Fanfic Day Meme: Question 4, 12, 15
Questions from Fanfic Day Meme: #4 & #12 &15
4. Do you prefer writing long or short fics?
I actually prefer long fics but I tend to finish short fics more, and thus I have more short fics in my written collection rather than incomplete long ones. XD;;
12. What’s the hardest thing to write for you?
Animating actions, especially for a lively type character.
15. Give us a snippet of something from your WiPs!
This is the most recent one. WIP of Chapter II for Chrysalis. I don’t really like it so I will have to revise this later.
He dreamt again of a garden, except this time, it was different. Instead of the one he remembered from his days as a child, he found himself in a garden so spacious, where cherry blossoms bloomed as far as an eye could see.
Like a scenery romanticised by poets, delicate petals scattered and swayed in the breeze. He watched as they danced before him instead of the usual butterflies.
Where had all the butterflies gone, he wondered? Where were those wings of colours he remembered fluttering in the other garden?
With a soft whistle, the pink petals swirled; the wind carrying them on a journey that might last until the day their beauty wilted. Except some ended their trip a bit too early. For they surprisingly clung to his hair and clothes as if they found the pure whiteness endearing. The rarest springtime in the country of snow. He couldn’t help a little smile as he plucked one from his hair and gazed up at the sky.
Somehow this place felt strangely familiar…
And yet, no matter how hard he tried to remember, to draw a reference to a memory in all his centuries of existence, the result was no different from empty paper.
Instead, another idea became more vivid in his mind:
There was no butterfly because they had already met untimely death.
.
He woke to the familiar taste of saltiness and the sweet scent of plum sake. Blinking away the tears from his eyes, he reflected even dreams had their own kind of humour. The nostalgic feelings were the same, the tears were the same, and yet they managed to present him a new setting. He could have called it a decent surprise.
The scent of plum sake, however, caught his attention. Yet before he could even move or shift his gaze, a voice cut through the thick ink of darkness.
“Sometimes I do wonder whether you are a crane or a butterfly.”
