I present to you "The Bee Wife"
Mar. 31st, 2025 06:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
asakiyumeToday “The Bee Wife” is available! You can get it from all the usual suspects (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Apple, etc.) for 99 cents, or if you’d prefer to get it directly from me, drop me a message here or by email.
It’s the story of Florian, a beekeeper whose wife (Joy) has just died, and the swarm of bees that attempts to comfort him. Here’s what they do (this is what I read at the Mythic Delirium 25-plus-one-year anniversary reading):
“Death is a law that cannot be broken,” [the dying queen bee] said, “but we bees do have our magic, and we can use it to ease our Florian’s sorrow. We know Joy. We know the scents of all the many corners of her body; we know the rhythm of her footsteps and her breathing. We know the sound of her singing. One of you, my princess daughters, must reign here when I die, but the other must summon worker-sisters and swarm. And you must call on your aunties who rule in hives throughout the forest to contribute worker-sisters to the swarm. It will take many, many of them, but together you can form a new Joy, just like the old one, to comfort Florian.”
The princesses did as their mother instructed: Hestia stayed in the hive and became Queen Hestia, and Zefira flew out, a train of worker-sisters with her, and called on her royal aunties to help with the brave endeavor.
They formed a thick, dark cloud beside the sleeping Florian, a cloud that grew thicker and darker as more and more worker-sisters joined it. When the numbers were sufficient, the swarm narrowed and lengthened, becoming a whirling, buzzing column, then forked downward from the middle, forming legs. It sent tributaries off from each side near the top, creating arms. It narrowed here and here to make a neck and waist and broadened there to create hips, shifting and adjusting until it held the shape of a woman. Then, from the heart of the swarm, Zefira spoke words of bee magic—words of sweet metamorphosis—and the transformation was complete. A new Joy, naked as a rain-washed pebble, knelt beside Florian and woke him with a kiss.
He jumped back, knees up by his chest, arms braced behind him. “Who—What—How?” He stared dumbfounded into her beloved face—which seemed to ripple ever so slightly, as if she were looking at him from beneath still water over which a breeze passed.
“It’s by the grace of the bees that I’m with you now,” she said, smiling, and as she leaned toward him, he caught the scent of rose water—her favorite. He cast a wild glance at the fresh soil of the grave, so smooth and undisturbed, then looked into her eyes again.
“It’s not a resurrection of the body; I am a new cre—” But Florian interrupted her with a kiss on the lips and an embrace. He stood up and pulled her to her feet too, then slipped off the formal jacket he had worn at her funeral and wrapped it round her shoulders.
“Let’s go home,” he said. “The children are waiting.”
It’s the story of Florian, a beekeeper whose wife (Joy) has just died, and the swarm of bees that attempts to comfort him. Here’s what they do (this is what I read at the Mythic Delirium 25-plus-one-year anniversary reading):
“Death is a law that cannot be broken,” [the dying queen bee] said, “but we bees do have our magic, and we can use it to ease our Florian’s sorrow. We know Joy. We know the scents of all the many corners of her body; we know the rhythm of her footsteps and her breathing. We know the sound of her singing. One of you, my princess daughters, must reign here when I die, but the other must summon worker-sisters and swarm. And you must call on your aunties who rule in hives throughout the forest to contribute worker-sisters to the swarm. It will take many, many of them, but together you can form a new Joy, just like the old one, to comfort Florian.”
The princesses did as their mother instructed: Hestia stayed in the hive and became Queen Hestia, and Zefira flew out, a train of worker-sisters with her, and called on her royal aunties to help with the brave endeavor.
They formed a thick, dark cloud beside the sleeping Florian, a cloud that grew thicker and darker as more and more worker-sisters joined it. When the numbers were sufficient, the swarm narrowed and lengthened, becoming a whirling, buzzing column, then forked downward from the middle, forming legs. It sent tributaries off from each side near the top, creating arms. It narrowed here and here to make a neck and waist and broadened there to create hips, shifting and adjusting until it held the shape of a woman. Then, from the heart of the swarm, Zefira spoke words of bee magic—words of sweet metamorphosis—and the transformation was complete. A new Joy, naked as a rain-washed pebble, knelt beside Florian and woke him with a kiss.
He jumped back, knees up by his chest, arms braced behind him. “Who—What—How?” He stared dumbfounded into her beloved face—which seemed to ripple ever so slightly, as if she were looking at him from beneath still water over which a breeze passed.
“It’s by the grace of the bees that I’m with you now,” she said, smiling, and as she leaned toward him, he caught the scent of rose water—her favorite. He cast a wild glance at the fresh soil of the grave, so smooth and undisturbed, then looked into her eyes again.
“It’s not a resurrection of the body; I am a new cre—” But Florian interrupted her with a kiss on the lips and an embrace. He stood up and pulled her to her feet too, then slipped off the formal jacket he had worn at her funeral and wrapped it round her shoulders.
“Let’s go home,” he said. “The children are waiting.”
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Date: 2025-03-31 02:21 pm (UTC)*
Date: 2025-03-31 02:55 pm (UTC)ooooh eeeee
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Date: 2025-04-01 06:23 am (UTC)Am buying it, in love with the cover and the title!
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Date: 2025-04-06 04:50 am (UTC)(I just read it and it's lovely. Beautiful work!)
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Date: 2025-04-06 01:07 pm (UTC)As I know you know, having people read and understand--and then actually like!--the thing you write... that's just the best. I really appreciate your letting me know 🥰🐝