The Lost Wine Varietals Of Atlantis

Only tasting notes remain of the legendary wines of lost Atlantis, sunk beneath the restless waves. Atlantean wines were almost always blends, as the varietals in their pure form often carried alarming consequences.

Varietals of the Mnemosyne Valley

The Mnemosyne River Valley in southeast Atlantis is unique in that its north bank is always bathed in the rosy light of dawn while the south bank is in a perpetual star-strewn twilight. Where these microclimates meet and overlap, vintners grow varietals with potent cognitive and emotional qualities, prized as blending grapes to evoke richly complex tasting experiences.

Petit Mort

Musky, peppery aroma, punctuated with floral top notes. Mouth-drying tannins. Sharp on the attack, with alternating waves of languor and ratcheting tension in the midpalate, building to a crescendo and climactic finish that lasts longer with age. Can be cellared for decades, but don’t wait too long — drink lots while young.

Pinot Bleu

Blending grape used to invoke nostalgia around its consumption, proportional to its ratio in the blend. Finish can be sudden and brief, long lasting, or periodically recurring, triggered by a scent or a snatch of melody caught amidst the clamor. Potency increases with age. Bitterly toxic if unblended.

Zelig Blanc

Versatile white, expresses terroir of wherever it’s consumed, under whatever circumstances. No two sips taste exactly alike (as the imbiber is subtly changed by the preceding slip), nor will any two consumers agree on the qualia. Explodes in contact with Pinot Bleu.

Varietals of Ambrosia Mountain

Ambrosia Mountain in northern Atlantis boasts grapes used in the most primordial and mythic of Atlantean wines. The dizzying heights, unforgiving stony soil, and unfiltered light of the sun produces grapes that form the seeds of legends.

Cabernet Achilles

Muscular, aggressively tannic red. Does not pair with food, obliterates any other sensory impressions. Vain and self-centered yet inspiring of admiration and allegiance. Men want to be it; women want to be with it. Laughs at own jokes, bullies white, sparkling, and dessert wines. Respects whisky.


The most versatile of food wine. Alters body, acidity, residual sugar, alcohol, and flavor profile to complement last bite consumed. Colorless, flavorless, and weightless when sipped alone. Speculated to actually be an oenological Platonic Form, to which all other wine is but a shadow on the cave wall.

Cognet Seipsum

Commonly known as the Fruit of Knowledge, often used with a second fermentation. Forbidden top notes. Complex, balanced, shame-inducing mid-palate, with a long, bitter finish that lingers unto the seventh generation.

Vin Immortus

Massive, deeply colored red with unbreakable tannic structure. Flavors of dark fruit preserves and the dust of eons. Unending finish. May be cellared for millennia or more. Heals wounds, cures illness, reduces urgency. Unblended, confers immortality.

Varietals of the Underworld

The Bleed in southwest Atlantis, where the realms of the dead intersect with those of the living, contains microclimates not to be found on any single plane of existence. Master winemakers use the grapes grown here in small quantities to add a soupçon of suffering, horror, or oblivion, to craft wines of unmatched complexity and nuance.

Cabernet Sothoth

Colors range from cthonic to tenebrous, with a cyclopean, non-Euclidean tannic structure. Mouthfeel is generally loathsome on the attack, with a nameless midpalate and a foreboding, blasphemous finish that resonates beyond the stars. A favorite in the court of the King In Yellow.

Oubliet Noir

Vines grow like noxious weeds along the banks of the Styx. Unctuous, with constrained minerality and a slow, languorous midpalate that drains away both hope and regret. Top notes of pomegranate. A finish that echoes through the Void and recalls… something… it’s gone now. Maybe it didn’t matter.

Petit Enfer

PAIN. Waves and waves of unending pain, eclipsing all other sensation but the top notes of citrus and jasmine.



Second Chance

When Lucifer was invited back to Heaven to petition for readmission, he laughed — even as he chose his best suit and tie. Unfurling his long-unused wings and ascending, he mused that he was but a minion when he Fell. Now he was a ruler. What could Heaven offer him? But as he walked the shining white promenades, inhaling the incense fanned by Seraphim’s wings and basking in the ambient Grace, he was struck by how the mind kindly forgets the glories it deems forever lost. Sitting in the waiting room, sipping complimentary Ambrosia, Lucifer couldn’t stop stealing glances at the office door. His palms began to sweat.

A cherub opened the door with precise punctuality and ushered him inside. He introduced himself, inquired if Lucifer needed anything before they began, and then asked some casual “warm-up” questions. The script was unchanged since Lucifer’s time on the other side of that table. After the pleasantries came the only question that mattered in Heaven.

“Do you repent of your sins and come to the Lord asking forgiveness?”

Lucifer had no false modesty about his oratorical prowess. He had prepared an ode of contrition that could inspire men to form new religions of redemption, and make the Archangels themselves blubber with teary compassion. It almost seemed a waste to debut it to this fluttering baby whose name he had already forgotten. His eyes downcast, a penitent smile on his lips, he gave his answer.

“No, and no.”

Lucifer blinked. Words spun of gold got lost somewhere between his mind and his tongue, and raw truth — unbidden, undecorated and irretrievable — came out instead. This place! All his subtle talents, developed and honed in the long years since the Fall, counted for nothing in Heaven. The final bit of artifice, his own illusions, flaked away like charred skin. The cherub’s big eyes, the color of a clear noon-day sky, held bottomless pity.

“Thank you for your time.”

Lucifer stared at the objects in the tiny interview room, from the tasteful furniture and neat stacks of writing parchment to the way the color of the walls gently diffused light. The smallest things in Heaven were truly lovely. But they would never value him here. He could spend an eternity trying, with the same result. Even Heaven wasn’t worth that. “Thank you for your indulgence, little brother.”

Outside, he could feel Heaven rejecting him, its spaces folding away like a delicate sea creature recoiling its fronds. He expected the sudden wave of vertigo — he had felt it first when being cast from the only home he knew. A second time he Fell, his body gaining speed, his feathers bursting into flame, searing, curling black. He felt no pain at all this time.

This time he was falling home.