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Movies & TV Agatha All Along Agatha All Along Is Out of Time in “Death’s Hand in Mine” Lilia is in and out of time this week, and the consequences spiral out in every direction By Emmet Asher-Perrin | Published on October 24, 2024 Credit: Marvel Television Comment 0 Share New Share Credit: Marvel Television It’s all fun and games until the ceiling is full of swords… Recap Credit: Marvel Television/Chuck Zlotnick Lilia is in a Glinda costume and falling through an abyss. Then we’re back with Agatha and Billy, walking the Road. Agatha thinks that Billy decided to do this with her because she used to be his babysitter and his mom’s best friend. Billy insists that’s not the case; he already has a mother. There’s a large dour castle ahead, and Billy wonders aloud if Agatha has ever truly been on the Road. The two enter the castle together; Agatha is transformed to look like the Wicked Witch of the West, Billy like Maleficent. (Agatha insists that the Wicked Witch was based on her.) At the center of the room is a tarot reading table and the trial begins. Billy tries to read for Agatha, but he’s not very good at it—and when you pick the wrong card, a sword falls from the ceiling. One of Agatha’s cards indicates that she’s being truthful, but the swords are still falling. Agatha takes up the deck and picks at random, laying down the cards and letting the swords fall on the theory that the room will run out eventually, but the ceiling begins to descend instead. Lilia and Jen are in a dirt tunnel following a path the Jen claims Lilia told them to follow. She has a lot of information that Lilia doesn’t remember, yet Jen insists that she learned all these things from Lilia. As they’re speaking, Lilia begins shifting through time and making the comments she made out of sequence earlier in the series. We see Lilia as a child (Chloe Camp), and then as she appears now, getting lessons on divination from her teacher (Laura Boccaletti) hundreds of years ago. Her teacher, or Maestra, encourages her to read tea leaves despite Lilia’s insistence that she’s bad at it. Back in the present, Jen asks Lilia to explain why she’s been acting this way, and Lilia tells her that the flow of time in an illusion and she experiences things out of sequence. The problem is worse than ever, though, and she wonders if it’s because she’s coming to the end. Lilia flashes forward to being inside the castle with Billy and Agatha and Jen (she is dressed as Glinda and Jen is dressed as the White Queen disguised as the old woman). Lilia goes off on Billy, and he reads her mind to try and ease her anger. Jen takes her aside and insists that she’s not really mad at the kid anymore. Lilia tries to figure out the trial, and admits that she’s the one who cast the sigil on Billy to help buy him time to learn who he was. Then she’s flashing backward again and her mentor asks if she’s rooted in nature, if she’s practicing her craft, if she has a coven. Lilia says no to all these things, and then she’s back in the underground tunnel and finds Billy’s spell book. She admits to Jen that she stopped seeing through time as she aged because she ignored it; all she ever saw was death. They find the entrance to the next trial and emerge in their costumes—but this time Lilia tells Billy that they’re good. Lilia begins the tarot reading, explaining how the cards work and in what order you call them. She begins doing a reading for Billy, telling him to ask a question: He asks if he’s Willian or Billy. She begins the reading, but the swords are still falling. She flashes back again to her mentor, who asks her why she won’t use her gifts and Lilia admits that she’s a forgotten woman, that her gifts don’t help; she saw the her entire coven would die of plague as a child and told them, but it didn’t change anything. Her mentor tells her that death comes for everyone, and Lilia wonders when it will come for her. Then she’s back with Jen at the start of their journey in the tunnel. They encounter the Salem Seven and avoid detection by them, but there’s also an exit off the Road that looks like a metro line. Lilia intends to keep following the tunnel and asks Jen to stay with her as her sister in the craft. Jen agrees and they start walking. Suddenly Lilia knows what she did wrong and she’s back in the tarot trial, realizing that she needs to do the reading for herself. The reading tell her that her coven is what was missing; that Alice lies behind but Jen lies ahead; that a miraculous transformation is coming; she also remembers that she saw Rio in the tunnel and Rio is Death (the original Green Witch) and that Death is coming. The reading is over, the trial passed, and an Iron Maiden opens as an exit. Agatha confirms Rio’s identity, saying that she likes “bad boys.” They begin to leave now that the trial is complete. Lilia tells Agatha when “she” calls her a coward, to hit the deck. She gives Billy his spell book back and shoves Jen into the Iron Maiden, insisting that she is the future and closing the door. The Salem Seven emerge and Lilia inverts her Tower card from the reading, turning the room upside-down and impaling the Seven on the swords in the ceiling. She hangs on to the table as long as she can, but finally lets go and falls. We see young Lilia begin her lessons with her mentor. Commentary Credit: Marvel Television I knew Patti LuPone was gonna make me cry before this was over. The episode manages to be a powerful illustration of the trials of aging that still steers clear of oversimplification. We have the aspect that, yes, Lilia’s ability does come off a great deal like dementia and other cognitive degenerative diseases. She’s aware of this, to the point of calling Jen out for thinking of her as a tottering old lady. Speculative fiction loves to use characters who are “unmoored” in time, but the extra layer of allegory here is devastating; Lilia wonders if the unmooring is getting worse because she’s getting closer to the end of her life, and it is, but that’s also how cognitive decline works. There are layers here. But even having acknowledged that, we have Maestra, here because Lilia may be the oldest member of this coven, but we never stop being students in life. And more importantly, we often never let go of the negative views we have of ourselves: I was struck by how Lilia insists that she’s terrible as reading tea leaves hundreds of years after learning to do so. She never worked to get better at it over time—she decided she was bad at it, and held onto that belief hard, like a form of faith. She’s still holding it, even as her mentor speaks to her across eons and insists that she’s wrong. Maestra also knows that many of Lilia’s problems are borne of fear, and some of that seems to be a fear of death, perhaps. Less so for herself than others, though, and that seems to be the key—what Lilia truly fears is something that she brought upon herself. Loneliness. Lilia Calderu tried to warn the people she loved of their impending deaths, and it did nothing to save them. So her solution was to eschew that form of community for most of the rest of her life. And I love the choice of this arc, because there’s the question running through this entire series of who the coven is for, right? Not literally, but thematically. And the answer is all of them at different points, and perhaps we want it to be for Agatha a little so she can learn something big here. But really, it’s always been for Lilia. She assembled the names, for Dorothy’s sake. They’re her coven, the one that she needed to finally come full circle in her life. That they let her go out on one last dramatic tarot reading (more tarot readings for dramatic effect, please) is gorgeous. That they flip the script and let Glinda the Good Witch do something heroic for a change is a direct answer to Lilia’s constant complaints against the Road for stereotyping them. (That entire trial was arranged to tweak at her with those costumes, and I do love that the Road is extremely petty that way?) That she dispatches the Salem Seven with her own unique abilities is such a power move. (Will it stick? Will any of this? Who can say, but for now, it’s a great time.) And more like the Wizard of Oz than Glinda, she gives each member of her coven what they need. If any of them survive this, it’s all down to her. At the moment, I’m really hoping that this means great things are in store for Jen, but obviously Agatha and Billy will certainly get something out of this too. Billy did ask if was William or Billy (which I was so pleased to see them focus in on), and I’m guessing he does actually need his own trial… Tarot Readings and Witchy Thoughts Credit: Marvel Television/Chuck Zlotnick This show retroactively makes WandaVision better because now we know it’s pretty likely that Agatha had a big ol’ crush on Wanda. (She said it herself; she likes powerful bad boys… when they’re girls. And also uses the term “ex-best-friend.”) Look, I know that some fans are predicting—as always—that Mephisto is waiting at the end of all this, or behind Rio’s work here somehow, and it’s gotten to the point where he’s been theorized as the mastermind so many times, that I kinda want the MCU to pull a House M.D. “it’s never lupus” and tease at the idea of Mephisto while never ever using him. I know that they won’t do this for me, but it would be so. damn. funny. I hope some little boys watching this show see Billy in that Maleficent costume and realize that all doors are open to them. Go be fabulous, kids. If Agatha is a basis for the Wicked Witch of the West, I really need to know how she met L. Frank Baum and what she did to piss him off. (Okay, maybe she meant the look for the film, but I want it to be the books.) Marvel characters being in love with Death is not unheard of; Deadpool is in love with her in the comics, and they have a sort of sun-and-moon thing going on account of… y’know, him never being able to reach her. Way more into Agatha and Rio, though, sorry. Next week, a two-part finale! Not nervous at all.[end-mark] The post Agatha All Along Is Out of Time in “Death’s Hand in Mine” appeared first on Reactor.

Excerpts Fantasy Read an Excerpt From Kritika H. Rao’s The Legend of Meneka An exhilarating fantasy inspired by one of the most famous romances in Hindu mythology. By Kritika H. Rao | Published on October 24, 2024 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Kritika H. Rao’s The Legend of Meneka, a new romantic fantasy inspired by Hindu mythology—out from Harper Voyager on January 21st. Across the mortal and immortal realms, celestial dancers known as apsaras are revered for their beauty, allure, and enchanting magic. But Meneka knows that is not all they are. Trained as a weapon—a warrior—Meneka despises leaving each of her marks in thrall to her potent illusions. With every seduction Lord Indra, king of heaven, demands of her for his political gain, she craves her freedom more and more.When a mortal sage’s growing powers threaten Indra’s supremacy in his own realm, Meneka seizes a rare opportunity. She strikes a deal—if she can seduce this dangerous man, Indra will allow her to forgo future missions. But upon meeting the sage, Kaushika, Meneka finds herself captivated by his energy, ignited by his empathy and passion, even though he challenges everything she’s ever known. Can she overthrow the man who is—little by little—stealing her heart, or is Kaushika seducing her instead? As war looms in the skies, Meneka must choose between her duty to protect her home, and the sage who is showing her what true love can mean.  CHAPTER 1 Seduction is all I’ve ever known.  I am made for it. I have destroyed lives with it. I never wanted to. * * * I close my eyes so I don’t have to see the hunger in Queen Tara’s face. Instead, I focus on my dance. My body sways to the music of her singers. The beats of the drum mimic the beating of my heart. Flute strains whisper through my hair, entwining around my thick, coiling braid. The melody makes its way into my body and pulls gently, drawing my movements forward. I bend my arms to beckon to an imaginary lover. Queen Tara’s sharp intake of breath echoes in my ears. Amaravati’s magic fills me from head to toe. The City of Immortals is my home. It is the cord connecting me to all of heaven’s magic. I am in the mortal realm, far from Amaravati now, but the city’s power builds behind my navel. It grows over my head like a shimmering halo, expanding around my body in gleams of gold dust. The magic of heaven comes to me in amorphous waves, then in deeper currents. Power pours into and out of me. My aura starts to pulse. The sari wrapped around me tightens, emphasizing my curves. The necklaces against my collarbone start to tingle. My bangles clink, making music of their own, and the diamond belt around my waist glints brightly, throwing shafts of light across the room. Goosebumps erupt along my skin. Slowly, languorously, I spin my wrist into a mudra, a dance sigil. The fingers of my right hand touch at the tips, then open into First Blush. A wild red rose blossoms out of thin air onto my palm. The flower settles its weightless petals on my skin. To Queen Tara, who is avidly watching from her cushioned bed, it will look real. Rambha once told me that the true power of my dance lay not in my beauty but in the strength of my illusions. A smile forms on my lips as I think of her. First a rose, then a garden, then the stormy cascade of a furious waterfall—the illusion forms rapidly, transforming Queen Tara’s bedchamber, burying it in a lush, untamed meadow. My hands move from one mudra into another. Lover’s Caress. Dew on Golden Skin. Heart fire. Buy the Book The Legend of Meneka Kritika H. Rao Buy Book The Legend of Meneka Kritika H. Rao Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget My hips undulate. My feet spin in small circles, arms thrown out in release. The music lifts in a crescendo, lilting, teasing, wrapping itself all over me.  Dark grey rocks form on the walls, enclosing us in a private recess. Vines twine over the rocks, delicate buds unfurling. The thick perfume of a thousand passionflowers envelops us, heat and spice and musk. Moisture sprays my skin from the waterfall pouring from the high ceiling. In minutes, the illusion is so deep, even I am lost to it.  I know the meadow is not real. That I am still in Queen Tara’s private quarters. But it is hard to remember when the scents of flowers tickle my nose and sun-warmed moss cushions my bare feet. Sweat beads my forehead, trickles down my throat, pools between my collarbones, before evaporating in mists of heat. Happiness fills my heart. I am beautiful. Intoxicating. This gushing waterfall is evidence—I am a creature of joy. Of love. A creature of lust, Indra’s voice corrects me in my mind. I stumble. The joy inside me withers, the honey sweetness curdling to bitterness in my mouth. My eyes snap open, and because I have stopped dancing, the illusion wobbles. The vines on the walls tremble. The flowers stutter. The fragrance which had overtaken the room softens, then starts to dissipate. Queen Tara is still staring at me, slack-jawed and heavy-eyed from her bed, but around us the magical meadow distorts. Rocks liquify into grey sludge. Silver glistens in loud, discordant flashes as the waterfall blinks in and out of existence, reacting to my darkening mood. Slowly the wild garden melts, returning us to her mortal bedchamber. Behind the privacy curtain, I see the shapes of Tara’s musicians. I did not cast my illusion for them, and they are not enchanted by my magic, but they will not interrupt us. Tara saw to that. I did, with my command of her. The queen blinks. Concern bleeds through the lust still clouding her eyes. She rises from her gold-threaded cushions. “My sweet?” she asks, and her voice is throaty, heavy, akin to one speaking through viscous sleep. It is a timbre I recognize only too well. I have come to associate it with success. With shame. I say nothing, trying to shake the memory of Lord Indra’s voice from my head and sort through my growing turmoil. A frown tightens my face, and I attempt to school it, hoping to retain some measure of peace that I felt through my dance. Tara pulls me into her arms. She strokes my hair, tugging at the strands. Her thumb traces the outline of my lips, pulling at my mouth. Her fingers splay on my neck, holding me captive. My own shallow pulse echoes beneath her touch. An ironic laugh builds behind my mouth, that she—a mark—is trying to smooth away my despair, even if it is in a manner she desires, not one I need. “Come,” she whispers. “I know what will please you.” She tries to lead me, but I shake my head, resisting the movement. Tara has wanted me in her bed for months, but it is not to please me. It is to please herself. I know this because I have created these thoughts in her. Reveal your lust, I command silently, and an image blossoms in my mind. Tara seizing my hair, bending me down to her. I am on my knees, naked except for my jewellery. My riches, my body, my mind—all of it belongs to her. Vulnerable and weak, I am to be her greatest jewel. The image flares, then subsides. I hold my turmoil at bay, watching her and the deep hunger for me that she now feels. This is the last stage of my seduction. When I first created this spell to discern her lust, I saw her ultimate supremacy over her nation, wrought through fire and sword. It took months to alter that desire. In discreet glances and poisonous whispers, I consolidated it, molding her to want me and me alone. My illusions were subtle and glorious, for her eyes alone. Convinced by them, she imprisoned her brother, exiled her cabinet, shattered age-old rules. Once she was confident, her gaze imperious, her posture straight. Now she is a ghost of her former self—enraptured with me to the point of forgetting everything else, even food and drink. Her brown skin is waxy, the healthy glow gone. It is over. I am the only thing that matters to Queen Tara anymore. She tugs me again, this time harder. Her eyes dart between me and the cushioned bed. Vaguely, I wonder if I should consummate her desire. Others of my ilk have done so. Tumbled with their marks without regret after those marks have been seduced. Some have done it even before—simply another step in their missions. It would even be a kind of reparation—to fulfill the very desire I have created in Tara. I would not be leaving her undone. The corners of her mouth quiver as she notices my contemplation. I lean in—a kiss, what would it hurt? Tara’s breathing grows ragged in the space between us. No, I think. Shame grips me, locking my muscles.Self-disgust sinks its nails into my heart, at what I’d been about to justify. Tara does not know her mind. Whatever she thinks she wants, it is not her want, not truly. She is in a thrall. She is seduced. My face hardens. I pull her hands away from me. I step back. Tara’s eyes grow larger, confused, and my shoulders sag, heavy with guilt. I open my mouth, wanting to say something. An apology. An explanation. Something. Yet what is there to say? I’ve danced for her many times, and my spell will not wear off easily. When I am gone, she will be bereft for years. She will waste away, waiting for me to return. Nothing—not even sleeping with her now—will ever be enough. Even if I were to stay, to live with her as her mate, it would not matter. The lust has taken a life of its own. Tara will never truly recover from it. My mission has been too successful. And is any of that wrong? Surely, my guilt now is misplaced. Tara deserved this. Lord Indra needed this. I am his agent, and my missions are a sign of my devotion to him. If I had not done this, what would have happened then? Before I arrived, Tara had already abolished the public worship of Indra—an act of challenge to heaven itself. Eventually, she would have prohibited private prayers too. Once, her dynasty had been defined by its devotion to Indra, but Tara and her ministers had begun travelling a path that would eventually lead to the burning of the lord’s temples, the desecration of his rituals, the slaughtering of his devotees. Everything I did now was to prevent that terrible future.    I know all of this, yet I wish I could explain that I never meant to hurt her. Never meant to destroy her so completely. The yearning to absolve myself is so acute that I realize I have lingered in her court too long.What does it make me that I am sympathizing with someone as undevout as Tara? My eyes slide away from her face. I turn to leave the bedchamber. Though I hear a quiet cry of despair from her, I don’t look back. This is my job. My destiny. My name is Meneka. And I am an apsara of Indra’s heaven. * * * The doors to the bedchamber shut behind me, silencing the music. I can no longer hear Tara, but I move faster as though to distance myself from the anguish of my own heart. Apsaras have a reputation. Mortal poets whisper we are mistresses of illusion and ultimate control. Lord Indra calls us his snakeskins, ready to shed and birth anew. I think we are cobra venom. Our magical dance is lethal. It has felled kingdoms and tempted saints. It has changed the course of history, and taken loved ones away. Yet when I perform, the world makes sense. I am coated in utter heavenly bliss, my very dance a devotion to Indra and a blessing from him. In some ways, my dance is even more than what Indra allows it to be. It is a secret joy of my own, the very essence of me. The way my performance is used, however… I am only twenty-three, my time at this early age still measured in mortal years, but I feel older. I have lost count of the number of missions I have gone on, the ways in which I have proved my devotion to my lord. Tara was one of my most sacrilegious marks. One of the hardest. I’m going to make sure she is my last. I hurry down the palace corridors, turning corners and entering passageways blindly. When I can see no longer see palace guards, I pause. Closing my eyes again, I touch my enchanted necklaces. I invoke Indra’s name and request my return to swarga, the lord’s heaven. Permission is granted as a prize for my devotion. The tug behind my navel tightens as Amaravati responds to my call. A gust of wind whistles through the corridors of the palace, bringing with it scents of cinnamon and ghee. My form becomes airy. The wind of the celestial city carries me away from the mortal realm. When I open my eyes next, I am at the gates of the City of Immortals, back home in the heavenly realm. Stars twinkle overhead and under me. Even though it is nighttime, my city is bright and alive, its magical golden dust sparkling on the giant marble gates that form the city’s entrance. Darkness itself shimmers with an undertone of luminosity. No guards prowl here. It is peacetime, and the magic of Amaravati acts as a shield. The gates open on their own, and the underlying rhythms and music of Amaravati greet me as I walk in. My body immediately relaxes, a sigh escaping me. The worries of the mortal world shed themselves from my shoulders as the city welcomes me. The magical tether that connects me to Amaravati blooms like a chord struck. In the mortal realm, it was a fragile thing, flat and limp, a faded painting. Here it is a flower. Alive, beautiful, golden. I breathe in, and Amaravati’s loveliness strikes me like I’m seeing it for the first time. It has been so long since I’ve been here. The city hums under my feet as I walk. Every manse I glimpse is more beautiful than all of Queen Tara’s palace. The rock-paved pathways glisten under the golden light. Somewhere a bird sings sweetly, holding a single warbling note that thrums through my heart. Laughter echoes here and there, though I see no one. The citizens are hidden within glorious buildings, ensconced in fragrant night gardens. The same gentle breeze that brought me back home rustles through the city, this time with scents of lightning and storm, scents that belong to Lord Indra. His magic spirals lazily through the city, tiny sparks that flicker and flash. I transform as I breathe in the quiet streets. In the mortal realm, I had begun to question my devotion to Lord Indra. Tara’s seduction should have given me joy, each evolution of her lust a testament to my faith, but the mission only pierced my own belief in myself. My very despair was treasonous, and through all the days of my mission, I clutched my reverence for Indra like a beggar clutches alms.Now, with my return to Amaravati, those doubts about my own dedication evaporate like dreams on wakefulness. I am reminded once again that I am an apsara, a creature of the lord’s city—yet this time the acknowledgement straightens my spine. My devotion is untainted by turmoil; it is scented with confidence. I am returned to a reality that has burned through a feverish glamour. The change in me is so sudden, so familiar, that I am shocked. Images burst in my head of Indra studying me when I first began my training as an apsara at seven. Of when I knelt at his feet at fifteen before I embarked on my first mission. Of his kindness and pride as he blessed me before I left the city. His magnanimity, his love, his heroism, all gleam through Amaravati, as though the city itself is singing his praise. Indra is the father of heaven, and though he is no true relation of mine, the same golden blood of swarga runs through our veins. Immortal and celestial, we are one family, all of us beholden to him to succour us. Slowly, I make my way towards his palace, to report on my latest conquest. Rambha waits for me there; I sent a message to her a few hours ago when I knew I had succeeded with Tara, and I can sense her calling to me, her face blossoming behind my eyes. I cannot wait to see her, but still my steps grow slower, contemplating what I am about to do. Every apsara at the end of asuccessful mission is granted a boon, whatever her heart desires. All apsaras ask for a chance to continue to serve the lord more faithfully—a blessing that is granted through magical jewellery from his own collection. To wear a jewel that belongs to Indra is akin to carrying a piece of the lord with us. His presence allows us to pull more of Amaravati’s magic than we otherwise can, essential to creating the most unwavering illusions, critical to our success in future missions. Yet my sari belt constricts around my waist. The necklaces tighten, and my hand rises to skim against my collarbone, trying to loosen their leash. What will Rambha say if I tell her this is how the jewels have felt for so long? That wearing them has been no blessing but a prison sentence? The boon I intend to ask the lord today will surely catch her unaware—but the lord himself will see that it comes from a desire to be more pious. The jewels are wondrous, but they take me away from him each time I leave Amaravati. All I want is to be untainted in my devotion, close to him, worshipping him. Surely he will agree? He will rage, my mind whispers. You are not asking to be devoted. You are asking for freedom. I surge away from the thought. “No,” I say aloud, forcefully. “No, I only want to be unsullied. Indra will listen. He is generous and life-giving. He understands true devotion.”    There is no reply from my conscience, merely a quiet worry that worms its way into my heart. Only Rambha has dared ask for freedom from future missions, and though Indra granted it to her, her request still shook the kingdom. Time and again, I have thought to ask her why he made such an exception, but it would be a foolish question. Rambha’s love for the lord is well known. Heaven’s immortal musicians, the gandharvas, sing of her piety at every festival, reminding us of her purity, her virtue, her total dedication. Will she be shocked that I dare to follow in her footsteps so brazenly? All my life I have wanted to be like her, as unblemished as her, as free. I have performed all my missions without complaint. I took no joy in them, but I did them regardless—and isn’t that the greatest devotion, to be selfless, believing, compliant? I walked away from Queen Tara without a word of regret. I am Indra’s soldier, and—despite the misgivings infesting my mind in the mortal realm—I humbled to be one. If I only show this to him, he will relent. Amaravati is sustained through service and prayers to Indra, and Indra will agree that my performance within the City will serve him better than my missions in the mortal realm. As for Rambha herself… though she might be shocked, she will be proud. She will see that I do this for her, as much as I do this for myself.  They will both be proud. They have to be. I repeat this litany to myself the entire way to the palace, corralling my courage. Before I know it, I am at the crescent-shaped gates.  The guards let me enter unchallenged. Everyone in Amaravati knows what an apsara looks like. We are some of the most beautiful creatures in paradise—we have to be. The guards simply nod at me, usher me into the alcove just off Indra’s main courtroom, where I see Rambha pacing impatiently. She is stunning. Her long luscious hair is tied in an intricate braid in the manner of the most elite apsaras. Her skin is a richer brown than mine, nearly onyx in the dim light. Thick shapely brows arch over large doe-like eyes, and her ears resemble delicate shells. Over her gold-threaded green sari, she wears nearly a hundred necklaces studded with emeralds and diamonds. A tiny pin glints on her nose, and even her bindi glows with power. All of these jewels are from the lord’s own collection, a sign of her devotion and his favor. My breath hitches as her power descends over me. Her aura is a luminous gold rising behind her head, so potent I can taste its texture, delicate dewdrops after a sizzling storm. I wet my lips to trap the sensation on my tongue. A smile breaks across Rambha’s worried face as she sees me. She hurries forward to envelop me in her arms. “Praise Indra,” she says, pulling back so her eyes can search mine. “You’re here.” My chest rises in a deep breath and the scent of her sweet star-anise flows into me, hot and seductive. I smile back despite my nervousness. She is much older than me, but even I don’t know by how much. Like any other immortal, time will never show on her features. Besides, neither of us is a child, anymore. What does it matter how old we are? Even as I hug her, I can’t help but lightly twist the end of her braid around my fingers.Rambha is my home. Her wisdom is my security. Once she was my mentor, but now she is my handler, one of the best apsaras I know, my closest friend. In the depths of my foolish heart, I have always wished for more. The longing must surely show on my features, for she pulls back and brushes her cool hands over my face to examine me in concern. Her fingers hum like butterfly wings, and I can’t help but imagine her touch in other places. My cheeks warm. I swallow, trying to ignore the heat pooling in me—but her caress, this intimacy… It is simply another strand of evidence that what I intend to do is right.  I catch her fluttering, feather-light fingers in my own and take a deep breath. “Another successful mission, Rambha. Queen Tara is deterred from her path of impiety. She won’t be a threat to Indra anymore.” “Good, that’s good,” Rambha replies. “The lord is sorely in need of some good news. Do you know what jewel you will ask of him?” Her smile grows wider, and she touches the crown of my head. A skittering sensation floods through me and I shiver. “I have always loved ornaments in your hair. Perhaps the lord’s golden diadem? It changes shape based on the wearer. I would like to see what shape it takes for you.” Her smile is curious. Her fingers move down the length my hair down to my shoulders. They flicker over my chest, brushing strands away as though to examine my necklaces—but the motion is too slow, too deliberate. I am not imagining it. It is desire. Desire for me. Her thumbs skate lightly over the points of my nipples before skimming away.  “I have something else in mind,” I say quietly. “Something that will allow me to be closer to you. So we can… So you and I can finally…” Her hands still and she tilts her head. Rambha holds my gaze between gold-dusted lashes. Her lips part, perhaps to ask what I mean—and I want to lean in, how badly I want to speak the sweet words that would bring us closer. They burn in me, but my nervousness at Indra’s refusal of my boon holds me back. Rambha and I have orbited around each other, our touches suggestive, our glances flirtatious, but I have never dared to say anything, not when I have felt so unworthy. How could I come to her—this beauty who is famed for her complete devotion to Indra when every one of my own missions has drowned me in doubts? The boon I will ask of the lord is my only way out, both to wrench out any seeds of impiety I may have collected, and to be with her forever more. Rambha tips my chin with a hand. “You look so serious. What are you thinking?” Now would be the time to speak, to tell her about the boon I want, but explanations form and die in my throat. What if she tells me I am mistaken in my path? It would not merely be a rejection of my dream. It would be a rejection of any future for us. I cannot risk it, not when I am so close. I shake my head wordlessly. A frown mars her lovely face. “You won’t ask him for anything indelicate, will you?” She waits for me to answer, but when I still say nothing, she sighs. “It is your blessing to ask, whatever it is, but do not ask him to part with his favorite jewels. Indra is moody and restless these days. He is in conference, even now.” My brows rise at that, curiosity replacing my worry. The lord of the devas is not known to take midnight meetings. If anything, Indra famously spends his nights with his most sensual concubines, engaging in licentious behaviour which warms even my apsara ears to think about. “What has happened?” I say. “What is worrying the lord?” “A mortal. A man called Kaushika.” The name is familiar. In Queen Tara’s court, whispers came of a prince who deserted his kingdom to practise magic. Rumours said the prince became so powerful that kings and queens began paying homage to him, to ask for him to train their scion. I did not pay attention then, but my interest piques now.  “Another mortal too big for himself?” I ask dryly. “That isn’t new.” Rambha’s aura darkens, her star-anise scent growing saccharine. “He’s not just any mortal. He calls himself a sage. Already his influence against Indra has caused royals and nobles to forget the lord in their rituals. Amaravati is not the same as it used to be. Didn’t you notice? The buildings have lost much of their sheen. Our magic is depleting without enough prayers from the mortals to replenish it. It’s harder to grasp Amaravati’s magic even when I dance with all my jewellery. My own tether lies limp within me when I compare it to the years past.” I nod slowly. My dance took more effort than usual to create illusions when I was with Queen Tara, but I assumed it was because my heart wasn’t in the mission. Perhaps it was because the city was in danger. If all this is true, then wouldn’t the lord want me here, to sustain Amaravati through my dance from within his court? “The lord has sent one apsara after another to seduce this sage,” Rambha continues. “Nanda first, and then Sundari and Magadhi. But…” Her voice breaks slightly, the names opening a wound. These three apsaras are so famed for their prowess that even devas, the deities of heaven, are hypnotized by their dance. Only Indra is immune to them. “What happened to them?” I ask, frowning. “They haven’t returned. I fear Kaushika has killed them.” My curiosity turns to horror. Killing an apsara is nearly impossible. We are immortals. Only desperate hate and powerful magic can annihilate us. How has Kaushika done this? Why? Rambha hugs me again. “I am glad to see you safe.” This time I notice how her body shakes. Sundari and Magadhi were Rambha’s friends, part of her own cohort. Nanda used to train me, her laughter often raucous when I created a particularly titillating illusion. Was Rambha their handler too, on those fateful missions? What must it have been like for her to wait and wait for a message, and then finally report to Indra she lost his most prized weapons? No wonder my delay has disconcerted her. A sharp guilt pangs through me. Her worry radiates toward me like a flame’s heat. I straighten and squeeze her hand. I will make the delay worth it. For her, and for Amaravati. “Take me to the lord, Rambha. Perhaps news of my success will cheer him up.” My voice is more confident than I am, but I don’t back down. “It is time for my boon.” Excerpted from The Legend of Meneka, copyright © 2024 by Kritika H. Rao. The post Read an Excerpt From Kritika H. Rao’s <i>The Legend of Meneka</i> appeared first on Reactor.

News Predator 2025 Will See Two Predator Films from Dan Trachtenberg By Vanessa Armstrong | Published on October 24, 2024 Screenshot: 20th Century Studios Comment 0 Share New Share Screenshot: 20th Century Studios We already knew that Prey director Dan Trachtenberg has the Elle Fanning-starring film, Predator: Badlands set to premiere in theaters in 2025. In a recent interview with The Hollywood Reporter, however, 20th Century Studios President Steve Asbell broke the news that Trachtenberg has also directed another Predator film, which is slated to come out next year—before Badlands. Asbell didn’t say anything explicitly about this second, secret Predator film. The way he differentiated Badlands as a “theatrical” release and that it was “live-action,” however, suggests that it may premiere on streaming rather than theaters, and that it might animated. (That is entirely conjecture at this point, and might be me reading between the lines too much, but I think it’s a solid bet.) As for Badlands, Asbell described it as “an absolutely bonkers idea.” He added, “It is a sci-fi thing, but it’s not what everybody thinks it is. And I mean, it’s awesome. It is so nuts. But in Dan, we trust.” And if that isn’t enough Predator content for you, don’t fret: The 20th Century exec also said we’d “probably” see another Alien vs. Predator movie down the line. “It wouldn’t be in the way you think,” he said. “Not in the way that it will just be called Alien vs. Predator or anything like the original movies. If we do this, they’ll be organically created out of these two franchises that we’ve continued with characters that we fall in love with and those characters will combine… perhaps. But we haven’t gotten to that point. And we’re not just going to bang it out.” [ed note: I AM VERY EXCITED AND I’M FINE IF I AM ALONE IN THAT.] Predator: Badlands will premiere in theaters on November 7, 2025. No news yet on when or where the secret Predator movie will be released, other than it will be sometime before November of next year. [end-mark] The post 2025 Will See <em>Two</em> Predator Films from Dan Trachtenberg appeared first on Reactor.

With the Kamala Harris campaign reportedly fearing it will lose Michigan, Democratic strategists in the key Midwestern swing state are placing their hopes on the issue of abortion to give the vice president an edge on Nov. 5. Democrats participated in a Monday webinar, co-hosted by midwestern lobbying firm Kelley Cawthorne and news service Gongwer Michigan, for clients and subscribers to hear from those working on the November elections. One of the most hotly contested swing states, with its 15 Electoral College votes, Michigan may determine the outcome of the 2024 presidential election. Former President Donald Trump continues to hold a one percentage point lead over Vice President Kamala Harris in a two-way race. Trump and Harris are in a dead heat in an eight-way race, which is what Michiganders will see on their ballots, according to an Oct. 16 Mitchell Research & Communications poll. The Harris campaign fears it can’t win Michigan, NBC News reported. “There has been a thought that maybe Michigan or Wisconsin will fall off,” a senior Harris campaign official said to NBC, adding that the bigger concern of the two is Michigan. Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania make up the “blue wall,” which have delivered the win to the last two Democratic presidents.  In the Monday webinar reviewed by The Daily Signal, Celinda Lake, the founder of Lake Research Partners, a liberal Democratic political strategy research firm, said she thinks it will be hard for Democrats to win on the economic issue because voters “give a lot of credibility to Republicans” on it, especially since Trump is a businessman. As a result, she recommended Michigan Democrats zero in on abortion. “The formula for success is to be even on the economy and win on abortion, honestly,” Lake said. Lake told The Daily Signal she didn’t say abortion is “more important” than the economy, but that it’s a “clear distinction.” “It’s important to have [an] economic argument, too,” Lake said in an email. “[Michigan] is close, but with the demographics and women leadership, I think we will win.” The economy ranks as the most important issue to voters, according to a Gallup poll conducted Sept. 16 to 28. The current 52% of voters rating the economy as an “extremely important” influence on their vote for president is the highest since October 2008 amid the Great Recession. Voters view Trump as better able to handle the economy than Harris by 10 percentage points. Harris holds a 16 percentage point lead on Trump for how she’d handle abortion. “Abortion is a clear distinction, like who’s really good on inflation policy or rising cost of living, is hard for people to sort out,” Lake said. Michigan Democratic State Rep. Penelope Tsernoglou said abortion is a “winning issue” on the ballot. “I think everyone knows it’s a winning issue, which is why even Trump keeps trying to suggest that he supports choice,” the Michigan state lawmaker said. “I mean, time and time again, he keeps suggesting that he is, you know, in some way pro-choice, which is completely false and not true. But polling, you know, does tell us that choice is a very important factor in how people are choosing their leaders now.” Tsernoglou did not respond to The Daily Signal’s request for comment. Trump has said abortion restrictions are up to the states, and he does not support a national ban on abortion. “My view is now that we have abortion where everybody wanted it from a legal standpoint, the states will determine by vote or legislation, or perhaps both, and whatever they decide must be the law of the land,” Trump said in a video posted to social media. Zach Gorchow, president of Gongwer Michigan, the Michigan-based news service that sponsored the webinar, said Democratic candidates throughout the country are putting a heavy emphasis in their messaging on protecting abortion rights. In TV ads, Democrats say that “the Democratic candidate will protect a right to an abortion, the Republican candidate will not and may even favor the old, now-repealed law that criminalized it,” Gorchow said. Gorchow moderated the webinar on behalf of Gongwer Michigan. He moderated a Republican strategy panel sponsored by his organization a few weeks ago. Gorchow told The Daily Signal he believes abortion is “a helpful piece of the puzzle” for Democrats, “given that Michigan voters by a 57-43 margin voted to legalize abortion in 2022, and [the Supreme Court’s Dobbs decision that overturned Roe v. Wade] helped propel them to control of state government for the first time in 40 years.” “But candidates for statewide elections, to be successful, generally have to emphasize multiple issues. Michigan is a diverse state and generally rolling with a single-issue message does not work,” he said. Michigan passed Proposal 3 in the midterm elections, which added an amendment to the Michigan Constitution allowing abortion throughout pregnancy if necessary to protect a woman’s “life or physical or mental health.” Lake said Michigan Democrats should use the abortion issue to win over young women, who she presented as crucial for a Harris win in the Great Lakes State. She said that young women turned out in record numbers in Kansas after the June 2022 Supreme Court Dobbs decision. “Young women have been very motivated by abortion,” Lake said. Still, she said, “we have got to work” to get young women to the polls, particularly “low-propensity” women who are eligible to vote, but who have a history of infrequently doing so. According to Lake, it’s likely that there will be a “Trump surge” among young men who were registered to vote, but chose not to do so in the 2020 election. She said young women and blacks have the potential of creating a “Harris surge.” Lake said that Democrats must have clear, direct messaging on abortion to help “mobilize” voters to go to the polls in November. “People have just taken extreme, extreme positions,” Lake said, “and the clarity of this issue really helps to mobilize Democrats and young women.” The post ‘Winning Issue’?: Michigan Dems Hope Abortion Will Help Harris Thwart Trump in Swing State appeared first on The Daily Signal.

If you're tired of censorship and dystopian threats against civil liberties, subscribe to Reclaim The Net. Elon Musk acquiring Twitter, now X, and doing that amid the unprecedented censorship carried out on all major US social networks – and carried out uniformly and successfully up until that point – seems to have really ruffled some feathers, and continues to do so to this day. More insight into how events were unfolding has been provided by investigative journalists Paul D. Thacker and Matt Taibbi, earlier this week. At the center of this is – the Center for Countering Digital Hate (CCDH), a UK-based group that at this point has a long record of accusations it worked to put out in order to stifle free speech on platforms, including in the US, a notable one being the fabrication about “The Disinformation Dozen.” The documents Thacker and Taibbi worked with now came from CCDH whistleblowers, insiders who had access to and provided minutes from the group’s meetings, from the beginning of 2024 until early October. The Children’s Health Defense (CHD), a Robert F. Kennedy Jr.-affiliated US non-profit, spoke with Thacker, to learn that information from CCDH insiders revealed the group was planning to launch “black ops”-style efforts against not only Kennedy, but also X (“Kill Musk’s Twitter”), and beyond, to other platforms, like Substack, where the deplatforming targets would have been Covid vaccine skeptics Dr. Joseph Mercola and Alex Berenson. “Black ops” is a pretty heavy term to use – it involves secret campaigns that the government, military, and similar, launch to then deny any involvement. But, the term shows up in CCDH’s own minutes, this one from early January mentioning Robert Kennedy Jr. to state, “RFK — black ops being set up to look at RFK. Nervousness about the impact of him on the election. We (CCDH) may be asked to comment, particularly from antivaxx.” Not for nothing, Kennedy was one of the “Disinformation Dozen” in the past maligned by the CCDH. This information, described as a leak, sheds light on many other issues, such as the CCDH working to get the US to pass censorship laws modeled on the EU’s infamous Digital Services Act and the UK’s Online Safety Act. But as almost ever – context might be the most valuable piece of the puzzle here. CHD reports, citing Thacker: “CCDH’s founder is British political operative Morgan McSweeney, chief of staff to UK Prime Minister Keir Starmer and advisor to Kamala Harris’ presidential campaign. CCDH also maintains ties to key Democrats, including Senator Amy Klobuchar.” “Black ops” goes well with “dark money” – and that was pretty much Kennedy’s claim as he testified before Congress in 2023. “CCDH, while not disclosing donors, raised $1.47 million in donations in 2021 with $1.1 million of those funds traced back to CCDH board member Aleen Keshishian, a prominent Hollywood agent,” the report quoted him as saying at the time. If you're tired of censorship and dystopian threats against civil liberties, subscribe to Reclaim The Net. The post “Black Ops” – How a US-UK Censorship Group Targeted RFK Jr. To Stifle Dissent appeared first on Reclaim The Net.

Harris Has Nothing Left But Hoaxes

Too Fun to Check: Bezos Vetoing WaPo Endorsement in Presidential Race