which is always work. My legs ache as I reach the top floor. There waiting is an uninviting door with rotted wood covered in moss. I press my wrinkled hands against the splintered surface and push. It creaks and complains as dust schools around me. I cover my mouth and enter my room of phantoms.

 

  Old discolored paintings of my late beloved hang proudly. Her curved lips redefined my life ages ago. For a moment, she was my oasis. How I believed no one could take her from me. Everything I ever loved existed here. Merely approaching my darling Clera always shook my heart, even after father took her and mother’s garden.

 

  Love bears limitation, he would say. Happiness carries you nowhere, he would bludgeon.

 

  “Embrace anger Alston! It is the only thing that keeps a king alive aside for his wit,” I recite in fury as I cling to the hoary desk mottled in memories. Those words subjugated me until the day my hand was forced. His frozen eyes should have freed me.

 

  “They should have,” I whisper.

 

  The wavering sunlight dances on the granite windowsill. I touch the brittle remains of the jasmine buds I once cherished and watch them crumble to dust. 

 


Art by: Omer Tunc


 “Sweet Clera.”

 

 I caress the delicate brush strokes of my wife’s paintings until the moon reveals her hesitant face peering out at distant mountains.

 

  “I have done my best to grow this kingdom as a king should, but this will darken minds. The heinous act will solve nothing but feed my people retribution. They need to believe I still side with them and I as well. This could determine whether our people persevere or cannibalize. I know we won’t make it divided.”

 

  Shadows rear behind me and I can no longer see Clera. I whisper a prayer, and for a moment, I feel her in the room. Her distant laughter, her kiss, and with it every tragedy we shared. It drives me mad. My hands reach for anything as unfamiliar screams escape my tongue. I smash and raze every memory until nothing is left except for Clera’s portrait and my inherited resentment of him. Shattered glass sparkles under the moonlight as my lips quiver. I can hear him too.

 

  I retreat to my throne room, a grueling task, as my thin pale skin weighs on my frame. I order the prisoner in and wait on my scarlet seat strung with gold thread. Candles line the walls and ceiling as frankincense snugs the chamber with a sylvan aroma.

 

  The iron doors part and a small figure veiled in raven feathers enters. The guards bleed out with a simple hand gesture as my gaze fixates on the prisoner’s amethyst eyes. The beauty they hold haunts me as I sit in dread. I stand and quietly stare for centuries. I forget the universe and lean forward as a delicate sound pierces my ears.

   “Where I’m from they say gods crumbled the stars to create us. Are you a star like me?” she asked while removing her headdress.

 

  My skin crawls in shock as her silken hair rolls down her back in waves of ink. The figure was a sprite, but a child nonetheless – just a child.“

 

  I thought the heir was a boy?” I muttered in anger causing her to frown.

 

  “Boys, girls, trees, does it matter?” She responds and looks away, struggling to restrain her tears. “Are you going to kill me?” she asks with a wavering voice. My soul fractures as she takes a timid step forward. She is like me – born into power beyond control. 

  “I stand up, approach her and kneel to wipe her tears. “I do not want to,” I admit as she weeps.  

 

 “I don’t want to die,” she sobs while reaching to hug me. Her face presses into my chest and I embrace her as if she were my own.  

 

  “Forgive me.” I cry as my mind abandons all thought. Her whimpering breath beneath my tightening grip bore into me like arrows.  

 She left me stranded like a shipwrecked mariner, alone, as her arms dangle beneath my shame. The doors slam open and horrid expressions freeze over the faces on the council.   

 

 “Get out!” I howl, trying to conceal the child in my arms.   

 

 “The sprites,” a council member trembles, “Their envoy is here, and they revealed to us the true culprits behind the northern attack. It was our own people. It was us. What should we do?” 

 

 “Kill them.” I answer as iridescent feathers spill from my arms and with them each hope I bore.   

 

 “Kill who, sire?”  

 

 My hollowed gaze fixed.  

 

 “Everyone.” 

Quote to Inspire: 

“The smallest minority on earth is the individual. Those who deny individual rights cannot claim to be defenders of minorities.”

–Ayn Rand




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H.S. Crow 

Author, Producer, and Adventurer

AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR, PRODUCER, AND INSPIRING CREATOR 

Drift in the Eversea 

H.S. Crow has literary works appearing in all mediums of entertainment with a focus on fantasy, science fiction, and horror. He is an author traversing the theoretical and myth with novels and comics exploring the breathtaking Caligo, a vast universe containing our dreams and nightmares. Notable books include Lunora and the Monster King, Stars of Glass, and the upcoming epic Drums of Fog. However, his brilliance also transcends into poetry and music with scores that instills emotion and magic. The young author and music producer aims to challenge current issues with the imagination, and enchant the heart and mind of any who dares explore his madness.


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H.S. Crow has literary works appearing in all mediums of entertainment with a focus on fantasy, science fiction, and horror. He is an author traversing the breathtaking Caligo, a vast universe containing our dreams and nightmares. Notable books include Lunora and the Monster King, Stars of Glass, & the upcoming Drums of Fog. 

© 2021 The Otherworlds Inc. All rights reserved. 

Thoughts of a Monster King

BLOG OF FOG | INSIDE CROW 

Thoughts of a Monster King

In our minds, we all see different worlds.

   To be given time to decide our ambition, character, and future is a luxury, but even when granted is it ever enough? The lucky that manage to live beyond conception in the land of Nevermore learn quickly of the brutality the world holds. We enter the existence with a cry of muddled emotions. Fear and sorrow being the most powerful forces, yet there is beauty beneath the flux of pain and confusion. There is opportunity. 

 

   To be alive is the greatest gift, even when its luster fades. However, worry not. It is temporary. Clean the surface enough with the right material, and the luster will return. Bad things happen, it is a part life. It is needed in order to better decipher the good that dwells inside and around us. Yet, it is easier for a terrible situation to drown it out, and that alone can curse an individual from starting anew.

 

   We are known for our dangerous aversion when a situation is against us. We jump with great conviction to express it, but our logic is often lost in the crossfire of emotion. The feelings that often defines us, also determine wars. It is natural for heart strung creatures like us to enter folly when rationality blurs. 

 

   We are capable of sacrificing our own happiness or that of others for sake of self-preservation, comfort, and love. Morals were created to divert us from the innate urge to claim our desires. It is the fiddle that controls our true nature with one that is created.


“Over the obsidian hills and the sunken yellow dale, through the vast oceans of fog and the fires of nevermore, sits the fickle doors of the land of twilight. I will traverse it all, and execute righteous judgment on all that oppose me..”

–The Banished Oberon, Lunora and the Monster King 


 These ethical motives has helped us create a society with rules that allow us to live side by side, but are these rules perfect—let alone right? Who defines them, and why does it have to define you? Regardless, there are moments when society and its mortal forged rules fail us. Everyone has their own interpretation as to what right and wrong is after all. 

 

 In the end, what alters our understandings of the world, our place in it, or what we hope to never become revolves in our environment, upbringings, and status. All of which vary from person to person and the challenges faced, especially when we falter. When the heart is hurt it is pricked with an itch that never goes away. We can learn to use it as a strength, or allow it to crumble the person we were. Ignoring it may work in the beginning, but it does not eliminate the decision needed to move forward. Whatever the choice, everything aids in the molding of our character.

 

 Where misery exist, happiness dwelled. None is ever without.

 

 When creating the Monster King I felt the need to explore these ideas, and that of death. I was reminded that it can happen to any of us, at any moment and time. Death comes for us all. It watches, but never waits. It does not need to. It is there when needed, and bears result. Many of us have learned to fear this end, yet to some it is not always a ghastly thing. It can be a much needed rest when the body has grayed and withered, yet the problem lies when it comes too soon; such as a child.

 

 The Monster King is a banished Oberon—Overlord—that served in Caligo prior to the wars that tore his kingdom apart. Nevermore is a region trapped in a paradox that contradicts the laws of physics governing our known universe. It is a place torn from our existence, and tossed into a pocket dimension. In this tale, the Monster King is a grieving parent tortured by the loss of his only child. 

 

 When the painful news reached his wife, the queen, she forsook him and walked off the highest balcony. The king took her suicide as an act of betrayal, and cursed her memory. Her death is not mentioned in the tale due to the scribes effacing her from history. It is believed that her action was proof of his failures as father and husband, and he could not bear it.


Art by: Gij


  The King represents someone who has lost everything. His daughter represented the future, and losing her destroyed him. In life, most families never recover from the tragedy of losing a child. Who would you become if everything you loved was taken from you? As a king he holds great power, but how terrible is it in the hands of someone desperate for vengeance and fueled by hate?

 

  To build his character I learned a great deal about tyrants, and the people that followed them. Tyrants are often born from a good heart, and bear a tragic past. They are silver-tongued and driven. I discovered how effortless it is to be obsessed with the need to write a wrong, especially when the wrong blinds you from your own wickedness or means to get the deeds done.

 

  One thing is certain, all rulers fall. Nothing is permanent, and this applies to our character in every aspect. We are always changing and redefining our understanding of the self, especially in times of pain. The loss of a loved one transforms us, and that pain never goes away. To understand grief through the eyes of this forlorn parent, I had to remember a pain I fought to forget.

 

  Years ago, I was once going to be a father, but fate changed its mind. I never got to see my son or hear his cry. I only held the thought of his existence, and fleeting as it was I know he was there. He existed, and for a moment his name was Shade. This part of my life feels almost ancient. It feels disconnected. Regardless, that day birthed my need to write. It became my means to make him and everyone from then on immortalized. Words can shape the future, and define history.

 

  The death of my son influenced mine. At least, it is what I told myself. Sadly, I could not live a lie. It is easy to deceive your own perception if you try hard enough, but sooner or later the truth slithers back. I realized the real reason I started writing was to ease the pain in my heart before I attempted to end my life. Writing was my escape. It warmed me from the cold nights, and stopped me from leaping off my tower, but just like the king . . . I could not bear it. I needed a new purpose, and I created one. I found it in you, all of you.

 

  However, the same cannot be said for the Monster King. He is stuck in an internal war, and hate is one of the only things keeping him alive. His mind has traveled to a place where hope and despair are one of the same. The once liberal and benevolent leader has become despotic and malefic. His authoritarian rule is raw with emotion and retribution. He has swayed countless with the idea of change and has used propaganda to spread influence.

 

  Devour the life of a human, and claim the power to rule…


Art by: Gij


 In his warped mind he seeks to protect the realm as a whole, and he is, but the last menace that sits on the Obsidian Throne. He is his own enemy as his actions to close every border and silence every threat becomes uncontrollable. The inhabitants of Nevermore live in fear due to his rule. The catastrophic consequences of a derailing kingdom has stirred rebellion, and obscured morality among its inhabitants.

 

 With every revolt, thousands die. The discrimination towards humans have created divides among the monsters and sprites, and by the time the Lunora and the Monster King story begins the realm is breaking because of it. The king has become everything his late daughter once strived to eliminate, and countless now live in fear or at war. His actions have created severe discord, prejudice, and overall genocide in a land that was once blanketed by flowers.

 

 The king represents our current state of affairs. We live in an age where governments are often controlled by corrupt corporations that routinely suppress us from the truth. Everything is monitored, and information is power. Media guides the ignorant into predetermined social constructs that inhibits actual creativity and freedom. Music lulls us into conformity as school prepares us for slavery. We are not in control of our lives. We are deluded with the idea of it, but the moment we become a threat. Silence is what waits. 


Art by: Gabriela Garcias


  The Kingdom of Nevermore is fogged with discrimination. It is a place with many imagined walls, and barely any bridges to cross them. Like the monsters and sprites of this world, we are also trapped in a senseless cycle of fabricated differences. We obsess about country, gender, and race as if it has importance, but does it? Colors do not exist, except in our minds.

 

  Countries are human tagged regions with invisible barriers that can change at the whim of a signed document, and sex might be determined by reproductive biology, but gender expectations are not. They are based on an individual’s perspective and what they feel is best for them. Our inability to recognize and accept each other is what stifles our world as a whole.

 

  Do not let the mistakes of your forefathers define you. The fog is thick, but you have the potential to be greater.

 

  To every parent that has lost, to every person that has loved, to every dream that has been crushed, and to every victim that has suffered injustice – you are not alone. I hear your cries, and I will use words to move the tides of discord.

 

  Be the light in the darkest hour, others will shine with you.

 

  I hope you enjoyed my inner rantings. If you are interested in reading Lunora and the Monster King | Click Here

However, I have started releasing the manga that takes place after the events of Lunora and the Monster King. It is called Lunora and it can be found on Line Webtoon and Tapas comic apps. Lunora is a manga, and is easier to digest than a play. In the end, it depends what you would prefer to explore. Below is a link to the Line Webtoon!

Quote to Inspire: 

“Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.”

–Stephen King




Subscribe to our newsletter and join our community!


H.S. Crow 

Author, Producer, and Adventurer

AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR, PRODUCER, AND INSPIRING CREATOR 

Drift in the Eversea 

H.S. Crow has literary works appearing in all mediums of entertainment with a focus on fantasy, science fiction, and horror. He is an author traversing the theoretical and myth with novels and comics exploring the breathtaking Caligo, a vast universe containing our dreams and nightmares. Notable books include Lunora and the Monster King, Stars of Glass, and the upcoming epic Drums of Fog. However, his brilliance also transcends into poetry and music with scores that instills emotion and magic. The young author and music producer aims to challenge current issues with the imagination, and enchant the heart and mind of any who dares explore his madness.


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H.S. Crow has literary works appearing in all mediums of entertainment with a focus on fantasy, science fiction, and horror. He is an author traversing the breathtaking Caligo, a vast universe containing our dreams and nightmares. Notable books include Lunora and the Monster King, Stars of Glass, & the upcoming Drums of Fog. 

© 2021 The Otherworlds Inc. All rights reserved. 

The Spark of Mortal Stars

BLOG OF FOG | INSIDE CROW 

The Spark of Mortal Stars

Every twinkle is thousands of years gone…

  The night sky is filled with the illusion of permanence. We stare at those tiny sparkling masses with a notion of hope, yet ignorant that hope may have blown away long ago. Every twinkle is thousands of years gone. In a single night countless lifetimes flows through you in the form of dust and light. 

  The reality of our sky being filled with death, instead of life brings gloom. We can feign that things last forever, and that our lives are not just a transient tick on the clock, but it is. With every pool of light sparkling above, we see a world never to be seen again.

  Stars flicker, flash, and fade like we do. They are born and torn apart by entropy, yet we once called them gods. Foolish is it not? Without knowing, we had called the most permanent concept of a being—stars. 

  Everything can die is what those celestial bodies taught me. Our ancestors wrote our heroes and families into the obsidian blur that blankets the Earth, and even fashioned purpose to a design that had reason from the start. However, we were too naive to know the true meaning of the heavens.


“You deny the existence of magic. It’s tragic. Aren’t you a child born from the ashes of stars? Born from light to decide a life?”

–Bimori, Stars of Glass


 Regardless, in our mind stars can be many things. They are not just a collection of particles colliding and igniting. They are fuel to our imagination, and our spirituality. Whether we pray to them or fall asleep beneath their beauty, they are a big part of our lives. We cannot dismiss this. They were once guides to our lost mariners when the oceans were high and dark. 

 In those times, everything was ravenous and cruel. We discovered mysterious lands, and learned a multitude of things. One day, humanity will come together, and when we do the stars will lead us to new worlds as did long ago.

 Silently, one by one, these time travelers show us a story. They show us the echo of suns like ours, some dead, some changed. It makes you wonder how many more have been birthed since you were born, or when their light shall reach us? 

 In the far future our descendants will see an unfamiliar sky, and much of what we see today would have faded away, never to be seen again.


Art by: Sierra Ashevaili Rottman


 Is this how things end? Is everything in a transient course to ruin? Maybe, but what if it is just the beginning of something greater? What if we are the future of the cosmos? We are made of stardust, leftovers of dead gods. Maybe we are the way for the universe to comprehend its own mortality. Maybe we are the resolution.

 If we are, we are far from it. In order to evolve into something greater than stars we must work together like the trillions of atoms inside a single cell do. We must put aside trivial issues, and target real problems that will one day shape our humanity and universe. We are capable of great things, even influencing the future. What is stopping us? When you walk down the street, think on it. You are the evolution of stars after all.

 Thank you Starchild for reading the ramblings of a dreamer that hopes for a better world.

 Make your ancestors proud.


Art by: Sierra Ashevaili Rottman


Quote to Inspire: 

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love.”

–William Shakespearer




Subscribe to our newsletter and join our community!


H.S. Crow 

Author, Producer, and Adventurer

AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR, PRODUCER, AND INSPIRING CREATOR 

Drift in the Eversea 

H.S. Crow has literary works appearing in all mediums of entertainment with a focus on fantasy, science fiction, and horror. He is an author traversing the theoretical and myth with novels and comics exploring the breathtaking Caligo, a vast universe containing our dreams and nightmares. Notable books include Lunora and the Monster King, Stars of Glass, and the upcoming epic Drums of Fog. However, his brilliance also transcends into poetry and music with scores that instills emotion and magic. The young author and music producer aims to challenge current issues with the imagination, and enchant the heart and mind of any who dares explore his madness.


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H.S. Crow has literary works appearing in all mediums of entertainment with a focus on fantasy, science fiction, and horror. He is an author traversing the breathtaking Caligo, a vast universe containing our dreams and nightmares. Notable books include Lunora and the Monster King, Stars of Glass, & the upcoming Drums of Fog. 

© 2021 The Otherworlds Inc. All rights reserved. 

H.S. Crow