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I’m trading my desk for dry stone walls and country lanes—off on a hiking trip along the Cotswold Way in the UK. Rolling hills, crooked pubs, historic villages, pints of English beer and a scone or two (or perhaps more because clotted cream and jam are so lovely). I’ll be offline for a bit, soaking in the landscape and letting the next stories simmer.
But before I vanish into the English countryside, I’ve left you something.
The Minotaur’s Bride is now live.
It’s a story about power, ritual, and desire, told through the eyes of a woman sent into the Labyrinth as a sacrifice and who refuses to play the part. Inside, she finds not a mindless beast, but a silent chained god. What follows is a tale of unexpected seduction, where fear gives way to hunger, and choice.
This isn’t just a story of sex (though there’s plenty of that in the second part). It’s about what happens when we strip away obedience and see what’s left: a woman who won’t kneel. A man who’s been waiting to be touched. And a temple ready to be remade.
Part One is available now. Part Two will post automatically this Sunday while I’m somewhere between hilltops and tea shops.
I’ll read your comments when I return. Until then—thank you for reading, and may your monsters be worthy.
— Eric
The final two segments of Lunara’s Veil are now live:
“Coda: The Firefly’s View” and “Da Capo: The Next Pilgrim.” Together, they complete the cycle.
One is a coda.
One is a return.
Both are part of her rhythm.
While I often write about transformation, Lunara’s Veil is not the neat, empowering kind of transformation. Avery sheds his shame, yes. But he also fades into something larger. His shape softens. His name slips. It's transformation by absorption. What remains is part man, part myth, and fully Lunara's.
And then, another arrives. The gate opens and the pattern repeats—not as a loop, but as a rhythm.
When I was younger, I really enjoyed The Martian Chronicles. Bradbury’s science fiction was more than lasers and spaceships. In several of those stories, people arrive on Mars and slowly become someone—or something—else. Not by force, but by exposure. By proximity. By letting go.
That quiet shift is part of what led me to write Lunara's Veil.
Avery’s journey isn’t about conquering anything. It’s about being changed by contact. About dissolving into something older, more sacred, and maybe even more honest. Whether that’s loss or liberation is left for you, the reader, to decide.
—Eric
The veil is no longer whispering. It’s breathing.
Chapters 2 and 3 of Lunara’s Veil are now live. In these movements—The Sanctum and The Goddess Keeps What She Claims—Avery descends fully into Lunara’s embrace. What began as curiosity becomes surrender. Boundaries blur. The air thickens. Something ancient takes notice.
If the earlier chapters hinted at what waited beyond the gate, these ones step through. They’re where the myth takes flesh; desire stops being hypothetical; the body becomes the site of the question.
There’s sex here, yes—but it’s not just sex. It’s intimacy threaded with memory; longing as invocation.
I’ve tried to write these chapters like a fever dream and a confession at once. If you’ve been walking the path with Avery, this is where you start to feel it under your skin.
Stay tuned... the final chapters will publish Sunday.
—Eric
Somewhere between dusk and dream, a forgotten amusement park hums beneath the ivy. Its carousel spins for no one. Its tunnel murmurs to the moon. And if you step close enough, you might hear it breathe.
I’ve just released the prologue and first chapter of my new story, Lunara’s Veil—a surreal, erotic descent into a world where desire is ritual and surrender is sacred.
It begins with a man named Avery—a photographer, a seeker, a boy with shame pressed deep into his bones. He stumbles across an abandoned carnival whispered about in half-remembered myths. There’s mist. Fireflies. A woman who may not be a woman. A shrine that takes more than it gives—and gives more than you thought you wanted.
What follows is part myth, part fever dream, and part reckoning with the parts of ourselves we’re taught to bury. If you’ve read my other work, you know I like to blur the line between the sacred and the profane. This one leans hard into that blur—ritual sex, queer longing, lunar devotion, and the quiet terror of being truly seen.
And yes, it’s explicit. But it’s also a love letter to the body as a place of transformation.
New chapters coming soon.
-Eric
P.S. Apologies for the multiple reposts. It has taken me a little time to understand the SOL formatting system, and to make the layout of the words on the screen match the vision I had for them.
If you’ve ever driven Highway 2 through Washington State—on your way to Leavenworth, Stevens Pass, or wherever life’s taking you—you may have seen it.
A tiny white chapel, barely big enough for eight souls, stands quietly by the road just west of Sultan. The sign out front says: “Pause. Rest. Worship.” There’s nothing flashy about it. No minister. No posted hours. Just a promise of shelter, whether you’re weary, lost, or just craving a moment of stillness.
I’ve passed that chapel more times than I can count. Sometimes at dawn. Sometimes in the rain. And every time, I’ve thought the same thing: That little place deserves a story.
Well—here it is.
Pause. Rest. Worship. is about a couple named Ella and Bobbie, headed west to a new life in Seattle. They’ve just spent a night in Leavenworth (and in each other), and the westward drive down Highway 2 gets hotter by the mile. Fantasies bubble up. Teasing gets bolder. And when they pass that little chapel, Ella pulls off the road—because her girl is feelin’ mighty spiritual.
What happens next? Tongues. Hallelujahs. And one very thick holy spirit.
This story is playful, dirty, and a little tender. And if you’ve ever wondered what kind of worship two horny hillbillies might get up to in a chapel with no congregation—well, now you know.
Hope y’all enjoy the ride.
—Eric
P.S. I shared the story with my wife last night. She'll never be able to pass that chapel again without wondering what goes on inside...
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