‘She Is Magic, She Is Myst’ by Avery Other

Every Other Day

From Pulp Literature Issue 50, find the winner of the 2025 Raven Short Story Contest, ‘She Is Magic, She Is Myst’ by Avery Other. Read an excerpt of this story below, then find the rest in Issue 50, Spring 2026!

She Is Magic, She Is Myst

by Avery Other

She sheds prosperity like old scales — thin, sparkling little things. Fragile. Precious. These tiny, translucent, magical mirrors dance with golden sunlight as they drift down from her lofty perch and dissipate into motes of dust. Magic, mingling with mundane. Magic, making everything better. Magic, spreading from her core to infuse the very air. All of the plants, animals, and people of the valley who breathe her in will continue to thrive. This is a guardian spirit’s gift. It’s her purpose. She is Myst, and she loves her job.

What’s not to love? Myst spends every day basking in rays of sunshine that trickle through the high window. She passes each evening bathed in moonlight entering through that same egress. She soaks it all in, painting abundant light with the charms of her heart before sending it out again to share with the valley around her. No, that’s not right … with the … valley below her. She’s above it all, now. That’s what Keeper says.

For safety.

For her own good.

Myst has lived in Keeper’s tallest tower for some time, casting her magic from the secure, wire-framed workstation in the centre of the room. She’s been here for years — decades, perhaps. It’s not how things were meant to be, but it makes no difference to her work. Sometimes, she forgets where she is. It’s nothing to worry about. She’s just focused on what she’s doing, naturally. It’s hard work, making everything shine. Staying here is … necessary. Regrettable, but necessary. Myst would prefer to witness the results of her labour. But it’s safer in the tower, away from the dangers of the valley, far from those wicked few who would — wait, never mind that. Myst shoos away negative thoughts of violence and iron. She shouldn’t dwell on such distractions. She goes on toiling in secure comfort and, once again, reminds herself what matters most.

She is magic. She is Myst.

Today is no different than every other day, except for the old crow alighting in the window. He’s something novel. He’s watching her with clever eyes, staring right at Myst and her gilded workstation. She wonders what he sees. It’s different for everyone, after all. Is she an ivory mare with a single sharp, shining horn? A glowing sprite with butterfly flight? A bat-winged, emerald fire-serpent? What is the mysterious, mystical Myst to a crow? She’s about to ask him, when —

“I know what you are,” he caws. “Guardian spirit! You’re magic. You are Myst.”

“Indeed I am,” she confirms, giving a little bow.

Read the rest of this story in Pulp Literature Issue 50, Spring 2026!

Avery Other is a human person who likes telling stories. She lives in Lincoln, Nebraska, where she works full-time as an unreliable narrator. She is definitely not a sentient plastic lawn flamingo with delusions of grandeur. Her favourite colour is pink. Connect with Avery at averyother.com or on Bluesky @averyother.bsky.social.