itch.io

Thanks :) 
Now to get this thing finished!!

Finally posted the WIP
(also added a short story I wrote a few years ago that fitted the jam)

Thanks for the advice. I'll create the page in the next few days :) 

Hey, All :) 

This is my first Itch Jam, and I'm scrambling to get this project in on time. (why is writing so slow sometimes).

Since this is my first jam, I was wondering if it was better to post the whole story or post it chapter by chapter. 
Any tips/advice is welcome. 

I haven't even had time to sort out a cover yet, so if anyone knows an artist who caters to smaller budgets, I'd appreciate it. 

In the meantime, here's the first chapter. 

The Songs We Owe.
a transgender demon-blooded singer (f) and a garden witch (m) search a missing teenager and his mother; the woman they both loved.

Chapter 1 - Sterile Shades of Penance
Lillian

Every time I sang, my past clawed up my throat.

Waiting at the stage door, I drew a breath and glanced at the trio next to me—bandmates in the loosest sense. We were contracted. Court-mandated. All four of us were paying for something.

Ally, the recovery coordinator, appeared with a tablet in her hand, and the warmest smile anyone in this place would ever offer me.

“Morning, folks. Please activate your in-ear dampeners. We’re here to heal not harm.”

She looked at the musicians, but the reminder of my penance still stung.

“Your IDs have been scanned and locked into the wards, and the tablets have been loaded with today’s set list.” She turned to the drummer, a hard glint in her eyes, though her tone stayed friendly. “Any undeclared items will add another thirty days to your contract.”

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes at his flaming cheeks as he pulled a phone out of his pocket. Mistakes were one thing, but Ally—and her wards—had a knack for sussing out bullshit.

Ally took it. “Wise choice.” Her tablet pinged, and the door opened. “It’s time. Have a great set.”

The inhibitor switched off the moment I crossed the wards and stepped onto the stage—jolting through my vocal cords. Resonance hummed, swelling with each breath.

I shivered. I never understood why they took risks with contracts as short as theirs. They could play anywhere.

This was the only place I could sing.

Spaced out across the small venue, our audience waited with clenched hands, bouncing knees, and restless expressions. A few leaned forward as the musicians prepped their instruments, bracing themselves.

I stepped up to the mic, the cool metal soothing against my sweaty palm, counting breaths until the lights dimmed. My first notes rumbled across the floor, vibrated up the walls, and, bolstered by the wards, washed over the patients in gentle, healing waves. The acoustics were a sound-engineer’s dream, wrapped in sterile shades of neutral.

The band joined in, complementing, supporting, despite their uninspired and over-rehearsed performance. As the song filled the room, shoulders dropped, eyes closed, and knees stilled.

Sweat clung to my brows. The instrumental fade into the second piece gave me two beats to dab at them, down some water, and take a few breaths.

While the first song eased them into the session, the second one took them deep, and me with them. With its long, drawn-out notes and nuanced shifts, it was the most challenging of today’s set, and the most fulfilling. At the end, my mind was as primed as my throat was parched. I soothed it with water.

Four bars into the next, someone muttered, “Stop,” in a rough, broken voice.

After all this time, I should have been prepared for the emotions I unleashed. I never was.

An aide peeled away from the far wall they’d seemed painted into, threaded between the rows and sat next to a hunched person.

Regret and guilt—all mine—rose and threatened to seep into my voice, sour and dark. But the band caught me—predictable, dependable—giving me the breath I needed to push them down.

I threw the band a grateful glance between the lines, though none of them were looking at me. We didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. These sets had been meticulously planned based on the audience’s needs. Stopping would only make it worse.

So, we continued and moved on to some longer pieces—less intricate and almost meditative, despite switching to the grungy demon tongue. They contained repetitions of simple children’s rhymes—human rhymes—and badly translated ones at that. But, as Ally liked to remind me, “It’s all about intent.” And showing that demon language could be as healing as human language could be damaging... when sung by anyone with demon heritage. At least they taught that properly in primary schools these days.

Back then, we thought our heritage didn’t count. That we were safe because we weren’t full demons. We were wrong.

Which is why I gave this gig my all, every single time. I would sing about itsy bitsy contrary fairies and twinkling little dwarves who swallowed an imp until my voice gave out. These off-beat lullabies soothed me as much as our audience, a few emotional outbursts aside.

The band seamlessly veered into the penultimate song while I drank more water and took deep breaths before grabbing the mic again.

In any non-healing setting, this could have been a duet. The shimmering synth lines danced and weaved through my lyrics, echoing Emma’s infectious spirit. In my mind, her radiant soprano merged with my deep bass as if we were healing these people together, sharing the debt we owed.

I winced as the keyboardist fumbled. A tiny slip the audience wouldn’t notice, but it disintegrated my imaginary duet, if not the memory of the carefree joy in her sky-blue eyes.

I had plenty of regrets, but giving myself up so she could be free to raise her son wasn’t one of them. I’d kept track of them through the years. He was sixteen now and lived with his father on the Verwerda herbal farms. He had Emma’s eyes, her smile, and that same solid build. As for Emma...

Across the room, a door snicked shut, but it wasn’t Ally who entered. Instead, Michael, Emma’s ex, stood under the motion-activated spotlight, as if my memories had conjured him. His gaze burned into me, even as the light dimmed.

Did he look off? Was he trembling?

My heart raced. Sweat dripped into my eyes, blurring the room. More questions buzzed through my mind, but I pushed them down and willed myself to snap out of it, to focus. I had patients to think of. I barely made it through the last song and a half, gripping the mic so tightly my nails dug into my palms.

Exhaustion washed over me as the last notes faded. My whole body shook as I dragged myself to the stage door. I refused to check whether Michael was still there. I needed to find Ally and figure out how badly I’d messed up. How I could fix this. But Ally wasn’t in the dressing room when I stumbled through the wards.

The inhibitor snapped tight around my vocal cords. I fell into the nearest chair and closed my eyes. In my rush to get out of the room, I forgot to mind my breathing. I took slow, shallow breaths, but it was too late. All I could do was wait it out. That was what I got for being distracted.

Fuck effin’ bloody Michael!

He knew better. If he got himself addicted, I was going to kill him. Or better, watch Emma do it.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

The worried tone made me open my eyes. How bad did I look?

The keyboardist knelt in front of me, holding a bottle of water. His face seemed familiar, but I’d be lying if I knew his name. I rarely bothered to remember any of them. 

“Thank you. I’m fine.” The cool water soothed my throat.

“Sorry, I botched that note.” He threw me an apologetic smile. “I’ll get it right next time.”

What? No excuses? That was new.

“I usually do the Monday morning sessions, but Ally called me in as a last-minute replacement.” He rose and held out his hand. “Didn’t give me much time to practise.”

I let him pull me to my feet, ignoring that my knees wobbled, and grabbed my coat. He had to be a volunteer. Ally would never call one of the contracted on such short notice.

“Want to go for coffee or something?”

Was he serious? “No.” Flinging my coat over my shoulders, I went outside. I’d talk to Ally next time.

“Okay,” he called after me through the closing door. “Maybe next Thursday.”

I plucked my sunglasses from my pocket. More like never. The gate opened with a whine, and I turned right onto the street and into the shadow. I didn’t feel like walking home, but getting onto hover bus was even less appealing.

“Lily—“

I froze and clenched my fists. My first instinct was to tell him to fuck off. Instead, I passed him without a glance. “I left her behind a long time ago.”

“Shit,” he muttered behind me. “Wait… Lillian. Please.”

It was the plea that stopped me and let him catch up to me.

He’d gained weight, but he looked as sturdy as he always did. Suntanned, freckled, and healthy, despite the ever-present dirt under his fingernails. His hands weren’t shaking, and his expression was clear, if troubled.

I let out a breath. No sign of addiction.

He said nothing, just worried the cuffs of his green jumper.

“What d’you want?”

“Emma’s dead and Jesper’s missing.”

Yes :)

Thank you :) 
I love your collections!

Happy Pride, and thank you!!