Steph Roehler

@stephroehlerwrites.bsky.social

899 Followers 780 Following

Fantasy/Horror Author Check out my books! https://stephanieroehler.itch.io/ 29, disabled, queer she/they/he I like to talk about mental health, writing, and random shit I like

The passage reads: "Zosia grew uncomfortable now, with her Babcia’s token weighing heavy against her chest. Why would she ever become a mouth for the gods and their hapless urges? Because if Weles and Mokosh cared at all for their faithful, they would never let evils crawl into anyone’s sickbeds or breathe exhaustion down their backs or let doors be left open for worse demons. She may not give a damn about what they thought but Babcia loved them and why would they dare let their creations harm—? But Zosia would not give them curses to hear or a whim of wrath to attend to. Not when she could see Emilka through the chapel door being prayed over by the nuns with every sip."
The passage reads: "“So what, did you come over here to help my brother in his crusade to force me to be kind to fools?” “No.” Morė paused self-consciously, wrapping the rest of the meat in a leaf and placing it beside Zosia. “I came over to say thank you.” Zosia scoffed. “Whatever it is, you should not thank me for it. I’m but a “clever lass” who has ruined your life.” Frowning, Morė said, “That is true. But you didn’t know I couldn’t go back.” “Ignorance isn’t an excuse.” “Yet you apologized. And defended me against the hunters. If I’m to be trapped down here... If you protect me, I suppose I can protect you.” For the briefest moment, Zosia found it amusing, this honor-bound idea of quid pro quo between a human and a monster. “So says the stryzga, as if she hasn’t shown herself to be an eager hero to even villains.” “I fear you are less villainous than would be preferred.” At the twitch of Zosia’s lips, Morė frowned. “Don’t act smug about my decision. It’s unbecoming.” “I aspire to unbecome,” Zosia replied, more humor in her voice than she intended. Morė’s brow crinkled, but Zosia didn’t know what that meant."
The passage reads: "She seemed to have said just enough to stop his protests at the exact right time, for the cabin’s illusory spell finally lifted. With a magenta smokestack rising out of a stone pipe, with its grassy roof and vines, with its angular flowers eating up delicately hand-carved logs, the cottage appeared quite natural and unnatural all at once. Like the forest had claimed its windows, its cooking, its fire, its humanity, its strangeness for its own. As Zosia’s eyes took in the house, her senses began to feel its magic, too. Her skin tingled as if the air was saturated with small pockets of lightning. In her ears, the slow bubble of hot water and the bristled swoosh of a broom. Then, strongest of all, her nostrils were assaulted by a smell so pungent her thoughts drowned in it. She floated forward, unable to fathom anything but the mild sharpness of salt and the earthen flavor of milkweed on the back of her tongue."
“This way!” Zosia beckoned to Henryk, still in the thick of the hunters. They were tightening their circle, swinging wildly at the stone creature rising from the ground. Zosia cursed them—they needed to flee. “Never!” Jonek roared right back at the leshy, “We stand our ground! If we die, we die like men!” “All men die like men, you nonsensical ass of a—” The commander put his hand on Jonek’s back, saying, “She’s right. We cannot defend ourselves here. To win, we must choose a battleground in our favor. We split up. Separating the polewiks and leshy will make them easier to fight, and if we make it to the meadow below, we’ll be on more equal footing with the monsters. Are we in agreement?” The next thing Bolemir did was turn to her, his face drunk on the magic of mania, his eyebrows cocked and his lips curled. Zosia snorted. “We’re not helping you.” “Zosia, they fed us. Gave us shelter,” Henryk pleaded. Reaching for her brother to yank him in the right direction, she said, “We never promised that.” “Doesn’t matter, lass. You will run and whichever way you go, we’ll head in the opposite direction.” Bolemir laughed, a cackle on high. “Worry not. We’ll save you in the end.” Before she could open her mouth to squash their inflated egos by expressing how witless she thought their battle tactics were, Bolemir gestured to his men and shouted, “Go!” and they sprinted to the left, whooping as they went. The grand beast creaked as it swiveled their way, a single stride closing half the distance between them and it. And like the feckless new hunter he thought himself to be, Henryk ran in that opposite direction, dutifully lobbing sticks at the polewiks to get their attention. They dove in his direction, bodies furred in stone tunneling together until he was being chased by a violent hill triple his width. Zosia stood frozen. She could feel the cold rush of phantom wind on her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, snowflakes began to fall. If the polewiks didn’t kill him…
the passage reads: "Once she’d gotten her plates safely balanced in her arms, Zosia wobbled into the front yard, where Beta already prepared her sudsy bucket. Hands deep in the frigid pail, her sister said, “Of all the foolish things you do, I wish you’d at least stop her from telling my children that filth about old gods. Yet you make them those pagan idols. Babcia’s elderly, I understand, but you, Zosia? What were you thinking?” Bending over to put the dishes beside her sister, Zosia was careful not to go too low. “I don’t trifle with godliness, but I find it wasteful to pretend our history is fictional because some church tells us so.” Breta grabbed the next plate roughly. “Keep that up and you’ll be labeled a heretic. And you’re at least smart enough to consider what they do to heretics, aren’t you?” “Any authority that gospels damnation to anyone who doesn’t follow them blindly might not be one worthy of your support.” “Our village is protected by holy knights. The church funds our roads. Facilitates the children’s education. Helps build many of our ships. They buy our crops!” “So?” “So, my family started going to mass last winter. And Jafra is joining classes at the chapel next week. This is the way things are, Zosia.” When Zosia did not react, Breta picked up the half-stack of clean plates and carried them to the now-open window sill. “I don’t want my children to be forced to know you through stories. Their aunt Najmila is already nothing but a name.”"
The passage reads: "Reaching the bottom of the meadow, there was little but a red-soil spray left of Bolemir, but Guncerz and Homen laid there flayed, their bodies still feeding the puddle of blood that soaked into the earth. “Let’s give them a proper burial, at least,” said Henryk. Skating past Zosia entirely, he sought the stryzga. “Morė, you agree?” Looking at the mangled bodies around them, many of them needing scooping more than carrying, Morė said, “A burial would be kind.” Both Morė and Henryk eyed Zosia expectantly. With a huff, Zosia picked up one of Guncerz’s severed limbs and said, “We’re not making them headstones.”"
The passage reads: "A baby was a strange thing to Zosia. She remembered when Sulen and Edwiga were that age, but they seemed... preternatural. The kind of bundles stolen in fairytales and raised to be royalty. Doll-like imps waiting to grow strong enough to become playmates. And when Breta had her three, Zosia politely called them beautiful gifts and kept her distance. What could a touch like hers ever provide for them? And yet Henryk’s babe laid there, strange as it was, looking at Zosia just as strangely. Pinched-petal lips, little sausage rolls for fingers. A delicious snack for even the most feeble of creatures, she thought. It reached for her. Gently, she brushed its little palm away, but it seized her knuckle with surprising strength and this gleeful little giggle. Zosia felt the unwitting twitch of her lips. An imp, indeed. Unsure what else to do, Zosia said, “Hello, Wila.” The babe giggled louder and Zosia found herself reaching forward to tickle the little girl’s cheek. And then she Saw it. In the corner by the stove—its sunken eyes bloodshot and its long fingers wrapped around its toes. Its mouth fell open like the creak of a door and a fog of breath hissed from between its long, spindled teeth. Stepping back with a quiet, tired exhale, Zosia added, “Hello to you, too.”"
The passage reads: "Both Henryk and Zosia turned. Beyond the pit stood a woman clad in a lace veil that skirted her shoulders, flowing across her gossamer white gown until it licked at her bare, blackened feet. She waved at them with half as many fingers as she should have. Henryk faced her with a head held high, faithfully unimpressed. But Zosia noticed the trim of the woman’s lace flick ever so slightly in the wind, revealing her swollen neck and several bulbous, pus-filled sacs atop it. The terrible skittering of insectoid limbs tunneled under skin. Between boils. Then, but a second later, the fabric fell again. That razor buzz of a noise rose from the woman’s gullet again as she said, “My apologies for interrupting. You and your brother were just having such an amusing conversation. I love when little birds come to Nawia to try their hand at swimming. Playing ducks, are you?”"
The passage reads: "Chapter 4: Cauldron in the Winds Every nerve in her leg was afire, yet the pain couldn’t compare to the blood—what terrible evidence."
The passage reads: "Pleased, the Baba Jaga stroked the side of the oven and sang, “Puny witch, weakling witch, w’hout flesh magic’s, but an itch,” and the door fell open with a creak. Zosia felt the air around them swell with the aged scent of roasting meat and her stomach wrenched with longing. As Zosia followed the witch in, her mouth opened against her will, “Growing witch, hungering witch, share feasting songs, spells rise in pitch,” continuing the song as if enchanted. Ensnared. Standing before a pile of leftover bone, the Baba Jaga crunched a charcoal skull in her clutches. “Magic craves and stomach roils...” “...Power’s tasty, drenched in oils,” finished Zosia, the words easy on her lips as if they’d been there all her life."
The passage reads: "The Baba Jaga began humming off-key, but it was not off-key because she sang poorly. It was off-key because when her throat strummed, it was as if a dozen voices were fighting for dominance. “More food for the feast, more for my belly. Pray there be bones, enough to make jelly.” Baba Jaga purred, before speaking in a single voice: “Even enough for the chickens. Delicious scraps. Chop the feet. They love ‘em, don’t they? What good, fat chickens with good, fat eggs. Ah, a clutch would go well with dinner.” With the slam of a butcher’s knife into the table wood, the Baba Jaga wandered outside to the sounds of warbling, gobbling, and gnashing. Then the door shut, muzzling them."
The passage reads: "Another pause. She could practically see the bloat of the rusalka flash across his mind—its jaws, its hunger. With this terrible, wrinkling burden of realization washing over his face, Henryk sunk to the dirtied bank and asked, “That’s what you’ve been seeing all this time?” An unexpected response from him, Zosia crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. “...Not just her. Many different monsters and beings of old. It’s always stranger to see them in the flesh. Never heard them described so... bloated.” “Are you not afraid?” “Terrified. But comfortably so.” And that made him wildly uncomfortable, she could tell. But Henryk’s comfort wasn’t her priority. Sighing, Zosia sat beside her brother. “You’re more likely to find Wila with my help. Let me come.” “You didn’t care about her before.” That accusation stuck in Zosia’s throat in a familiar way—mucus and scum. Tucking the loose wisps of her braids behind her ears, she said, “Let me care now.” “I only have enough reserves for myself.” “I brought more.” “You thought of everything, didn’t you?” Henryk clicked his tongue, this noise of both annoyance and pride. “One of the rare things I’m good at, unlike kindness.” He laughed. Henryk scanned her forearms blotted in rusalka blood. Finally, he said, “You can come, if you so insist.” “I do.” Standing, Zosia turned back toward the encampment. She added, “We should bury the rusalka.” “Didn’t think you sentimental.” “I’m not. We don’t want the rot attracting wild animals while we rest.” “...Right.”"
The passage reads: "Here, beyond the crag, the architecture chose the shape of mud huts and straw cottages fanned around a humid grove of lush willows and wheat stalks. Their roots and their hollows and their farmstead stoops were adorned with glinting goblets and jewels, hag’s stones and aged tomes. More tomes than Zosia knew existed. Such riches even spun up into the walls, an opulent mountain climbing to an open mouth from which glowed a murky sky. And in the middle of all that glory sat a woad throne made of a thousand golden rings."
The passage reads: "Chapter 6: Sister Knight Invisible Zosia was beginning to think it was a blessing her brother became an innkeep, because she’d been trailing him for two days straight and he hadn’t the slightest clue what he was doing in the wild. She wasn’t even faring much better. She’d left an embarrassing amount of cracked sticks in her wake at first and the second night she built her fire too high. A passing bandit might have robbed her—a competent traveler would’ve at least noticed her proximity. Henryk did not. Given the boring hours, it spurred her to be bolder. Test her limits. Now, sitting in a tree a few yards off and eating the shined apple she’d stolen—Henryk kept frowning at his satchel and recounting his food stock—the game felt boring again."
The passage reads: "“I told you not to leave your room when it’s dark. Did you even sleep?” “No.” Katalin began sorting through the volumes on the table, examining Benca’s warzone of knowledge. Every thumbing ruined Benca’s chaotic sense of organization, but she kept her annoyance to herself. “You implied I needed to know more about the Fene. So, to the library I went. That’s the only way we’ll be able to do this, right?” Flipping through a bestiary with her brow raised, Katalin huffed and said, “We? I didn’t consent to your mad scheme, I was trying to get you to think straight. This is certainly not—” “Don’t you want this to end?” “Of course I do, but it’s not that simple. I’ve watched my brother do this for more than half a century. He’s cunning and charismatic and as impulsive as he acts, he isn’t stupid. If you manage to strike him, you will get one chance. One. If you miss, your neck will be snapped before your heart can dare another beat. And that’s assuming he doesn’t have other plans for you.” In a final act of patronization, Katalin tried to take the book in Benca’s hands. Benca yanked the book back."
The passage reads: "A smarter part of her said to be brave. To say something, Appease. Prostrate. But the diplomacy of humans felt paltry compared to whoever—whatever—towered before her. And she doubted whatever she said would be what saved her. It would be this thing’s sense of whimsy and nothing else. She tilted her chin up high. With an amusement dancing behind its embering eyes, the beast who called itself Chernabog leaned down low and close. Its gaze lined with hers. Its nose exhaled hot air between her brows. Zosia shirked as the beast’s tongue extended from its mouth—more the texture of a cow’s than a snake—and caressed the side of her cheek. Zosia felt every single pore; the viscous weight of blood-tinged saliva settled on her skin."
A Spotify Playlist named "Freak Shit" that includes the songs Possum Kingdom, Otonoke, I Really Want to Stay at Your House, Teenage Dirtbag, and Putting The Dogs To Sleep.
A Discord emote of two blue genderless human forms hugging. One is light blue while the other is dark blue. The art style is very simple and rounded.
The cover of the book "Madness" by Marya Hornbacher. The cover depicts two iterations of the word "madness" printed vertically down the center. The two versions mirror each other with one in black and the other in red. The subtitle "a bipolar life" is tucked in between the mirrored n's. The rest of the cover is basic cream with Marya's accolades vertically written on the sides in gold.
A light gray shaggy rug with a soft texture sits in front of a beige canvas couch with blue pillows. The room is otherwise decorated in lighter woods, white, beiges, blues, and grays. A very soothing but basic color palette to highlight the rug.
A half-made woven bracelet with the colors green, black, gray, and white. It is using the colors of the aromantic pride flag.
The book dedication for "Daughter of Or" by Stephanie Roehler. The dedication reads: "I once knew a sick little girl locked up in her room. But she didn't dream of happily ever after. She dreamt of freedom fought with tooth and nail. This book is for her."
Chika Fujiwari from Kaguya-sama: Love is War. A pink-haired anime girl wearing a red-striped hat and holding a Sherlock-style smoking pipe from the early late 1800s/1900s.
The cover of Daughter of Or, a book by Stephanie Roehler. The cover is mainly black with a strip of red blood dripping horizontally across the center with a woman's eyes inside. The title name starts above the blood ("Daughter of") and the "Or" is below.
A bowl of jambalaya in a black bowl. The jambalaya includes rice, peppers, sausage, and chicken and is an overall pale orange color.
A black Italian Greyhound mix wearing a blue sweater and sitting in the corner of a room on a pillow. In front of him is a golden tan chihuahua with large ears wearing a purple sweater. Both of them are looking at the camera unsure why the human is pointing the phone at them.
A purple and blue long furby (bird like cryptid with big blue eyes and gold beak) peeking its head up at you in front of a green tapestry with gold leaf and flower embroidery
A YouTube analytics page that gives the most-used in a YouTube search that leads to Classically Written's channel. The top result is "twink" at 4%.
Over the Garden Wall Characters Wirt and Greg and Beatrice walk through a forest path. The two young brothers are wearing a pointed red hat and a cape and a teapot hat and overalls, respectively. Beatrice is a small bluebird flying beside them. The forest around them is full of golden leaves.
The cover of "The Cradle of Envy" by Stephanie Roehler. The title is in a black rectangle, surrounded by a tableau of renaissance style art in shades of gold. At the edges of the tableau are green leaves and a large snake.
This is the cover of This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone. The cover has the title, then two birds in between the letters: a glitched cardinal and below it and flipped upside down is a bluebird.
The cover of "The Cradle of Envy" by Stephanie Roehler. The title is in a black rectangle, surrounded by a tableau of renaissance style art in shades of gold. At the edges of the tableau are green leaves and a large snake.
The cover of Daughter of Or, a book by Stephanie Roehler. The cover is mainly black with a strip of red blood dripping horizontally across the center with a woman's eyes inside. The title name starts above the blood ("Daughter of") and the "Or" is below.
A white square with the words, "1 like = 1 fact about me" on it
A femme-presenting person finding out about the Mass Effect card game and kissing their wallet goodbye