kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ

*honks thrice*

@Kajsa :) aka Classy Kitty

*two honks*

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ALSO I GOT A FREE DQ ICE CREAM COUPON FROM THE ORTHODONTIST! AND IT WAS YUMMY (the ice cream, not the coupon).

Lucky! 

Okay okay sorry had to eat some dinner and record a few covers just cuz  I'll post them later in my corner along with the sketches.

@Wittles of Shinovar @The Wandering Wizard (even though you've already seen most of it) @Cinnamon

I need feedback! If you've got time, I'd love to get a "report" on anything down to the nittiest grittiest details for improvement. I wrote most of this in a brain fog and then took a nap and haven't reworked much of it yet. Feedback helps me get better, so if you've got the time I'd absolutely love some constructive criticism. 

Prologue

Late summer leaves rustled in emerald-shod trees, a stale wind combing its fingers through tall grasses that would soon dry out. Stray chickens roamed the plains, some chased by feral cats while others quested for food. The twilight burned golden as the sun fled from the battlefield that was the sky, bleeding lava as it disappeared over the Airedge mountains. Soon, a slice of moon stoically stepped up to shine in the sun’s place, watching the stars dance around it in their nightly ritual.

Below it all, a young girl–barely 13–stared at the ceiling of her small Riesen home, hands fidgeting restlessly with her fluffy dark curls. Mira’s mattress was coarse and itchy, the blankets kicked to the foot of the bed in tangled heaps. Her heartbeat was heavy, her body hot with anxiety, yellow-orange eyes burning like hot coals. 

It felt like a thousand years had passed since she’d lost control; it was impossible to believe that it had only been mere hours. Images flashed behind her eyes and her body groaned in protest as she sat up against the wall, trying to shake memories of the burning archives from her mind. Thousands of years’ worth of knowledge… gone. It was a crime like none that had ever been committed, even if it had been an accident. What would they do to her? And what were they doing with Arson? They wouldn’t just kill him; she knew that. They weren’t allowed to kill him. …Right?

She was jolted from her thoughts as the door to her small bedroom slammed against the wall, and a tall, dark-haired woman with intense eyeliner and high cheekbones swept into the room. Her long robes tickled the floor, and the girl couldn’t decide whether the silk was black or purple. 

“Get up, Mira,” the woman barked, eyes narrowing sternly. Her hand lashed forward and yanked the girl–Mira–up by the arm, her claw-like fingernails digging into Mira’s skin. 

The girl yelped and tried to plant her feet on the cold stone floor. “Where’s Arson?”

The woman clenched her jaw and dragged Mira down the hall, refusing to speak.

“Where are we going?” Mira’s hawk-yellow eyes were wide, flickering from side to side nervously. She recognized the path they began on, but it seemed different now–at night, in the cold. The air was frigid for the summer, but as a chill skittered down Mira’s spine, she realized that maybe it wasn’t cold outside at all. Feverish sweat beaded on the back of her neck. Shivers forced goosebumps to pop up all over her body. Her heart pounded in her ears. Needles of numbness stabbed her fingertips as the woman’s fierce grip began to cut off her circulation.

Mira examined the woman as they walked. Her eyes were empty and black; cold. Her sleek raven hair reached past her waist, straight as a board but soft as feathers. Her fingernails were long and filed into that of claws, painted the same inky purple of her dress, and the woman’s pale complexion sharply contrasted a poorly concealed tattoo that crept up the side of her neck. A tattoo… on her neck… why was that so familiar? 

A sudden dagger of realization stabbed Mira’s chest, and she tried to scramble away, but to no avail. “You can’t Strip me!” Mira screamed, her voice high with hysteria. “You can’t make me go!” 

The clawed woman–a Soulweaver, Mira knew now–snarled and prowled closer, her grip so tight that Mira’s tan arm was going blue, her claws nearly drawing blood. “You will remain silent, Dethridge, unless told otherwise. Do you understand?”

Mira whimpered.

“Speak up!”

Mira nodded vigorously, the motion taking place of the beats her terrorized heart missed.

“Good. Now shut your insolent mouth and do what you’re told.” The woman whose name Mira was terrified to ask yanked her farther down the gravel path.

This woman, a Soulweaver–an Elysian Soulweaver, would Strip her, and Mira knew it. She couldn’t run, couldn’t hide. She could flamelash, maybe, but that would be yet another charge against her–or worse, against Arson. Then they wouldn’t just take her ability. They’d take her life, if the Elysian woman didn’t first.

What would be worse? Death, or a life without purpose? Without a reason to live? Without warmth and comfort–and without fire? Surely death would be a better option. But what of Arson? Oh, what can I do? Please, Gods, if you exist, help me now. Kill me now, and kill Arson too. He won’t mind, not knowing the alternative. Please help me, Gods. We were born the same day; why can’t we die the same too? Save us. Silently, Mira continued her desperate prayer, her plea for death.

That's all I've got so far. Thanks for reading it