This was my first novel, originally written in highschool. In some ways, that young naivety is palpable in it, but as my first book, it'll always have a special place in my heart. Though I'd written it even earlier, the story was first published as a webcomic (also quite old by today's standards, which unfortunately shows in the art). It's a slow-burn lesbian romance with heavy fantasy, set in a vaguely Orwellian dystopia. It mostly just follows Lor's life, which slowly becomes an uphill battle, thanks in no small part to Niki. The society in which it takes place is a classist, oppressive, fascist system: Trigger Warning for rape in a society that condones it.
From the back cover:
"Lor's life is rigidly simple. Wake up, attend class, and act according to Zeile: according to Angel's Institution, according to Riizaed. After all, Rii are the only beings worthy of breath in this seamless, perfect society. And then a strange woman wanders in and contradicts everything Lor has ever known, unimaginably tangling her head. And her heart is... swept away... "
Trigger Warning: This book contains a fantasy fascist setting that condones rape.
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Stitches Comic Book on Amazon
Webcomic on SmackJeeves
Stitches Novel on Amazon
Stitches Digital Novel on Kindle
Unsolicited Review on FNN
My tumblr tag
Stitches Comic Book on Createspace
Stitches Comic Book on Amazon
Webcomic on SmackJeeves
Chapter 0 (preview)
The puddles about her are dark and jittery, portending of oncoming rain.
This is the first thing Lor notices on the sidewalk she staggers into. She’s being dragged along by the wrist, pulled and tugged across the pavement by a much stronger, larger force. A woman in a big dress, maybe. Some grand, extravagant being, some tall figure that towers overhead, casting a shadow that encompasses Lor’s entire body in every direction. The thing holds her fast and won’t let go. It charges onward no matter what Lor does—no matter how she pleads.
In her head she’s doing more, of course. Kicking and screaming, frantic and dizzy--no, no, I don’t want to go, so no, you can’t take me—throwing her head from side to side and putting up an all-over fight. Let me go, let me go. But on the outside she’s too afraid to do anything but struggle just a little, dragging her heavy feet and whimpering. It does nothing to slow her captor down, nothing to draw attention.
Then they reach the bus stop, and the long legs stop, the bony hand lets go; Lor’s caught by surprise, and she stumbles to a halt, crumbling to her knees. They feel like lead and land in a puddle. For a moment, none of her limbs work, and Lor sits sore in the water, cold, and she’s tiny and trembling. It’s cold and it’s hard and it’s wet. Suddenly she’s broken and useless, feeling like a once-pretty rag doll that’s been torn apart and sewn back together improperly. She’s small, and she shivers, then shakes.
The big being in the long dress doesn’t notice, only stares directly forward, out at the road. Lor glances up at it once to ponder: if I run now, will I get away? Will it catch me? Among things, like where would I go?
Ugh. It should be easier than this...
Because Lor would just get up and go: head for home. But their journey’s lasted for what feels like hours, and she knows that she’s lost, and even if she had any concept of what direction Home was in, she’d have no idea how to get there. Plus her head hurts, and she’s tired, and all her bones are exhausted. She’s panting, and her feet are scraped from stumbling, and her wrist remembers the feeling of foreign fingers too well to work. She wouldn’t make it very far, anyway. Her legs are very short, and these shoes aren’t made for running.
These shoes are uniform shoes, like this uniform skirt and this uniform top—this uniform sweatervest and uniform socks. White socks, tan shoes, navy blue skirt, sky blue sweatervest. White top. Her hair’s yellow and her tabby ears are orange—her tabby tail’s orange. Her skin’s softer, pinker, paler in her cheeks, because right now she’s frightened. (Though usually they’re rosy.)
The puddle’s dark and clear, the grey sidewalk’s down below, and the road beyond that’s grey, and the buildings beyond that are still grey but more faded. Behind her, there’s grass and behind that, there’s brick. The figure above her is colourless and faceless, in a way, and Lor’s too worried to care.
It’s all too grey, and it’s all too empty. No cars, no other people. There’s nowhere to call or run for help, and suddenly Lor wants the bus to come—they’re at the bus stop, after all, she’s sure of that, at least—maybe someone on it will help her. She knows she’ll have to get on it. The woman stares out at the road, in the direction the bus will come from. She thinks.
A water droplet hits Lor’s nose, and she doubles over, sneezing.
Rubs her nose.
Another hits a nearby puddle, just on the outskirts of her vision. She looks up. One hits her ear—it twitches, then the puddle to her left, then her knee. She looks up into the sudden downpour to try and see the collapsing sky; she’s looking for a breaking cloud. As though she could ask it to stop.
There isn’t one. It just keeps coming down, so she looks away and draws her knees up to her chest. She holds them tight and buries her face in them. Oh good, oh perfect. Alone, tiny, and wet. She thinks she’s always hated the rain or at least being in it. Shelter-less.
The being above can’t really be in it, because when Lor glances sideways, the dress is still dry. Water seems to avoid the figure, sliding off the air around it, bouncing back, like hitting glass. But of course, the thing doesn’t share its secret. Can it talk? Lor wonders. She looks away again, feeling slightly more miserable than before. ...Like a paper doll, wilting in the water...
Another sneeze: she goes down and up again.
But when she’s up, something’s different.
She looks around. The being’s there (still doesn’t see her, but it’s still there), the road’s there—the sidewalk, the puddle, the grey—it’s there, she looks left, right, and then--
She’s not alone anymore; that’s what it is.
A little ways away, off to the right and down the sidewalk, a boy and a girl stand, umbrellas in hand. Lor’s too dizzy, too tired, too despondent to care where they came from: but there they are. She watches them, blinking. A bit taller than her—older—not in school uniforms, but denim, with short, black hair, obscuring their eyes. It’s not much new colour, but it’s something. She wants to wave, or something. Get up and... she doesn’t know, but something. Her legs are still stuck...
She watches them, for a while, then thinks she hears something the other way. First her ear goes, then her face—the bus, maybe? But there’s nothing there. Just the gentle, quiet, pitter-patter of ever-falling lake.
She looks back, and the girl’s walking towards her. Lor starts.
Closer, closer—Lor looks up at the being. Does it care? Apparently not. The girl reaches her and bends over, the hand with the handle extending. There are no words; she holds the umbrella stem outwards, lips seeming to say: take it.
Lor hesitates. She opens her mouth, wanting to say something back, but can’t—her tongue’s as dead as her knees. If she takes this shield, the girl will grow wet, and what if she never sees her again? What if the being takes the umbrella away, like she took Lor from Home—it seems to want her to be helpless, to be hopeless.
But the girl lets go, and Lor’s hands fly up. For a second, their fingers brush; all the cells of their skin collide. Then the handle’s in her hand, and her head’s less soaked, and her ears pick up the louder roar of rain on plastic. Smiling, the girl puts her hands in her pockets and leaves. Heads back to the boy. Lor wants to shout, thank you, but can’t.
Instead she sits still until the bus comes, seven seconds later.
Chapter 1 (preview)
A sunbeam is the culprit. It noisily awakes her to the prickly feeling of morning.
Odd, of course, this is—when her eyelids groggily peel back, she finds Jak atop her, straddling her waist. Arms and legs on either side of her body, he chirps, “Rise and shine,” with his orange tail wagging out behind him.
He was the one to wake her, but still she blames the sun. Lor pushes her brother back with minimal strength, but it’s enough to send him off her. Ugh. She wipes the sleep out of her eyes; he stumbles over the edge of the bed to wait for her.
“Come on, come on—we’re going to be late. What’s with you lately? Oversleeping...” And she has.
Dazed, “Weird dream,” she mumbles, like that’s any excuse. (It’s not.) She’s still a little caught up in it and has to shake it off...
She glances at the digital clock, perched on the desk at the end of the bed: 6:48. He’s right. It feels late... But that’s still five minutes to dress, five to get there. She can rush. Two to be safe—Lor doesn’t gamble.
She throws the covers off, recovers, and marches passed him, finger combing sunflower locks in the process. Her hair’s yellow, really yellow, like Jak’s, and wavy, just shoulder-length or so. His is shorter, straighter. Everything else is white. Carpet, mattress, sheets, desk, walls, and pillow. Her one room’s a small, colourless void. Except the bed frame’s wood, so brown, like the windowpane and framing around the door, but still... it’s mostly white, and her closet’s white, and she opens it.
All the student rooms at Angel’s Institution are like this, she’s sure—Jak’s is, at least. One bed, one desk, one closet, one chair. One door to a bathroom that holds another, joining two rooms. The rest of Angel’s isn’t any different—it’s all over white, mostly alabaster and marble. With grass, and wood accents, of course. A few gardens, here and there, a tree, or two. At least, that’s all there is on the first few floors. Lor hasn’t really been past three, not that she can remember...
She pulls off her white pajama top and slips on her white t-shirt. Jak’s already dressed and fluttering off to the bathroom.
“So, why the wake up call?” It doesn’t usually happen like that.
She pulls on her sweatervest
He spits in the sink and puts his toothbrush back in his mouth. (She can hear it.) The bathroom’s on the opposite wall from her closet and attaches their symmetrical rooms. “I have news,” he mumbles, through foam.
Lor pauses in the midst of shimmying into her skirt. “News?” What does that mean?
There are several reasons why this is an odd statement. It almost never happens: nothing at Angel’s ever changes. Besides that, when does Jak have time to get news? They were in the Library all last night—she was with him—they were in class all day. Or so she assumed. But he wouldn’t. Not even Jak would. “Jak...” she starts, warningly. He wouldn’t skip one of the very few classes they have apart, she’s sure, wouldn’t risk a detention, but Jak has a way of... well.... Though, whouldn’t she have noticed if he had?
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t,” he assures her, reading thoughts. They’re good at that. Another spit. “Oh, hold on...” And he flutters out the other door of the bathroom, leaving Lor to wonder. To tug on her socks and shoes. She straightens everything, brushes her hair, puts the little chain on her skirt, and does up her laces. Before he comes back, she’s brushed her teeth and has started the process of making the bed.
“Forgot my boots,” he says, and she nods—she hadn’t noticed. She throws the white sheet up and waits.
But silence greets her, so she sighs, “the news.”
“Well, we might not have time, now.”
Lor throws him a look of minor irritation while the sheet flutters down.
When the bed’s smoothed out, and she’s all ready to go, there’s still ten minutes to get there and two to spare. Plenty of time to talk. So they start out the door, and Lor waits for more words. But they’re waiting, too. Waits...
When the door’s closed and her fingers fall from the handle, she looks over at Jak, who sticks out his tongue. He’s acting odd. Doesn’t usually withhold information like this—not from her. Suddenly her curiosity’s building—okay, what is it? So few things happen in Angel’s Institution—things that would constitute true news, anyway. So what is it, what is it? “Jak...”
They head off down the hall, passing other white doors, other waking students. Or awoken. There aren’t many other bodies out. Lor feels late, and she hurries—Jak matches pace. “It’s a long story, anyway, so if you really want to know, get ready—” The tiled floor rings loudly when their boots hit it.
“Can you cut it short?” Lor cuts him off.
She wants to know, of course, but not if it means being late; she won’t risk detention. Certainly not for some silly story, anyway, no matter how unorthodox the situation...
“Fine,” in mock pettiness. “I just won’t tell you at all, then.”
Another sigh. They turn a corner, passing pillars, passing grass. “Don’t be like that.” Whatever it is, she does need to know. Just... before they get there.
“No, no—it’s fine.”
Lor scowls. Jak holds back.
They play like that for a while, walking in conversation circles, until they reach the alabaster wall in which lies the classroom they’re heading to. If she still has two minutes left, she could always use it to tackle her twin. The idea’s growing tempting. He’s wasted all their time.
Still, they reach the handle of their first period, History, and twist the silver metal around in one hand. It’s Jak’s last chance to talk before the teacher does, but he just smiles—Lor strolls to her seat whilst watching her brother out of the corner of her eye, until it becomes apparent that stares won’t drag it out. Once he’s in his seat next to her, he turns and sticks out his tongue. Half-laughing, “I’ll tell you later, promise.”
“And why not now?” She insists, on instinct. Stubborn.
But his answer’s fair. “Because the bell’s about to ring.”
“Oh,” she grumbles.
“Oh,” he repeats.
Then the bell rings. They face the front and quiet.
Chapter 2 (preview)
Curiosity consumes her throughout the entirety of her first class. It’s History, in which she stares at Jak. Today, anyway. She stares and stares as though staring harder will reveal secrets that words won’t. Only once does Jak look back, and then he winks. It’s safer that way, of course—they won’t disrupt class, but still, how irritating. The teacher’s first move is to hand out books, and Lor’s copy won’t reach her for at least several seconds.
However quick, the pause of lessons and general shuffling of books is an opportunity to avoid the waiting game. Maybe she can get a quick clue and unravel it later. So, ever so slightly, Lor leans towards Jak. She’s unable to contain herself. She’s curious, so curious, and even more so as she weighs the thrilling thought of news against the monotony of class. She knows History like the back of her hand. Although she knows that Jak must agree, he doesn’t move. At the front of the classroom, the teacher’s recovered the right pile and has handed stacks to the front of each row, each student to pass the books back. The girl at the front of Lor’s row has a rabbit tail and ears, and she fumbles the first book.
Lor still leans, and she tilts her head, tabby tail flicking.
“So?”
He tilts his head too and sticks out his tongue. Her eyes are still smiling.
“Oh?”
She wants to say, “Tell me already, you tease.” Perhaps to whisper, her mouth opens on sudden impulse, but she closes it again when her senses catch up. The sound that failed to escape her lips, she locks up as she sits back, disappointed. One word is one thing. Sentences are pushing it. The scaled boy in front turns around to pass her a book. She leans forward and takes it. (Then turns back and passes the last two on.)
When she looks back to her brother, he’s pretend-buried in his book, looking down.
Jak’s a little devil, sometimes, and he’s holding this back on purpose. Just to drive her crazy, she’s sure. She’ll need to plot revenge, some time. But the truly maddening part of this is that it’s starting to work. It is, after all, the first surprise she’s learned of in a very long, long time, and cats are always curious. And lately she’s been so tired, and losing interest, and this is... different. New and exciting, maybe.
It better turn out to be something good. If he just broke a nail, or something, she’ll kill him...
She opens her book when the teacher clears her throat, and writes, “364,” on the board. Page numbers—the class flips. For a moment, the air is filled with the sound of flapping paper. She’s read this already, at the beginning of the year, like most of the students, but now they’re actually learning it. Still, she’s read this twice.
Then the teacher begins to talk, which is considerably slower than reading the material on her own. The teacher faces the board the majority of the time and writes things down, preoccupied. “...We left off after the second invasion, when the Teeri were retreating...” The teacher’s voice is monotonous and low, but Lor imagines that must be what’s best for learning. The things go on and on, and the teacher doesn’t turn around. “...drove them back after a time...” The students around Lor watch the teacher and don’t turn around, either. “...needed a fail-proof way to...”
Lor, also preoccupied, feels a sudden impulse seizing her: the urge to move. She doesn’t act on it, of course, but the idea lingers. It’s as though there’s an itch on the back of her neck. Something lurking in her peripherals. Odd...
Nevertheless, she remains immobile, forcing herself to listen, ears forward. Up and still. Twitching during actual lessons isn’t a huge crime, but if she allows her mind to drift and she misses something, it’ll surely come back to haunt her...
“...The Walls.”
Then there’s an abrupt pause within the litany of words Lor’s done her best to follow. At least she has the general gist of what they’re studying today: the Walls, and their reasons, and their building. The teacher waits for her writing to catch up to her voice, but she still doesn’t turn around. This invokes another tempting urge to move—Lor probably wouldn’t get caught—but Lor’s stubborn and suppresses it.
“The Walls protect Angel’s Institution, now, not just from Teeri, but from all outsiders. As you know, they encircle everything that is a part of us and reach up forever. You can look as long as you want—there is no end to the Walls, no holes. They protect us.” The repetition is unnecessary—Lor knows. They all do.
Once, she and Jak climbed as far as they thought safe (just the third floor, or so), and tried to look up, heads snapping back. Even squinting and shielding blue eyes from the sun, they couldn’t spot a finish in the grand expanse of marble. It doesn’t even seem to make sense, Jak says—but it does. When Lor was younger, she wondered if it curved into a dome at the top: a makeshift roof. Maybe it does. Their necks hurt afterwards from looking so hard.
Through the window on Lor’s left, she can see the Walls, she knows, even without looking. She knows this from a few past classes in which she’s succumbed to the desire to gaze elsewhere: times she isn’t proud of. Most resulted in detentions. But it’s hard, sometimes. The window is large and curtain-less and seems to ensnare the sunlight. The left side of her body is warmer because of it, and through the sheet of glass, the view rolls past smaller, less important walls to the larger, greater Walls. In-between there and here is stretching grass, reaching emerald and a cobblestone pathway or two.
But remembering this doesn’t help her concentration; she should stop. The text in her book is outlined in sunrays and reflections through the glass that call to her, but really, she should concentrate. However hard. She forces her tail still.
“The Walls protect us from the lesser world around us, from the Humans, from the Teeri. These other beings are vile and wretched, as all of the history we’ve covered up to this point has irrevocably proven, and as we continue this will only grow more and more evident. We are lucky to have an Institution so strong and with such defense.” And to constantly be reminded of such, apparently...
Lor’s heard all these words before and won’t forget them, and her neck wants to turn, needs to. With a tiny mental sigh, her resolve begins to crumble. The teacher still has yet to turn around and isn’t one for lesson variety. The teacher writes and writes...
“The Walls were built...”
That’s when Lor succumbs to her own compulsion and turns her head sideways. She’s become the only head in the class not fixated directly forwards. There’s a brunet with raccoon ears behind her, but Lor doesn’t think he’ll tell on her—if Lor were in his shoes, she certainly wouldn’t want to interrupt.
Anyway, she’ll reread this section later, just to be safe. Right now, she’d rather watch the Walls than hear of them, and plans to.
She does.
Usually when this happens, or at least when she gets away with it, she stares at nothing in particular. So that’s what first instincts set her eyes to. But it takes less than a second to realize it isn’t necessary. Unusually, the setting isn’t empty—this time there’s something there—someone. Lor blinks and finds herself staring.
Normally this view is to the Walls, only the Walls, there being nothing virtually between here and them but smaller, less important things. She’s covered that. There are no paths and there are no rooms, there isn’t a large courtyard, flowers, or a fountain. There isn’t even a tree or mushrooms. Which means there’s no logical reason for anyone to be there, or even to be passing.
Yet there’s a woman not only there, but fixed there, lying in the grass, a few meters from the window.
This is... This is interesting.
Lor almost feels the need to say something, again, maybe to Jak, or... whatever. But no, no, that’s silly... she instantly closes her parted lips and holds them shut, just in case. Anyway. There’s a woman there, just lying on the bare earth, on her back, with her eyes closed. Without any class, or assignment, or engagement, first thing in the morning.... That kind of girl shouldn’t exist, and Lor’s confused.
Sometimes older students have Spares—blocks with no class for studying—but in the morning? With no homework to do, nowhere to be...?
The woman is long, and tall, and obviously older than Lor. Still a student—but on the higher end. She has short, straight, deep ebony hair that’s jaggedly cut, and thin, closed eyes. She’s wearing pants, which is surprise number two. It takes Lor a second to recognize the male uniform for older students on the more feminine frame. Navy pants, white, long sleeves, blue tie... (Jak’s younger, like her, and wears a uniform like Lor’s, with pants.) But it’s still definitely a female. That isn’t right...
But there’s more. Lor has cat ears and a cat tail, Jak has cat ears and a cat tail, and the boy behind Lor has raccoon signs all over his body. The boy at the front is a lizard and beside Jak is a bear. She knows this because they have signs, ears and tails, sometimes scales, signs that tell her, “he’s a mouse,” or “she’s a dog.” The woman in the grass has nothing, and that’s surprise number three.
Maybe her signs are subtle, maybe hidden. It seems silly. All Rii have signs. If you’re born on Riizaed, you have signs. If this person isn’t Rii, then... then that’s even sillier. There are Walls—Humans can’t just crawl in. Teeri would have no way of getting in, either. Lor’s not quite close enough to distinguish between the two; she supposes it doesn’t matter... Neither should be here. Or can be here. Angel’s Institution is protected. Other species can’t just...
Baffled, Lor stares. Forget Jak. Jak has had secrets before, albeit not often. They’ve never been as big as this—couldn’t possibly. Sign-less, wrong-uniform-wearing, possibly-not-Rii don’t just laze around first period. Entranced, she stares and stares harder.
Must be some kind of expla--
“Lor.”
Startled, Lor jumps around, wide-eyed. The teacher is staring back at her, thin-lipped.
“What part of the Festival is a direct result of this event?”
“Ah...” Dry, her mouth opens, face flinching once. Oh, she should have listened. She’s read all the material, of course, but there’s so much to weed through and she’s lost her place. All eyes are on her, and blushing, she stutters, “What... what event?” On the edge of her vision, she sees Jak, frowning and concerned. She doesn’t know.
“Detention, eight o’clock, room 202,” comes the inevitable sentence.
She flinches, and nods, wilting. Ouch.
For the rest of the period, Jak watches her out the corner of one eye, and the strange woman sleeps out the other. Lor looks straight ahead and does not deviate again.