This is only sort of an accessibility thing, but it's an issue that I've run into several times, so I wanted to talk about it briefly here.
We need to provide people more info when it comes to neopronouns.
You are never, ever required to list your pronouns anywhere. However, if you do, and they are neopronouns (pronouns that are not conventionally established in the language), it would really help to provide explicit instructions on how to use them for everyone.
In English, there are actually five functional pronoun cases:
Subjective. (For example, "they," as in "They would like a grilled cheese.")
Possessive Independent. (For example, "theirs," as in "That burnt grilled cheese is theirs.")
Objective. (For example, "them," as in "Bob told them about the best grilled cheese recipe ever.")
Reflective. (For example, "themself," as in "Eliza made the grilled cheese themself.")
Possessive Dependent. (For example, "their," as in "Grilled cheese is their first love.")
If someone lists preferred pronouns as it/its, I can look up what all five cases for that are in English no problem. But if someone lists preferred pronouns as "fae/faer," I have no way of looking that up. As a native English speaker, I can assume that it follows the same rules as "she/her" based on similarities in sound, but that's not going to be as easy for someone with English as a second language (especially since "faer" sounds like both "her" and "their.") And my assumption might not even be correct anyway! And if it's something like "egg/eggself," I have no idea where to start grammatically.
So please, if you choose to list neopronouns for yourself, consider providing all five case usages with examples (since even native English speakers might not know what a possessive dependent or reflective case is.)
It would also be helpful to include whether the verbs used with the pronoun should be conjugated as singular (like "she is" ) or plural (like "they are.")
Edit: You can use the pronouns page to link people to all the usage cases of your personal pronouns! Thank you to the follower of mine who pointed this out.
Oh my gosh. I just found this website that walks you though creating a believable society. It breaks each facet down into individual questions and makes it so simple! It seems really helpful for worldbuilding!
Heads up that this is a very extensive questionnaire and might be daunting to a lot of writers (myself included). That being said, it is also an amazing questionnaire and I will definitely be using it (or at the very least, some of it).
Trying to find a good word today and found these bookmark-worthy sites! Hope they help other writers with their descriptions.
Glossary of House Building Terms âif you're having trouble imagining a residential home for your story, this site's primary purpose is to offer house plans
Words That Describe Buildings or Rooms and Parts of Buildings â the sidebar on this page offers relevant glossaries for building materials, fences and outside walls, etc.
House Parts You Didn't Know Had a Name â this site is best for antique and historical homes, and offers professional DIYs for improving/maintaining every facet of an old home
i have just stumbled upon the most beautiful public document i have ever laid eyes on. this also goes for anyone whose pastimes include any sort of character creation. may i present, the HOLY GRAIL:
this wonderful 88-page piece has step by step breakdowns of how names work in different cultures! i needed to know how to name a Muslim character, it has already helped me SO MUCH and iâve known about it for all of 15 minutes!! i am thoroughly amazed and i just needed to share with you guysÂ
A Multi-Step Guide Written by a Visually Impaired Writer and Blogger
Iâm hoping this blog will over time develop its own following, and when it does people will inevitably see my bio and notice what I included: Iâm visually impaired.
Yes, a visually impaired writer, and Iâve written with two blind characters before so I have some practice in the field.
So, inevitably, someone is going to ask how to write a blind character.
Or, at least, I hope youâll ask someone whoâs actually blind or visually impaired about writing a blind character before you get too involved with your new WIP.
All parts will be tagged #blindcharacter in my blog, and I will add links to every post as I finish each part. Follow my blog for more writing advice.
Note, this post updates fairly often and old versions are still floating around out there. The most current version of this post is pinned to my blog with any new guides or links you might of missed.
As of 24 January 2021, this is the most extensive and screen reader friendly version of this post.
Part One: Crafting the Blind Character
In which I tell you how to begin making a blind character who is more than a cardboard cutout
Part Two: Narrative Choice, Visual Description, Verbal Description, Social Interaction
In which I give you a basic rundown on how to write from the perspective of a character who canât see and still make the narration descriptive
Everything I can tell you about 1) how to learn how to use a cane 2) how a cane works 3) how to describe what your character experiences with their cane 4) everything I know on guide dogs
Part Five: Small Aspects of being Blind You Never Thought Of
5 January 2021 Edit: This link has been fixed to correspond with the correct post
Or, really, very normal everyday things for blind people, the inclusion of which will make your characters more real and authentic. Itâs the tiny details.
Part Six: Should You Cure Your Characterâs Blindness? (Short Answer: No)
Thereâs no way to write a cure for your blind character that doesnât make blind readers hate you. Sorry. We came here to finally experience a relatable character who experiences the world like us, but none of us are getting cured so seeing this character we learned to love become something alien from us in the end feels like a slap in the face
Why Iâm Blind and What I See -NEW-
I thought Iâd finally make a post explaining the complicated situation about my vision. Includes an explanation of visual snow and exotropia, two of the three causes for my vision issues.
Writing Blind Characters Falling in Love, an Advice Post:
Someone asked what being blind and falling in love have to do with each other. Honestly, blindness changes your perspective on everything and it makes an impact on every relationship you have. This includes some things that you definitely do not want your characterâs love interest to be/do.
Writing Blind Jokes (Should You Do It?)
You know those flow charts of âshould you do x?â going around? Itâs like that, but screen reader friendly. Should you write blind jokes. Itâs pretty complicated and there are a lot of possible scenarios and details to consider.
Advice for Writing Toph Beifong -NEW-
In this I discuss what I would like to see done in fanfiction with Tophâs character after ten years of reading Avatar the Last Airbender fanfiction
A small essay addressing the frequently asked question on giving your blind character a superpower to help them âsee.â
Itâs became a popular question, so to make the answer easier/faster for everyone to access, I wrote what will usually be my initial answer. Below there are a few links to some notable past questions on this subject.
Mourning My Vision, itâs More than Depression.Â
A small personal essay addressing the nuances of the mourning period you experience with a new disability. The mourning period is mentioned in other guides, but this is more detailed.
Dealing with Heightened Senses, a video by Molly Burke with additional commentary by me
While Molly talks about the myths and truths about heightened senses, I talk about the correlation with blindness and neuro-divergency and how co-morbid disorders/disabilities might affect sensory processing.
Satirical Commentary on the phrase âthat blank look in their eyesâ used too often in fiction to identify a blind character
a:tla, Iâm looking at you (and my eyes arenât blank)
I Found a Lost Piece of Blindness History
My grandmother told me about her blind aunt and how she sent letters. It led me to speculate about all the O&M things people develop on their own but never get a chance to pass onto other blind people. Technology and techniques are lost in history and reinvented, including the white cane ad guide dogs.
Includes a little history on the introduction of guide dogs into the 20th century
The Following are Answered Anon Questions
Making Your Blog More Accessible
Making Links Accessible to Screen Readers
Reblogging to Add an Image Description to Someone Elseâs Image
Why I Write Image Descriptions
Writing Blind Characters
Advice for a Character Who was Born Blind
Over-Protective Parents of a Blind Character, Why Theyâre Over-Protective and How to Avoid Crossing a Line
A Blind Character in Victorian Era Historical Fiction
Is It Bad Not to Have Guide Dogs in a Fantasy/Historical Setting Without Guide Dogs (short answer: itâs not bad)
Someone Asked About My Thoughts on a Medusa-like Character Blinding Herself to Avoid Hurting Anyone
-New- Characters Who Have Recently Gone Blind and Avoiding Inspiration Porn
Talking about Popular Blind Characters In Media
Does Daredevilâs Echolocation Negate His Blindness
Someone Else was Asked How to Write Daredevil Fanfiction
Blind Characters with Superpowers/Fighting Styles
World Setting where the General Population has a Superpower
Superpowers that donât involve sight, Five questions to ask yourself if this superpower is a bad idea or a good one
-New- Your character would not use a cane as a weapon, itâs a bad idea
D&D/Roleplaying Blind Characters
-New- Animal Familiars Acting as Service Animals and Advice for Communicating with Your DM
-New- Portraying Older Blind Characters + Causes for Vision Loss with Old Age
The intro to a side project Iâm half-heartedly working on tentatively called 4 Horsemen.
Death, War, Famine, and Pestilence are fated to bring ruin upon the world in the End Times. However, in the lead-up to the End, they were stuck on Earth and as a result, became rather attached to it. The End is nigh now, but none of the four are too eager to disrupt the life theyâve built for themselves. For Godâs sake, their daughterâs got soccer practice on Thursday. In fact, no celestial is particularly too stoked about the End, not even the fourâs next door neighbor, Satan. But the world is practically tearing itself apart at the seams, as was destined, and thereâs only two options left: give in to fate and let it all fall into ruin, or find a way to subvert the End.
lieutenant lambhu  â  â  the blackfang  â
Her voice was gentler when she spoke, but there was still a steel backbone to it. âWar isnât won with niceness, boy.â
basics: 68, pure-blooded Medusan female, lieutenant of the Blackfang cell
appearance: sturdy, broad-shouldered frame comparable to an ox. Dark skin and pale golden eyes. A crown of red-brown serpents. Her left arm is sleeved in tattoos and her body is crisscrossed with silver scars
backstory: When Lamb was born, she was immediately sequestered away into the plains of Pageneid. Had she stayed in her village of birth, she would have been put to death because of the serpentine crown she bears. Her parents left her in the hands of the nearest Visperus cell. They returned to their unassuming village life, and Lamb was raised as a brutal agent of Visperus. She was strong and fast and smart, and she wasted little time in climbing the ranks of her adopted cell.
Eventually, she was named a Lieutenant and given control of her own cell. She has commanded the East Pageneid cell, also known as the Blackfang cell, for over fifteen years. She still fights loyally for her group's cause, but she sometimes wonders how much the spilled blood is really worth.
aesthetic: sore knuckles, weary sighs, leather armor and steel, the taste of metal on the tongue, muddy boots, dried flowers, quiet evenings
roza âhawthornâ maelen  â  â  the songbird â
"You're surprisingly grimy for a noble."
basics: 24, homosexual male, bard and merchantâs son
appearance: black curly hair and muddy green eyes. Wide shoulders and strong, sturdy hands. Tanned skin, speckled with sunspots. Crows feet in the corner of his eyes
backstory: Hawthorn, the only son in a large family, was raised in a bustling merchant town in the heart of Pageneid. The town had dealings with Visperus in the past, but they were typically quiet, almost civil. Over time, however, as Hawthorn grew up, Visperus grew hostile towards the town, and the group began to raid the town. As the brutality increased, Hawthorn found he could not sit by idly.
He began to write and perform songs and ballads of protest, speaking against Visperus. His vocalization raised the townsfolk's morale, and they began to push back against the Visperus conquest. The Visperus leaders didn't like the push back, and a bounty was placed on Hawthorn's head for his protesting. Some months later, Hawthorn disappeared from the town, sequestered away to some dark Visperus dungeon.
âExactly, Iâm a Crown guard,â she said in a final tone, as if daring him to argue, âmy loyalty is to the High King.â
basics: 23, bisexual female, best friend and personal guard of Hesper
appearance: pale blonde hair, cropped short. Equally pale eyes. A short but well-built frame. Light, freckled skin. Stern expression
backstory:Â Tisu is a young Crown Guard. She is also a very old friend of Hesper's, having grown up playing in the palace grounds and Norteferran streets with him. She has distant Medusan blood, the only evidence of her heritage being a faint speckling of green-gold scales at the nape of her neck and along the tops of her hands. She tends to hide the scales beneath gloves and high collars, and not even Hesper knows of her bloodline. Tisu grew up a ward of the city after being left behind at the Pianti gates by a travelling caravan as a toddler. She took her last name from the kind guardsman who acted as her surrogate father.
aesthetic: pale blues, sea breezes, the bite of cold steel, moonlight, chainmail, frosty mornings, small smiles
hesper fuânorteferro â â  the golden prince  â
âI never asked to be part of your war! Be part of any of this!âÂ
basics:Â 20, homosexual male, newly-crowned ruler of the Sovereign Lands
appearance: willowy, slight frame with freckled, olive skin. A crown of curling red-black hair and equally-dark eyes. His familyâs crest tattooed on his shoulder
backstory:Â Born beneath the Dark Sun, Hesper had been told since birth that his coming brought omens. Whether his golden blood brought good omens or bad omens was something the fates had yet to reveal. For what it was worth, he let it affect his childhood little. He made mischief and mistakes as readily as any other child. War crept along his homeland's borders, but he never gave it a passing thought beyond the wounded and tight-faced soldiers that traipsed through his mother's halls.
He was thrust into the sunlight when his father died in the same war and his mother was driven half mad with grief and age. His twentieth birthday saw him crowned king of Pianti and all the sovereign lands. It was never something he wanted, even if his entire life had been grooming him for it. He desired to be back in the palace gardens, searching for centipedes and beetles beneath turned stones, not settling disputes and fending off wars. So far, his golden blood had brought no blessings.
aesthetic: dust motes, dirt under fingernails, sweet oranges and peaches, summer afternoons, rich laughter, canvas sacks, the smell of salt
Hesper stared up defiantly at Lamb. His ears were ringing, and his nose still throbbed a righteous fury.
Lamb met his gaze, her golden glare sharp. She bared her teeth. The crown of snakes on her head began to writhe in agitation. âWhat in Hophehtâs name were you thinking?â
Hesper swiped at the warm blood trickling over his lip. A metallic taste flooded his mouth. âThose people were just civilians; they would have died needlessly.â He spat back.
The look Lamb was giving him lessened, softened almost. Her voice was gentler when she spoke, but there was still a steel backbone to it. âWar isnât won with niceness, boy.â
âI never asked to be part of your war! Be part of any of this!â
With a passing of the Dark Sun, a new child comes into the worldâa new king. Within him, golden blood runs, and he brings with his crowning a new Turning of the Ages.
The world was birthed by three angels: Hopheht, the angel of Light; Estrosh, the angel of The Gray; and Beofrera, the angel of Dark. From the velvet black sheaves of the universe, stardust was weaved by their hands into galaxies and planets. On a particular world, of which Estrosh and Beofrera grew quite fond, they created life.
When the creating was all done on that particular world, the two angels sought out Hopheht who was busy decorating the skies, and they left their creations to their own devicesâalthough, not without some divine supervision. Hopheht, when they had been told of the pair's workings, grew a little jealous at being forgotten. To appease their sibling, Estrosh and Beofrera allowed Hopheht to place a creation of their own on the planet: one that would serve as a guiding hand of brilliance and light in their absence. From the sun's rays and summer dust, Hopheht created the Medusan.
A strong maiden-people who lived in delight of warmth and the sun, with a crown of brilliantly-scaled serpents, the Medusan were firstly revered as gifts from the common folk's gods.
Ages passed, however, and the gods fell out of favor with the common people. With them fell the Medusan. Most were regarded as monstrous and were shunned to the high-off temples where they continued to worship and pray to their absent gods in hopes of their return. Others mingled with the common folk, and their blood diluted from its celestial gold to muddy red. Many offspring of the common people and the Medusan lost their serpentine crown; it was for the best, however, for snakes had also fallen from a visage of healing and strength to that of dishonesty and death. Any child born with scales adorning their head was misplaced or killed.
With a passing of the Dark Sun, a new child comes into the worldâa new king. Within him, golden blood runs, and he brings with his crowning a new Turning of the Ages.Â
playlist: soldier, poet, king -- the oh hellos; achilles come down --Â gang of youths; saturn -- sleeping at last; soldier -- fleurie; king -- lauren aquilina; x
Virginia Drake is a paranormal investigator. She is used to dealing with ghosts, poltergeists, and errant spirits. Her newest contract, however, has sent her out into the eastern forests of Leurain. There has been talk of a beast prowling the hallways of an abandoned castle, and now, a young girl has been found murdered with strange markings on her neck.
â â
It was neither a dark nor stormy night but rather a dismal gray with a misting drizzle that fell in gentle sheets. By the nature of the job, it was a fairly consistent setting; evil beings and frightful spirits rarely frequented sunny holiday retreats.
As far as paranormal locations went, the quaint town of Southlark was a poster child case. The cobblestoned streets were near-empty save for a few lurking drunkards. The only color in the twilit scene was the yellow glow of streets lamps. Curious and cautious eyes peered through curtained windows.
Virginia Drake was used to the stares. It, too, came with the job. She clicked her tongue to her horse, urging the beast to plod along the uneven road a little faster. As the last remaining dredges of daylight faded away, so did the rest of the dayâs warmth. Her destination sat like a squat toad at the end of the street, its crumbling roof sagging beneath the weight of its own decay and mildew. The Olive Goose inn. Virginia wrinkled her nose in distaste but pressed on. She had stayed in far worse accommodations.
The inn was cheerier inside, a crackling fire bringing a life to the place that the rest of the town seemed to lack. A few patrons were scattered throughout the small common area, and their conversations lulled as Virginia pushed her way in from the misty grips of the night.
At least the woman behind the bar seemed to recognize her, if only for the strange curve of Virginiaâs wide-brimmed hat and the odd weapon strapped to her hip.
âAh!â the bartender cried and hurried from behind the bar to greet Virginia. âYou are the beast-slayer, I take it?â She gripped Virginiaâs hand and shook it vigorously.
Virginia pinned on a wan smile and extracted her hand from the womanâs. âThat would be me. Virginia Drake, best paranormal investigator my employer has to offer,â she introduced herself. The patronsâ gazes felt sharper at the words.
âExcellent,â the bartender said. She grabbed Virginiaâs hand again before she could pull away and all but dragged her to the bar. âCome, Iâll tell you about the beast thatâs been plaguing us over a nice glass of the valleyâs finest wine. On the house, of course.â She released Virginiaâs hand to go scurry behind the bar and fix the aforementioned drink.
âIâm more of a whiskey gal, myself,â Virginia put in. Her words fell deaf on the womanâs ears. Virginia sighed and settled herself on the nearest barstool. Hopefully, the wine was as good as the woman touted it to be. Moments later, a glass was pushed in front of Virginia, filled with an ample helping of dark crimson wine. Virginia gave the liquid a sniff before sipping at it. It could be worse, she considered.
Her host was silent, and Virginia looked up from the glass to find her staring expectantly. âItâs good, thank you,â she said. The assessment pleased the woman, and she dipped her head with sudden bashfulness. The moment passed, and the woman was back to her friendly self. She settled herself against the bar, perched up by her elbows.
âNow see,â she began, âit started probably five years ago, although some folks will tell you itâs been a decade. Thereâs an old, really big castle about an hour up the northern roadâjust about the only thing up that way reallyâand it used to be the shining jewel of the valley. All the noble court gathered for parties and lavish galas that us common folk werenât privy to, âcept for servant business. But, as I said, about five years ago, something changed and now thereâs nary a soul up there.â
She paused to let the words sink in. Her eyes searched Virginiaâs face. Virginia chewed at her lip and allowed herself another sip of the wine. âSo, like a ghost or a spirit moved in?â she asked.
âWell, not quite,â the bartender hesitated, âI said nary a soul, but I guess thereâs one soulâunless you believe the rumors that itâs a devil living up there.â
Virginia cut in with a raise of her brow, âDevil?â
The bartender hummed in assent. âI donât quite believe those rumors myself because people like to talk and you canât always take those words at face value. But one day they were having parties and next thing you know, everyoneâs gone and thereâs a beast roaming the halls. Some say itâs a big olâ bat, crawled straight up from the Down Below. Othersâll tell you itâs a blood sucking devil. Like I said, I donât believe the devil rumors myself, but recently, well, people have been telling tales of being attacked of late. Near midnight, in the dark alleys where they canât see two feet in front of them.
âTheyâre always telling of a sharp pain, like a needle straight through the skin, and waking up hours later woozy like theyâve been drinking. But they all swear that theyâd not touched a drop of the stuff.â She pointed at the wine in Virginiaâs hands for emphasis. Virginia grimaced, suddenly struck by the desire to set the drink aside. âAnd of course there were skeptical folk. Hell, I didnât believe the half of it. Not till that poor girl was found.â
âAlice Greneth, right?â Virginia set the wine down and pulled out the little journal stashed in her shirt pocket. Finally, they were getting to the part of the story she was familiar with. Young girl found dead behind the old paper mill, throat cut clean through.
The bartender nodded. âThe butcher looked her over before they buried her. Said that she had these awful markings on her neck, little pin pricks everywhere. Suddenly everyone was believing the folks about getting attacked. If there is some beast or devil up in that castle, Iâd bet money on it that itâs the thing to blame. That was about a week ago, and folks are getting real antsy now that the beastâll strike again, now that itâs got a hankering for killing. Thatâs why I wrote to your employer. Soon as I heard about you people, I knew I had to reach out.â
Virginia wrote down the new information and beneath it scrawled: demon? vampire? She snapped the journal shut and placed it back in her pocket. âWould the butcher be available to answer some questions in the morning, do you think?â she asked.
âOh, most definitely. We all want this beast to be dealt with as soon as possible. Her place is just down the way on Hill Street. Corner shop, you canât miss it.â The bartender rocked back on her heels. âAnd if anyone gives you any trouble? Send them my way. Iâll knock some sense into them.â
Virginia gave the woman a smile. âI can take care of myself, but Iâll keep that in mind, thanks. Do you have a name I can call you by? In case I have any other questions?â
At the question, the bartender beamed. âRose, but everyone calls me Rosie.â
âRosie,â Virginia repeated and downed the little wine that still resided in her glass, âIâll keep you updated on the investigation, but for the meantime, do you have a room open for rent?â
Morning came with little fanfare and even more misty drizzling. Virginia spent the hour after waking reviewing the notes in her journal and nursing a steaming mug of tea beside the innâs fireplaceâat Rosieâs insistence. The butcher did not usually open shop until mid morning, so Virginia burned a few hours before she dared out into the dismal weather.
Virginia tucked her hat onto her head as she stepped out into the drizzle. Much like the emptiness of the inn, the streets were devoid of life. A few people scurried between the various shops. Their steps were hastened as they passed by the yawning alleyways. Only the cheerier individuals greeted Virginia as she passed, although it was little more than a curt nod. Sure as Rosie had said, the Hill Street sign came into view, and just beyond it, nestled on the corner of the cobbled street, was the butcher shop. Thick billows of smoke arose from the chimney stack; the owner was in.
Virginia pushed open the shop door and was instantly greeted with the smells that accompanied a butcher shop. The scent of curing meats and woodsmoke filled the little front room. The counter was empty, but a brass bell sat beside the register. Ring for service! the placard beside it read. A shrill tinkling rang around the room as Virginia pressed the bell, and a shout emerged from the back room.
âOne moment!â An ox-like woman bustled up to the counter, wiping the back of her hand across her cheek. She swept her gaze up and down Virginia. âWhat can I do you for?â she finally asked.
âAre you the butcher?â At the womanâs nod, Virginia continued. âIâm here about the⊠devil.â
âAh, I heard Rosie was calling in an exterminator. Good, we donât need that kind of thing around here. Bad for business.â She paused. âAnd for lives.â
âRosie told me that you examined the body. Is there anything you can tell me about the markings on the neck?â Virginia pulled out her journal, pencil held at the ready.
The butcher considered the question, her gaze wandering to a corner of the shop as she fell into thought. âThey were definitely odd. If it werenât for the big knife cut going across the poor girlâs neck, I wouldâa considered the punctures to be what kicked her off,â she said, âLots of them, real thin, like a needleââ
âOr a fang?â Virginia looked up from her writing.
âYeah, now that you mention it.â
âAnd what do you know about the castle?â
âThe one north of town?â The butcher huffed. âNothing much. Iâm a bit of a newcomer to Southlark; came here two years ago. Itâs always just been some haunt to me. The rest of the townsfolk tell me thatâs where the devil lives. I take their word for it and stay away.â She returned her gaze to Virginia. âWhy, you thinking of going there?â
Slipping the journal away once more, Virginia shrugged. âIf needs must. This job tends to take you into the belly of the beast.â
âSounds like one hell of a lifestyle,â the butcher said, âIâd tell you to keep safe, but Iâve got a feeling it wonât amount to much.â
Virginia cracked a half smile. âIâll take what I can get.â She bid the butcher goodbye and exited the shop. Outside, the misting rain had lessened, and a few watery rays of sunlight reflected off the sodden cobblestones.
âIf thatâs not a sign of luck, I donât know what is,â Virginia muttered to herself. She headed back towards the inn. In the morning light, it looked a little more presentable than it had the night before. The roof tiles were still molding and drooping off the eaves, but the white plaster walls were almost cheery, and wildflowers and weeds cluttered up the overgrown garden beside the stables. Virginia said hello to her horse, promising to be back soon, and entered the inn.
Rosie greeted Virginia as she neared the bar, pausing in her vigorous scrubbing of a cup. âHow did it go at the butcherâs? I know Harriet can be a bit⊠well, uncouth. Canât hold it to her, though. She spends most of her day with dead things rather than people.â
âYou make her sound like a gravedigger,â Virginia chuckled and admitted, âIt was rather refreshing. Most people dance around death. It makes it hard to get information out of them.â
Rosie smiled. âIâll remember that for the next time Iâm being questioned about a murder.â She paled and ducked her head. âSorry, now Iâm sounding uncouth.â
Virginia waved off her concern and sat on a stool. âUncouth doesnât bother me,â she said.
Rosie tittered something between a mumbled thanks and another apology. She cleared her throat. âSo, where next for you?â
Virginia leaned against the bar top, eyeing the little coal oven behind the bar. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food. âLunch first, then⊠Iâm off to a haunted castle.â
Rosie stilled her hands on the cleaning rag, and she worried at her lip with her teeth. She opened her mouth then closed it. She brushed off whatever she was going to say, instead saying, âBe safe, I suppose is all. Nothing good has come from that place for a long while. People donât tend to return when they go knocking; the one man that did came back stark raving mad.â Bit spoken, she turned half on her heel before pausing again. âIâll go get you a bite to eat.â She strode off to the larder.
A tension had grown in the inn, cold and fragile, and it only thickened as Rosie set a plate of steaming potatoes and a small helping of stew before Virginia. âIâll add it to your tab,â she said and walked off before Virginia could get in a word of thanks. Virginia stared after her, confused by the odd shift in attitude from the once-talkative bartender. At least the food tasted good despite the discomforting atmosphere.
Virginia could not find Rosie again before she left. She left the empty plate on the counter, letting it act as a paperweight for a little note she tore out of her journal. Be back by tomorrow night - V, she wrote.
After saddling and mounting her horse, she picked her way to the northern edge of the town. The northern district was scattered with much more lavish buildings, and they were all in some state of disrepair. The only people she saw among the crumbling window frames and ivy-shrouded alleys were squatters. As the castle had gone quiet, so had the noble district, it seemed. Virginia urged her silver mare to go just a little faster.
The town fell into wild country and abandoned farmland the further northward Virginia pressed. Autumn had stolen any color from the trees, and now as winter drew nearer, the forest that bordered the northern road stood barren and gray. Any sight of civilization was as dead as the northern district of Southlark had been. A blight had swept across the land, and the castle was at its heart.
The afternoon drew into evening as the forest finally split into rocky moorland. The meager sunlight that had graced Southlarkâs streets earlier was hidden behind thick clouds, and the angry dark gray of sky promised weather more torrential than just a drizzle. Hopefully, the castle was not far off. Virginia wanted to reach it before the storm broke.
As if summoned by her thoughts, the ground grew rockier until it built into a craggy hill. Perched like a crooked raven on the hilltop, built of weathered stone and gates of iron, was the castle.
