Torches On The Oars.
Part 1: Frija my mother.
 
 
In a small island, across a huge mainland, laid Tritos.
 
 
It had been colonized so long ago that there were people who doubted that there was a time when there weren’t villages in the isle. And of these, Trito was the oldest. The grandest. The one with houses made of brick, roofs made of shingles, and streets paved with stone and with wood.
 
 
 But it wasn’t the creature comforts that it has on all

Vile Love (Normal)
 
 
Sarah Miller stared down at the paper in her hand.
 
 
It was a genealogy one, the sort that discovered all sorts of things about your ancestry.
 
 
In front of her were her parents, only one of whom she looked like. And next to her was her wife.
 
 
“Honey,” the thin and tall pretty black woman that Sarah had fallen in love with consoled her, putting a hand on her shoulder, “You should just forget this.”