This time I called it #sögutime, because Icelandic grammar. Probably will be #sagatime the next time.

Inspired in part by a friend who told me to steal  pick lemons at about 5:00 at night, thus meaning that it was dark.

Sorry I’m flooding everyone with Sagatimes right now…

I’m making large amounts of art for Christmas, but that blog post shall come later. Maybe tomorrow.

Finals next week. I probably will not die.


Once upon a lemon tree there lived an elf among its branches.

She was very pretty and had features that biologists and novelists generally agreed on.

She also had wings and used them to flit about happily between the branches of the lemon tree.

One day, there came a handsome stranger with similarly gossamer wings who enjoyed flitting about the lemon tree as well.

He had strangely perfect features. The elf thought he was a bit boring. She wasn’t one for romance.

But boys are intruging, even in the elf world, and so the elf followed him home one day.

She did not think it was very creepy. Elvish society encourages stalking others, especially handsome but boring boys.

In case you have not noticed, Elvish society is strange.

She thought this might’ve been because all Elvish girls must take classes on stalking handsome Elvish boys at school.

As she followed him, she noticed that his wings were molting. They melted down his back and dripped into the ground slowly.

She stepped over the puddles. He walked on, still unaware of her.

Now his clothes were melting. And his skin. At the same time. They turned into the same quicksilver-y stuff.

She stepped over the mathematical-esque shapes in the ground and kept her eyes on the stranger. His wings were gone now. They turned into a dark quicksilver puddle, sliding over the ground like an eerie pool of…

Worms, she decided. Definitely worms. The liquid was squiggly.

So she kept following him, and he kept walking until suddenly he stopped.

This was mainly because if he did not, he would’ve fallen over a cliff. He turned around and faced her. For the first time, the elf noticed her surroundings.

They were in a cavern, towering over them both. She could see her lemon tree. It was a golden-green tower in the darkness. The cavern ceiling was sprinkled with sparkly diamond things. She wasn’t sure what they were.

It was cold.

“Why are you following me?” he asked.

“I was curious,” she said. “And— and it was my final for Stalking 101.”

“I would wish you to pass,” he said. He was still dripping quicksilver, and his voice wasn’t quite the same as before. It was hollow with the sound of metal.

She took a step back. Behind her, something whispered against the ground, snake-like.

The elf-imposter raised a finger to its lips. Its face was melting. “No magic in the world can save you now,” it said. Its face was silver.

She turned. A wave of silver was crashing down upon her. She looked back at the elf-imposter. It was expressionless.

Quietly, she opened up her wings. She stared at the silver ocean. She watched it come crashing down.

And she flew away, far away, faster and faster, into the night. She flew where all the other elves had gone.

She could not fight the imposter. She could only run. No one ever saw her again, or any of her kind.

Back home, the lemon tree became angry. It noticed her leave. It remembered the imposter and its quicksilver smell. And so it grew spikes. Big, long, green ones. When the imposter came back, pleased and in its Elvish suit once more, the lemon tree refused to let it back in.

The imposter never bothered anyone again.


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