Witches beat the heat by transforming into underwater-breathing forms, to fully submerse themselves. Ideally, you do it with more than an unheated hot-tub, but you work with what you have.
@DolapoAbideen I'm cool. Things just got overwhelming, I lost interest a bit, and then 2020 made it hard to imagine things more fantastical than reality
An unlife so ancient that you would perish from old age if I sat with you to tell you of my full history, all to end as a faulty whalebone corset snapped under the force of my own blow, protruding and piercing into my congealed heart with its jagged edge.
All that time, gone.
The aliens knew how to build time machines, without being taught, the same way beavers know how to build damns. Some of us think that they were engineered uptime, but for all we know they evolved on their own.
The Weird Wood was really two separate forests on different continents, and could be used to walk thousands of miles in a single day. It was crucial to stay on the path, though -- those lost were rarely found again, and those who found themselves were never quite the same.
I misunderstood the term 'necropolitics' and elected a corpse mayor by getting all her descendants to vote for her.
"Your great-great-grandmother really cares about you", I told the townsfolk.
The weird part is that it's actually going fine.
Maybe mayors don't do much?
My current project -- I also accept submissions of science fiction and fantasy (including flash fiction, microfiction, and theoryfiction) as long as it could be considered political.
What seperates a great wizard from a good one, or even a good wizard from a bad one, isn't experience -- or training -- not secret pacts -- nor ancient bloodlines.
It's imagination.
The use of a spell is a matter of clever application, ultimately.
The Galatic Consortium knitted together the galaxy by providing longsleep trade ships a financial system stable over the light-years and centuries: a Consortium world could provide loans, securitized by the refusal of any Consortium world to deal with a trader in default.
The trader dreamt anxious, cold dreams, playing out over decades. She had no idea what her goods would be worth in the next system -- every leap through space-time was potentially a leap into hardship.
I thought of Descartes, as the doctor-mechanic upgraded me once again. I'd become the living representation of his mind-body duality.
I was the picture of Dorian Gray. I was the pilot of my own Theseus-ship. I was Frankenstein and Frankenstein's monster, all at once.
There was an almost-orgasmic thrill on the witch's face as she plunged that dagger through the back of the beast's throat.
The beast had slain four of us, but I wondered if calling her here had merely traded one predator for another.
I looked up at the occupiers' recruitment posters. They'd come roaring in from uptime, ranting on about how they'd saved us from an Atlantean invasion 20 years in the future.
Now, they wanted locals to test in and join up, so they could pull off this bullshit on my grandfather.
The witchplagues that got deployed across the Germanies, as 30 years war deepened, were real bad.
One of the worst would get in you, and grow out the back of your head. Use you as bait, to infect others.
We were dealing with it long after those heresies burnt themselves out.
I'd just gotten out of the hospital, that night, and I was wondering if I was still me. What did it really change, to have all this 'ware in my head and all these voices buzzing at me?
Could I rely on it? Would it bring me the job that I'd hoped for?
I was fucked if it didn't