I feel really accomplished about writing the first one thousand words of chapter two this morning, so here’s a little celebratory excerpt for you guys! again, this is chapter two, which means that the point of view has changed. i’m switching back and forth between bren- a lonely drunkard who lives in his cousin’s shadow- and rikon- a former prince who just lost his mother. this chapter is in rikon’s point of view. hope you enjoy!
“We could stay,” he replies, a hoarse whisper, throat tight from disuse. He can’t remember the last time that he spoke to her either. The last thing he said to Marika. The last thing he said to their mother. The last thing that he said to anyone. “The town will be looking for a new… a new…” His voice is fighting against the words that need to come out. They sound raspy, wrong, painful. They are painful. He can’t believe he’s saying this- offering it up like it is a completely valid option. He feels sick. “A healer. They need a healer.”
Her scowl deepens, imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know her as well as Rikon does. But of course he can recognize those slight changes in expression. A part of him thinks that might be the only reason she’s kept him around even after everything that’s happened, all of the hardships they’ve shared, but of course that’s completely crazy. Right?
I’ve skipped ahead in my writing a little bit to get the chance to follow this prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial!! This takes place in chapter four, and is from Marika’s point of view. Hope you enjoy!!
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excerpt: *continues beneath the cut, it got long!!
It's a memory, rewritten as a dream. Twinkling lights and magic shimmering in the air. A tree stands tall within the walls of their little home. Presents spread beneath it, log in the fireplace, a mixing of cultures and godly practices fit for their mix of a family. A plate of sugar cookies, lovingly made, a little burnt on the bottoms because it's the first time that Marika ever tried to back anything. It's the holiday season, a cold day in winter, and one of those times that she was really, truly, happy.
Rikon is giggling. Small and innocent, just as her mother and Marika have worked so hard to maintain for him. He hardly talks about his baby brother now, five years after they were made to leave the castle upon his brother's birth. In the beginning he would ask after the baby multiple times a day- how do you think he's doing, and does he look like me, and when will i get the chance to see him again? As the days turned to weeks to months and to years, the questions have faded away. Sometimes she catches him looking out across the village, melancholic, and she knows that he is thinking of the life that they had to leave behind. There is none of that today.
Today, he sits upon their mother's lap, too big and too old by far but never turned away. Marika is fifteen to his ten and hasn't taken a seat in their mother's lap for as long as she can remember, but she does not resent him for this. There is a certain joy in seeing his childlike wonder stretching, filling the room with glee. It's enough of a silly, fun moment that she doesn't hesitate before reaching forward, taking one of the sugar cookies right from his hand.
She's no intention of truly stealing it, of course. But his giggles raise in uproar, indignation warring with humor upon his little face.
"Don't take my heart!" he shrieks among that infectious laughter.
Marika can feel her smile tugging, pulling wider and wider. Teeth showing, a laugh slipping through just the same as his if not so wild. She opens her hand, looking at the cookie in her grip while lifting it out of reach so her brother can't snatch it away. He's dedicated, but not quite dedicated enough to climb out of mom's lap. She can hardly blame him; they look cozy, sitting there with a well worn blanket tucked around the two of them, nestled against the third hand couch that is somehow both overstuffed and nearly too ragged to be comfortable.
And the cookie in her hand? A heart, just as he's said. Perfectly shaped but for a small chip at the side- broken, not even bitten yet, and there's some temptation there to be the big sister that she is and take that first bite. To ruin it.
But it's the holiday season, and her own heart is so full of love for this little family they have, this little family that her mother works so hard to keep together, this little family that never fails to put a smile on her face.
"I guess you can have it back," she says, holding it, cradling it, keeping it safe for him. "On one condition."
His eyes are wide, round, childlike with a sincerity that only someone so young could hold for something so inconsequential. "What is it?" he asks, nearly at a whisper, laughter truly faded away now.
She smiles at him.
"A kiss," she says, patting a cheek with her free hand, one finger tap tap tapping as she waits for him to pay the toll. The cookie is still out of his reach, but he drops his gaze over it for just a moment as if sizing up his options, and there's a small inner part of her that falters for a moment. Is he too old for such silly little games? Is he getting too big to play with like this? But it's just a moment, and then she realizes the most important thing- she doesn't care. She doesn't care if he's too old, too big, too grown. He will never be too grown to be her baby brother, and she will always split her time between taking care of him and being a thorn in his side.
That's just the way they are.
Decision made he leaps forward, throwing himself from one lap to another, all gangly too long limbs and a hard head to boot. His lips find her cheek, slobbery and gross and she can scarcely believe that this was something that she asked for, but it's too late to take it back now. Giggles escape her throat this time instead of his and he pushes her backwards with the momentum of his movement, obviously unintentional as he yelps, hands scrambling for purchase as they both fall to the ground. And then they're both laughing.
"Your cookie, kind sir," she says, holding the treat aloft from their entanglement, keeping it safe as par their agreement. He held up his end of the deal, she reasons, so who is she not to hold up her end of it? He scrambles again now, this time all elbows and knees as he rolls off and away from her, too big and too small all at once. The floor beneath them is a rough carpet that scratches at her arms, so she pushes herself up as well.
Rikon jumps to his feet, holding out a hand with a firm belief in every single bit of that action- the belief that Marika will follow through, because she always has, she always does, and she always will. Gently, carefully, she places the cookie into that outstretched hand; it is soft compared to her callouses, but that is just what she wants for him. He takes it, holding the cookie up with a smile as he prepares to take a bite.
A perfect heart, with a little chip out of the side. Just the way she found it.
⁑ intro post
⁑ tag on my blog
⁑ ask me questions!
⁑ wip page!
Been a little while since I’ve done one of these, and that’s because I went a few days there without writing in my story at all. There was a myriad of reasons for that, but it mostly boils down to the fact that I’m stressed out over all that is happening right now, have car troubles on top of that, and that good old depression / anxiety combo be hitting me real hard. Over the head. With a baseball bat. Anyway! I wrote this on paper while watching the Handmaid’s Tale, then typed it up. Hope you enjoy! This is from Leah’s POV. She is Bren’s cousin, and one of the Chosen to defeat the great evil and save the kingdom.
Taglist: @kentwrites @jostenwrites @eastwrites @asoftplxcetoland @aslanwrites @7chee [ask to be added if you’re interested!]
Excerpt:
"Leah, my child," the High Mage interrupts, smile lines even more obvious with the expression that he is giving her now. An expression that she would call pity, perhaps, if she wasn't so sure that such an emotion could never come from such a kind and gentle man. "I will not be joining you on this journey. My part in your path is done. You will join with the others at the capital city, but this part is for you and yours alone."
And why oh why does that feel her soul simultaneously with such joy and fear, hand in hand?
She lets the joy rise to the forefront, warm and pink and a smile that spreads slowly across her face. Once she has latched on to that joy though it is quickly able to overwhelm her, and it is more a realization that it is happening than a choice to make it happen when she finds herself throwing her body at the High Mage. She pulls his close, arms wrapped tightly around the elderly man in a hug, throwing caution to the wind just as well because in all of their time together, never once as she touched this man.
hello hello! in honor of finishing my first chapter at six thousand and five words, i would like to share another excerpt with you guys! this snippet is a peek at our main character, and a former lover of his.
taglist: @kentwrites @jostenwrites @eastwrites @asoftplxcetoland @aslanwrites
[ask to be added to the taglist!!]
excerpt:
“All of that is unimportant anyways. I’d rather talk about something different. Something like … what can we thank for you gracing us with your presence on this night of celebration? Or rather, who are we to thank? Have you decided at last to align yourself officially with our goddess of love and lust? Have so many nights tucked up safe and satisfied within the eaves of Maylea’s temple and circle of grace brought you more permanently to her side at last?” Her voice is wild and lilting, impassioned even with the questions that she spins around and around his half addled mind. A sense of desperation brushes her features with a gentle hand; is she so in anguish over their failed and forgotten status as lovers that she wants him under Maylea’s wings in the hope that it will bring him back to her? Biting down a chuckle with the harshest of origins, he can only shake his head in reply. There are no intentions such as that tonight.
okay so two days after my last excerpt (from the beginning of chapter two...) i have now finished chapter two at just 6.2 thousand words! you may be asking ... kae, why are your chapters so long? and to that i answer... i wish i knew. hope you enjoy the excerpt!
taglist: @kentwrites @jostenwrites @eastwrites @asoftplxcetoland @aslanwrites [ask to be added if you’re interested! anything will do- a reply, a tag in a reblog, a message, an ask!]
excerpt:
Jaya is wound around his neck. It is not the most comfortable place for either of them; she is not long and thin like Marika's familiar. She is a ferret, long but not long enough, thin but not thin enough. Her fur is warm and a little scratchy against his skin, but he would not have her anywhere else.
There is not a chance that he's going to risk leaving her behind again.
His pack is just as heavy on his shoulders now as it was walking from his mother's grave, but he will not voice a single complaint. All rights say that he shouldn't even have the pack right now. All rights say that it should have burned with the motel room. Or that even if it survived the fire, it would have been left behind. But there are pictures of his mother in there. Totems of his childhood. And he has his familiar to thank for the fact that he still has these items.
The fact that she put her life at risk for them soils an cheer from that, however.
"Jaya," he whispers, reaching out with both his voice and his mind. He feels along their connection- a vivid silver gray string that connects them in both mind and soul- knowing well enough that she is asleep, but needing some sort of reassurance right now. She is his, and he is hers, and together they can take on the world. But that is only together, and due to her actions he feels like they need to have a... talk. Even if that means that he has to make her be awake in the middle of the night, just as he is struggling to be.
Jaya, for her part, whimpers sleepily and tries her level best to snuggle through his skin and burrow into the warmth of his neck. It tickles, and he chuckles, and that wakes her up a little bit.
