Work-In-Progress #34

Featured Ariel Paiement

This week’s work-in-progress is from Pathway of the Moon. It’s almost finished with just four chapters to go, and I’m beginning the setup for the sequel. This piece is part of my most recent chapter.

~~~

He caught a rustle of movement in the bushes, and a small, furry creature hopped out of the bushes. It stared at him with bright red eyes before scampering back under cover. He stared after it. Nothing back home had fur that white. He dropped to a knee and peered under the bushes. Whatever it had been it was gone. He pressed a palm into the feathery grass beneath him and paused. How was it this green? How was any of this so vibrant?

Something tickled inside his head. He frowned. How could the inside of his head tickle? The fluttering sensation danced on the fringes of his consciousness, and he shook his head, trying to clear it. Still, it didn’t dissipate. He glanced around him. Was some magic at work here? There. Some faint whisper of sound echoed on the fringes of his awareness, and it sounded like words. He strained to hear whatever was in the background. Was someone else here watching him? His head ached and pulsed, and then the whisper clarified to a normal tone. People were talking, and they sounded close. How could that be? And how was it they spoke his dialect of Wyrdhan? He sprang to his feet and slipped into the brush and woodland to wait behind a tree for them to come out from their hiding place. Whoever was here, they didn’t seem interested in coming out with him around. He fixed his attention on the clearing and listened.

The Path opened, a female voice chimed past the general buzz assailing him.

I know. I felt him. This time, a man answered. He opened it.

The female hummed in response. Yes. The Cursed will be happy, I’m sure.

They already sent an emissary through when the Path first opened.

Has it made contact?

Not with him. The man huffed. But with those who will bring him, yes.

That’s a good thing, Laur. Why does it bother you?

So, the man was Laur. But why were they talking about him, and how did they know who he was? Perhaps they just thought he was someone he wasn’t. That had to be it.

You know why, Nim. Don’t pretend you can’t see it.

I see feelings and intent, Laur. Not private thoughts. The woman, Nim, sounded annoyed now.

Leo crossed his arms and tipped his head back against the tree trunk. Why hadn’t they shown up yet? Unless… Unless he wasn’t truly hearing them. He’d heard of people who could hear thoughts. But that made no sense. These two were holding a conversation, so he wasn’t hearing thoughts. It just wasn’t possible. But how could he be hearing them if they weren’t here? He frowned and edged out of the woods, calling on his shadows. More voices joined the chatter, but none of them spoke to Nim or Laur. He ran a hand through his hair. This world clearly had more going on than they’d thought, and it seemed like his was connected somehow. Maybe?

He listened for Nim or Laur. For a minute, he couldn’t find them. Then their voices returned, louder this time. Did that mean they were closer now? He waited for any noise to indicate someone’s approach. Nothing. So, he waited and listened.

We should check the portal. Nim this time with her melodic voice.

You think he’s still around? Let me guess, you want a glimpse of the fabled Son of Shadows. Is that it, Nim?

Leo swallowed hard. They were talking about him. How? How could they know who he was and what he was? It shouldn’t be possible.

Don’t mock me, Laur. You know how long we’ve waited. Just because you’re not happy doesn’t mean I can’t be.

Yes, yes, I know. We’ve waited ever since she brought the First to us. But it was never our vendetta. We shouldn’t have to fight. His presence will stir up the Cursed and get us all killed. If we leave it be, the Cursed–“

Will eventually tear us apart, Nim interrupted. We need him. He’s the only way, and the Aura wants him here.

A branch crackled.

Leo melted into the woods and shadows.

Two people emerged from the opposite side of the clearing. One was clearly female. Nim, perhaps? Eyes almost too large for her face perched above a pert nose. Those eyes turned on him and changed from yellow to a brilliant emerald hue of green. Her silver hair swayed as she stepped closer, and Leo stared. Despite a releatively human appearance, she had something distinctly inhuman about her. Maybe in the way she moved?

He is still here.

He stiffened. Where had the voice come from? The woman’s lips hadn’t moved at all. With bated breath, he waited. Until they left, he couldn’t go home, and he didn’t want to be found either. Then, he would have to fight. He certainly wouldn’t let them take him away from this place. Not when it was his only way home.

Laur peered in the direction Nim was starting, his eyes an electric blue that pierced into Leo. I don’t see him. And I don’t feel him anymore.

He is here, Nim insisted. But he will fight if we engage him.

Just let him be, Nim. Maybe he won’t return.

He will. He reeks of curiosity. And when he does, I will greet him with the hospitality he deserves. She turned away and walked past Laur, brushing shoulders with him. You will too, so you’d better start practicing.

Laur’s nose wrinkled, and his eyes flashed a flat gray before returning to blue. Nothing more came from him, and Leo watched until the alien turned and walked away. Then he slumped to the ground beside his tree. What had that been?

~~~

That’s it for this week! What are you guys working on or reading these days? Feel free to share in the comments!

Saturday Setups: Language Building – An Introduction

Featured Ariel Paiement

Introduction

In a post on language factors, we already went over some basics about languages and building them for specific areas as well as basics on how to do it in general. In this post and upcoming ones, we’re taking a look at this more closely. This is a process that is entirely optional, and people do varying degrees of it. Some go all out while others opt out entirely. Neither is wrong. A language you’ve created isn’t necessary to lend credibility to your work in most cases, but it can be very helpful. The goal of this section is to equip you with tools you’ll need to build languages if you choose to do so. I can’t cover everything, but I’ll try to cover what you need to get started. We’ll begin with an introduction to building languages and why you might decide to do so.

Why Create a Language?

First and foremost, creating a language should be done for fun. It isn’t required, even for high or epic fantasies, to make a good story. In fact, it’s easy to end up taking away from the story with this type of world building if you’re not careful. Because of this, the predominant reason to create a language is because you want to for the sake of experimenting, having fun with it, and being able to say you’ve created your very own language. If playing with sounds, coming up with new writing systems, and dabbling in creating grammar or structure rules sounds fun to you, then this area of world-building is for you. If you already know you’ll hate it, move on. It isn’t worth driving yourself nuts. For those on the fence, I encourage you to give it a try. You never know; you may love it. At the very least, you can say you tried it.

Besides fun, another reason to build a language of your own is because you want a naming system (or just the names) for people, places, and things that sound suitably unique but also have some sense of cohesiveness and weight behind them. This could mean you just want names that sound like they could come from the same regional location or it could mean you want names that go as far as having root words from a language that gives the names an actual meaning, much like our names on Earth have meanings behind them. Those two different sides of the spectrum obviously require differing levels of involvement from you in terms of language building, but they’re both valid needs.

Finally, language is so entwined with culture that many times your culture ends up changing with the language. If you’re writing something heavily invested in culture, language–spoken and written–plays a big part in it. You may only choose to add in some exotic names and maybe some insults or curse words to lend to the illusion of depth you create, or you may choose to go all out and create the language that you need to include songs in that language, like Tolkien does with Elvish in Lord of the Rings. How far you go depends on your interest in it and on what your readers are expecting. You can go overboard with this, so it’s important to always have balance. Don’t overwhelm readers with a lot of text in fantasy languages you’ve created. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have some terms or names that are pulled from the language creation work you did.

Where to Start

If you’re feeling like this is complicated at this point (or have felt so since you saw the topic of this post), I’m not going to lie to you. It is complicated. But it isn’t impossible, and there are ways you can make life easier on yourself. Let’s just look at the starting point I’ve used for this in the past since a starting point helps to make things seem a little less chaotic.

Usually, I start with the alphabet. I take the time to think about all the sounds available to me in my language and alphabet (English in my case), and I weed through those root sounds. I may take out a vowel or a consonant here and there to lessen the number of letters I have to deal with. I have also, in the past, chosen to incorporate the diphthongs (vowel combinations like ae) found in Latin or other languages. When you’re adding sounds to your alphabet or syllabary that your native tongue doesn’t have, you can look at the sounds of other languages. This is a tremendous help, and it can give a lot more depth to your language, especially if you’re doing this for the first time. Even Tolkien, a well-accomplished linguist in his own right, borrowed from other languages to create the dialects of Elvish.

Starting with your alphabet or syllabary gives you the building blocks for words. It makes it easier to determine what sounds can and can’t be involved, and you’re making a call on what the language will sound like at the very basic level. If it’s going to be soft and lilting, it’ll be because of the sounds you kept, added, or threw out in this stage. If it will be harsh and guttural, it’ll be because of what you kept, threw out, or added at this point. Everything in a language pivots upon two things: its grammar and its vocalization/sounds. Grammar is more complex, so start with what’s simple and build up from there.

Conclusion

Hopefully you have a better understanding now of why you might want to create a language and the uses it can serve in your novel. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, take a deep breath. This isn’t as bad as it seems, and I hope to show you that it can be a ton of fun for creative minds in future posts. You can set up the language in whatever way you choose. Look at the languages we have here on Earth. There’s tons of variation there, right? Well, for your fictional languages, you can use systems just as varied, and you also have the freedom to mash together concepts, sounds, and techniques from other languages around you in real life. If you let go of the stress of thinking everything has to be perfect and just start with your sounds and the premise that this is meant to be a lot of fun for you, you’re going to be fine. You can take it as fast or slow as you need to, and you can choose how much you feel like doing. No author is required to build a complete language, nor are they required to do any language building at all. It really is entirely up to you, so have fun with it and don’t stress! Just like all other areas of world building, this is your chance to do things your way and to have fun while doing it. Take advantage of it!

Flash Fiction Fridays: Dead Men Do Tell Tales

Featured Ariel Paiement

This week’s is pretty short. It’s based on a writing prompt I saw on Facebook that looked interesting. Hopefully you all enjoy even though it’s short!

~~~

He never should’ve taken the job. Or at least, not without asking a lot of questions first. His target lay bleeding out on the floor, her spirit long-gone and her knowledge his. He wished it weren’t. Swords for hire didn’t have much loyalty or honor, but gods curse it, he had some standards, and this violated them.

He didn’t kill children or innocents.

He didn’t stand for selling out those who hired you.

Until today, those rules had governed his jobs. The woman–General Eilesi Araden–had been staging a coup, one of the largest in her country’s history, to take down her country’s corrupt oligarchy. His client had been her second-in-command, and his client had also lied about her. She hadn’t been guilty of anything except wanting the best for her country and her people.

He stepped away from the cooling body and fought down the bile rising in his throat. Now that she was dead, he would be a target if anyone knew he had her knowledge. Did his client know about his unique abilities? He didn’t generally broadcast it, so he could be safe. But even if he was safe on that front, would they risk the loose end he posed? He doubted it. Which meant he was going to have to run. The hunter had just become the hunted.

~~~

And that’s it. Like I said, it’s short. Do you guys have something you’d like to see on Flash Fiction Fridays? If so, feel free to email me about it or leave a comment below!

Thursday Technicalities – Interacting with Your Critiquer

Featured Ariel Paiement

Introduction

So, we already discussed interacting with your beta-reader, but as you know, beta-readers are different than critiquers. So, while some principles will be the same, not all of them will be. Let’s take a look.

Do’s and Don’ts of Interacting with your Critiquer

1. Do not argue with your critiquer.

This goes for beta-readers too, but a critique partner ought to be someone with more knowledge of your area of writing and of writing in general. While they can make mistakes or poor judgment calls, chances are much higher that they know what they’re talking about. If you’re defensive or arrogant, no one—not even a less experienced critique partner—will be happy working with you. So no arguing.

2. Do ask questions and discuss areas you aren’t clear on.

If your critiquer has said something to you that doesn’t make sense or that you’d like further pointers on, you should ask. Unless they tell you they aren’t open to further questions (which is unusual for a critiquer), you can ask about whatever you need to. Just keep rule one in mind and avoid shutting them down.

3. Do discuss.

Along the same lines as rule two, you should discuss things with your critiquer if you don’t agree or if they seem to be missing something important to the story. Explain where you’re coming from and ask their opinion. After you have that, ask any clarifying questions you have and thank them for the input. Then you can decide if you want to take the advice or leave it.

4. Do not behave in an inconsiderate or arrogant manner after you get the feedback from them.

This should not have to be stated, but it unfortunately does because there are people out there who do forget this and need to be reminded. Your critiquer is human too. I’ve seen many writers treat critiquers poorly and harshly or put them down as people because the writer didn’t get the feedback they wanted. These kinds of people are a misery to work with. Literally, I can promise you that if you’re like this, you are going to be the person we hate working with most because not only is it likely your work is poor quality because you ignored advice from three people before us, but you’re not going to fix it after we review it, and you’re going to be rude to us in addition. Kindness will get you much further.

Hopefully, no one reading this is like that. But I recognize that these people are out there, so if you are one of those people, please know that you are shooting yourself in the foot first and foremost. We’re not going to be happy with you, obviously, and some of us may get upset over how you treated us, but in the end, you are the one to suffer because arrogance or defensiveness mixed with rude behavior will make your journey from writer to author much harder if not impossible. I hope that no one reading this is in that position, but, this needs to be pointed out because too many times people don’t stop to be grateful that the critiquer took time to go through their work.

If you didn’t get a glowing review, be doubly grateful! They took time to pin point the book’s problem areas instead of reading a polished book off a bookstore shelf. Critiquing badly written work is way tougher than doing so for a well-written work. Show your appreciation and be mindful of their feelings too.

If you aren’t, I guarantee they’ll spread the word to anyone else they know who might consider working with you. And the Internet makes that very easy. I’ve heard stories myself from fellow Wattpaders and writer friends, and I have some of my own. Rude behavior lost one writer a chance at joining a critique group because people in the group had worked with the writer and shared their awful experience. This individual was refused on the grounds that their behavior ruined the previous critique group they’d been involved in. Please don’t let that story be yours too!

Conclusion

This isn’t an extremely long post because the main point is that you should be polite and professional in every case. If you aren’t, you only damage your own image and give another writer cause to say bad things about you. Being polite and courteous goes a long way toward avoiding ruffled feathers or smoothing them over if they occur. In the end, it’s your book, and you can do what you choose to do with it. The best way to handle dealing with a critique, good or otherwise, is to take whatever you can from your critiquer’s input to make your book better, but don’t feel obligated to use the rest. Throw it out and move on.

Work-In-Progress Wednesdays #34

Featured Ariel Paiement

This is a sneak peek at a short story I’m working on for a short story collection that I hope to publish in 2021. I know, a while out, but I like to get a head start so I can make sure everything is finished on schedule. Anyway, this one is about Enlil, a storm god in an alternate universe who has kidnapped a princess who is supposed to be his Chosen, the one to keep him steady and complete him. Things are…not working out as planned. (But really, when do they ever, right?)

~~~

ENLIL watched Nunael from across the table. She wouldn’t lift her gaze from her food, and they had already passed most of the meal dancing around any real conversation. In fact, she had spent most of her words on avoiding any conversation with him at all. He hadn’t envisioned things going like this. His Chosen was supposed to obey and to adore him, and he was to love and to protect her. Had the ring chosen wrong this time? In his long lifetime, it never had. Still, this mulish, raven-haired slip of a woman wasn’t anything like the others the ring had chosen in the previous millenium. He tightened his grip on his cutlery. He’d been happy with all of the previous Chosen. What was the ring doing? Changing up a working system was madness. He frowned down at the ring, and the ruby set into the intricate metal band stared back, winking in the light. He looked up at the girl again.

She picked at her food with a groan. “Why do you insist on staring at me?”

His scowl deepened. “Why do you insist on giving me a headache?”

She snorted. “I’m not a telepath, so I can’t possibly give you a headache.”

“You most certainly can. There are ways to do it without using any magic, and you certainly have managed it in the short time since you came here.”

“Since you kidnapped me, you mean.” She returned to picking at her food, and candlelight flickered over her high cheekbones.

“You came willingly.”

“I came because I had to.”

“You still chose to come. And is it really that miserable here? Have I hurt you in any way?”

“Not yet.”

His grip on the silverware turned vise-like, and shocks flickered over his forearms. He forced himself to take a deep breath and to calm down. “I’m not going to. Do you know what a Chosen is?”

“An individual sacrifices to a god to act as a consort and a tie between mortal and immortal.” She pushed her plate away. “How is this relevant?”

“You are my vessel’s chosen.”

She sat back and slumped down in her chair with a huff of breath. Disbelief, judging by the expression on her elfen features. “Your vessel’s chosen?”

“The Chosen are picked by the ancestors of the deity.”

She frowned at that but didn’t ask the question that was obvious on her face.

He answered anyway. “We’re not really immortal. But it takes someone or something as strong as we are to kill us.”

“And if you aren’t killed?”

“We live for a long time.”

She stared out at the torch-lit courtyard below their window. “How old are you, then?”

“Old enough. You?”

“Eighteen.” She still didn’t look at him.

He watched her, curiosity warring with irritation. This was the least intractable she’d been so far. But even now, she looked for an escape from his presence. “You know you’re stuck here, right? Stuck in this palace with me…”

Her golden eyes finally shifted to him. Still, she didn’t answer, and stubbornness glinted in that shadowed gaze.

He stood and stalked over to her, pulling her to her feet. “You can’t go. Ever.”

Her gaze lowered, shut him out and blocked his words. “So you have said.”

What would it take for her to get it? He yanked her into his arms and caged her in his embrace. “I mean it. Until you and I are Bound and become one, this place will not let you leave.”

She tore from his grip with a mournful, angered cry. “You lie!”

“I don’t.” He crossed his arms. “Test it if you like. But you’ll only prove me right, Princess. Save us both the trouble and accept your fate.”

“Never.” She spun on her heel and fled out the door, her dress fluttering around her ankles.

He watched her go before shoving his hands into his pockets and following behind her. She rushed down the hall to the grand staircase. There, she paused and looked back. Her gaze caught on him, and she froze for a moment. Then she took off again, all but tumbling down the stairs in her haste. He didn’t rush. Why do that when he didn’t need to? She’d see soon enough.

They ended up in the gardens on the border of the castle’s wall. She stepped out of the gate in the wall, and Enlil waited by the burbling fountain. Moments later, she reappeared beside him, stumbling a bit. A confused whimper escaped her, and he steadied her. She tore her arm from his grip and sank to the grass surrounding his fountain. Her tiny frame trembled. “Go away! You won, so just leave me alone.”

He chewed on his inner cheek and crouched down beside her. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

He didn’t know. He just felt terrible about the pain she was in, and he wanted to alleviate it. He reached out to take her hand then pulled back. She wouldn’t welcome his touch. Not right now.

She kept her face turned away from him. “This is your fault. You’re not really sorry for anything. You just feel guilty.”

He wanted to be angry with her, but she was right. He didn’t know what he was sorry for, and he did feel guilty. It was, in some ways, his fault. But not entirely. He stood and glared down at the ring on his ring finger. The ring had chosen her, not him. The ring had decided this headstrong, unsubmissive, and angry woman would be the best match for him. He tore the infernal thing off his finger and threw it into the grass. “If I had my way, I never would have brought you here at all. You’re not what I need, and you’re not what I was hoping for.”

She laughed bitterly. “Then go away! Leave me be. I don’t want you either, so I guess that makes us even. At least we can agree on that.”

He shook his head with a sneer and stalked off. Cursed ring and its wretched judgment. Next time, he’d rather be damned for eternity in the fiery pits of Aratroth’s furnace than let the ring pick another ill-matched, ill-mannered wench. He’d choose his own woman next time, and his ancestors could just suck it up and deal with it. He could make his own decisions.

~~~

Well, that’s it for now, everyone! Hope you guys enjoyed. What are you working on? If you’d like, you can share it in the comments below! I’d love to hear from everyone.

Flash Fiction Fridays – The Shade of Whitsmare

Featured Ariel Paiement

Okay, so this one is a one-off that doesn’t go with any particular story or world. I got the idea from a prompt on one of the writing groups I’m with on Facebook, and I figured I’d share it. This one’s in first person. I rarely write in first person since I generally prefer third and feel I am strongest in that, but this one is the exception. It’s also shorter than the others have been, but hopefully you guys enjoy it anyway.

~~~

I couldn’t watch this happen to him. He was the light to my dark, and if I lost him, I would lose myself. I’m not even sure exactly what happened in that moment, but at the moment that I heard the report come crackling over the cop car radio that the Shade of Whitsmare was trying to hold off Kyrelon, something inside me snapped. It didn’t matter that he was supposed to be the hero–my hero. I just had to know he was safe. I closed my eyes and did the one thing I had vowed never to do with my power. I shade walked in the mind of my hero. I had promised I wouldn’t ever take over, even if I could wrest control from his conscious mind in order to be in control.

The moment he gave in and let me take over, my heart broke. He stepped back and gave me control, the very thing I’d always craved over him, and now I didn’t want it. I stared up at Kyrelon through his eyes and lifted his hands. He might not be able to beat Kyrelon, but if I channeled my power through him, I could defeat the villain. And I would. Even if it meant I would likely die engaging Kyrelon’s mind, I would do it. After all, a villain is only as powerful as the hero she must battle, and I was no exception. I was as strong as I was because of Shade, and if he was gone, I would be nothing. Life would be meaningless anyway, and he deserved to live.

So I whispered my last farewell into his mind, willing him to live on even if he hated himself for letting this happen. And when I had done that, I cast my mind around Kyrelon, weaving a dream from which neither he nor I would escape. My mental projection thrummed with power, and I felt my mind leaving my body entirely. Then it slipped loose of the tether Shade’s body provided, and I was lost in my dream world, dragging Kyrelon with me.

Loving and saving him were the only things I never regretted no matter how lost I got in that world I’d made and no matter how many times Kyrelon and I battled or died there. They were the only good things I ever did in my life. The only truly selfless things I chose to do of my own volition. I’m glad I did. Even a villain has something they cannot bear to lose. I found that thing. The Shade of Whitsmare.

~~~

There you have it! Hopefully you all liked it. It’s in a different sub-genre of fantasy than I usually use, and if you’ve followed my posts on Allen Steadham’s Mindfire or Superhero Fantasy, you know I’m not usually a fan of the genre. But hey, I think it went okay all things considered!

Have something you’d like to see on Flash Fiction Fridays? Feel free to share the idea with me via email or in the comments, whichever you’re more comfortable with. I don’t bite, I promise! I’m always happy to interact with you guys and any of my readers.

Work-In-Progress Wednesdays #33

Featured Ariel Paiement

This week’s goes with an idea I’m playing around with for a short story. We’ll see where it goes, but I’m liking the idea and characters so far. Enjoy!

~~~

Eltara reached out with trembling fingers and touched the cold stone base of the statue at the center of the square. This city square held only ivy, crumbling cobblestone, and the unweathered statue. Even though the guards didn’t watch this place, it still held an oppressive air of sorts. Or so she was told. She only felt sadness and longing. The statue was abandoned here just like she was, but unlike her, it at least lived on in whispered children’s fables. If anyone dared whisper of love and soulmates in a world that had outlawed such things.

This place held a draw on her that she couldn’t explain, but that wasn’t why she was here tonight. She was here under the full moon, staring at a statue, because Lutania had wanted her to take a picture with the statue. The girl, despite her father’s attempts to knock some sense into her, retained a strong sense of romanticism, and she’d insisted on sending Eltara to test the stories. Now that she was here, though, she couldn’t bring herself to take Lutania’s picture. She just stared at the forlorn expression on the statue and shoved her hands into her pockets. “Who did you represent when you were carved? Whoever shaped you took a big risk. The person you’re supposed to look like can’t have appreciated that forlorn, lost look on a marble likeness of himself.” She climbed up onto the marble base and sat at the statue’s feet, staring out across concrete yards, rows of tidy houses, and pitch-black roads in the city down the hill from the square.

“What was it like back when your maker lived? Were you formed back when this land was part of America? I wish I could’ve seen it. Equality must have been a beautiful thing. Being free to be whatever you were must have been even nicer.” The breeze snatched her soft words away, and she stood, hands on her hips. While she was asking questions and making confessions, she might as well get the things weighing on her off her chest where no one would hear or hurt her for saying them. “I hate this place. No one wants me, and I have nowhere to belong. But I’m not weak just because of my birth’s circumstances, and I’m not meant to be treated like an outcast.” Her smile dropped, and she reached out to run her fingers over the cold stone chest of the man. “Whoever’s image you were carved in, you’d be just like me. Not quite similar enough to either side to be accepted anywhere.”

The statue remained still and silent.

Sighing, she turned and leaned back against the statue’s chest, placing her hand in his one free hand. Maybe someday, someone besides a cold statue of a man long dead would embrace her. Not likely. An ache spread through her chest and stole her breath, left her with only the pain instead of the air that should occupy her lungs. She’d never be matched with anyone. A half-breed who never should have lived would never be picked for the ranks of the Chosen. Even if she were, her fellow Chosen would hate her, wouldn’t they? Her match would recoil in disgust. Tears filled her eyes, and she sagged down to hunker at the statue’s feet. Would the loneliness and separation ever end? If she could leave and find her own way in the world, maybe it would be better? But it wasn’t possible for one half-breed with no help. She’d be caught trying to escape the Praesaepium’s walls and thrown into the mental hell of the Mors Animi. Her tears spilled over past her lashes. She buried her face in her arms and allowed herself this moment of weakness. Out here, at least, she could have that.

A groan sounded behind her, and she froze. The sound had almost seemed human, but it had a strange grating sound like pebbles or stone grinding against other stone. She hugged her knees to her chest more closely and listened. Was someone else out here with her? Had Lutania sent someone to make sure she actually did what she was supposed to? No, that made no sense. She was to return with a picture.

The groan came again, and she reached out for the boot of the statue to push herself to her feet. Her heart pounded, and she almost missed it because of the adrenaline pumping through her.

Warmth and real leather caressed her palm.

She gasped and snatched her hand back. She scrambled to her feet and backed away from the statue. The moon, standing directly over it, illuminated the cold marble. But that cold marble was slowly, but surely, losing its sheen and becoming something else altogether. A clap of thunder boomed overhead, and lightning split the sky. The statue moaned this time, and she froze in place.

Then the most miraculous thing occurred as she watched. The statue began to shrink. She gasped and stumbled away, but not quickly enough to avoid the statue as it toppled over. She squeezed her eyes shut. Was this how she went? Crushed to death by a giant statue magic was shrinking? Had she done this? She took another step down the stairs before the statue toppled onto her. How could she have done this? She wasn’t a Fortis. She didn’t have magic.

The former statue had, somehow, become a living, breathing man. Clearly magic was involved. Had it been the curse Lutania had gone on about? Her heart hammered in her chest. No, no, no. That wasn’t okay. It wasn’t possible. His warm body pressing against hers said otherwise. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her palms to his bare chest to push him off. She had to get out of here. If the Fortis guards bothered to check the square tonight, she’d be in so much trouble. Emerald eyes met hers, and the man pushed himself up off her, but he didn’t stand. He just hovered over her, a frown furrowing his brow.

She stared too. Mesmerized, she reached out to run her fingers of his face. He’d been cold marble moments ago. How could this even happen? She chewed on her inner cheek. Whatever had happened, if anyone found out she’d woken him up, she’d disappear like any other Infirmi who had Ability. No one would miss her because she wasn’t even fully Infirmi and both sides wanted her gone. She pulled her hand away. Her movement snapped whatever spell he was under, and he moved off her, standing up and staring at the city. The furrow in his brow deepened, and his brows pulled down.

“S-sir?” She scrambled to her feet and looked out across the still sleeping Praesaepium. What was he looking at?

He didn’t answer.

Should she leave him to figure out his own problems? Or stay and help him? Helping him would jeopardize her safety, and it might also mean she would have to attempt an escape even if she didn’t think she’d make it. But if things went sour, she’d be tangled up with him, and they’d end up running from forces belonging to the elite members of the Fortis. She turned away, her steps faltering. Her heart whispered that she shouldn’t go, but she couldn’t let it dictate this situation. Not if she wanted to survive in this society of rules and dictates.

“W-wait.”

She froze.

“Tara?”

Eltara shook her head. “You’re mistaken, sir. I’m not the woman you’re searching for.”

“You have to be. You… You broke the curse.”

She shook her head again and glanced over her shoulder. His malachite gaze rested on her hopefully. She couldn’t leave him here. He looked lost, and she knew what that felt like. She’d never be able to ignore someone in need. Not when she knew what it was like to be there and have no one. She sighed. “I’m Eltara. Please, keep quiet. If the Fortis that check around here catch us, you’ll be in trouble.” And so would she, particularly since this didn’t look very good. They’d think she was trying to seduce one of their own, and that would gain her a quick pass to the Mors Animi. She shivered. “Really, you don’t want to know what might happen.”

~~~

Well, that’s it for this week! Hope you guys enjoyed it! What are you working on? I’d love to hear about it, so if you’d like to share, please feel free to utilize the comments section to share with us.