FicWriters Week- Day 5 “Verbatim”
Readers: Share your favorite quotes - You read a fic, and a sentence sticks to your mind for days. A passage has such beautiful imagery that you can almost see it, conveys so many feelings that it makes you cry. Let us know what some of your favorite fic quotes are!
Writers: Share your favorite quotes from your fics - There’s always those passages that you’re the most proud of writing. This prompt is so you can proudly showcase them to your readers!
[I’ll be going with the writer’s section]
There are quite a few I’m proud of so I’ve chosen a small sample of those ^^
“Authors have been extinct since before the Ogre wars.” Emma said, raising her voice over the clattering of the clucking machine. The man nodded calmly as he poured the contents of the bead into a small vial. Emma could feel her pendant warming up, almost burning her, as the pure substance fell into the glass.
She wasn’t liking what she was seeing in the slightest and she could feel Regina’s nervousness coming out of her in waves as she tried -and failed- to do a similar thing she had tried mere minutes before. With growing dread starting to bubble inside of her, the green-eyed woman did her best to put as much weight she could on Regina’s back; the only way she had to let her know she was alright.
“They were exterminated.” The man answered, turning towards the two of them again with an almost maniac expression on his face. “We thought that the time of magic had reached its end. We stopped believing on them, thinking our machines could do the work.”
“However,” He continued as he squatted between Emma and Regina, freeing enough so Emma could feel a cold vice grip on her shoulder as the man pushed her towards one of the nearest table. “We didn’t see their potential. They were artists, artists obliged to follow the rules. We slaughtered them.”
Fastening Emma’s still tied hands, the man covered the blonde’s fingers with a series of filaments very similar to Regina’s bracelet with the exception that they were covered on the same black ink that still gurgled on the cauldron next to her. The inhuman strength of the man disappeared just as the new machine made contact with Emma’s exposed skin, the excruciating pain she had felt a few hours before when she had touched the ink of the letter growing only exponentially.
“I’m another type of Author.” The man kept on, not glancing twice at Emma as the blonde muffled a cry as she could feel the blistering pain only growing as seconds started to lengthen. “I want to create without a rule, I want to be the artist the first authors were. I can’t, however, do that alone.”
Emma moved her hands, trying to free herself with growing anxiety as she saw how the man moved towards Regina who bit back a seemingly cold laugh. One that could have fooled others but didn’t to Emma.
Afraid, Emma thought, Regina was afraid.
“You are deranged.” She heard the brunette say with enough spite to echo on the copper covered room. The pain on Emma’s wrists grew, droplets of blood beginning to stain the filaments. Sadly, the man didn’t seem impressed on Regina’s insult.
“You mother was called crazy as well.” He replied with a crooked smile Emma didn’t see but could hear on his voice.
“My mother was crazy.” Regina replied just as Emma managed to lock her stare with hers.
She came into the throne room exuding a confidence only royalty was privy off. Guards were so dumbfounded that they weren’t able to stop her, not even when she stood in the middle of the room; clear green eyes and blonde mane framing her face, making everyone stop and stare at her until nothing but silence filled the place.
The Queen had seen her from the corner of her eyes but feigned surprise in a calculated arch of her brow, her amused smile freezing a second as she zeroed on the colors the newcomer sported; the colors of her sworn enemy, the one that made her fall and had relegated her to the northern part of the Enchanted Forest, forever trapped there, unable to cross to the other side of the clearing that marked the ending of the blackened patch of land it had been dubbed as hers.
She had lost track of time; unable to change, unable to grow, unable to become more powerful from the very same day she had been caught trying to cast the curse that would have changed everything. The newcomer, however, had something on the way she eyed her, strong and unafraid, that made her pause and remember a moment when Snow’s pregnancy had been the only thing she had thought about.
She stood from her throne, a single glance to the servants that had been cursed alongside with her to that existence, making them run to their shadowed holes in where they would pretend that they weren’t snooping. The blonde didn’t make a noise, didn’t even react or blink until the last of them bowed and left. The Queen awaited until the woman tilted her head and rose her left arm, her long fingers spread as they played with a small light that crackled with a kind of magic the brunette had only read on books.
The steam and fog that perpetually covered the buildings of the city seemed to shimmer as a figure walked towards the alleys that sprouted through the main street of Storybrooke; their crocked and badly-kept paving stones helping with the maze-like feeling one would get during their first visit to the city. Above the silhouette, blinking sadly with their orange inked light, brass lamps glowed and elongated shadows that weren’t there to begin with. Atop all of them, hovering over the darkened buildings, Storybrooke’s clock tower showed stubbornly an hour no one seemed to be there to look at.
It was precisely near the wood-made tower where the silhouette stopped and turned, entering in one of those crocked alleys in where not even the lamps’ lights reached and only the silver lines of dirty water reflecting them like dots showed a little of the fog covered place. The figure stopped and seemed to recoil before returning its movement, entering deeper into the alley in where a black glove knocked twice into an almost invisible door.
Without knocking for a third time the figure pushed the door open, closing it behind them before turning to look at the dimly illuminated room they had just entered as they let the cape that had been covering them until now fell open, revealing her brunette locks and brown eyes. Brown eyes that stared at every inch and detail, the gurgling pipes mounted atop her head rumbling as she did so.
Covering every wall pictures upon pictures and old newspapers pieces showcased important thefts undertaken near or in Storybrooke, almost all of them unresolved as their headlines declared.
“I believe we didn’t have an appointment.”
Regina turned to her left and narrowed her eyes haughtily at the female figure happily seated into an old-looking chair that almost fell over an equally old-seeming desk. From where she was and due to the dust that she could feel covered almost every part of the room, nothing but a set of green eyes gleamed back as she approached the desk and the chair.
“I was told that if the door opened I wouldn’t need one.”
She didn’t hear Emma’s voice as she muttered her name, full of concern even as she saw those pink lips part and move. She, however, saw the glance Emma threw inside the hall as she closed the door just enough to let half of her body visible to her, the other shadowed into the golden lights that sipped through the cracks of the door, a voice Regina had learnt to accept asking a question she never got to hear. She saw the way Emma grasped the wood’s edge, the way she bit into her bottom lip as she frowned just enough to create a crease on her smooth skin. She saw the paleness, the red rimmed eyes, the way that awful ring glowed, twinkling and mocking her as she felt another whisper and caress of the breeze that kept on bringing her the smell of the docks, the salted water and the starry night.
She didn’t hear but she saw and she felt cold, impossibly cold as she took a broken, sobbing breath that didn’t sound like her as she whispered the question she had been thinking ever since Henry had glanced at her and told her he would be gone the following day with hands transformed into nervous fists with fingernails he still bit into from time to time, whenever he thought she didn’t see him.
