Set in a war-torn fantasy world. Kell gets arrested after trying to protect his twin sister. He finds himself in a theatre where he is forced to sing and entertain his enemies. Now Kell desperately tries to make the right choices to keep his people safe and himself alive.
General Warnings*: Captivity, burns, emotional whump, forced to perform, hand whump, lady whump, manhandling, minor character death, minor whump, sibling whump, slavery, torture, violence
Prologue: Sound of Falling (Ariadne)
Book 1: The General
Maybe I'm stronger Than I realize
Ink and Blood
“He won’t make it”
Being brave is just another word for being afraid
New Day Raises but the Sorrow Remains
Book 2: The Theatre
Words as a Weapon
Mercy never comes for free
Please don’t let go
“Don’t trust anyone”
Start using your brain
The stage is set
This is my fault
There can only be one of us
Those who share our broken hearts
What if I fail?
Lullaby
A Game of Trust
Trapped in different hells
People disappear all the time
Torture Theatre
Invincible like I've never been
An Ocean of Tears will spill for what is broken
Sooner or later the Fire dies down
Some people heal faster than others
Set up to fail
I don’t like the Dark
Not good enough
“Trust me, you don’t wanna do that”
There is still time
“When did you get so brave?”
The Beginning of the End
Tiny Little Miracles
Begging won’t help you
Blackbird
The tide is brave but always retreats
Hold your Breath
Regret
Promises are Weapons
The Weight of Decisions
Where the Softest Things are Stones and Darkness
Last Goodbye
It is Over
Alone Again
Hope is a Dangerous Thing
The Song of a Sparrow
Favours
Not your Fault
“Do you remember me?”
Last Chance to Fly
“One of us has to make it out alive”
Book 3: Recovery
Memory of Future Dreams
Dead End
Trapped
Juno
Bonus Chapters: Jinn
The Darkness is so loud
Rain, like tears, falls upon my hands
Miscellaneous:
Map
Kell’s playlist (made by @siren-of-agony)
Incorrect quotes
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*Every chapter gets its own Content Warnings. But these are general and major warnings for the whole story. Please feel free to text me if I am missing something or if you have any questions regarding plot, warnings or anything else!
CW: injured character, references to past trauma, briefly talking about drugging
Juno was still kneading the blanket and the monotone sound lulled Kell into a hazy state between sleep and consciousness. He’d do anything to fall asleep again, but the pain in his chest, in his arm, in his bones was slowly flaming up again. It was hard to think. His thoughts were so slippery he could barely grab hold of them.
He closed his eyes. His head was throbbing and it was almost impossible to resist the quiet panic flowing through him but he couldn’t give in, couldn’t give in, couldn’t …
“How is he doing?”
It was only a whisper but still it felt like fire in Kell’s ears. He opened his eyes at the same time as Saron answered.
“He’s awake,” she said.
A figure was standing in the opening of the door. For a moment he looked like the General but then Kell blinked and the General was gone. Instead there was someone else. Someone he’d seen before. Tall figure, serious eyes and short hair. The Varsennan was leaning against the doorframe, seizing him up.
“How are you feeling?” he asked softly. Kell could hear how he deliberately gentled his voice. Ice pickled in his stomach. Was he here to collect Kell? Would he take him to the General? His insides froze. Saron had lied to him. Of course she had. How had he believed her for even a second?
“You remember Julian?” Saron asked and interrupted him from his spiralling thoughts. “He took care of your injuries the last few days.”
The Varsennan - Julian - nodded. “I’m here to examine the wounds to make sure they’re healing properly.”
They both seemed to expect an answer from Kell but he was too tired to play their games. Maybe if he closed his eyes again they’d leave him alone and …
“You’re shivering, Kell,” Saron said quietly and pulled him from his thoughts.
He hadn’t even realised how cold it had become. The pain throbbing through his body was getting sharper with every breath.
“It’s cold …,” Kell said matter-of-factly. The fire had long burned down and the room was like ice.
Saron and Julian exchanged gazes, then Saron stood up maybe a little too sudden. “I’ll get you some tea and a hot bottle. Or two,” she said and then turned her face to Julian. “And you should get a look at him.”
Kell felt ill again. He didn’t even want to think about it. A part of him wanted to beg her to stay but she squeezed past Julian and was through the door, before he could even say something.
He felt Julian’s eyes on him but he didn’t dare to look up.
“I’ll come over to you, all right?” Julian said. He waited a few seconds before he shifted his weight and slowly moved towards Kell. When he was close enough he placed a satchel on the table and sat down, propping his elbows on his knees as if he wanted to appear smaller than he was. Which was impossible with his height.
Kell swallowed.
Hands pinned him down, fingers piercing into his skin. He struggled against the grip but they were so much stronger. Faces swam above him, hard eyes, cruel smiles. He yelled at them but no one listened. Something blinked metallically in the light as it was lowered to his hand. His face was wet and he screamed and then his world narrowed down to pain.
“I know you don’t trust me. You don’t even know me,” Julian said without moving. His voice snapped Kell from his thoughts but there was still a bitter taste on his tongue that reminded him too much of the medics in the General’s camp. “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“As if you’d let me refuse,” Kell said. The words were out before he could even think about it. He swallowed hard against the anger and fear clawing at his throat. “We both know the General won’t pay for a dead body.” His voice was too quiet to deliver the heat of the words.
Julian suddenly looked very tired. “The General isn’t here. And he won’t ever get near. This is my house and he’s not welcome here.”
As if anyone could tell the General no.
“He’ll search for me. He’ll …”
“He thinks you’re dead, Kell.”
Kell’s gaze shot up.
“Everyone thinks you’re dead now,” Julian said quietly.
He didn’t understand.
Julian sighed and Kell flinched again. “You were hurt very badly. I didn’t think we …” He broke off and shook his head. “It wasn’t hard to fake your death. Neither Oryn nor the General questioned it when they saw you.”
Kell heard the words but struggled with their meaning.
“As soon as you were stable enough we brought you here to Serenport.”
He must have seen the confusion in Kell’s eyes. “It’s a city in the south.”
It must be a very small city. Kell had never heard from it before.
“Oryn will never believe that,” he said. Oryn knew what Kell could do, even though Kell didn’t really know himself. He would know he survived … but would he? Even someone with healing powers could die, right? He thought about all the stories and legends and myths he’d heard throughout his life. Not a single person in them had been truly invincible.
“How about that: We’ll talk about it when you’re feeling a little better.” Julian said. His voice was softer again. “But first we have to take care of you.”
Kell managed a small nod. He knew when he’d lost a fight.
“How is your throat?” Julian asked while unpacking his satchel. Kell forced himself to look away, forced an indifferent expression on his face. “Do you have problems breathing?”
Kell shook his head faintly.
“Swallowing?”
Again, Kell shook his head.
“But your throat still hurts, hm?” Kell could feel his sharp eyes on his skin even though he made no move to touch him.
“I'll give you something for the pain.”
Kell opened his mouth but Julian interrupted him. “I can hear how shallow you’re breathing. You are in pain.”
“I’ve been through worse,” Kell said. “I don’t need your drugs.”
Julian didn’t answer right away but Kell heard the clinking of a spoon against glass. The room filled with a herbal scent oddly familiar to Kell.
“Have you ever had a fever as a child?” Julian asked, his voice remained soft. He lifted the glass. The liquid almost shimmered golden against the light. “Your parents probably gave you the exact same thing. It’s a brew made from willow bark and yellow summer root. It helps with infections, fever and pain. It’s not very strong and doesn’t affect your cognitive abilities.”
Kell remembered when Sabea had been sick once again. He’d been holding her hand, watching his mother pouring some medicine down her throat.
Kell swallowed. It’s a trick, Kell’s mind screamed. Panic twisted in his stomach. He didn't dare to move.
“Do you want to wait for Saron before you take it?” Julian asked.
The question was so unexpected Kell didn’t know what to answer. “We can do that?”
“Of course,” Julian said and there was something in his voice Kell couldn’t place. “There is no need to hurry.”
“Just rest a little until she’s back.” Julian turned away and started to pet Juno. She purred loudly and pushed her head in Julian’s hand. “And you’re watching over Kell, aren’t you?”
He delicately ruffled her fur with only the tips of his fingers even though his hand was big enough to easily cover Juno’s whole head.
“Are you okay with her lying on your feet?” Julian asked, turning his head back to Kell.
Kell managed a nod and for a while Juno’s purring was the only noise filling the room.
“I had a cat once too,” Kell said quietly.
Julian chuckled. “What was her name?”
“Raven.”
“Let me guess. She’s black?” Julian smiled mildly.
Kell wasn’t sure if he was making fun of him or not. He was still thinking about it, when footfalls came closer and they both turned their heads to the doorway.
“How is it going?” Saron asked as she walked in the room.
The room almost immediately filled with the minty scent of tea.
“We didn’t get that far.”
“What? What did you do while I was gone? Sharing childhood memories?”
Julian grimaced but didn’t answer.
“Don’t worry,” she said before she pushed something warm under Kell’s feet. “You’ll be feeling warm again in no time.”
She put another hot bottle behind his back.
“Better?” Saron asked from somewhere above him.
“Thank you,” Kell said quietly.
Julian wordlessly held out the glass in Kell’s hand and this time Kell closed his eyes and gulped it down so quickly he almost didn’t taste it.
Saron sat down next to him and gave him a tiny smile. “Don’t worry,” she said, her fingers lightly touching the back of his hand. “Julian is very careful. He’s one of the best medics out there.”
Kell nodded again. By now it was a reflex he could barely repress.
“He’s going to tell you what he’s about to do and you can tell us if you want to stop or take a break any time.” Saron’s voice was like her touch - light and careful. “You can hold my hand if you want to and squeeze it.” She offered her hand and Kell glanced down at it for a little too long. Part of him wanted to tell her that he wasn’t a child anymore. He didn’t need to hold her hand. But taking her hand - it was kind of giving him something he could control. Finally, he put his hand into hers and she pressed it gently for a moment.
“I’ll take off the bandages now,” Julian said.
Kell swallowed. He couldn’t look at Julian when he finally nodded. Somehow, it was worse to surrender himself into his care than them not asking.
His heart raced as Julian came closer and kneeled next to him on the floor.
Kell stayed stiff and still as Julian peeled away the bandage covering Kell’s chest. When it finally came off, Julian took a surprised inhale. Kell turned his gaze. He expected blood or worse but when he looked down at himself there was nothing like that. Something dark was sticking out of his skin. Slowly Kell lifted his hand but Julian put his arm in between.
“Better not touch it,” he said softly. “You’ve healed very well but we don’t want to try our luck.”
Kell lowered his hand but couldn’t stop staring at his chest. It didn’t look like it belonged to him. It took him a while to understand that his wound had been sutured.
Kell watched as Julian carefully probed around it.
“I think we can already pull the threads,” he said. His eyes flickered up to Kell’s for a moment, then back to his exposed middle.
Kell braced himself against the pain.
“Don’t worry. You’ll barely feel it,” Saron said, her hand pressing his.
He wanted to tell her that he knew she was lying; that he knew how much it hurted. Instead he just held his breath as Julian cut the threads and pulled them out.
But Saron had been right. It didn’t hurt.
Julian flashed him a reassuring smile. “How are you doing? Do you need a break?”
Kell shook his head. He just wanted him to get it over with.
Julian grabbed a jar filled with some kind of salve. “It will help you heal,” said Julian quietly and smeared it carefully over the wound. Kell’s skin prickled but it didn’t hurt.
When Julian uncovered the second wound the bandage stuck to his skin. Blackish blood crusted around the stitches.
“Don’t worry. That’s normal,” Julian said as he noticed Kell’s gaze. “We just have to clean it.” He paused, preparing his materials. “It’s going to burn a little, all right?”
Kell nodded. He watched closely as Julian poured something over the stitches. The room was filled with a sharp smell and a moment later It was cold and stung. He gritted his teeth until the burning sensation faded away. Julian had already clipped the stitches and was rubbing the salve on his skin with careful even movements.
The pain slowly subdued until his skin felt almost numb. Kell’s muscles slowly relaxed and a wave of exhaustion swept over him.
Julian’s voice floated over him but he didn’t understand the words. A hand on his shoulder steadied him and Julian began to bandage the wounds.
Kell was dizzy and exhausted when they were finally done.
A cup was placed in his hands.
He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was.
Yellow flowers on white porcelain. His hands were trembling but still he managed to drink without spilling.
Somehow, most of the pain had faded away and Kell wasn’t sure if it had been the medicine or the salve or the tea or the combination of it all. He finally started to feel warm again and slowly his tiredness grew.
“Are you finished?” Saron asked.
“Almost,” Julian said, the cup looked small in his hand. “You’ve healed astonishingly well.” His eyes were still resting on Kell. He knew it. He knew Kell had healing magic. Of course he did. He was a medic. He knew how long injuries took to heal. Kell had probably healed faster than any other patient he’d ever had.
“I just want to take a look at your hand. Then we’re done.”
Kell followed Julian’s gaze down to his left hand. It throbbed hotly under the bandage and Kell tried not to think about what was under it. Or what was not under it.
He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.
Julian placed his cup back on the table and rubbed his hands in a pungent-smelling liquid before he turned back to Kell.
Kell swallowed again before he placed his wrist in Julian’s waiting hand.
Slowly Julian removed the bandage.
Before he peeled off the last layer he paused. His eyes met Kells. “You don’t have to look at it. Some injuries look worse when they get better. I often see that with amputations. Maybe you want to look somewhere else instead.”
Kell swallowed. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice almost too faint.
He’d been sure to know what to expect. After all, he’d seen it before. Still, he hadn’t expected it to look like this.
For a moment he was back in the theatre; heard Oryn’s voice. Then the knife and a moment later pain.
“Breathe,” a voice said over the rush of his own heartbeat.
He was shaking. He took a breath and it sounded like a sob.
“It’s okay,” Julian said. “You’re safe. Just take a deep breath …” His voice had a steady rhythm …
“It’s okay, Kell,” another voice chimed in. It was Saron. “Breathe.”
A hand touched his shoulder and Kell flinched away. He turned his head and pressed his face against the pillow. It took a long moment until he could breathe again.
A hand moved over his arm in a soothing way. “You’re okay,” Saron said.
But he wasn’t.
He felt like choking. Tears streamed down his face.
Saron rubbed his arm and made soothing noises but it took a while until he could talk again.
“Just get it over with. Please.” He was too exhausted to sit up again. “Please.”
Julian’s hands were careful and quick.
Finally, his hand was gently placed on the blanket.
Saron stroked his hair out of his face. “It’s all done.”
Kell didn’t react. His eyes were too heavy to open. He was hot and cold at the same time. Sweat lingering on his skin.
A cool hand rested on his cheek for a moment. A mixture of a sigh and a whimper escaped his throat but he was too tired to even feel embarrassed about it.
“It’s okay. You’re with us now. You’re safe.”
Kell didn’t even know what safe was supposed to feel like. Desperation clawed at his heart. “Then what is going to happen to me?” He hadn’t meant to speak out loud.
Fingers wrapped around his hand. “You’ll stay with us until you’re well again. Then we’ll figure this out together. Maybe there is family you want to go to or a friend. The important thing right now is that you’re safe.”
Family you want to go to … His mind suddenly itched with an important memory and Kell opened his eyes. “My sister …,” he said. “I- … I had a note with me when I …” Kell’s good hand moved in a useless attempt to search for it. “Where … Have you seen it?”
He hadn’t put it back into his pocket.
It had been right there on the floor when Robin …
It had to be here. It had to. He’d worked so hard to get it. It couldn’t be lost.
“It’s a small piece of paper … have you seen it?”
Julian shook his head. “No … I am sorry. We haven’t seen anything like that.”
It was like losing all his strength at once. He’d worked so hard to find Sabea and it had all been in vain. It had been his only chance to find her. It was like being pierced by a dagger all over again. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. But he didn’t even have enough strength for that.
Something bursted in his chest and it felt like falling apart.
“No,” he whispered. “Where’s my … I had other clothes when … it has to be there. I had it when … I know it has to … She’s my sister.”
He closed his eyes, hiding the tears pooling there and so he didn’t notice the glances Saron and Julian exchanged.
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Thank you for reading! @whumpzone @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @whump-cravings @tears-and-lilies @imagination1reality0 @suspicious-whumping-egg @i-can-even-burn-salad @siren-of-agony @villainsvictim @rainbowsandwhumperflies (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!)
Returning to the scene of the crime is playing with fire. Fortunately, Laurent is a fire mage.
WIP Intro — Image description below the cut
[ID: A moodboard with 9 images in 3 rows. 1) Several glass jars filled with differently colored, small candies on a wooden shelf. 2) A closeup of someone walking over glass shards. 3) Ice crystals illuminated from behind with an orange glow.
4) Closeup of a person in a red dress kneading dough. 5) Closeup of a man and a woman in formal clothing dancing. He wears a red suit, she a white dress. She has her hand on his shoulder and looks down. They're both smiling. 6) Someone holding two candy canes to form a heart in front of a blurry sparkly background.
7) Closeup of blazing flames. 8) A bloody hand pressed against a window, leaving a bloody handprint. 9) An open book with handwritten pages on a dark wooden desk. End ID]
[ID: The title of the story, Sweet Little Lies, written in a pink to yellow gradient over a picture of various glass jars filled with assorted, colorful candies. All other images in this post are decorative dividers showing a row of round, white, flat candies with a pink heart in the middle. End ID]
“I don’t want to keep you from working. Which is what I assume you were doing before I came in, not that it’s any of my business what you’re doing back there.” He nodded in the direction of the backroom, aware that he was talking too much. Again. “If you’re worried about leaving me alone up front, I can stand in the doorway and keep in your line of sight.”
“My line of sight, huh.” A moment of silence settled between them in which the woman inclined her head. “I wouldn’t mind some company,” she then said. “Name’s Aurelia, by the way.”
“Laurent,” Laurent said before he remembered that he should not have given her his real name. Whatever. He was only here to buy some candy, right? “Pleased to meet you.”
📖 Synopsis
Aurelia’s days are filled with work. A charming stranger with a voice like soft caramel is a welcome distraction, even though she has more to worry about than the question of whether his lips are as sweet as his words. Someone is trying to put her out of business, and their methods keep escalating.
Laurent is scouting a target for his best friend’s heist when he dives into a candy store to avoid being spotted by the guards. What starts as an attempt to kill some time ends with his heart lost to the store owner’s warm smile. He wants to see her again but returning to the scene of the crime is playing with fire.
Fortunately, Laurent is a fire mage.
📖 About
Genre: Fantasy romance
POV: Third person past tense, split POV
Word Count: 37k
Status: First draft done
Content Warnings: Genre-typical violence, off-screen deaths. That's it. That's the warnings.
Vibes: dark wooden shelves filled with glass jars / the smell of warm sugar / a bloody handprint on the window / blueberry muffins and lavender tea / stolen touches between fire and ice / a rainbow of candies / dancing slowly at a grand ball
Other Things:
Moodboard | Character Art by @bumblingdragon
📖 Cast
Aurelia
“I don’t believe a single word you say, Mister Beaufort.”
As a candy-smith, Aurelia is a master of her craft, and her store a paradise filled everything from fruit drops to rainbow lollipops. She doesn't need much to be happy: good friends, a nice cup of tea, and a stranger who promises to get rid of the man trying to destroy her life.
Laurent
“Am I too late to witness the miracle of rainbow candy making?”
Accountant by day and fence by night, Laurent is used to lying, and his charm has saved him more often than his magic has. He doesn’t like candy, but he will try every single flavor in this store if it means he gets to spend more time with the owner who stole his heart.
📖 Tags
I haven't posted much about this yet, but the few tags that exist are:
#wip: lies
#Laurent is a guy to count on
#Aurelia is a sweetheart
Currently aiming for a mid-May release, which would give me two months for editing and formatting. Fingers crossed.
I would take my time with you. I would break you slowly, deliberately, painfully. Your sleeping patterns, your eating habits, your behaviors and mind, all taken note of and messed with, slowly, until you start losing it.
I have no explanation for this. I don’t know what’s different from my usual daydreams, but this one has been haunting me for a few weeks, and I had to get it out. Parts of it can serve as nightmare fodder for either of them in canon.
Major spoilers for Till Death in this thing, obviously. Three parts, 2,5-3k words each. Content warning: It’s fucking cold.
Find Till Death here: Ebook | WIP Intro
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
This is basically “What if Clayton had never found Eilis?” — AU. After the end of part 1, Finnian spent summer and fall on his own, and now it’s winter, and he is running into Trouble with a capital T.
Finnian sat in a corner of the common room, cradling a cup of water while the smell of hearty stews and roasts made his mouth water and his stomach cramp. Having to pay rent for the thinnest mattress in the coldest corner of the cheapest room, he could only afford one meal every other day. Well, technically not even that, but any less, and his miserable body threatened to fail him completely. He needed it in something at least resembling a working order if he wanted to stand a chance, though by now, no one even paid him to chop firewood anymore with how long it took him.
It was barely the height of winter, and he had no idea how he was going to make it. If he was going to make it. Chances looked grimmer by the day. If he was lucky. If it started to thaw earlier than usual. If he found some scraps to eat, because at this rate, he was going to run out of money long before he was going to run out of winter.
“Week’s up. Time to pay.”
Ignoring the gleeful snickering a few tables down, Finnian raised his head to find the innkeeper looming over him. Whatever the man’s problem was, Finnian wished he had chosen another village to spend the winter. It was too late for that now; snow had long blanketed the world in white, making it far too risky to undertake the journey to a place that might as well turn out worse.
He downed his water and left the borrowed cup on the table, propping himself up with trembling hands. They always trembled these days, be it from cold, pain, or exhaustion. Leaning heavily on his cane, he hobbled into the room he shared with two other patrons—one sleezy guy who spent his days drinking at the inn, and one silent, muscular fellow who left at dawn to do gods-know-what.
Perhaps the innkeeper was disgruntled he couldn’t rent Finnian’s spot to a better patron; one who would spend more money, purchasing regular meals and indulging in alcohol and the occasional entertainment. Not that there was any shortage of clumpy mattresses filled with crushed straw and probably infested with vermin. Three were still free in this room alone.
With a sigh, Finnian sank down on his cot, wondering if it would be worth it to get up again later. Probably not. Leaning forward so he could fish blindly for his pack, a wave of dizziness came over him. He squeezed his eyes shut as he slowly dragged his backpack up to his lap. He would just sleep and hope that next day’s stew would actually contain some meat instead of bones alone.
Opening the tied strings of his backpack took way too long. Had he not been careful enough, despite knowing so well how much of a pain it was for his useless hands to detangle any knots he left behind? The innkeeper made an impatient noise, but it wasn’t like Finnian had chosen for his fucking hands to be this fucking useless.
Finally, the backpack opened. There wasn’t much left inside. A second threadbare shirt and some stockings. A glass bottle, half filled with pills he had begun to ration weeks ago. His waterskin. Empty bags and pouches, as well as his knife and the tools he needed for laying traps and gathering herbs.
And no purse.
Finnian’s heart hammered in his chest as he went through his belongings a second time, then dumped the contents of the bag on his mattress. There wasn’t enough room for even a single coin to hide, but he lifted every object twice. No purse.
“Someone stole my money,” he said, his voice flat, barely above a whisper.
The innkeeper huffed, hardly impressed.
“Can you prove that?”
“Can I…?” Finnian slammed down the empty pack. “It’s gone.”
“Can you prove that you had it in the first place? Or that you’re not hiding it somewhere, trying to weasel out of paying?”
As Finnian’s mouth gaped at the baseless accusation, someone chuckled at the far end of the room. His head shot up, his good eye focusing on the drunkard he shared his room with.
“You.” He grabbed his cane and pulled himself to his feet, hobbling across the room so fast every step sent a little pinprick of pain up his leg. “You took it.”
“Don ‘now whatcha talking ‘bout.”
Finnian pushed out his chest, trying to appear threatening—which failed pitifully, considering he was a head shorter than the other man, and probably half his weight. He took one more step forward, his hand holding the cane in a white-knuckled grip.
“Give it back,” he demanded. His voice was steady, but it was more due to his desperation than to courage. “I need—”
With a laugh, the drunkard kicked at his cane and shoved him backwards. Finnian tried to catch himself, but his mistreated leg didn’t want to hold his weight. Arms flailing, he crashed to the ground and slammed the side of his head against a bedpost with a sickening crack that echoed down his spine.
“You have one hour to pack,” the innkeeper said. “Then you’re gone.”
Both of them turned their backs on him, leaving him splayed on the ground as they joined the other patrons in the common room. The ceiling above him wavered in blurry streaks, tears threatening to spill over. His hands slid uselessly over the floor, as did his feet, but at least he could move them, despite the pain in his neck. Blood ran down his temple and into his ear, soaking his hair, but he didn’t have the strength to wipe it away.
Finnian started to shake, the realization of what had happened—of what he had lost—slowly setting in. He pushed against it, trying not to think about the cold, and the snow, and the hunger as he closed his eyes and waited for his magic to fix the damage.
It didn’t take him an hour to pack—he had nothing left to pack. But it did take him almost that long to get back to his feet, and for his head to stop spinning. He wiped at his face, only smearing blood all over it, but it was the side with his bad eye, so it didn’t matter.
With choppy motions, he shoved his belongings into the backpack, the crumpled, thin blanket last. The better one, he had sold weeks ago, figuring that he needed every single coin to make it through the winter. Coins that were gone now, leaving him with nothing: no hope, no warmth, no comfort, not even a trinket to keep the memory of her kindness alive.
Vowing not to cry while walking through the common room, Finnian gritted his teeth. He didn’t look at anyone as he left. Not at the innkeeper, who blissfully kept his fucking mouth shut for once. Not at the drunkard, who jeered after him, wishing him a nice journey. Not at any of the other patrons, none of which so much as looked up from their mugs and bowls and games of chance.
The door fell closed behind him, and the smell of old grease and stale ale was replaced with air so crisp and cold, it didn’t smell like anything at all, but burned in his airways and made his eyes water. Gods, it was freezing.
With heavy steps, he went to the well. He needed water, and that was the only thing no one in this godsforsaken village could deny him. Pulling up the bucket was a struggle. His hands, cold as they were, started to bleed as the rope slipped through his fingers, and the blood left stains on the battered leather of his waterskin.
Perhaps he should just drop over the edge. End his miserable existence and let his rotting body poison those who had shown him no scrap of sympathy. Staring into the dark abyss, he tried to imagine the fall, wondering where this way to die would sit between all the others he had dodged so far. But when he loosened his grip on the stones, it was only to raise his hand to his chest, where he knew the little bell was, even if he couldn’t feel it through the layers of clothes.
He didn’t want to die.
Perhaps she would—
No. He couldn’t. He was useless. A burden. He had hurt her enough with his unwarranted anger. And if, despite all that, she agreed to help him, he would take from her meager resources, make life harder for her. She deserved so much better.
And yet. He pressed on his chest until the bell dug into his sternum, thinking of her warm golden eyes, always so sad when she had seen his pain. If she ever learned that he had died and she might have been able to save him, she would take it hard, there was no doubt about that.
It was this thought that allowed him to actually consider it. There really was no other way. He had nothing but the clothes on his back, and she was the only person who had ever cared about him since—
Not willing to wallow on how even his own family would just let him die, Finnian jerked his backpack off the edge of the well and flung it over his shoulder. He didn’t look back as he started to walk, not at all certain whether he would even make it. The sky was overcast, an endless whitish-gray plane above, not allowing him to see the position of the sun. It must be around mid-morning. He had plenty of time, but he also had plenty of pain and exhaustion, and night arrived early these days.
Not that it mattered. He was going to die here, or he was going to die in the forest. In any case, he could only hope the cold would finish him off before the first scavengers found him. Perhaps the well wasn’t the worst option after all, but the small spark of hope in his chest—of at least seeing her once more before the end—led him out of the village and onto the path between the trees.
* * *
Eilis stirred the pot, watching the milky mass inside slowly turn creamy. The bag of semolina she had bought in fall was so big it allowed her to eat nothing else until spring and still have some left over. As it looked now, she might just end up doing that, using up the day’s milk without bothering to churn butter or press cheese.
The days were all the same. Long, and cold, and dark, and lonely. Getting up before dawn, because dawn came so late this time of year. Rekindling the fire and making her way to the shed, through freshly fallen snow, if she was unlucky. Forcing herself to eat and chop some wood, huddling in front of the fireplace for the long hours of the day, and the even longer hours of the night, before eventually falling asleep too late and for too little time.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like her routine. She had worked hard to afford a comfortable winter, and the fact that her animals needed her gave her something to hold onto, to get up and moving even on the darkest days. This quiet life in her peaceful hut was certainly the best she’d ever had. It was just that something was missing.
Someone.
Her gaze wandered to the window, even though the thin hide spanned in the opening made it impossible to see anything outside. It flapped ever so slightly, straining against the leather bands holding it in place. The wind must have picked up. It seemed like she had been right, and a storm was coming.
With her bowl in hand, she retreated in front of the fireplace, shoving bags of fibers and spun yarn aside to free enough space so she could sit down cross-legged. The porridge tasted the same as it ever did, with a spoonful of rosehip jam to sweeten it, and the fire crackled and flickered as it always did, and her gaze kept wandering back to the window as it always did.
She wondered if he was also sitting at a fireplace now, warming his aching bones and longing for winter to be over. If he had found a place to belong, a way to make a living. He must be a herbalist or healer of some kind. Those were always welcome; weren’t they?
It was the alternative she didn’t want to think about. They had never talked about his life before she had found him, but it couldn’t have been great. No one with a great life ended up beaten half to death and left to die in the forest like that. She had wanted to find a way to ask him—ask him whether he would want to stay—and it had never come to that.
Perhaps if he hadn’t scared her that much. If she hadn’t overreacted. If she had taken a few days to calm down instead of sending him away. Physically, he was no threat for her. But then, it wasn’t him she had been scared of, not really. She had been scared of all his questions stood for. Of what it meant to allow him into her life. Of turning him into a target if she was ever found.
She was better off alone. If she only told it herself often enough, her heart might one day accept it as her mind had, and the empty space he had left behind might be filled with something that wasn’t the longing to hear his voice or the chiming of the bells.
Her bowl was empty, and the wind had begun to whistle around the edges of the hut, so she sighed and got up. She had to close the shutters and make sure the animals were safe in the shed before the storm hit, instead of wallowing in what could have been.
With a woolen shawl pulled close around her shoulders, she stepped outside. The wind pulled strands out of her braid, whipping them into her face, while the snowflakes turned into little spikes of cold, prickling on her skin. It was no weather to be outside. Still, her gaze wandered to the edge of the forest, barely visible behind the flurry of snow. Nothing moved. Every creature would long have found shelter, and she should do the same.
As if agreeing with her, the wind pushed her against the wall as she struggled to make her way to the shed. She grabbed her shawl tighter to keep it from flying away, each breath ripped from her lips before she could even see it fog in front of her face.
Rules: Pick a bunch of your WIPs and summarize them as badly as possible, then ask your followers to vote on which one they'd be most likely to read. Multiple/all/none options are completely optional.
Which badly summarized WIP would you read?
the library is not a nice place when you can read
when your brother falls down while running from enemies ... DON'T (!) stop (!)
red carpet for a bird ... but the carpet is in fact blood
Oryn has a terrible night :)
meeting old friends is nice except when you're the reason why they're in prison
Set in a war-torn fantasy world. Kell gets arrested after trying to protect his twin sister. He finds himself in a theatre where he is forced to sing and entertain his enemies. Now Kell desperately tries to make the right choices to keep his people safe and himself alive.
General Warnings*: Captivity, burns, emotional whump, forced to perform, hand whump, lady whump, manhandling, minor character death, minor whump, sibling whump, slavery, torture, violence
The book is available for free, as pdf or epub, but I do have a ko-fi here. As always, the epub contains image descriptions for the illustrations, the pdf does not.
Genre: Fantasy Romance
Approx. Length: 44.000 words
Content Warnings: There’s lots of angst, a few graphic injuries, and a bit too much alcohol.
Cocky warrior meets icy scholar
Retrieving some possibly magic rocks should have been an easy mission. Unfortunately, the rocks turn out to be not magic, and the mercenaries assigned to protect Josephine’s group are a nuisance. And while their leader’s refusal to follow her orders starts out as a mere annoyance, it culminates in a tragic accident.
Between grievous injury and disgrace, both of their lives fall apart. Josephine might never hold a sword again, and Valadan is back on the streets with nothing to his name. As he insists on helping her get back on her feet, Josephine realizes that there’s more to him than his rude behavior. Similarly, he finds that she isn’t the spoiled princess he thought her to be.
Together, both of them might heal—if they can overcome the damage they’ve done to each other’s lives.
This story/ebook has previously been published under the title Heal my Wounds. For personal reasons, I finally decided to yeet the old title into the sun and give it a more fitting cover. Better late than never, right?
You can find playlists, moodboards, bios, as well as more detailed content warnings in the old masterlist.
