Edema Rue Posted January 7 Author Report Share Posted January 7 2 hours ago, RoyalBeeMage said: umm very well crafted. you might want Therapeddie to look at yourself. that was dark. but good at the same time. would work interestingly in a horror book. a very dark horror book. Heehee thank you so much!! That's...like...the best compliment to be given ...usually I'm not this dark, though! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
RoyalBeeMage Posted January 7 Report Share Posted January 7 yeah ive slowly made it through most of this topic. your writing skill is amazing. the detail, the emotion and the craft is on point. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Edema Rue Posted January 8 Author Report Share Posted January 8 Okay, I don't know what the light this is, or where it came from, but I kinda love it. (yes I understand that it's very weird, confusing, and not particularly exciting. I don't know why I love it, I just do.) Guardian: Spoiler It was dark. But it was always dark, and the boy supposed that his task was only made more crucial by the darkness. Still, he wished for more light. All he had was the fire. Pure white. A droplet of light itself, flickering on an altar built from shadows, shining brighter than the sun…he’d never seen the sun. He wasn’t sure why he knew what the sun was. No one had told him. He didn’t know why he knew about something he would never see. There were a lot of things the boy didn’t know, though of course he didn’t know what he was missing, as he’d never known it. He didn’t know the word “friend”. Or “brother”. Or “sister”, “cousin”, “mother”, “father”, and any of the thousands of other words there are to describe people. He could remember a voice. He remembered a voice… “Do not let the fire die,” the voice had told him. “The darkness must not overcome you.” And so the boy kept his fire. It needed no wood. It flickered enticingly, and the boy lost many hours watching it the way another might watch a beautiful woman. It was his solace and his comfort. His muse, his meaning, his purpose for living. Although…there were times when the boy wondered if he really was living. This was not life. He knew that. It was silent, and though he’d tried speaking to himself, it felt like a betrayal of something holy. So he stayed silent. And he was alone. He didn’t know who should be there, only that no one was, and it wasn’t…quite…right…and it was extreme. His world was one of pure darkness and pure light. The fire, and the shadows. And he was between them, trapped in a world between all that was good and all that was bad. During those times of doubt and fear, the boy often thought about leaving. He wondered what he might find. He wondered who he might find. He pondered the joys and the sorrows that the unknown was sure to bring. But he always choose to stay. Not because he was afraid of the unknown. No. He didn’t stay because of the fear of what was out there. He stayed because if he didn’t, his fire would be smothered. And if he lived to keep the fire alive, then he could not let anything distract him from it. Because something didn’t want the fire to live. The Shadows. The boy had lived all his life cloaked in shadows, but they were simply present. Unfazed by anything, untouched by the light of his fire. But the Shadows…they were something different. Angry. Eager for revenge. Filled with hate and destruction. And they wanted his fire gone. The boy didn’t know why. All he knew was what the voice had told him. He must not let the fire die. He must not give in to the darkness. So the boy fought it. In the beginning, he fought tooth and hand, sometimes curling over the fire, allowing it to burn him so that the Shadows could not reach it. Because the Shadows could kill the fire. All it would take was a single lax moment…they would taint his fire and it would fade into nothing, or worse, it would become like them… But the boy grew. He learned. No one taught him, but he learned anyway, because he had fixated on that fire in the way that young boys often find a focus they can’t explain or ignore. Or perhaps it was simply because he was bored. Regardless, the boy learned. He learned to weave simple creations from the light. The first thing he learned, in a moment of absolute terror, was claws. There were three Shadows converging on the flame, and something in the boy tore as he realized he might fail. It felt as if he were ripping something loose, and suddenly there were glowing claws at the ends of his fingers. He tore through the Shadows much easier, then. And he felt them hiss and crumble, not just run away. He didn’t learn how to dismiss the claws for a very long time. But in that time, he experimented, trying to find that same feeling of pulling something free…he never did feel it. But he found a better way of doing things. Without the crude and undisciplined yanking that comes with emotion, he learned to seduce the light. What an absurd notion. Seducing fire. But that is what the boy did. And the next time the light formed, it felt as though it were a gift being given. The boy liked it better that way. He was no thief in the night. The fire was his lover, and what was hers was his, and what was his was hers. And since he had nearly nothing, to the boy that meant his life, and that meant his love. He gave her his heart, and she gave him the means to protect him… After the claws was a pair of thin, glowing daggers. The boy practiced before his goddess. He didn’t need to sleep, didn’t need to eat. He didn’t dare wander into the darkness, and to sit was to be complacent, and to be complacent was to endanger the fire. And so he moved. At first he was jerky. Messy. Ugly enough that he was ashamed to be seen by his fire. So he practiced facing the darkness, the warm light at his back. And so it was that the boy learned. Through lonely mistakes before a goddess he loved. Through light, and through Shadows. After the daggers, the boy learned to let the claws fade to nothing. Then he learned to use his daggers without them. Soon, three Shadows at once was an easy feat. And the boy thought, for a moment, that he’d figured out some grand secret. That nothing would change. That he would finally be able to protect his fire with ease… But the attacks increased. They came more often, and they came in bigger groups. And so the boy learned more, and worked harder. And his Goddess, his Light, his Flame and his Desire…she watched. All things he did were in her name. She knew him perfectly. When the boy sat, it was to lean against her altar. When the boy wept, it was she who kept the darkness in his heart at bay. When the boy laughed, it was because of her flickering light. When he made a promise, it was for her. Always for her. But the daggers were not the boy’s finest weapons. For though he used them well, he did not love them…and the fire knew it, or at least the boy believed she must. Because after a particularly exhausting fight, the boy was leaning against the altar, trembling from the pain of a dozen shadowy wounds, and he closed his eyes. Just for a moment, mind. It was barely more than a blink. And when he opened them, the daggers had disappeared from between his fingers. So tired was the boy that he hadn’t even noticed…and on the ground next to him was a sword. Ah, but to call such a thing a sword is to call a grand saga a story, is to call a hero heroic, is to call a person a human. It is true, on some level, that it was a sword, but it was so much more than that. It was slender and fiery, and fit his hand like it had been made for him. Which it had. It was a gift from a goddess. And in it, the boy found a second thing to love. It was harder to use than the daggers. At first, it seemed large and unwieldy. When the Shadows attacked, the boy would summon his knives, terrified that he wouldn’t be able to protect the fire. And between attacks, he relearned how to stand. He learned how to hold it. He had a base instinct for how it ought to be, and beyond that…he guessed. He made mistakes. But time and practice are powerful things. And the boy found himself dancing with his blade. He prayed to his fire, thanked she who had created all, and used all that he was to defend her. And in thanks, she gave him a second blade. And so he started over again. *** The girl saw a light, floating in the darkness. She walked toward it, and saw that it was a fire. Pure and bright and warm…and she wanted it. And suddenly, before she’d even seen movement, there was a pair of glowing white blades at her throat, held by a boy with black hair and pale skin and dangerous blue eyes. *** “What are you?” The boy asked suspiciously. “I’m…I’m just a person,” the strange creature who was not a Shadow said. “Like you.” She raised hands, hands that looked like the boy’s. The boy tightened his grip on his blades. “What do you want?” The boy asked. He was angry. This…this person had brought change. He ought to kill her, this new threat to his fire, but…but she was defenseless. And she could speak. And she wasn’t a Shadow. “Y-your fire,” the girl whispered. “It’s so warm.” The boy was quiet, then, and sure. She was here for his fire. And so she needed to die. But his blades, always so warm and excited, were cold in his hands. A sign? From his goddess? But he had to protect her, had to…the blades began to warm again in his hands and he turned from the girl, scanning the darkness…there. It was bubbling, and that meant Shadows…from the size of the bubbles, he guessed ten, at least. He shoved the girl back and advanced on them, keeping her in the corner of his eye. She was an unknown in a world where he knew all things. If she took even a single step forward, he’d kill her and be done with it; if she wanted to hurt his fire, she must be removed. *** The girl stumbled back and gasped. The boy sprang into motion, leaping over the fire and slashing at…shapes. Shapes formed of darkness. Tall and lithe and deadly. They converged on him, and the girl couldn’t move, sure that he was about to be… His blades flashed, cutting through the shadows. He danced around the flame, always keeping himself between it and the creatures…and watching her too, she realized. He was a servant of death, slicing through the monsters with a precise sort of grace. More than once, he got hit, and the shadows blended with his blood, turning it a dark scarlet on his white skin. But he never slowed, never paused, never let them get past him. The girl found herself unable to look away. As he fought, he was more enticing than the fire itself. He was so alive, so warm, so deadly and so beautiful. And then, almost as suddenly as it had started, it was over. The girl hadn’t moved. Quick as a blade slitting a throat, the boy was before her again, frowning. “What…what are you?” She whispered. *** The boy thought about the question. He thought for a long time. “I am a person,” he finally decided. “And I protect this fire. Leave.” He was tired; there had been twelve Shadows, and they’d been growing cleverer recently. He had a deep cut on his shoulder, and several in his side. He needed to practice, to make sure this would never happen again. And he needed to pray to his fire. Once again, he considered ending the girl…but at the thought, his blades grew cold enough that he shivered. He glanced at the fire. Didn’t it want to be protected? It surely knew all things, and so it surely knew if this girl was going to hurt it… The girl looked at him curiously. “Why do you protect the fire?” She asked. And the boy didn’t answer. “Who taught you to fight like that?” And again, the boy had no response. The girl skipped closer to him, hesitant and flighty. She reached out, and touched his hand. And for the first time The boy felt flesh On Flesh. She was soft and smooth and sweet. She opened his fingers, and the boy was trembling too hard to stop her. His blade clanged to the ground. And then she opened his other hand, and instead of holding his weapons, he was holding her hands. For the first time, he was holding something that was not a piece of his fire. And that something was looking at him with wide eyes and a tiny smile. And that something was a girl. He looked back at his fire, begging his goddess for help, begging her to let herself be protected. And then the girl put a hand on his cheek, and he looked back to her, and for the first time he was afraid for himself rather than his fire. And he named the girl First, in his mind, because she was the reason he had so many firsts, all at once. And First laughed. And the boy felt himself smile. And First took his hands and led him into the darkness. And the boy left his blades, another first. And when First formed an arrow from the darkness, his first thought was for the fire, always for the fire, and he yelled, and he tried to run back, to run home, to run to his goddess and defend her as he always had, as he always would. But his feet caught in the darkness, and he fell. And First raised her arrow. And amidst all the terror, the boy renamed her Last, for she was his end. And as the girl brought her arrow of shadow into his heart, The boy begged forgiveness of his goddess. And the boy was gone. And Last laughed. And she returned to the fire, leaving the boy to die alone. Nothing to protect, and no one to protect him. And Last took her arrow, dripping with blood so red she could have sold it as paint, and she stabbed her darkness into the light. And as the boy had died, Silent, Alone, So the fire died too. And Last let the darkness take the arrow back. And she smiled, thinking of the boy and his blades. And she left, to find another light in the darkness. And the boy’s body grew cold. So very cold. And for the first And last Time, There was no fire to warm him. No voice to guide him. No blades to distract him. He was dead. But he wasn’t gone. The pain remained, and in his silent body the boy was desperate and hopeless. And ashamed. There was such shame. He had failed. His fire was dead. His goddess had trusted him. Had counted on him to know that she must be protected, regardless of what it seemed like she was saying. He should have been better, he should have been stronger, and the boy wanted to open his mouth and wail his misery into the darkness, only it wouldn’t open, and he couldn’t move, and he was dead. He was dead. He knew that. But his emotions lived, and burned in his heart, burned hotter than the arrow Last had driven into him… It took time. Lots of it, though the boy knew of no way to measure it. But the burning… The aching… The pain, the pain, the pain. It was hot and ragged and… And pure. Pure as fire. And the boy’s bones steadily became an altar. And the boy’s heart, always burning with conviction for the goddess he had once served, eternally guilty for his failure…it felt like fire. But it wasn’t until he heard a voice that he truly turned to a flame. It was the same voice. The one that had told him to protect his fire, so long ago… And it told him to burn. “Burn hot, and burn bright, and never die,” the voice told him. It didn’t mention his failure. It didn’t acknowledge his death. It simply gave him another chance. And though he missed his blades, And his goddess, And the life from before, The boy understood that change is inevitable. And so he thanked the voice for a second chance, to guard not another fire but his own. And so he burned. And so he fought a new battle. It was so dark…but it was always dark. The boy knew the darkness. And he refused to let it touch him, For he was light itself. Also, I drew this on my hand during church today when I was about halfway through writing it Spoiler 4 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
RoyalBeeMage Posted January 8 Report Share Posted January 8 its good. its enjoyable in some way. i like the idea of light and fire being used in tools and weapons. i wonder if anyone else in this world has worked out how to create a shield out of light. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Wandering Wizard Posted January 8 Report Share Posted January 8 48 minutes ago, Edema Rue said: Okay, I don't know what the light this is, or where it came from, but I kinda love it. (yes I understand that it's very weird, confusing, and not particularly exciting. I don't know why I love it, I just do.) Guardian: Hide contents It was dark. But it was always dark, and the boy supposed that his task was only made more crucial by the darkness. Still, he wished for more light. All he had was the fire. Pure white. A droplet of light itself, flickering on an altar built from shadows, shining brighter than the sun…he’d never seen the sun. He wasn’t sure why he knew what the sun was. No one had told him. He didn’t know why he knew about something he would never see. There were a lot of things the boy didn’t know, though of course he didn’t know what he was missing, as he’d never known it. He didn’t know the word “friend”. Or “brother”. Or “sister”, “cousin”, “mother”, “father”, and any of the thousands of other words there are to describe people. He could remember a voice. He remembered a voice… “Do not let the fire die,” the voice had told him. “The darkness must not overcome you.” And so the boy kept his fire. It needed no wood. It flickered enticingly, and the boy lost many hours watching it the way another might watch a beautiful woman. It was his solace and his comfort. His muse, his meaning, his purpose for living. Although…there were times when the boy wondered if he really was living. This was not life. He knew that. It was silent, and though he’d tried speaking to himself, it felt like a betrayal of something holy. So he stayed silent. And he was alone. He didn’t know who should be there, only that no one was, and it wasn’t…quite…right…and it was extreme. His world was one of pure darkness and pure light. The fire, and the shadows. And he was between them, trapped in a world between all that was good and all that was bad. During those times of doubt and fear, the boy often thought about leaving. He wondered what he might find. He wondered who he might find. He pondered the joys and the sorrows that the unknown was sure to bring. But he always choose to stay. Not because he was afraid of the unknown. No. He didn’t stay because of the fear of what was out there. He stayed because if he didn’t, his fire would be smothered. And if he lived to keep the fire alive, then he could not let anything distract him from it. Because something didn’t want the fire to live. The Shadows. The boy had lived all his life cloaked in shadows, but they were simply present. Unfazed by anything, untouched by the light of his fire. But the Shadows…they were something different. Angry. Eager for revenge. Filled with hate and destruction. And they wanted his fire gone. The boy didn’t know why. All he knew was what the voice had told him. He must not let the fire die. He must not give in to the darkness. So the boy fought it. In the beginning, he fought tooth and hand, sometimes curling over the fire, allowing it to burn him so that the Shadows could not reach it. Because the Shadows could kill the fire. All it would take was a single lax moment…they would taint his fire and it would fade into nothing, or worse, it would become like them… But the boy grew. He learned. No one taught him, but he learned anyway, because he had fixated on that fire in the way that young boys often find a focus they can’t explain or ignore. Or perhaps it was simply because he was bored. Regardless, the boy learned. He learned to weave simple creations from the light. The first thing he learned, in a moment of absolute terror, was claws. There were three Shadows converging on the flame, and something in the boy tore as he realized he might fail. It felt as if he were ripping something loose, and suddenly there were glowing claws at the ends of his fingers. He tore through the Shadows much easier, then. And he felt them hiss and crumble, not just run away. He didn’t learn how to dismiss the claws for a very long time. But in that time, he experimented, trying to find that same feeling of pulling something free…he never did feel it. But he found a better way of doing things. Without the crude and undisciplined yanking that comes with emotion, he learned to seduce the light. What an absurd notion. Seducing fire. But that is what the boy did. And the next time the light formed, it felt as though it were a gift being given. The boy liked it better that way. He was no thief in the night. The fire was his lover, and what was hers was his, and what was his was hers. And since he had nearly nothing, to the boy that meant his life, and that meant his love. He gave her his heart, and she gave him the means to protect him… After the claws was a pair of thin, glowing daggers. The boy practiced before his goddess. He didn’t need to sleep, didn’t need to eat. He didn’t dare wander into the darkness, and to sit was to be complacent, and to be complacent was to endanger the fire. And so he moved. At first he was jerky. Messy. Ugly enough that he was ashamed to be seen by his fire. So he practiced facing the darkness, the warm light at his back. And so it was that the boy learned. Through lonely mistakes before a goddess he loved. Through light, and through Shadows. After the daggers, the boy learned to let the claws fade to nothing. Then he learned to use his daggers without them. Soon, three Shadows at once was an easy feat. And the boy thought, for a moment, that he’d figured out some grand secret. That nothing would change. That he would finally be able to protect his fire with ease… But the attacks increased. They came more often, and they came in bigger groups. And so the boy learned more, and worked harder. And his Goddess, his Light, his Flame and his Desire…she watched. All things he did were in her name. She knew him perfectly. When the boy sat, it was to lean against her altar. When the boy wept, it was she who kept the darkness in his heart at bay. When the boy laughed, it was because of her flickering light. When he made a promise, it was for her. Always for her. But the daggers were not the boy’s finest weapons. For though he used them well, he did not love them…and the fire knew it, or at least the boy believed she must. Because after a particularly exhausting fight, the boy was leaning against the altar, trembling from the pain of a dozen shadowy wounds, and he closed his eyes. Just for a moment, mind. It was barely more than a blink. And when he opened them, the daggers had disappeared from between his fingers. So tired was the boy that he hadn’t even noticed…and on the ground next to him was a sword. Ah, but to call such a thing a sword is to call a grand saga a story, is to call a hero heroic, is to call a person a human. It is true, on some level, that it was a sword, but it was so much more than that. It was slender and fiery, and fit his hand like it had been made for him. Which it had. It was a gift from a goddess. And in it, the boy found a second thing to love. It was harder to use than the daggers. At first, it seemed large and unwieldy. When the Shadows attacked, the boy would summon his knives, terrified that he wouldn’t be able to protect the fire. And between attacks, he relearned how to stand. He learned how to hold it. He had a base instinct for how it ought to be, and beyond that…he guessed. He made mistakes. But time and practice are powerful things. And the boy found himself dancing with his blade. He prayed to his fire, thanked she who had created all, and used all that he was to defend her. And in thanks, she gave him a second blade. And so he started over again. *** The girl saw a light, floating in the darkness. She walked toward it, and saw that it was a fire. Pure and bright and warm…and she wanted it. And suddenly, before she’d even seen movement, there was a pair of glowing white blades at her throat, held by a boy with black hair and pale skin and dangerous blue eyes. *** “What are you?” The boy asked suspiciously. “I’m…I’m just a person,” the strange creature who was not a Shadow said. “Like you.” She raised hands, hands that looked like the boy’s. The boy tightened his grip on his blades. “What do you want?” The boy asked. He was angry. This…this person had brought change. He ought to kill her, this new threat to his fire, but…but she was defenseless. And she could speak. And she wasn’t a Shadow. “Y-your fire,” the girl whispered. “It’s so warm.” The boy was quiet, then, and sure. She was here for his fire. And so she needed to die. But his blades, always so warm and excited, were cold in his hands. A sign? From his goddess? But he had to protect her, had to…the blades began to warm again in his hands and he turned from the girl, scanning the darkness…there. It was bubbling, and that meant Shadows…from the size of the bubbles, he guessed ten, at least. He shoved the girl back and advanced on them, keeping her in the corner of his eye. She was an unknown in a world where he knew all things. If she took even a single step forward, he’d kill her and be done with it; if she wanted to hurt his fire, she must be removed. *** The girl stumbled back and gasped. The boy sprang into motion, leaping over the fire and slashing at…shapes. Shapes formed of darkness. Tall and lithe and deadly. They converged on him, and the girl couldn’t move, sure that he was about to be… His blades flashed, cutting through the shadows. He danced around the flame, always keeping himself between it and the creatures…and watching her too, she realized. He was a servant of death, slicing through the monsters with a precise sort of grace. More than once, he got hit, and the shadows blended with his blood, turning it a dark scarlet on his white skin. But he never slowed, never paused, never let them get past him. The girl found herself unable to look away. As he fought, he was more enticing than the fire itself. He was so alive, so warm, so deadly and so beautiful. And then, almost as suddenly as it had started, it was over. The girl hadn’t moved. Quick as a blade slitting a throat, the boy was before her again, frowning. “What…what are you?” She whispered. *** The boy thought about the question. He thought for a long time. “I am a person,” he finally decided. “And I protect this fire. Leave.” He was tired; there had been twelve Shadows, and they’d been growing cleverer recently. He had a deep cut on his shoulder, and several in his side. He needed to practice, to make sure this would never happen again. And he needed to pray to his fire. Once again, he considered ending the girl…but at the thought, his blades grew cold enough that he shivered. He glanced at the fire. Didn’t it want to be protected? It surely knew all things, and so it surely knew if this girl was going to hurt it… The girl looked at him curiously. “Why do you protect the fire?” She asked. And the boy didn’t answer. “Who taught you to fight like that?” And again, the boy had no response. The girl skipped closer to him, hesitant and flighty. She reached out, and touched his hand. And for the first time The boy felt flesh On Flesh. She was soft and smooth and sweet. She opened his fingers, and the boy was trembling too hard to stop her. His blade clanged to the ground. And then she opened his other hand, and instead of holding his weapons, he was holding her hands. For the first time, he was holding something that was not a piece of his fire. And that something was looking at him with wide eyes and a tiny smile. And that something was a girl. He looked back at his fire, begging his goddess for help, begging her to let herself be protected. And then the girl put a hand on his cheek, and he looked back to her, and for the first time he was afraid for himself rather than his fire. And he named the girl First, in his mind, because she was the reason he had so many firsts, all at once. And First laughed. And the boy felt himself smile. And First took his hands and led him into the darkness. And the boy left his blades, another first. And when First formed an arrow from the darkness, his first thought was for the fire, always for the fire, and he yelled, and he tried to run back, to run home, to run to his goddess and defend her as he always had, as he always would. But his feet caught in the darkness, and he fell. And First raised her arrow. And amidst all the terror, the boy renamed her Last, for she was his end. And as the girl brought her arrow of shadow into his heart, The boy begged forgiveness of his goddess. And the boy was gone. And Last laughed. And she returned to the fire, leaving the boy to die alone. Nothing to protect, and no one to protect him. And Last took her arrow, dripping with blood so red she could have sold it as paint, and she stabbed her darkness into the light. And as the boy had died, Silent, Alone, So the fire died too. And Last let the darkness take the arrow back. And she smiled, thinking of the boy and his blades. And she left, to find another light in the darkness. And the boy’s body grew cold. So very cold. And for the first And last Time, There was no fire to warm him. No voice to guide him. No blades to distract him. He was dead. But he wasn’t gone. The pain remained, and in his silent body the boy was desperate and hopeless. And ashamed. There was such shame. He had failed. His fire was dead. His goddess had trusted him. Had counted on him to know that she must be protected, regardless of what it seemed like she was saying. He should have been better, he should have been stronger, and the boy wanted to open his mouth and wail his misery into the darkness, only it wouldn’t open, and he couldn’t move, and he was dead. He was dead. He knew that. But his emotions lived, and burned in his heart, burned hotter than the arrow Last had driven into him… It took time. Lots of it, though the boy knew of no way to measure it. But the burning… The aching… The pain, the pain, the pain. It was hot and ragged and… And pure. Pure as fire. And the boy’s bones steadily became an altar. And the boy’s heart, always burning with conviction for the goddess he had once served, eternally guilty for his failure…it felt like fire. But it wasn’t until he heard a voice that he truly turned to a flame. It was the same voice. The one that had told him to protect his fire, so long ago… And it told him to burn. “Burn hot, and burn bright, and never die,” the voice told him. It didn’t mention his failure. It didn’t acknowledge his death. It simply gave him another chance. And though he missed his blades, And his goddess, And the life from before, The boy understood that change is inevitable. And so he thanked the voice for a second chance, to guard not another fire but his own. And so he burned. And so he fought a new battle. It was so dark…but it was always dark. The boy knew the darkness. And he refused to let it touch him, For he was light itself. Also, I drew this on my hand during church today when I was about halfway through writing it Hide contents Oooooo 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Weaver of Lies Posted January 8 Report Share Posted January 8 4 hours ago, Edema Rue said: Okay, I don't know what the light this is, or where it came from, but I kinda love it. (yes I understand that it's very weird, confusing, and not particularly exciting. I don't know why I love it, I just do.) Guardian: Hide contents It was dark. But it was always dark, and the boy supposed that his task was only made more crucial by the darkness. Still, he wished for more light. All he had was the fire. Pure white. A droplet of light itself, flickering on an altar built from shadows, shining brighter than the sun…he’d never seen the sun. He wasn’t sure why he knew what the sun was. No one had told him. He didn’t know why he knew about something he would never see. There were a lot of things the boy didn’t know, though of course he didn’t know what he was missing, as he’d never known it. He didn’t know the word “friend”. Or “brother”. Or “sister”, “cousin”, “mother”, “father”, and any of the thousands of other words there are to describe people. He could remember a voice. He remembered a voice… “Do not let the fire die,” the voice had told him. “The darkness must not overcome you.” And so the boy kept his fire. It needed no wood. It flickered enticingly, and the boy lost many hours watching it the way another might watch a beautiful woman. It was his solace and his comfort. His muse, his meaning, his purpose for living. Although…there were times when the boy wondered if he really was living. This was not life. He knew that. It was silent, and though he’d tried speaking to himself, it felt like a betrayal of something holy. So he stayed silent. And he was alone. He didn’t know who should be there, only that no one was, and it wasn’t…quite…right…and it was extreme. His world was one of pure darkness and pure light. The fire, and the shadows. And he was between them, trapped in a world between all that was good and all that was bad. During those times of doubt and fear, the boy often thought about leaving. He wondered what he might find. He wondered who he might find. He pondered the joys and the sorrows that the unknown was sure to bring. But he always choose to stay. Not because he was afraid of the unknown. No. He didn’t stay because of the fear of what was out there. He stayed because if he didn’t, his fire would be smothered. And if he lived to keep the fire alive, then he could not let anything distract him from it. Because something didn’t want the fire to live. The Shadows. The boy had lived all his life cloaked in shadows, but they were simply present. Unfazed by anything, untouched by the light of his fire. But the Shadows…they were something different. Angry. Eager for revenge. Filled with hate and destruction. And they wanted his fire gone. The boy didn’t know why. All he knew was what the voice had told him. He must not let the fire die. He must not give in to the darkness. So the boy fought it. In the beginning, he fought tooth and hand, sometimes curling over the fire, allowing it to burn him so that the Shadows could not reach it. Because the Shadows could kill the fire. All it would take was a single lax moment…they would taint his fire and it would fade into nothing, or worse, it would become like them… But the boy grew. He learned. No one taught him, but he learned anyway, because he had fixated on that fire in the way that young boys often find a focus they can’t explain or ignore. Or perhaps it was simply because he was bored. Regardless, the boy learned. He learned to weave simple creations from the light. The first thing he learned, in a moment of absolute terror, was claws. There were three Shadows converging on the flame, and something in the boy tore as he realized he might fail. It felt as if he were ripping something loose, and suddenly there were glowing claws at the ends of his fingers. He tore through the Shadows much easier, then. And he felt them hiss and crumble, not just run away. He didn’t learn how to dismiss the claws for a very long time. But in that time, he experimented, trying to find that same feeling of pulling something free…he never did feel it. But he found a better way of doing things. Without the crude and undisciplined yanking that comes with emotion, he learned to seduce the light. What an absurd notion. Seducing fire. But that is what the boy did. And the next time the light formed, it felt as though it were a gift being given. The boy liked it better that way. He was no thief in the night. The fire was his lover, and what was hers was his, and what was his was hers. And since he had nearly nothing, to the boy that meant his life, and that meant his love. He gave her his heart, and she gave him the means to protect him… After the claws was a pair of thin, glowing daggers. The boy practiced before his goddess. He didn’t need to sleep, didn’t need to eat. He didn’t dare wander into the darkness, and to sit was to be complacent, and to be complacent was to endanger the fire. And so he moved. At first he was jerky. Messy. Ugly enough that he was ashamed to be seen by his fire. So he practiced facing the darkness, the warm light at his back. And so it was that the boy learned. Through lonely mistakes before a goddess he loved. Through light, and through Shadows. After the daggers, the boy learned to let the claws fade to nothing. Then he learned to use his daggers without them. Soon, three Shadows at once was an easy feat. And the boy thought, for a moment, that he’d figured out some grand secret. That nothing would change. That he would finally be able to protect his fire with ease… But the attacks increased. They came more often, and they came in bigger groups. And so the boy learned more, and worked harder. And his Goddess, his Light, his Flame and his Desire…she watched. All things he did were in her name. She knew him perfectly. When the boy sat, it was to lean against her altar. When the boy wept, it was she who kept the darkness in his heart at bay. When the boy laughed, it was because of her flickering light. When he made a promise, it was for her. Always for her. But the daggers were not the boy’s finest weapons. For though he used them well, he did not love them…and the fire knew it, or at least the boy believed she must. Because after a particularly exhausting fight, the boy was leaning against the altar, trembling from the pain of a dozen shadowy wounds, and he closed his eyes. Just for a moment, mind. It was barely more than a blink. And when he opened them, the daggers had disappeared from between his fingers. So tired was the boy that he hadn’t even noticed…and on the ground next to him was a sword. Ah, but to call such a thing a sword is to call a grand saga a story, is to call a hero heroic, is to call a person a human. It is true, on some level, that it was a sword, but it was so much more than that. It was slender and fiery, and fit his hand like it had been made for him. Which it had. It was a gift from a goddess. And in it, the boy found a second thing to love. It was harder to use than the daggers. At first, it seemed large and unwieldy. When the Shadows attacked, the boy would summon his knives, terrified that he wouldn’t be able to protect the fire. And between attacks, he relearned how to stand. He learned how to hold it. He had a base instinct for how it ought to be, and beyond that…he guessed. He made mistakes. But time and practice are powerful things. And the boy found himself dancing with his blade. He prayed to his fire, thanked she who had created all, and used all that he was to defend her. And in thanks, she gave him a second blade. And so he started over again. *** The girl saw a light, floating in the darkness. She walked toward it, and saw that it was a fire. Pure and bright and warm…and she wanted it. And suddenly, before she’d even seen movement, there was a pair of glowing white blades at her throat, held by a boy with black hair and pale skin and dangerous blue eyes. *** “What are you?” The boy asked suspiciously. “I’m…I’m just a person,” the strange creature who was not a Shadow said. “Like you.” She raised hands, hands that looked like the boy’s. The boy tightened his grip on his blades. “What do you want?” The boy asked. He was angry. This…this person had brought change. He ought to kill her, this new threat to his fire, but…but she was defenseless. And she could speak. And she wasn’t a Shadow. “Y-your fire,” the girl whispered. “It’s so warm.” The boy was quiet, then, and sure. She was here for his fire. And so she needed to die. But his blades, always so warm and excited, were cold in his hands. A sign? From his goddess? But he had to protect her, had to…the blades began to warm again in his hands and he turned from the girl, scanning the darkness…there. It was bubbling, and that meant Shadows…from the size of the bubbles, he guessed ten, at least. He shoved the girl back and advanced on them, keeping her in the corner of his eye. She was an unknown in a world where he knew all things. If she took even a single step forward, he’d kill her and be done with it; if she wanted to hurt his fire, she must be removed. *** The girl stumbled back and gasped. The boy sprang into motion, leaping over the fire and slashing at…shapes. Shapes formed of darkness. Tall and lithe and deadly. They converged on him, and the girl couldn’t move, sure that he was about to be… His blades flashed, cutting through the shadows. He danced around the flame, always keeping himself between it and the creatures…and watching her too, she realized. He was a servant of death, slicing through the monsters with a precise sort of grace. More than once, he got hit, and the shadows blended with his blood, turning it a dark scarlet on his white skin. But he never slowed, never paused, never let them get past him. The girl found herself unable to look away. As he fought, he was more enticing than the fire itself. He was so alive, so warm, so deadly and so beautiful. And then, almost as suddenly as it had started, it was over. The girl hadn’t moved. Quick as a blade slitting a throat, the boy was before her again, frowning. “What…what are you?” She whispered. *** The boy thought about the question. He thought for a long time. “I am a person,” he finally decided. “And I protect this fire. Leave.” He was tired; there had been twelve Shadows, and they’d been growing cleverer recently. He had a deep cut on his shoulder, and several in his side. He needed to practice, to make sure this would never happen again. And he needed to pray to his fire. Once again, he considered ending the girl…but at the thought, his blades grew cold enough that he shivered. He glanced at the fire. Didn’t it want to be protected? It surely knew all things, and so it surely knew if this girl was going to hurt it… The girl looked at him curiously. “Why do you protect the fire?” She asked. And the boy didn’t answer. “Who taught you to fight like that?” And again, the boy had no response. The girl skipped closer to him, hesitant and flighty. She reached out, and touched his hand. And for the first time The boy felt flesh On Flesh. She was soft and smooth and sweet. She opened his fingers, and the boy was trembling too hard to stop her. His blade clanged to the ground. And then she opened his other hand, and instead of holding his weapons, he was holding her hands. For the first time, he was holding something that was not a piece of his fire. And that something was looking at him with wide eyes and a tiny smile. And that something was a girl. He looked back at his fire, begging his goddess for help, begging her to let herself be protected. And then the girl put a hand on his cheek, and he looked back to her, and for the first time he was afraid for himself rather than his fire. And he named the girl First, in his mind, because she was the reason he had so many firsts, all at once. And First laughed. And the boy felt himself smile. And First took his hands and led him into the darkness. And the boy left his blades, another first. And when First formed an arrow from the darkness, his first thought was for the fire, always for the fire, and he yelled, and he tried to run back, to run home, to run to his goddess and defend her as he always had, as he always would. But his feet caught in the darkness, and he fell. And First raised her arrow. And amidst all the terror, the boy renamed her Last, for she was his end. And as the girl brought her arrow of shadow into his heart, The boy begged forgiveness of his goddess. And the boy was gone. And Last laughed. And she returned to the fire, leaving the boy to die alone. Nothing to protect, and no one to protect him. And Last took her arrow, dripping with blood so red she could have sold it as paint, and she stabbed her darkness into the light. And as the boy had died, Silent, Alone, So the fire died too. And Last let the darkness take the arrow back. And she smiled, thinking of the boy and his blades. And she left, to find another light in the darkness. And the boy’s body grew cold. So very cold. And for the first And last Time, There was no fire to warm him. No voice to guide him. No blades to distract him. He was dead. But he wasn’t gone. The pain remained, and in his silent body the boy was desperate and hopeless. And ashamed. There was such shame. He had failed. His fire was dead. His goddess had trusted him. Had counted on him to know that she must be protected, regardless of what it seemed like she was saying. He should have been better, he should have been stronger, and the boy wanted to open his mouth and wail his misery into the darkness, only it wouldn’t open, and he couldn’t move, and he was dead. He was dead. He knew that. But his emotions lived, and burned in his heart, burned hotter than the arrow Last had driven into him… It took time. Lots of it, though the boy knew of no way to measure it. But the burning… The aching… The pain, the pain, the pain. It was hot and ragged and… And pure. Pure as fire. And the boy’s bones steadily became an altar. And the boy’s heart, always burning with conviction for the goddess he had once served, eternally guilty for his failure…it felt like fire. But it wasn’t until he heard a voice that he truly turned to a flame. It was the same voice. The one that had told him to protect his fire, so long ago… And it told him to burn. “Burn hot, and burn bright, and never die,” the voice told him. It didn’t mention his failure. It didn’t acknowledge his death. It simply gave him another chance. And though he missed his blades, And his goddess, And the life from before, The boy understood that change is inevitable. And so he thanked the voice for a second chance, to guard not another fire but his own. And so he burned. And so he fought a new battle. It was so dark…but it was always dark. The boy knew the darkness. And he refused to let it touch him, For he was light itself. Also, I drew this on my hand during church today when I was about halfway through writing it Hide contents I love that Eddie, that story is really intriguing, I enjoyed it immensely! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wittles Posted January 9 Report Share Posted January 9 On 1/7/2024 at 3:14 PM, Edema Rue said: Okay, I don't know what the light this is, or where it came from, but I kinda love it. (yes I understand that it's very weird, confusing, and not particularly exciting. I don't know why I love it, I just do.) Guardian: Reveal hidden contents It was dark. But it was always dark, and the boy supposed that his task was only made more crucial by the darkness. Still, he wished for more light. All he had was the fire. Pure white. A droplet of light itself, flickering on an altar built from shadows, shining brighter than the sun…he’d never seen the sun. He wasn’t sure why he knew what the sun was. No one had told him. He didn’t know why he knew about something he would never see. There were a lot of things the boy didn’t know, though of course he didn’t know what he was missing, as he’d never known it. He didn’t know the word “friend”. Or “brother”. Or “sister”, “cousin”, “mother”, “father”, and any of the thousands of other words there are to describe people. He could remember a voice. He remembered a voice… “Do not let the fire die,” the voice had told him. “The darkness must not overcome you.” And so the boy kept his fire. It needed no wood. It flickered enticingly, and the boy lost many hours watching it the way another might watch a beautiful woman. It was his solace and his comfort. His muse, his meaning, his purpose for living. Although…there were times when the boy wondered if he really was living. This was not life. He knew that. It was silent, and though he’d tried speaking to himself, it felt like a betrayal of something holy. So he stayed silent. And he was alone. He didn’t know who should be there, only that no one was, and it wasn’t…quite…right…and it was extreme. His world was one of pure darkness and pure light. The fire, and the shadows. And he was between them, trapped in a world between all that was good and all that was bad. During those times of doubt and fear, the boy often thought about leaving. He wondered what he might find. He wondered who he might find. He pondered the joys and the sorrows that the unknown was sure to bring. But he always choose to stay. Not because he was afraid of the unknown. No. He didn’t stay because of the fear of what was out there. He stayed because if he didn’t, his fire would be smothered. And if he lived to keep the fire alive, then he could not let anything distract him from it. Because something didn’t want the fire to live. The Shadows. The boy had lived all his life cloaked in shadows, but they were simply present. Unfazed by anything, untouched by the light of his fire. But the Shadows…they were something different. Angry. Eager for revenge. Filled with hate and destruction. And they wanted his fire gone. The boy didn’t know why. All he knew was what the voice had told him. He must not let the fire die. He must not give in to the darkness. So the boy fought it. In the beginning, he fought tooth and hand, sometimes curling over the fire, allowing it to burn him so that the Shadows could not reach it. Because the Shadows could kill the fire. All it would take was a single lax moment…they would taint his fire and it would fade into nothing, or worse, it would become like them… But the boy grew. He learned. No one taught him, but he learned anyway, because he had fixated on that fire in the way that young boys often find a focus they can’t explain or ignore. Or perhaps it was simply because he was bored. Regardless, the boy learned. He learned to weave simple creations from the light. The first thing he learned, in a moment of absolute terror, was claws. There were three Shadows converging on the flame, and something in the boy tore as he realized he might fail. It felt as if he were ripping something loose, and suddenly there were glowing claws at the ends of his fingers. He tore through the Shadows much easier, then. And he felt them hiss and crumble, not just run away. He didn’t learn how to dismiss the claws for a very long time. But in that time, he experimented, trying to find that same feeling of pulling something free…he never did feel it. But he found a better way of doing things. Without the crude and undisciplined yanking that comes with emotion, he learned to seduce the light. What an absurd notion. Seducing fire. But that is what the boy did. And the next time the light formed, it felt as though it were a gift being given. The boy liked it better that way. He was no thief in the night. The fire was his lover, and what was hers was his, and what was his was hers. And since he had nearly nothing, to the boy that meant his life, and that meant his love. He gave her his heart, and she gave him the means to protect him… After the claws was a pair of thin, glowing daggers. The boy practiced before his goddess. He didn’t need to sleep, didn’t need to eat. He didn’t dare wander into the darkness, and to sit was to be complacent, and to be complacent was to endanger the fire. And so he moved. At first he was jerky. Messy. Ugly enough that he was ashamed to be seen by his fire. So he practiced facing the darkness, the warm light at his back. And so it was that the boy learned. Through lonely mistakes before a goddess he loved. Through light, and through Shadows. After the daggers, the boy learned to let the claws fade to nothing. Then he learned to use his daggers without them. Soon, three Shadows at once was an easy feat. And the boy thought, for a moment, that he’d figured out some grand secret. That nothing would change. That he would finally be able to protect his fire with ease… But the attacks increased. They came more often, and they came in bigger groups. And so the boy learned more, and worked harder. And his Goddess, his Light, his Flame and his Desire…she watched. All things he did were in her name. She knew him perfectly. When the boy sat, it was to lean against her altar. When the boy wept, it was she who kept the darkness in his heart at bay. When the boy laughed, it was because of her flickering light. When he made a promise, it was for her. Always for her. But the daggers were not the boy’s finest weapons. For though he used them well, he did not love them…and the fire knew it, or at least the boy believed she must. Because after a particularly exhausting fight, the boy was leaning against the altar, trembling from the pain of a dozen shadowy wounds, and he closed his eyes. Just for a moment, mind. It was barely more than a blink. And when he opened them, the daggers had disappeared from between his fingers. So tired was the boy that he hadn’t even noticed…and on the ground next to him was a sword. Ah, but to call such a thing a sword is to call a grand saga a story, is to call a hero heroic, is to call a person a human. It is true, on some level, that it was a sword, but it was so much more than that. It was slender and fiery, and fit his hand like it had been made for him. Which it had. It was a gift from a goddess. And in it, the boy found a second thing to love. It was harder to use than the daggers. At first, it seemed large and unwieldy. When the Shadows attacked, the boy would summon his knives, terrified that he wouldn’t be able to protect the fire. And between attacks, he relearned how to stand. He learned how to hold it. He had a base instinct for how it ought to be, and beyond that…he guessed. He made mistakes. But time and practice are powerful things. And the boy found himself dancing with his blade. He prayed to his fire, thanked she who had created all, and used all that he was to defend her. And in thanks, she gave him a second blade. And so he started over again. *** The girl saw a light, floating in the darkness. She walked toward it, and saw that it was a fire. Pure and bright and warm…and she wanted it. And suddenly, before she’d even seen movement, there was a pair of glowing white blades at her throat, held by a boy with black hair and pale skin and dangerous blue eyes. *** “What are you?” The boy asked suspiciously. “I’m…I’m just a person,” the strange creature who was not a Shadow said. “Like you.” She raised hands, hands that looked like the boy’s. The boy tightened his grip on his blades. “What do you want?” The boy asked. He was angry. This…this person had brought change. He ought to kill her, this new threat to his fire, but…but she was defenseless. And she could speak. And she wasn’t a Shadow. “Y-your fire,” the girl whispered. “It’s so warm.” The boy was quiet, then, and sure. She was here for his fire. And so she needed to die. But his blades, always so warm and excited, were cold in his hands. A sign? From his goddess? But he had to protect her, had to…the blades began to warm again in his hands and he turned from the girl, scanning the darkness…there. It was bubbling, and that meant Shadows…from the size of the bubbles, he guessed ten, at least. He shoved the girl back and advanced on them, keeping her in the corner of his eye. She was an unknown in a world where he knew all things. If she took even a single step forward, he’d kill her and be done with it; if she wanted to hurt his fire, she must be removed. *** The girl stumbled back and gasped. The boy sprang into motion, leaping over the fire and slashing at…shapes. Shapes formed of darkness. Tall and lithe and deadly. They converged on him, and the girl couldn’t move, sure that he was about to be… His blades flashed, cutting through the shadows. He danced around the flame, always keeping himself between it and the creatures…and watching her too, she realized. He was a servant of death, slicing through the monsters with a precise sort of grace. More than once, he got hit, and the shadows blended with his blood, turning it a dark scarlet on his white skin. But he never slowed, never paused, never let them get past him. The girl found herself unable to look away. As he fought, he was more enticing than the fire itself. He was so alive, so warm, so deadly and so beautiful. And then, almost as suddenly as it had started, it was over. The girl hadn’t moved. Quick as a blade slitting a throat, the boy was before her again, frowning. “What…what are you?” She whispered. *** The boy thought about the question. He thought for a long time. “I am a person,” he finally decided. “And I protect this fire. Leave.” He was tired; there had been twelve Shadows, and they’d been growing cleverer recently. He had a deep cut on his shoulder, and several in his side. He needed to practice, to make sure this would never happen again. And he needed to pray to his fire. Once again, he considered ending the girl…but at the thought, his blades grew cold enough that he shivered. He glanced at the fire. Didn’t it want to be protected? It surely knew all things, and so it surely knew if this girl was going to hurt it… The girl looked at him curiously. “Why do you protect the fire?” She asked. And the boy didn’t answer. “Who taught you to fight like that?” And again, the boy had no response. The girl skipped closer to him, hesitant and flighty. She reached out, and touched his hand. And for the first time The boy felt flesh On Flesh. She was soft and smooth and sweet. She opened his fingers, and the boy was trembling too hard to stop her. His blade clanged to the ground. And then she opened his other hand, and instead of holding his weapons, he was holding her hands. For the first time, he was holding something that was not a piece of his fire. And that something was looking at him with wide eyes and a tiny smile. And that something was a girl. He looked back at his fire, begging his goddess for help, begging her to let herself be protected. And then the girl put a hand on his cheek, and he looked back to her, and for the first time he was afraid for himself rather than his fire. And he named the girl First, in his mind, because she was the reason he had so many firsts, all at once. And First laughed. And the boy felt himself smile. And First took his hands and led him into the darkness. And the boy left his blades, another first. And when First formed an arrow from the darkness, his first thought was for the fire, always for the fire, and he yelled, and he tried to run back, to run home, to run to his goddess and defend her as he always had, as he always would. But his feet caught in the darkness, and he fell. And First raised her arrow. And amidst all the terror, the boy renamed her Last, for she was his end. And as the girl brought her arrow of shadow into his heart, The boy begged forgiveness of his goddess. And the boy was gone. And Last laughed. And she returned to the fire, leaving the boy to die alone. Nothing to protect, and no one to protect him. And Last took her arrow, dripping with blood so red she could have sold it as paint, and she stabbed her darkness into the light. And as the boy had died, Silent, Alone, So the fire died too. And Last let the darkness take the arrow back. And she smiled, thinking of the boy and his blades. And she left, to find another light in the darkness. And the boy’s body grew cold. So very cold. And for the first And last Time, There was no fire to warm him. No voice to guide him. No blades to distract him. He was dead. But he wasn’t gone. The pain remained, and in his silent body the boy was desperate and hopeless. And ashamed. There was such shame. He had failed. His fire was dead. His goddess had trusted him. Had counted on him to know that she must be protected, regardless of what it seemed like she was saying. He should have been better, he should have been stronger, and the boy wanted to open his mouth and wail his misery into the darkness, only it wouldn’t open, and he couldn’t move, and he was dead. He was dead. He knew that. But his emotions lived, and burned in his heart, burned hotter than the arrow Last had driven into him… It took time. Lots of it, though the boy knew of no way to measure it. But the burning… The aching… The pain, the pain, the pain. It was hot and ragged and… And pure. Pure as fire. And the boy’s bones steadily became an altar. And the boy’s heart, always burning with conviction for the goddess he had once served, eternally guilty for his failure…it felt like fire. But it wasn’t until he heard a voice that he truly turned to a flame. It was the same voice. The one that had told him to protect his fire, so long ago… And it told him to burn. “Burn hot, and burn bright, and never die,” the voice told him. It didn’t mention his failure. It didn’t acknowledge his death. It simply gave him another chance. And though he missed his blades, And his goddess, And the life from before, The boy understood that change is inevitable. And so he thanked the voice for a second chance, to guard not another fire but his own. And so he burned. And so he fought a new battle. It was so dark…but it was always dark. The boy knew the darkness. And he refused to let it touch him, For he was light itself. Also, I drew this on my hand during church today when I was about halfway through writing it Reveal hidden contents Woah. That was intense. I loved the abstractness! 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Edema Rue Posted January 9 Author Report Share Posted January 9 Thank you all!! I really enjoyed writing it Tomorrow: Spoiler Yesterday, I was nothing. Yesterday, I was below rock bottom. Today, I am more. Today, I am hope incarnate. And today, I choose life. And laughter. I choose to love, Rather than to seek to be loved. I choose to care, Rather than to seek to be cared for. I choose to love with no conditions. I choose to let my regrets fall to nothing. And I choose To smile. Yesterday, It was all I could do to survive. But today… Today, I will find a way to thrive. A moment of pain Does not define me. A moment of weakness, Is not all that I am. A moment Or a day Or a week Or a month Or a year Or a decade Or longer Can be overcome. There is potential to change. There is hope. Pain Can bring change. Regret, Can bring progress. Darkness Reminds us Of the stars. There is no darkness So complete That the light is lost forever. There is no pain So eternal That there will never be joy. Remember the joy. Let the fear turn to faith. If you see no light in the darkness, Just remember, You shine. And if you cannot find light in yourself, Then I will guide you, Until you can find your own way. Yesterday, And all the yesterdays before, Do not determine, Tomorrow. And I am watching for tomorrow, And all the tomorrows that come. Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler Spoiler @Kajsa, it gets better. It doesn't always hurt, even if it feels like it always will. <333 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Wandering Wizard Posted January 9 Report Share Posted January 9 3 minutes ago, Edema Rue said: Thank you all!! I really enjoyed writing it Tomorrow: Hide contents Yesterday, I was nothing. Yesterday, I was below rock bottom. Today, I am more. Today, I am hope incarnate. And today, I choose life. And laughter. I choose to love, Rather than to seek to be loved. I choose to care, Rather than to seek to be cared for. I choose to love with no conditions. I choose to let my regrets fall to nothing. And I choose To smile. Yesterday, It was all I could do to survive. But today… Today, I will find a way to thrive. A moment of pain Does not define me. A moment of weakness, Is not all that I am. A moment Or a day Or a week Or a month Or a year Or a decade Or longer Can be overcome. There is potential to change. There is hope. Pain Can bring change. Regret, Can bring progress. Darkness Reminds us Of the stars. There is no darkness So complete That the light is lost forever. There is no pain So eternal That there will never be joy. Remember the joy. Let the fear turn to faith. If you see no light in the darkness, Just remember, You shine. And if you cannot find light in yourself, Then I will guide you, Until you can find your own way. Yesterday, And all the yesterdays before, Do not determine, Tomorrow. And I am watching for tomorrow, And all the tomorrows that come. Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents @Kajsa, it gets better. It doesn't always hurt, even if it feels like it always will. <333 I don't know what to say but thank you dear sister. Thank you for giving me hope for tomorrow and for the next tomorrow and all of them. Just thank you <333 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Weaver of Lies Posted January 9 Report Share Posted January 9 5 minutes ago, Edema Rue said: Thank you all!! I really enjoyed writing it Tomorrow: Reveal hidden contents Yesterday, I was nothing. Yesterday, I was below rock bottom. Today, I am more. Today, I am hope incarnate. And today, I choose life. And laughter. I choose to love, Rather than to seek to be loved. I choose to care, Rather than to seek to be cared for. I choose to love with no conditions. I choose to let my regrets fall to nothing. And I choose To smile. Yesterday, It was all I could do to survive. But today… Today, I will find a way to thrive. A moment of pain Does not define me. A moment of weakness, Is not all that I am. A moment Or a day Or a week Or a month Or a year Or a decade Or longer Can be overcome. There is potential to change. There is hope. Pain Can bring change. Regret, Can bring progress. Darkness Reminds us Of the stars. There is no darkness So complete That the light is lost forever. There is no pain So eternal That there will never be joy. Remember the joy. Let the fear turn to faith. If you see no light in the darkness, Just remember, You shine. And if you cannot find light in yourself, Then I will guide you, Until you can find your own way. Yesterday, And all the yesterdays before, Do not determine, Tomorrow. And I am watching for tomorrow, And all the tomorrows that come. Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents Reveal hidden contents @Kajsa, it gets better. It doesn't always hurt, even if it feels like it always will. <333 I needed that right now. I need hope for tomorrow. Thank you Eddie 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Kajsa Posted January 9 Report Share Posted January 9 9 hours ago, Edema Rue said: Thank you all!! I really enjoyed writing it Tomorrow: Reveal hidden contents Yesterday, I was nothing. Yesterday, I was below rock bottom. Today, I am more. Today, I am hope incarnate. And today, I choose life. And laughter. I choose to love, Rather than to seek to be loved. I choose to care, Rather than to seek to be cared for. I choose to love with no conditions. I choose to let my regrets fall to nothing. And I choose To smile. Yesterday, It was all I could do to survive. But today… Today, I will find a way to thrive. A moment of pain Does not define me. A moment of weakness, Is not all that I am. A moment Or a day Or a week Or a month Or a year Or a decade Or longer Can be overcome. There is potential to change. There is hope. Pain Can bring change. Regret, Can bring progress. Darkness Reminds us Of the stars. There is no darkness So complete That the light is lost forever. There is no pain So eternal That there will never be joy. Remember the joy. Let the fear turn to faith. If you see no light in the darkness, Just remember, You shine. And if you cannot find light in yourself, Then I will guide you, Until you can find your own way. Yesterday, And all the yesterdays before, Do not determine, Tomorrow. And I am watching for tomorrow, And all the tomorrows that come. Reveal hidden contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents Hide contents @Kajsa, it gets better. It doesn't always hurt, even if it feels like it always will. <333 *breaks down into tears* girlie you just like… like… “darkness reminds us of the stars” imma put that up on my wall in my room if you don’t mind because that is POWERFUL i mean the whole thing is powerful but that line got me. Thank you for this. Love you <333 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Edema Rue Posted January 9 Author Report Share Posted January 9 9 hours ago, The Wandering Wizard said: I don't know what to say but thank you dear sister. Thank you for giving me hope for tomorrow and for the next tomorrow and all of them. Just thank you <333 <333 Always. 9 hours ago, Lightweaver2 said: I needed that right now. I need hope for tomorrow. Thank you Eddie If you ever need to talk, I'm here. 7 minutes ago, Kajsa said: *breaks down into tears* girlie you just like… like… “darkness reminds us of the stars” imma put that up on my wall in my room if you don’t mind because that is POWERFUL i mean the whole thing is powerful but that line got me. Thank you for this. Love you <333 *hugs* Love you too <333 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Edema Rue Posted January 10 Author Report Share Posted January 10 A poem: Spoiler Stones, Mountains of them, Piled on my back. Too much pressure, And surely, I’ll be crushed. But I’ve been crushed before. And with time To heal, I’ve learned Just how much I can bear. So hand me a rock, Then another, And another. Maybe I need To be weighed down To remember I can fly. Chain me to the ground So that I remember That I am free. Break me, Then give me time to heal. Test me, Then remind me I am strong. Leave me, Then show me I’m not alone. Tie me down, And I will stretch my wings And fly. Today. Today I will try. Today I will not give in. Today, There is no struggle too great For the hope That hides My fear. But yesterday, The rocks broke my back. And the chains kept me down, And the pressure Was too much. But today is so bright And so I wonder Is the light Worth the despair? Is this hope Worth the hopelessness that will come after? It isn’t A hard question; Today, I can laugh. The sun is so much brighter, After living in darkness. The smiles are worth so much more, After all the pain. And the rocks On my chest, The ones sending cracks, Through my heart, Are reminding me That I know how to fight. “More weight,” I say. More weight. I am not afraid to shatter, And that Is why I can survive Anything. Spoiler More weight is a quote from The Crucible, which I'm in right now. (yes, the guy who says it dies immediately after, but that's irrelevant ) 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Wandering Wizard Posted January 10 Report Share Posted January 10 1 minute ago, Edema Rue said: A poem: Hide contents Stones, Mountains of them, Piled on my back. Too much pressure, And surely, I’ll be crushed. But I’ve been crushed before. And with time To heal, I’ve learned Just how much I can bear. So hand me a rock, Then another, And another. Maybe I need To be weighed down To remember I can fly. Chain me to the ground So that I remember That I am free. Break me, Then give me time to heal. Test me, Then remind me I am strong. Leave me, Then show me I’m not alone. Tie me down, And I will stretch my wings And fly. Today. Today I will try. Today I will not give in. Today, There is no struggle too great For the hope That hides My fear. But yesterday, The rocks broke my back. And the chains kept me down, And the pressure Was too much. But today is so bright And so I wonder Is the light Worth the despair? Is this hope Worth the hopelessness that will come after? It isn’t A hard question; Today, I can laugh. The sun is so much brighter, After living in darkness. The smiles are worth so much more, After all the pain. And the rocks On my chest, The ones sending cracks, Through my heart, Are reminding me That I know how to fight. “More weight,” I say. More weight. I am not afraid to shatter, And that Is why I can survive Anything. Hide contents More weight is a quote from The Crucible, which I'm in right now. (yes, the guy who says it dies immediately after, but that's irrelevant ) It's beautiful sis 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Weaver of Lies Posted January 10 Report Share Posted January 10 2 minutes ago, Edema Rue said: A poem: Reveal hidden contents Stones, Mountains of them, Piled on my back. Too much pressure, And surely, I’ll be crushed. But I’ve been crushed before. And with time To heal, I’ve learned Just how much I can bear. So hand me a rock, Then another, And another. Maybe I need To be weighed down To remember I can fly. Chain me to the ground So that I remember That I am free. Break me, Then give me time to heal. Test me, Then remind me I am strong. Leave me, Then show me I’m not alone. Tie me down, And I will stretch my wings And fly. Today. Today I will try. Today I will not give in. Today, There is no struggle too great For the hope That hides My fear. But yesterday, The rocks broke my back. And the chains kept me down, And the pressure Was too much. But today is so bright And so I wonder Is the light Worth the despair? Is this hope Worth the hopelessness that will come after? It isn’t A hard question; Today, I can laugh. The sun is so much brighter, After living in darkness. The smiles are worth so much more, After all the pain. And the rocks On my chest, The ones sending cracks, Through my heart, Are reminding me That I know how to fight. “More weight,” I say. More weight. I am not afraid to shatter, And that Is why I can survive Anything. Reveal hidden contents More weight is a quote from The Crucible, which I'm in right now. (yes, the guy who says it dies immediately after, but that's irrelevant ) *hugs* It truly is wonderful. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
RoyalBeeMage Posted January 10 Report Share Posted January 10 reminds one to all ways look for the bright side in any situation. thank you. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Aspiring Archivist Posted January 10 Report Share Posted January 10 1 hour ago, Edema Rue said: A poem: Hide contents Stones, Mountains of them, Piled on my back. Too much pressure, And surely, I’ll be crushed. But I’ve been crushed before. And with time To heal, I’ve learned Just how much I can bear. So hand me a rock, Then another, And another. Maybe I need To be weighed down To remember I can fly. Chain me to the ground So that I remember That I am free. Break me, Then give me time to heal. Test me, Then remind me I am strong. Leave me, Then show me I’m not alone. Tie me down, And I will stretch my wings And fly. Today. Today I will try. Today I will not give in. Today, There is no struggle too great For the hope That hides My fear. But yesterday, The rocks broke my back. And the chains kept me down, And the pressure Was too much. But today is so bright And so I wonder Is the light Worth the despair? Is this hope Worth the hopelessness that will come after? It isn’t A hard question; Today, I can laugh. The sun is so much brighter, After living in darkness. The smiles are worth so much more, After all the pain. And the rocks On my chest, The ones sending cracks, Through my heart, Are reminding me That I know how to fight. “More weight,” I say. More weight. I am not afraid to shatter, And that Is why I can survive Anything. Hide contents More weight is a quote from The Crucible, which I'm in right now. (yes, the guy who says it dies immediately after, but that's irrelevant ) I like this a lot. *Hugs* 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Edema Rue Posted January 11 Author Report Share Posted January 11 Thanks guys!! It means so much that you guys read my lil words Spoiler I was watching him. It was my job to watch, after all, to notice the things no one else does. His hair was full and blond with gentle curls. And he was so very angry. The dungeons hadn’t been kind to him, that much I could tell at barely a moment’s glance. But they hadn’t broken him. He was chained to the floor, one arm on each side, ankles pulled down so that he was forced to kneel. That was more than enough for any prisoner, but the Lady clearly wanted him humiliated; there was a heavy iron collar around his throat, chaining him to the floor by his neck. She wanted him to feel defeated…why? I could rarely make sense of my Lady’s actions, but there were always reasons, usually so many that even I never saw half of them. Subtle and dangerous and perfect…wiser than any Empress, braver than any Queen, and more deadly than any of my assassins. So what did she want from this prisoner? And why did she need him angry to get it? He pulled at the chains, then winced. Ah…spikes. That made him a magic user…uncommon, outside our order. I wished I could see his face. Who was this…this boy that my Lady was so interested in? Where had he come from? I saw his jaw clench, and then he pulled again, every muscle flexing…all he succeeded in doing was deepening cuts. I saw the blood dripping from his wrists and neck…and I admired his bravery, amazed at his obvious idiocy. But no…he was neither foolish nor brave. He was just afraid of my Lady. He was desperate to escape her, no matter the consequences…how interesting. And then she entered. Liz, the Lady of the Night and the Queen of Death. From my dark corner, I gave her a tiny bow. No one else would even know I was there, but the Lady saw through the deepest of shadows. She twitched a finger, and the man’s head snapped up, chain going taught. His hair fell from his eyes, and I nearly gasped. That was…that was… “Oh, Ien," my Lady crooned. “We’re back to where we started.” “Give her back, Liz,” Ien whispered, voice ragged. “Give who back? I don’t know what you’re talking about, old friend.” Her lies were sweet as wine on my tongue, and smooth as honey as she spoke them. I quivered with pleasure. “Don’t play games with me,” Ien growled. “Don’t even start, Liz, because someday I will rip every bone from your body and you’ll finally understand what it means to hurt.” Her mouth tilted up. “Is that what she would want from you?” Ien was silent. “No…” Liz…was grinning, now. When had I last seen her grin, or even smile? She was playing a part, surely she was… “That’s the piece of you that’s becoming like me.” Ien roared, snapping forward only to be pulled back by the chains. They were clearly digging into his flesh, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “I am nothing like you,” he hissed. “Poor dog,” Liz said sweetly, stepping forward neatly and brushing a strand of sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. “Chained at your mistress’s side…” “I’m not your dog,” Ien said coldly. “Not your tool, or your toy, either. I’m King.” Ah…he surely sounded stoic. But I’d spent too long watching people not to see through him…he was trying to convince himself, not her. “And I’m Queen,” Liz’s reply was lightning quick. “Wouldn’t you rather be my king than my dog?” “I’m not—” Ien cut off, gasping. “You should let me finish talking.” Liz was subtle, threatening…beautiful. Perfectly still. “I have an offer for you, Ien.” Ien’s stare was sharper than the dagger in my hand. He said nothing, taking heaving breaths, blood dripping down his chest and back. “Good boy,” Liz said, dripping with honey. “I’ll give the mouse back to you…but first, I have a few…errands you’ll need to run.” There was quiet for a long moment. “Am I allowed to talk, now?” Ien asked flatly. Liz didn’t take the bait. He was being petty, and they both knew it. “You call yourself the Queen of Death.” He spat a mouthful of blood and spit at her, splattering her dress. “But you know nothing of what it is to rule. Ask Mari. She understands what it means to be a Queen better than you ever will.” I took a half step forward, furious, but Liz held up a hand, and I fell back. I would obey my Lady to the end. Liz let out a quiet breath. “You would sentence your wife and daughter to death, Ien? I thought you were a hero. A king.” Ien bowed his head again, chains clinking, and I saw his shoulders trembling. He really was broken…but in a different way than Liz or the rest of us. In a way that made him soft rather than hard, gentle rather than sharp. A hero rather than a villain. How precisely my Lady had done her work. “You weren’t supposed to know,” Ien whispered. “Not know?” Liz laughed. “Have you forgotten that I’m a woman? I knew the second I saw Mari. You'll be a father.” “I just want my family back,” Ien breathed. And then, barely audible, “Please. Please, Lizzy. For the friendship we used to have. If you’re still in there…” He looked at her, completely broken. Completely in her power. “You can have the world. Just give me my wife, and let start our family in peace.” And just for a moment, I saw Liz’s eyes soften. Back to the person she’d been when I first met her. A dreamer. Lost in her own world of blissful fantasies. And then my Queen turned on her heel. “You know how to save them,” she replied. “Uunz…” I stepped out of the shadows at the sound of my name. “Remind him that I am not his friend.” I bowed, spinning my knives and advancing on the wretch who had been a king. *** Out in the hallway, Liz collapsed to the floor, pulling the shadows around her like a comforting blanket. And she cried. For the first time in years, she cried. She cried for a boy she had loved. For a boy who could have loved her. She cried for a life she could have had. For a life she’d thrown away in a moment of delusional ecstasy. She cried for a family she would never have. And she cried for the monster she had become. And then she stood up, Death’s voice in her mind. You will never be loved…this path is one of pain and hatred and regret…if there is anyone you care for, you’d best forget them now. And Liz let her heart turn back to stone. And she started to plan. Spoiler Ah, I love Liz. And Ien. And all of them. I've been struggling to write Ien, so I skipped far far far ahead (this scene probably won't be in a full draft if I can ever write one, since it's mostly in 1st person) (also it's the perspective of a very minor character) but I had a lot of fun writing it!! As always, I'd love thoughts and/or suggestions! 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Wandering Wizard Posted January 11 Report Share Posted January 11 3 minutes ago, Edema Rue said: Thanks guys!! It means so much that you guys read my lil words Hide contents I was watching him. It was my job to watch, after all, to notice the things no one else does. His hair was full and blond with gentle curls. And he was so very angry. The dungeons hadn’t been kind to him, that much I could tell at barely a moment’s glance. But they hadn’t broken him. He was chained to the floor, one arm on each side, ankles pulled down so that he was forced to kneel. That was more than enough for any prisoner, but the Lady clearly wanted him humiliated; there was a heavy iron collar around his throat, chaining him to the floor by his neck. She wanted him to feel defeated…why? I could rarely make sense of my Lady’s actions, but there were always reasons, usually so many that even I never saw half of them. Subtle and dangerous and perfect…wiser than any Empress, braver than any Queen, and more deadly than any of my assassins. So what did she want from this prisoner? And why did she need him angry to get it? He pulled at the chains, then winced. Ah…spikes. That made him a magic user…uncommon, outside our order. I wished I could see his face. Who was this…this boy that my Lady was so interested in? Where had he come from? I saw his jaw clench, and then he pulled again, every muscle flexing…all he succeeded in doing was deepening cuts. I saw the blood dripping from his wrists and neck…and I admired his bravery, amazed at his obvious idiocy. But no…he was neither foolish nor brave. He was just afraid of my Lady. He was desperate to escape her, no matter the consequences…how interesting. And then she entered. Liz, the Lady of the Night and the Queen of Death. From my dark corner, I gave her a tiny bow. No one else would even know I was there, but the Lady saw through the deepest of shadows. She twitched a finger, and the man’s head snapped up, chain going taught. His hair fell from his eyes, and I nearly gasped. That was…that was… “Oh, Ien," my Lady crooned. “We’re back to where we started.” “Give her back, Liz,” Ien whispered, voice ragged. “Give who back? I don’t know what you’re talking about, old friend.” Her lies were sweet as wine on my tongue, and smooth as honey as she spoke them. I quivered with pleasure. “Don’t play games with me,” Ien growled. “Don’t even start, Liz, because someday I will rip every bone from your body and you’ll finally understand what it means to hurt.” Her mouth tilted up. “Is that what she would want from you?” Ien was silent. “No…” Liz…was grinning, now. When had I last seen her grin, or even smile? She was playing a part, surely she was… “That’s the piece of you that’s becoming like me.” Ien roared, snapping forward only to be pulled back by the chains. They were clearly digging into his flesh, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “I am nothing like you,” he hissed. “Poor dog,” Liz said sweetly, stepping forward neatly and brushing a strand of sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. “Chained at your mistress’s side…” “I’m not your dog,” Ien said coldly. “Not your tool, or your toy, either. I’m King.” Ah…he surely sounded stoic. But I’d spent too long watching people not to see through him…he was trying to convince himself, not her. “And I’m Queen,” Liz’s reply was lightning quick. “Wouldn’t you rather be my king than my dog?” “I’m not—” Ien cut off, gasping. “You should let me finish talking.” Liz was subtle, threatening…beautiful. Perfectly still. “I have an offer for you, Ien.” Ien’s stare was sharper than the dagger in my hand. He said nothing, taking heaving breaths, blood dripping down his chest and back. “Good boy,” Liz said, dripping with honey. “I’ll give the mouse back to you…but first, I have a few…errands you’ll need to run.” There was quiet for a long moment. “Am I allowed to talk, now?” Ien asked flatly. Liz didn’t take the bait. He was being petty, and they both knew it. “You call yourself the Queen of Death.” He spat a mouthful of blood and spit at her, splattering her dress. “But you know nothing of what it is to rule. Ask Mari. She understands what it means to be a Queen better than you ever will.” I took a half step forward, furious, but Liz held up a hand, and I fell back. I would obey my Lady to the end. Liz let out a quiet breath. “You would sentence your wife and daughter to death, Ien? I thought you were a hero. A king.” Ien bowed his head again, chains clinking, and I saw his shoulders trembling. He really was broken…but in a different way than Liz or the rest of us. In a way that made him soft rather than hard, gentle rather than sharp. A hero rather than a villain. How precisely my Lady had done her work. “You weren’t supposed to know,” Ien whispered. “Not know?” Liz laughed. “Have you forgotten that I’m a woman? I knew the second I saw Mari. You'll be a father.” “I just want my family back,” Ien breathed. And then, barely audible, “Please. Please, Lizzy. For the friendship we used to have. If you’re still in there…” He looked at her, completely broken. Completely in her power. “You can have the world. Just give me my wife, and let start our family in peace.” And just for a moment, I saw Liz’s eyes soften. Back to the person she’d been when I first met her. A dreamer. Lost in her own world of blissful fantasies. And then my Queen turned on her heel. “You know how to save them,” she replied. “Uunz…” I stepped out of the shadows at the sound of my name. “Remind him that I am not his friend.” I bowed, spinning my knives and advancing on the wretch who had been a king. *** Out in the hallway, Liz collapsed to the floor, pulling the shadows around her like a comforting blanket. And she cried. For the first time in years, she cried. She cried for a boy she had loved. For a boy who could have loved her. She cried for a life she could have had. For a life she’d thrown away in a moment of delusional ecstasy. She cried for a family she would never have. And she cried for the monster she had become. And then she stood up, Death’s voice in her mind. You will never be loved…this path is one of pain and hatred and regret…if there is anyone you care for, you’d best forget them now. And Liz let her heart turn back to stone. And she started to plan. Hide contents Ah, I love Liz. And Ien. And all of them. I've been struggling to write Ien, so I skipped far far far ahead (this scene probably won't be in a full draft if I can ever write one, since it's mostly in 1st person) (also it's the perspective of a very minor character) but I had a lot of fun writing it!! As always, I'd love thoughts and/or suggestions! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH LIZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD *hugs hugs hugs fiercly and doesn't let go* hehe I honestly though the servant was Mari cuz she'd taken her mind or something or changed what she thought... 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Edema Rue Posted January 11 Author Report Share Posted January 11 Just now, The Wandering Wizard said: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH LIZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD *hugs hugs hugs fiercly and doesn't let go* hehe I honestly though the servant was Mari cuz she'd taken her mind or something or changed what she thought... I LOVE HER SO MUCCCHHHHHHHHHHH I WANT TO GIVE HER A HUG SHE LOVES HIM SO MUCH BUT SHES SUCH A MONSTERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR *hugs back squishily* Heehee that would be fun but no...I have other plans for Mari >:3 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Wandering Wizard Posted January 11 Report Share Posted January 11 1 minute ago, Edema Rue said: I LOVE HER SO MUCCCHHHHHHHHHHH I WANT TO GIVE HER A HUG SHE LOVES HIM SO MUCH BUT SHES SUCH A MONSTERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR *hugs back squishily* Heehee that would be fun but no...I have other plans for Mari >:3 Oh my xD I CAN'T WAIT TO READ THEMMMMMMMMM :3333333 I wonder what it would have been like if she'd been good and had stayed with Ien. Perhaps she would be married to him instead. 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Edema Rue Posted January 11 Author Report Share Posted January 11 5 minutes ago, The Wandering Wizard said: Oh my xD I CAN'T WAIT TO READ THEMMMMMMMMM :3333333 I wonder what it would have been like if she'd been good and had stayed with Ien. Perhaps she would be married to him instead. Well...that's why it hurts so much now (this probably hurt me way more to write than you to read because I know their full stories). She and Ien dated, they were lovers for a little while... *cries* 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
The Wandering Wizard Posted January 11 Report Share Posted January 11 1 minute ago, Edema Rue said: Well...that's why it hurts so much now (this probably hurt me way more to write than you to read because I know their full stories). She and Ien dated, they were lovers for a little while... *cries* Awwwww nooooo :(((( *hugs* 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Weaver of Lies Posted January 11 Report Share Posted January 11 20 minutes ago, Edema Rue said: Thanks guys!! It means so much that you guys read my lil words Hide contents I was watching him. It was my job to watch, after all, to notice the things no one else does. His hair was full and blond with gentle curls. And he was so very angry. The dungeons hadn’t been kind to him, that much I could tell at barely a moment’s glance. But they hadn’t broken him. He was chained to the floor, one arm on each side, ankles pulled down so that he was forced to kneel. That was more than enough for any prisoner, but the Lady clearly wanted him humiliated; there was a heavy iron collar around his throat, chaining him to the floor by his neck. She wanted him to feel defeated…why? I could rarely make sense of my Lady’s actions, but there were always reasons, usually so many that even I never saw half of them. Subtle and dangerous and perfect…wiser than any Empress, braver than any Queen, and more deadly than any of my assassins. So what did she want from this prisoner? And why did she need him angry to get it? He pulled at the chains, then winced. Ah…spikes. That made him a magic user…uncommon, outside our order. I wished I could see his face. Who was this…this boy that my Lady was so interested in? Where had he come from? I saw his jaw clench, and then he pulled again, every muscle flexing…all he succeeded in doing was deepening cuts. I saw the blood dripping from his wrists and neck…and I admired his bravery, amazed at his obvious idiocy. But no…he was neither foolish nor brave. He was just afraid of my Lady. He was desperate to escape her, no matter the consequences…how interesting. And then she entered. Liz, the Lady of the Night and the Queen of Death. From my dark corner, I gave her a tiny bow. No one else would even know I was there, but the Lady saw through the deepest of shadows. She twitched a finger, and the man’s head snapped up, chain going taught. His hair fell from his eyes, and I nearly gasped. That was…that was… “Oh, Ien," my Lady crooned. “We’re back to where we started.” “Give her back, Liz,” Ien whispered, voice ragged. “Give who back? I don’t know what you’re talking about, old friend.” Her lies were sweet as wine on my tongue, and smooth as honey as she spoke them. I quivered with pleasure. “Don’t play games with me,” Ien growled. “Don’t even start, Liz, because someday I will rip every bone from your body and you’ll finally understand what it means to hurt.” Her mouth tilted up. “Is that what she would want from you?” Ien was silent. “No…” Liz…was grinning, now. When had I last seen her grin, or even smile? She was playing a part, surely she was… “That’s the piece of you that’s becoming like me.” Ien roared, snapping forward only to be pulled back by the chains. They were clearly digging into his flesh, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “I am nothing like you,” he hissed. “Poor dog,” Liz said sweetly, stepping forward neatly and brushing a strand of sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. “Chained at your mistress’s side…” “I’m not your dog,” Ien said coldly. “Not your tool, or your toy, either. I’m King.” Ah…he surely sounded stoic. But I’d spent too long watching people not to see through him…he was trying to convince himself, not her. “And I’m Queen,” Liz’s reply was lightning quick. “Wouldn’t you rather be my king than my dog?” “I’m not—” Ien cut off, gasping. “You should let me finish talking.” Liz was subtle, threatening…beautiful. Perfectly still. “I have an offer for you, Ien.” Ien’s stare was sharper than the dagger in my hand. He said nothing, taking heaving breaths, blood dripping down his chest and back. “Good boy,” Liz said, dripping with honey. “I’ll give the mouse back to you…but first, I have a few…errands you’ll need to run.” There was quiet for a long moment. “Am I allowed to talk, now?” Ien asked flatly. Liz didn’t take the bait. He was being petty, and they both knew it. “You call yourself the Queen of Death.” He spat a mouthful of blood and spit at her, splattering her dress. “But you know nothing of what it is to rule. Ask Mari. She understands what it means to be a Queen better than you ever will.” I took a half step forward, furious, but Liz held up a hand, and I fell back. I would obey my Lady to the end. Liz let out a quiet breath. “You would sentence your wife and daughter to death, Ien? I thought you were a hero. A king.” Ien bowed his head again, chains clinking, and I saw his shoulders trembling. He really was broken…but in a different way than Liz or the rest of us. In a way that made him soft rather than hard, gentle rather than sharp. A hero rather than a villain. How precisely my Lady had done her work. “You weren’t supposed to know,” Ien whispered. “Not know?” Liz laughed. “Have you forgotten that I’m a woman? I knew the second I saw Mari. You'll be a father.” “I just want my family back,” Ien breathed. And then, barely audible, “Please. Please, Lizzy. For the friendship we used to have. If you’re still in there…” He looked at her, completely broken. Completely in her power. “You can have the world. Just give me my wife, and let start our family in peace.” And just for a moment, I saw Liz’s eyes soften. Back to the person she’d been when I first met her. A dreamer. Lost in her own world of blissful fantasies. And then my Queen turned on her heel. “You know how to save them,” she replied. “Uunz…” I stepped out of the shadows at the sound of my name. “Remind him that I am not his friend.” I bowed, spinning my knives and advancing on the wretch who had been a king. *** Out in the hallway, Liz collapsed to the floor, pulling the shadows around her like a comforting blanket. And she cried. For the first time in years, she cried. She cried for a boy she had loved. For a boy who could have loved her. She cried for a life she could have had. For a life she’d thrown away in a moment of delusional ecstasy. She cried for a family she would never have. And she cried for the monster she had become. And then she stood up, Death’s voice in her mind. You will never be loved…this path is one of pain and hatred and regret…if there is anyone you care for, you’d best forget them now. And Liz let her heart turn back to stone. And she started to plan. Hide contents Ah, I love Liz. And Ien. And all of them. I've been struggling to write Ien, so I skipped far far far ahead (this scene probably won't be in a full draft if I can ever write one, since it's mostly in 1st person) (also it's the perspective of a very minor character) but I had a lot of fun writing it!! As always, I'd love thoughts and/or suggestions! LIZ IS BACK!!!!!! *excited giggling* I love her character so much, she’s a beautifully written villain. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Edema Rue Posted January 11 Author Report Share Posted January 11 12 minutes ago, The Wandering Wizard said: Awwwww nooooo :(((( *hugs* *hugs back* 8 minutes ago, Lightweaver2 said: LIZ IS BACK!!!!!! *excited giggling* I love her character so much, she’s a beautifully written villain. *blushes* Thank youuuuuuuuu she's so much fun to write, I love her too. 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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