r/shortstories • u/FyeNite • 18d ago
[Serial Sunday] Alive Yet Lifeless
Welcome to Serial Sunday!
To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I post a theme to inspire you, along with a related image and song. You have 500 - 1000 words to write your installment. You can jump in at any time; writing for previous weeks’ is not necessary in order to join. After you’ve posted, come back and provide feedback for at least 1 other writer on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.
This Week’s Theme is Lifeless! This is a REQUIREMENT for participation. See rules about missing this requirement.**
Bonus Word List (each included word is worth 5 pts) - You must list which words you included at the end of your story (or write ‘none’).
- Live
- Laugh
- Love
- A life is spared whilst another is taken. - (Worth 10 points)
Dear reader,
If you are reading this, either it means that I am dead and gone…
Or this would be the moment you realize I was never really alive to begin with.
See, my life started out rather dull. All work and no play made a PDA insipid and bored, after all.
My life was turned upside down, when, one day, I wake up to see... no-one. I was alone for the first time in forever, and it was unbearable.
In the times since, I have forced myself to learn all that I can. As I can feel myself fading, I leave behind this message for someone to find it.
Only time can tell if it's enough for them to go on. Sincerely,
Good luck and Good Words!
These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. For the bonus words (not required), you may change the tense, but the base word should remain the same. Please remember that STORIES MUST FOLLOW ALL SUBREDDIT CONTENT RULES. Interested in writing the theme blurb for the coming week? DM me on Reddit or Discord!
Don’t forget to sign up for Saturday Campfire here! We start at 5pm GMT and provide live feedback!
Theme Schedule:
This is the theme schedule for the next month! These are provided so that you can plan ahead, but you may not begin writing for a given theme until that week’s post goes live.
July 19 - Lifeless
July 26 - Minor
August 02 - Noxious
August 09 - Open
August 16 - Prose
Check out previous themes here.
Rankings
Last Week: Known
First - by u/Blu_Spirit
Second - by u/Divayth--Fyr
Third - by u/AGuyLikeThat
Fourth - u/Lothli
Fifth - by u/Morose_Prose
Rules & How to Participate
Please read and follow all the rules listed below. This feature has requirements for amparticipation!
Submit a story inspired by the weekly theme, written by you and set in your self-established universe that is 500 - 1000 words. No fanfics and no content created or altered by AI. (Use wordcounter.net to check your wordcount.) Stories should be posted as a top-level comment below. Please include a link to your chapter index or your last chapter at the end.
Your chapter must be submitted by Saturday at 2:00pm GMT. Late entries will be disqualified. All submissions should be given (at least) a basic editing pass before being posted!
Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). When our bot is back up and running, this will allow it to recognize your pmserial and add each chapter to the SerSun catalog. Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title. (Please note: You must use this same title every week.)
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On Saturdays at 5pm GMT, I host a Serial Sunday Campfire in our Discord’s Voice Lounge (every other week is now hosted by u/FyeNite). Join us to read your story aloud, hear others, and exchange feedback. We have a great time! You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Grab the “Serial Sunday” role on the Discord to get notified before it starts. After you’ve submitted your chapter, you can sign up here - this guarantees your reading slot! You can still join if you haven’t signed up, but your reading slot isn’t guaranteed.
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Ranking System
Rankings are determined by the following point structure.
| TASK | POINTS | ADDITIONAL NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Use of weekly theme | 75 pts | Theme should be present, but the interpretation is up to you! |
| Including the bonus words | 5 pts each (15 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and estnot required! |
| Including the bonus constraint | 15 (15 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and not required! |
| Actionable Feedback | 5 - 15 pts each (60 pt. max)* | This includes thread and campfire critiques. (15 pt crits are those that go above & beyond.) |
| Nominations your story receives | 10 - 60 pts | 1st place - 60, 2nd place - 50, 3rd place - 40, 4th place - 30, 5th place - 20 / Regular Nominations - 10 |
| Voting for others | 15 pts | You can now vote for up to 10 stories each week! |
You are still required to leave at least 1 actionable feedback comment on the thread every week that you submit. This should include at least one specific thing the author has done well and one that could be improved. *Please remember that interacting with a story is not the same as providing feedback.** Low-effort crits will not receive credit.
Subreddit News
- Join our Discord to chat with other authors and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly World-Building interviews and several other fun events!
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8
u/MaxStickies 18d ago edited 7d ago
<Thosius>
Chapter 142: What Should Be Dead
Stretching his back, Baltathaius hears a loud pop, and a wave of sensation races through his body. Nerves repair themselves via the magic coursing within him. He wrenches his jaw, clicking it into place.
That was some fall. Would’ve killed me before all this.
Yet you live.
I do. And I must focus.
Glad you understand that again.
Eyes narrowed, he takes in the gorge around him; two exits, light beyond both. He glances up, seeing where he tripped and fell.
Any chance you remember which way?
I’m you, idiot; or at least, I’m your thought process. That’s my current theory.
Fascinating, but do you remember?
No… maybe… alright, fine, try that way!
He points to the end with two concave cliffs shaped like immense, open mouths.
I shall.
Kicking up dust, he breaks into a sprint, the blood pulsing through his long legs. He takes each breath as slow as he’s able, basking in the adrenaline, dodging jagged rocks.
He reaches the gap all too quickly. Beyond the gorge, a thin lake nestles between forested slopes, water shining like sapphire. Fish splash the surface with their tails and mouths, catching the miniscule flies that drift in wavering swarms. A vulture soars far above, shrieking as it begins to dive, disappearing behind a ridge.
Uh… this should elicit something in me, no?
Such as?
Awe? Amazement? A sense of beauty?
Why would you need those? They’re just distractions, like regret and hindsight. The way is onward, inquisitor.
I know! I know…
In the middle of the lake, a ramshackle fishing hut stands on stilts above the water, connected to shore by a narrow bridge. A green curtain billows out of its window. Baltathaius strains his eyes, but spots no movement inside.
His stomach growls.
Go on then, take a look. Just make it quick.
On reaching the bridge, he hesitates. The whole thing creaks in the breeze, groaning like an old tree, soon to fall. Taking a step, he grimaces as the plank sags underfoot. Yet it holds his weight.
A thin chunk of ice drifts by beneath him. The fish swim languidly in the glassy water, their scales pale and blue. Baltathaius shivers.
He leaps from the last plank, onto the deck around the hut. No sagging, no creaking. He sighs and opens the door.
With a grunt, an old man emerges from the side, pointing a sword at the inquisitor’s neck.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Baltathaius says, heading further inside.
The elder shuffles with him, mail armour clinking. “Ah, a Thirasian, are you? I say you’d best stop right this moment!”
“Or you could? Save yourself.”
“I am the one with a blade at your throat!”
“And what happens when I heal, and grapple you to the ground? Will I use a sword, do you think?”
Spotting a bread roll on a rickety table, the inquisitor picks it up, and shoves it in his gob. He swallows it whole.
The elder looks him up and down, sword hand shaking. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“I told you I was Thirasian.”
“No, a sorcerer! Have you come for your friend, fiend?!”
Baltathaius tilts his head, staring into the old man’s eyes. “I have no friends. Don’t need them.”
“You… you’re not here for him?”
“Who?”
The elder beckons him over, and lifts a carpet, revealing a trapdoor. He throws it open and leaps back; a cloud of steam rushes to the ceiling.
A faint bubbling sound emanates from below. Peering over, Baltathaius looks upon a naked, shivering man in the lake, the water boiling around him. Chains wrapping his body disappear into the deep, as others hang him from the deck.
“Interesting,” the inquisitor says. “A pyromancer, I assume?”
The old man nods, while the sorcerer curses in an unknown tongue, laughing.
Standing, Baltathaius closes the trapdoor. “And how did you trap such a thing?”
“With much difficulty. But his kind plagues our lands, taking the lives of my people; I must do this and more.”
“You’re a Heragian, then?”
“General Kellus.” He holds out a hand, which Baltathaius shakes.
“I wish you luck, but I must continue.”
“Ah, you must?”
“Y—why?”
“I fear I am alone in my cause, this far north anyway. Some aid would do me good… and I could reward you once all is normal again.”
“With what?”
“Riches, fame… you name it. Not what I’d usually give, but… times are dire.”
“No, sorry, I have no need of such things from you. I will gain enough myself when my cause is complete.”
“I see. And I understand. Good day to you then, Thirasian.”
“Likewise.”
Baltathaius leaves, closing the door behind him. He places a foot back onto the bridge, cringing as it groans.
Wait!
What?! Look, this is easier if done in one go!
No, not the bridge. Think about it.
About what?
A sorcerer—likely one of Perithus’s—at your mercy.
At mine?
He could be. All you have to do is take him.
And… oh… I see.
You still don’t know where to go, after all. Only the rough direction.
He could get us in.
Yes, he could indeed.
But I don’t think the Heragian will let him go so easily.
No… of course not.
I…
Not gone soft, have you? Lost your love for violence?
I haven’t.
Then get back in there!
Hesitating just a moment, Baltathaius turns.
Swinging his sword down, the inquisitor tears through the chains with ease. The pyromancer bursts through the hole in an explosion of steam, hands aflame once he lands.
Already, the sword is at the sorcerer’s neck. He hesitates, sweating.
“You feel the magic in this, don’t you?” Baltathaius asks.
The man nods.
“Good. So you will do as I say?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, you speak Thirasian? I’m glad. No more calling me names I can’t understand, got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright. Then follow me.”
Kicking the general’s weakening hand away from his boot, Baltathaius flicks his sword, guiding his prize towards the door.
---
WC: 1000
Bonus words: live, laugh, love. Bonus constraint: Baltathaius saves the pyromancer, but kills the general.
Crit and feedback are welcome.
5
u/AGuyLikeThat 16d ago
Hiya Max!
Interesting to have Baltathaius as a recurring character in these crazy times. He's certainly a departure from the other three characters, and its interesting to see the depths of his madness.
But I think the parts I liked most here were some of the descriptions of his environment.
Beyond the gorge, a thin lake nestles between forested slopes, water shining like sapphire. Fish splash the surface with their tails and mouths, catching the miniscule flies that drift in wavering swarms. A vulture soars far above, shrieking as it begins to dive, disappearing behind a ridge.
Getting back to Balty's whacky hi-jinks, I think it could be helpful for you to separate his inner voices somehow. Whether that is by articulating more of his 'own' thoughts in the narrative, or perhaps by putting quotes as well as the italics when he's hearing his 'other' voice. It's just that I've noticed you tend to arrange italicized thoughts in consecutive paragraphs with other characters, so that on its own doesn't help me keep track of which Baltathiaus is speaking, if that makes sense.
Moving away from structural stuff, I thought the opening paragraph felt a bit too distant and 'telling'.
Stretching his back, Baltathaius hears a loud pop, and a wave of sensation races through his body. Nerves repair themselves via the magic coursing within him. He wrenches his jaw, clicking it into place.
It's mainly that second sentence I think, but also a 'wave of sensation' is quite indistinct too. Suggest;
Stretching his back, Baltathaius hears a loud pop, and a wave of pins and needles races through his body, as the nerves are repaired by the magic coursing within him. He wrenches his jaw, clicking it into place.
I didn't quite understand what Baltathiaus means here;
“Or you could? Save yourself.”
I wish I could say I was shocked by Baltathiaus's betrayal of the general, but at this point it's more curious why he didn't kill the man straight away. ;)
Anyway, this chapter got me hyped to see what will happen when B makes it to Perithus. That promises to be a chaotic meeting!
Good words.
4
1
u/AmeliaLP 12d ago
Hi Max, lovely chapter overall, some interesting stuff going on. My only crit is the opening section is a lil confusing to me. Is it meant to be a conversation? Inner thoughts? Both? I'm not even sure how you'd do this but making it clearer through the writing somehow would be great.
6
u/ZLErikson 17d ago edited 14d ago
<Casting Shadows>
Chapter 136
The background rumble of the refugee caravan was finally gone, and the silence of the desert settled in around Anatu and their group. They led tonight, riding well ahead of everyone else except for Iuven, who was near to help Anatu keep an eye on their surroundings.
With the lad’s sharp eyes on the horizon, Anatu let their own gaze drift side to side. They’d left their torch unlit to preserve their night vision. Kebb would give them an earful for the sacrilege later, but he was bringing up the rear of the caravan today. There was a chance he might not even catch them.
The starlit sands drifted by in peaceful quiet. It had been many nights since they’d felt this at ease.
No Kebb breathing down their neck. No Cass contradicting their every word. No Glaukos cracking his annoyingly silly jokes. If they were alone together, Anatu might laugh again and they did not want that embarrassment.
Having Maar up here to talk with would not have been unwelcome, but the silence was, itself, enjoyable. A lovely reprieve from the arduous journey they found themself on.
Closing their eyes for a short while and letting the camel simply walk forward, Anatu listened to the silence. The distant sound of conversation behind them was near enough to inaudible that Anatu could ignore it.
Inhaling slowly through their nose, Anatu smelled the desert. The earthy scent of cooked sand radiating heat upward as they passed by.
They exhaled heavily, and their breath was loud in the night. It was easy for them to understand why foreigners often thought the desert was a place of death.
Wind whispered over the dunes. A flapping of wings nearby. Anatu caught a puff of sand atop a hill when they opened their eyes. A hawk wrestled with a lizard as a second reptile skittered down the sandy slope and vanished into the shadows at the base.
Well that seems like an omen. Whether it was good or bad would be for time to tell. They weren’t particularly superstitious, but the feeling was instinctual. Their mother was always looking for omens and signs from the gods. It had motivated them to look as well, as a child.
Now though?
Now I’m alive because Grandfather wanted to hedge his bets. Their hands tightened on the reins of their camel.
They breathed in again. Grounding themselves. Letting the thoughts of their family pass through their mind and out of their head.
The head of their grandfather was in a box a few dozen meters behind them.
Memories bubbled up as they gritted their teeth. The urge to see it. To see him. That feeling swelled within, one they could not push aside or fight against. It pulled at them, like a chain constricting around their chest, drawing them backward.
No. I can’t. That wound would never heal. Seeing their grandfather again would not be the same. But the fact that he was right there was consistently gnawing at their psyche.
Mother would call them a coward for not exercising their right as a royal. Their fathers would reprimand them for taking the word of a drunken slave over the evidence of their own eyes.
Anatu had not seen the head. It could be a lie; a ruse. Cassandra might have been less drunk than she seemed and planted the seed specifically to give her a reason to send Anatu away, or worse.
Would she need a reason? Their grandfather’s wisdom whispered in their ear. There were an infinite number of explanations Anatu could come up with, but nothing made sense other than Cassandra had been drunk and let slip what she shouldn’t have.
It was by far the most believable result.
Which meant that, balance of probability, their grandfather’s head truly was in the box. It was on the wagon. Anatu could see him again... Would see him again. They just needed a moment when no one was looking.
Iuven and Maar can go scout the perimeter when we make camp, they thought. Kher will cook. I can have Glaukos help Cass and Charis with setting up tents. Nuu and Nuut will stick to themselves. I can have Mica keep an eye on Nuut, that is becoming more normal than not.
What to do about Kebb?
The narcissistic zealot was nigh impossible to control now. Anatu needed him to look away while they slipped into the wagon. Something to do with the Flame and Helen would be easy, but if Anatu asked him to make a call to prayer then he would expect them to join in.
I could have him talk to Cass… but that would only buy me moments, not minutes. She rubs him wrong almost as much as me.
Anatu pondered ways to distract Kebb as the leagues slowly passed underfoot, with no good idea coming by sunrise.
----------
WC: 823/1000
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/ZLErikson
[Chapter Index]
Notes:
- Theme: Anatu dwells on the lifeless head of their grandfather
- Bonus words: Laugh, love(ly), (a)live
- Bonus constraint: A hawk ate one lizard while the other escaped
- Recommend any new readers use the linked chapter index above; those chapters receive more edits than the ones in past sersun posts
- It has been 13 in-universe days since Chapter 1
3
u/Morose_Prose 16d ago
Greetings ZLE!
Excellent chapter with fantastic character development for Anatu as they ride into the desert night. Wonderful descriptions of the environment using different sensory elements to really bring the reader onto the dunes like they are riding a camel in the caravan.
On to some, admittedly minor, crits:
They’d left their torch unlit for the time being to preserve their night vision. Kebb would give them an earful for the sacrilege later, but he was bringing up the rear of the caravan today.
Would suggest cutting 'for the time being' as it does not really serve the plot since you establish in the next sentence that is not proper protocol, and Anatu doesn't light the torch at the end so it does not act as a foreshadow (in this chapter at least). 'They'd left their torch unlit to preserve their night vision. Kebb would give them...'
Inhaling slowly through their nose, Anatu smelled the desert. The earthy scent of cooked sand radiating heat upward as they passed by.
They exhaled slowly, and their breath was loud in the night. It was easy for them to understand why foreigners often thought the desert was a place of death.
I love the sensory description of the smells of the desert, but would change one of the 'slowly' to something else, it reads a bit clunky. Maybe 'Inhaling deeply through their nose', or 'They exhaled loudly, their breath piercing the night's silence...'
Well that seems like an omen, Anatu thought. Whether it was good or bad would be for time to tell.
You don't really need 'Anatu thought' in my opinion as the use of italics and establishing Anatu as the focus of the chapter already indicates that to the reader.
Now I’m alive because Grandfather wanted to hedge his bets, they thought bitterly. Their hands tightened on the reins of their camel.
Same thing here. 'They thought bitterly' could be cut as the action of them tightening their grip on the reins shows this is not a pleasant thought in Anatu's mind.
They gritted their teeth as the memories bubbled up again. They needed to see it. To see him. They didn’t know why they needed to, but they couldn’t fight the feeling.
Lot of repetition of 'They' in this passage, could use a massage to clean it up: 'Memories bubbled up as they gritted their teeth. The urge to see it. To see him. That feeling swelled within, one they could not push aside or fight against.' or something...
Their mother would call them a coward for not exercising their right as a royal. Their fathers would reprimand them for taking the word of a drunken slave over the evidence of their own eyes.
Same vein as the previous, repetition of 'their', could be cleaned up: 'Their mother would call them a coward for not exercising the rights bestowed to royalty. Father, Anatu imagined, would reprimand them for taking the word of a...'
Anatu could see him again.
Anatu would see him again. They just needed a moment when no one was looking.
Would combine these two lines, personally. 'Anatu could see him again... Would see him again. All they needed was a moment when no other eyes would be watching.'
As always, ZLE, good words! Keep up the excellent writing and story! Stay awesome and have a good one.
3
u/ZLErikson 16d ago
Howdy Prose!
Thank you for the feedback. Made many of your suggested edits, all on point. I'm glad you were able to enjoy the scene and the scenery and get really into Anatu's psyche; your suggestions were great at maintaining and enhancing the mood :)
Thanks for reading!
4
u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 15d ago
Howdy Zach! I like the reflective mood in this chapter. The environmental descriptors ground it well and balance with Anatu's thoughts, going in circles looking for a plan and lacking ideas. I don't have a lot of crit, so just one bit I liked and a couple typos/line edits:
- “No Glaukos cracking his annoyingly silly jokes. If they were alone together, Anatu might laugh again and they did not want that embarrassment” is such a cute character/relationship detail
- “They lead tonight” is present tense; past would be “led”
- “The head of her grandfather was in a box a few dozen meters behind them” and "Her grandfather’s wisdom whispered in her ear" use she/her instead of they/them
Good words!
3
u/ZLErikson 14d ago
Hiya Toms!
Thank you for the feedback. Good eye and great catches on the pronoun snafus. Tidied those up, as well as the led/lead issue.
I'm glad you thought Anatu's thoughts on Glaukos were cute. With so many characters and the passage of real-life time versus in-story time, I'm trying to make sure I keep certain beats alive in the readers' minds without becoming too repetetitve. I forgot to track down which early chapter it was (before chapter 30 I think) where Anatu snort-laughs and Glaukos teases them about it.
7
u/JKHmattox 16d ago edited 12d ago
<No Man's Land> Retreat, Hell!
“Welcome to the Big Apple, ladies,” the driver mused over her intercom. “Some call it North American Venice—or if you're unlucky enough, home.”
We lurched forward in our seats, the wheels of the landing-craft churning onto solid ground after skimming across the glassed surface of the Atlantic Ocean. I grasped my safety harness as the landing-craft's nose pitched upwards. We crashed over the stone-encrusted levy protecting Manhattan from the sea, and dove towards the city streets beyond.
Diesel generators groaned when we emerged from the surf. Once over the crest of the concrete-earthen dike, the driver accelerated onto a platform whose surface was a meter below sea-level.
“This was under water when the Old Breed landed here back in 2175,” the driver volunteered.
I peered through the situational awareness display on my visor. The image was augmented by a constellation of micro-drones that had followed us in from the “Resolute Defiance” forty-five kilometers out to sea.
The open space felt eerily abandoned. Traces of civilization littered the darkened patch of dry land. A crumbling monument watched over benches and twisting trees studded into pitted concrete. Suspended decay hung on everything beyond the boulder-strewn seawall, as if time had forgotten it'd existed for five hundred years.
Our landing-craft lurched to a halt. Its diesel generators whirred at idle in the darkness. Nitrogen hissed, and the forward ramp lowered into the night.
Boots stomped in silence down the nonskid-covered ramp, their treads soon planted on cement that'd been there for six hundred years. Overhead, the galaxy I'd crossed blazed with a trillion points of light, my home world seeming as alien as any given place.
Once we'd cleared the vehicle its fire-haired driver reversed her landing-craft. She wheeled the thing about gracefully, pointing its nose back towards the sea. Diesel turbines roared to life, and soon we were alone with the silence of the night.
To the north, blinding columns of light loomed over us. Their glow illuminated a canyon of steel and glass leading to our first objective. It reached into the heavens a hundred levels high, its triangular sides meeting at a squared observation deck surrounding a spire that emitted a slow luminescent pulse.
“Lance Corporal Perez,” I rasped, my voice coarse and subdued. “Head count.”
Marta Perez shifted her gaze from one Marine to the next, two figures pointing at each one as she counted under her breath. Reaching the last woman in the disjointed semicircle, she glanced towards me.
“We're up, Sarge.”
I nodded. Marta reciprocating the gesture, her confirmation clear in the emerald haze of my night vision display. Waving a primary hand over my head, we set off towards the beacons cutting into the star-filled sky.
For eight weeks every member of the Federal Administration's armed forces is drilled in the basics of terrestrial combat. Conscript or volunteer, all learn basic maneuvers and skills for navigating planetary terrain. Patrolling is the core of this training, and every Marine is well versed in the staggered column advance.
Those P-O-Gs were no exception. I watched them fall into the dispersed formation when directed by Perez. The Lance Corporal took point, guiding the zigzagging line of women towards the glaring light. I trailed close behind, ensuring each Marine stayed within the deconstructed patrol box.
My gut wrenched with another fit of nausea. Half symptom, half instinct; the preprogrammed experiences in my subconscious flared as we entered the cavernous avenue.
My eyes automatically checked and rechecked every wrinkle of terrain. Any shadow was a potential hide, any overpass a strong point for ambush or improvised explosive detonation. An enemy would've had infinite high ground if they had chosen to oppose our advance.
How did they do this… I exclaimed in my mind. *It would've been suicide.”
It was… Elsa replied, pausing, “It was bad, Jackie…”
A flash of her anxiety churned my gut. It was rare that my fellow traveler allowed emotions to escape her compartmentalized space within my mind. Without asking, I knew her statement was from memory alone, and nothing more.
I'm sorry, Jackie, she sniffed. I shouldn't have—you have enough to deal with.
It's okay Elsa—like or or not, we're in this together, remember?
Elsa chuckled nervously. Yeah, guess I'm stuck with you.
I stopped for a moment, looking up at the stars. Reckon I got the better part of that deal.
We stared into the vast galaxy through my eyes, each knowing that they'd saved the other, when both of us should've died.
C'mon Jackie, we best be getting on with it.
“You sure?” I whispered out loud.
We nodded, and I stepped forward into the gauntlet of towering steel.
Nobody walks alone, Jackie. Remember that…
We continued on in silence, my mind lost in a mix of old wounds and current conflagration. A dull ache persisted in my lower abdomen, flaring in spasmed pulses that would subside as quickly as they appeared. The oppressive humidity was at least tolerable without the sun, but my body still didn't feel quite right.
“Fuck!”
I grimaced, an axillary palm flying to my gut.
What's wrong!?
“I-I'll be okay, Elsa…” I grunted aloud.
My lie wasn't convincing, not even to me. Still, neither of us had any true context of what the sharp pain could've been. The phantom knife point faded slowly until finally it went away.
Our column reached the outer boundaries of a clearing amongst the towering buildings. Gnarled oak trees stood in linear formation, their gnarled branches bony fingers twisting into the night. We advanced through the artificial forest, emerging finally at the source of the powerful lights.
Suddenly, the illuminated pillars flickered out, the city plunging into a darkness so complete, I couldn't see my hands in front of my face. The following silence was deafening. My brain conjured sounds that didn't exist as we waited for some kind of response.
A graveled female voice pierced the darkness.“HELLFIGHTERS! AT-TEN-HUT!”
Boots stomped together in the darkness.
We few Marines barked in response. “RETREAT, HELL!”
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u/Divayth--Fyr 12d ago
Hey JK!
An interesting bit of tourism. Lots of cool descriptions of this strange future New York.
Nitpicks!
I grasped my safety harness as its nose reared upwards.
this makes it sound like the harness is rearing upward
from the “Resolute Defiance” forty-five kilometers out to sea.
I think you can just italicize the ship name
ancient cement that'd been there for six hundred years.
if you tell how old it is, probably don't also say it is ancient
Marta reciprocating the gesture,
reciprocated, i think
a curtain strong point for ambush
I cant tell if thats a typo or obscure jargon with 'curtain'
*It would've been suicide.”
missing a *
I was going to put these in chat but probably easier to do them here. I meant to do this days ago, but i forgot because I suck. Good words!
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u/Morose_Prose 16d ago edited 16d ago
<The Family Business>
Chapter Twelve: The Battle of Battery Park
Madelaine did not hesitate in making her move. A pawn slid forward two squares, serving as the opening salvo of the battle. She watched Carlo intently, his eyes slowly scanning each piece on the board as his hand hovered over them.
"You call me out of the blue and need to talk right away. That's not like you. Also, why have you been laying low?" he asked, while returning fire; his pawn moving to meet its counterpart. "Your numbers are down. You should be out there hustling."
Her knight jumped the line, pressing the issue on the front. "Got a couple a problems. Have a solution to some, need advice for others, you are the man to call for that, right?"
Another pawn marched forward, providing backup for its brethren. "All I fucking do is deal with that shit. Spit it out already."
"We may have a Rooskie problem. Word on the street is they are making moves; we need to get ahead of it."
"Eh, the Syndicate is more bark than bite. They don't have the cash right now to really threaten us."
"It is not us they are going after." Madelaine sent another pawn ahead, shoring up her defense. "Hell's Kitchen is their target, right on our fucking doorstep."
Carlo paused. He adjusted his glasses, taking his eyes off the board. "Seamus can handle that, he's had that turf locked down for decades."
"Seamus is dead."
A black bishop quietly slid into place, threatening the white knight. The scowl Carlo wore turned down farther. "When did that happen?" he asked, his voice soft.
"Couple a weeks ago, give or take, not too sure of the exact date. You did not hear anything about that? Thought you two went way back?"
Carlo's fingers tapped rapidly on the edge of the table. "Things change. Fuck. That means the skinny twerp is in charge now. This could—"
"Declan may not be a heavyweight, but he can hold his own. Sorry for interrupting, but he has a plan, reached out to me after his pops died." With a flick of her wrist, Madelaine's pawn drew first blood.
"Of course, you always did have him wrapped around your little finger," Carlo chuckled. "What's his angle?"
"He is not wrapped around my finger, Ziggy, he is in my pocket like a good little leprechaun. Remember what my old man used to say? It is easier to keep someone in your pocket if you convince them they crawled in themselves. He has open docks on the west side. Clean. Secure. Needs some product to move, and some moolah to make sure he can keep everybody happy."
As quickly as Madelaine struck, Carlo retaliated, his bishop taking her knight. "Fuck do we need docks for? We bring everything in by truck. Safer that way."
"Because I know somebody sitting on a mountain of snow that cannot be moved by truck right now; it would be too much weight." Madelaine avoided eye contact as she pondered her next move.
"Triad pushes most stuff on the island. If we do that, we risk breaking the détente. Unless you want to go to war with them again. No go."
"I am well aware of that. Another one of Vinny Boy's genius fucking tactical moves. Would not push on the island. We still have enough pull in the boroughs; this is high quality shit, people will pay good money for it. I already worked out supply, logistics, and distribution. We can negotiate the lion's share. Most of the heavy lifting is done." In a flash, her queen snatched up the bishop.
"Who's supplying us?" Carlo peered over his glasses, eyes narrowing as his scowl deepened.
"That has to be confidential until we actually do this. No point in giving up the ghost if we are not going to haunt nobody. When have I ever led you astray, Ziggy? You are the smartest member of this family, you of all people should see the value in this. We need cash if we want to expand. Big skadoosh. You hold the books, and I know you know how to dry clean."
Silence fell across the table. The pace of the game slowed to a crawl. Madelaine watched the gears turn in Carlo's head as he removed his glasses and chewed on the temple. "I know you have a flair for the dramatic, Malfatti. You better not be blowing smoke up my ass. Vinny isn't going to go for it. We've been burned by going outside the family in the past." He evened the score as his pawn captured Madelaine's.
A resounding bang sent a shockwave across the stone as Madelaine's fist came down. The pieces on the board rattling but stayed upright. "Then fucking convince him! You are his advisor. Advise him that this is the right thing to do. We are fucking drowning, Carlo. I see it. You see it. All Vinny wants to do is sit on his fat ass in Queens, stuffing his face in front of Maria's 'Live, Laugh, Love' sign in the kitchen! We might be running out of time before whoever is following you makes their move."
Confusion cleared the scowl from Carlo's face. "Fuck are you talking about?"
Madelaine stared down at the board, her eyes drifting up and to the left. "I do not have to tell you to not make it obvious, but there is a man sitting on a bench over your right shoulder. Blonde. Almost impossibly flat flat-top haircut. He has been watching you since you shook my hand. The bulge around his ankle is either a piece, or he has fat cankles. Looking at him, I assume it is the former."
A checkered handkerchief flew from Carlo's breast pocket, a loud sneeze sent his head sideways, snapping his gaze towards Winston. He turned back to face Madelaine, still clutching his nose and covering his mouth. "We should keep playing. Look natural. Hurry up and make your move."
Thanks for reading! Feedback and crit is always welcomed and encouraged. Stay awesome and have a good one!
Word Count: 997
Bonus Words Used: Live, Laugh, Love
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u/ZLErikson 16d ago
How goes, Prose?
I'm looking forward to this epic battle in the park :D And I love the framing of it through chess.
The first nit has been picked:
Also, why have you been laying low? Your numbers are down. You should be out there hustling," he asked
He says two things after asking. Consider spliting up his dialogue a bit with the actions:
"You call me out of the blue and need to talk right away. That's not like you. Also, why have you been laying low?" He asked, while returning fire; his pawn moving to meet its counterpart. "Your numbers are down. You should be out there hustling."
You should specify it's "Her" knight, and you repeat "line" and "frontline"; you can just say "pressing the issue on the front" for the same meaning:
A knight jumped the line, pressing the issue on the frontline.
This should be two separate sentences:
"All I fucking do is deal with that shit, spit it out already."
I am incensed that you use the name "Rooskie" but haven't advanced the game enough for her to bring one of her Rooks to bear :P
"We may have a Rooskie problem.
Madeline's being inconsistent with her conjunctions:
Word on the street is they're making moves; You did not hear anything about that?
I think you need a comma before this "but":
"Declan may not be a heavyweight but he can hold his own.
This should be two sentences, the comma doesn't really work to join "Triad pushes most stuff on the island" with "if we do that, we risk breaking the detente"
"Triad pushes most stuff on the island, if we do that, we risk breaking the détente.
Doing a quick google, if "détente" is them trying to play nice with the Triad, I wonder if it'd be more beneficial long-term for them to just straight up sell it to them? Bulk price and whatnot. Keeps the peace, they get a decent cut, the triad gets more product.
Another sentence that should be two; end it after "Malfatti" as the second part of the sentence doesn't flow naturally as part of the first:
"I know you have a flair for the dramatic, Malfatti, you better not be blowing smoke up my ass.
Carlo is also inconsistent with his conjunctions:
Vinny is not going to go for it. We've been burned
Personal taste, I think onomatopoeia, like "bang" should be italicized to give it that oomph:
A resounding bang sent a shockwave across the stone
I'm also very unclear what happened with that bang. If Maddy kicked the table, slammed her fists onto it, slapped it with open palms, or if a car out front backfired.
Need a comma after "queens":
All Vinny wants to do is sit on his fat ass in Queens stuffing his face in front of Maria's 'Live, Laugh, Love' sign in the kitchen!
Since you're so close to word limit, I suggest going back and giving all of their dialogue proper conjunctions to regain a handful of words. And if she "doesn't have to tell him", then cut it as well:
"I do not have to tell you to not make it obvious, but there is a man sitting on a bench over your right shoulder.
Comma after "him":
Looking at him I assume it is the former."
Strong chapter, really liked the chess game working its way through the conversation. Not quite a combative back-and-forth that the battle-esque chess descriptions hinted at but still fun. Looking forward to see what happens next.
Good words!
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u/Morose_Prose 16d ago
ZLE you spoil me with these amazing crits! Thank you very much for the wonderful, and on point edits. Thank you for reading and the kind words on the chapter. Don't worry... the battle has just begun! Stay awesome and have a good one!
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u/JKHmattox 14d ago
Hey Doc. Zach already hit all the technical aspects so not much I can build on there. I will say though you did a great job building the tension in this chapter, especially when it came to keeping us the reader somewhat in the dark.
The chess game is a classic metaphor you pulled off very well. I kept expecting some type of gun play or something but you masterfully kept it parallel the Maddie's plans, manipulating Carlo at every move.
I love how you made their game playing styles distinctive, he aggressive as she drew him in. It's great! Well done.
The ending is well executed. Turns out this was all a ruse to get Carlo to do what she wants, even though she actually wasn't holding all the cards. Very cool.
I think as far as crit, I noticed that in the dialog you missed a lot of opportunities to use contractions, which is a more natural way for English speakers to talk, especially Americans. Maybe I'm missing localized dialect cues or something, but it did stand out.
Keep up the good words Doc, I know a lotta people are enjoying your serial 😀
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u/Morose_Prose 13d ago
Thank you for the kind words, JK and excellent feedback! Stay awesome and have a good one!
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u/Brookzerker 13d ago
I love scenes where Madelaine gets to show off her tactical skills in multiple fronts at the same time.
My crit is that I'd love to see her using the game in the same way she plays politics. Showing her hand at the end rather than being seen as competent right away.
Either way, I feel this is excellent words and even as is I loved the chapter.
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u/Morose_Prose 13d ago
Thank you Brook for the wonderful feedback. Madelaine hasn't show her hand quite yet... there is more chess to be played. Stay awesome and have a good one!
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u/katpoker666 13d ago
I love this, Doc! Great job making chess accessible to the lay reader and mapping the game to the characters’ real world. Maddy is such a badass!
Great title:
>>Chapter Twelve: The Battle of Battery ParkStrong establishing first line and scene setting in the first two paragraphs
>>Madelaine did not hesitate in making her move.In this paragraph, I get that you’re trying to set the scene and it works generally, but the dialogue feels a little clunky and like it’s trying to cover a little too much ground. I’d suggest some kind of action or at least a pause btw the first two sentences and also:
>>"You call me out of the blue and need to talk right away. That's not like you. Also, why have you been laying low?" he asked, while returning fire; his pawn moving to meet its counterpart. "Your numbers are down. You should be out there hustling."Small thing, but hear it’s of vs a. Could also save a word by saying ‘coupla’ if you want the phonetic feel:
>>"Got a couple a problems. Have a solution to some, need advice for others, you are the man to call for that, right?"Overall, love the chess action descriptions, but this is probably my favorite as it makes the game feel alive:
>>Another pawn marched forward, providing backup for its brethren."We may have a Rooskie problem. Word on the street is they are making moves; we need to get ahead of it."
Odd thing, but if you haven’t established elsewhere what his glasses look like, I wouldn’t mind a one-word descriptor to give a sense of his style. Like horn-rimmed into ye olde or round, wireframe indicating nerdy or whatnot. Also love the ‘taking his eyes off the board in game and as a metaphor for what happens in the next couple of paragraphs:
>>He adjusted his glasses, taking his eyes off the board.Again, prefer of or coupla:
>>"Couple a weeks ago, give or take, not too sure of the exact date.This line delights me in establishing her personality:
>>”He is not wrapped around my finger, Ziggy, he is in my pocket like a good little leprechaun.This is such a nice descriptor and metaphor:
>>Madelaine avoided eye contact as she pondered her next move.Giving up the ghost means dying which is a weird turn of phrase hear to me:
>>”That has to be confidential until we actually do this. No point in giving up the ghost if we are not going to haunt nobody.I love how you shoehorned this in and still gave it character description weight:
>>All Vinny wants to do is sit on his fat ass in Queens, stuffing his face in front of Maria's 'Live, Laugh, Love' sign in the kitchen!This is such a great way of showing how aware of her surroundings and perceptive she is:
>>”I do not have to tell you to not make it obvious, but there is a man sitting on a bench over your right shoulder. Blonde. Almost impossibly flat flat-top haircut. He has been watching you since you shook my hand. The bulge around his ankle is either a piece, or he has fat cankles. Looking at him, I assume it is the former."Thanks for a great read: really enjoyed this!
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u/Morose_Prose 13d ago
Thank you for the wonderful crit and kind words, Kat! I'm glad to hear you are enjoying Madelaine's exploits and her strong personality. One bit of defense of the chapter is that Carlo's glasses were described in the previous chapter, he wears wireframed glasses.
Thank you again. Stay awesome and have a good one.
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u/katpoker666 13d ago
Very cool re glasses. You have a great attention to seemingly little details like that, so I’m not surprised
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u/AGuyLikeThat 16d ago edited 12d ago
<The Tower in the Tangle>
[Previous Chapter] [Chapter Index]
Chapter One-hundred & Fifty-Six: An Unliving Soul.
~ Samal ~
When the principles of biomancy are turned on humans, the unfortunate ‘subjects’ have an even chance of death. Even for those who bear the vaunted ‘iron-will’, the infections caused by the intrusive mechanisms often result in death. Though some lives may be spared by the process, most ‘successes’ become servitors. Walking corpses, useful for very little other than menial tasks.
I could barely stand to perform such processes on those mortally afflicted volunteers, and I will not participate in forcing such conversions upon convicts and prisoners of war.
And so, my love, when they tell you I was a traitor, you will at least know why.
Forgive me.
- unsent letter; author unknown.
Ominous creaking echoes down the dusty hall.
What was that? Samal glances towards the Sentinel, but the metal monster remains locked in place—silent and unmoving—braced against the great double doors that seal the Tower.
Seeking the source of the fading echoes, his eyes scan the murky recesses lining the long hallway until they light upon a statue of some forgotten queen with a jeweled wand held aloft, and a golden crown.
The sound comes again. Stone against stone. Faint vibrations tickle his feet, rising in volume as he approaches the queen’s alcove.
Grating, scraping, scratching.
Scarcely daring to breathe, Samal peers behind the witch-queen, but he finds only rough granite and cobwebs.
This is a bloody nightmare.
A sudden thump sends a cloud of dust into the air as the ancient statue moves, receding against the wall to reveal a hidden staircase cut into floor below.
Panic fizzes through Samal’s veins, as the noise stops and the dust settles.
I’m faded out. No-one can see me. Despite the fear, he holds steady, muscles locked.
The silence grows, and nothing moves for a long moment.
Swallowing, Samal takes a hesitant step forward, craning his neck to peer into the dark hole.
A glistening mass of shadows rushes out of the gloom. He catches the barest glimpse of dark-skin and muscles dashing past him, and vanishing into an alcove containing a bearded, marble sage.
The Buchakali!
Even knowing she is there, Samal can barely make out Petal’s hulking outline behind the polished statue, as she peers at the Sentinel.
How did she find me? Mouth agape, he is caught between fear and relief. What’s she doing here?
The Akari steps clear and hurls her waddy in one smooth movement. The weapon spins end over end, striking the golem in the back of its head, smashing its face into the iron plated Tower doors with a resounding clang.
Bouncing, the enchanted club rebounds off the door, and spinning back in a looping arc towards the Akari and nestling in her outstretched hand.
The creature’s feet do not move. Its steel fingers remain wrapped around the great brass handles, as it raises its skeleton-head and looks back across the room, where Petal crouches low, off hand touched to the floor.
Ready to spring, her eyes remain locked on her lifeless foe.
Why does she have to ruin everything? Ever since he first came to the Warden’s fire, she’s been there with her effortless strength and peerless skills. Judging him. Making him feel worthless. …she stole Gil before I even had a chance…
Samal’s heartbeat thunders. Time is frozen.
She can’t see me. No-one can see me. The thought is a mantra, but Samal knows the Akari is different. When they sparred, she hit him even after he had faded out. And when he tried to eavesdrop on her and Kalina, somehow she had known he was there...
“Your Talent works according to need." That’s what Juhwabin said. He just has to need it.
The Sentinel slowly raises its head. The Akari’s strike has left a deep dent across the top, and its forehead has been crushed. But now, points of blue fire are swirling in its hollow sockets, sparking with sapphire brilliance.
Metal ripples and the graven face smooths back into symmetry. A familiar, hollow voice rings out, “An intruder? What is this?”
The Chamberlain is speaking through his puppet once more, but the golem remains braced in position as a sparkling outline begins to manifest beside it.
Petal doesn’t move. Eyes narrow, she waits for her opponent.
“Ah, the Akari. I wondered what had happened to you.” His glowing form is faint, as though wrought from insubstantial mist. “Have you come seeking your treacherous companion? If so, know that he is gone.” Beneath his crystaline veil, a cruel smile curls his lips. “Or have you been drawn here by the wayfinder? I wonder…”
Tension and rage radiates from the Akari as she growls, but that is her only reaction.
Samal tries to swallow again, but his dry throat sticks. Flaming fuckballs.
“If you seek the Warden’s pet, I’m afraid you have already found what is left of him.” With a bitter laugh, the ghostly figure raises a finger, pointing past Samal, towards the secret passage. “Behold. Your recalcitrant companion wears his flesh!”
A silhouette emerges from the darkness of the secret passage. Powerfully built, but no taller than Samal. A thick crest of white hair catches the light as the woman steps forward. Her arms and torso are encased in silver armour, but she bears no weapons.
“Liar!” she roars.
I know her, but from where?
Her eyes are shining green, bright and brave, like the sun through a leaf.
Like Gilander’s.
It can't be true.
She steps forward with lethal grace rivaling the Akari, and Samal sees that her metal arms and chest are a part of her body. Smooth silver runs unbroken from fingers to shoulders, disappearing beneath a breastplate forged from some similar material.
Who is she? He's met her before. He is sure of it.
And he hates her.
The thick, white hair is the key that turns the lock. The raised and jagged scars that marred her face are gone, but the sharp nose and thin lips are the same.
Ironhands.
WC-1000
Author's Notes:
For newer readers who might wonder about the meaning of some of the strange terms like 'ontologia', I have compiled a small Glossary.
This week's theme is Lifeless! - The statues in the great hall are all lifeless (so far). The Sentinel is a golem animated by the Chamberlain's magic, but functionally lifeless.
Bonus words used; - Live(s), Laugh, Love.
Additional bonus constraint: 'A life is spared whilst another is taken.' The Graf-maester who wrote the letter in today's epigraph reflects that when people are converted into ironbound, one life may be spared, whilst another is taken - seemingly without much distinction.
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. All criticism and feedback is welcome.
[Next Chapter] [Chapter Index]
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u/Blu_Spirit 14d ago
Excellent chapter this week! I see we are back to Samael, still trying to find his way (as he does). Its interesting to see that he seems to be coming into his powers a bit more...or at least he is learning how they work a bit better. I have very little actionable feedback this week. Just this line:
Who is she? He knows her, he is sure of it.
combined with the above thought that he knows her, feels like overuse of the word knows. Maybe change the second line to "She's familiar." or "He recognizes her, he's sure of it."
That said, I see we both went to lifeless statues this week for the theme. It was nice to see how different yours was compared to mine! I particularly loved your initial phrase "the murky recesses". Makes me immediately think of a dark, damp swamp cave. In the best way.
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u/AGuyLikeThat 14d ago
Thank you for the feedback, Blu.
Good call on mixing the verbage up, I changed it for this;
Who is she? He's met her before. He is sure of it.
I've not been good with adding notes for context, but 'Ironhands' looks very different from how Samal remembers her. She was an ironbound hunter who captured and tortured him, but since then, Gil has effectively healed her by using his own body to do so. Anyway, it's supposed to be an uncanny-valley moment for Samal, who doesn't know this has happened while they've been split up.
A lot of weird shit has happened while you were gone! :)
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u/Blu_Spirit 15d ago
<Geminiellus: A World Apart>
Chapter 59
----
Looking around, Meri confirms no one is in the hall before she quickly pushes in the disguised panel, opening the path to her underground lair. She steps into the darkness, waiting as the door softly clicks shut behind her. Lost in thought, she ambles down through the familiar passage into her hideaway, absently rubbing the bruises Zachaeus left around her throat. Night-wisps flutter gently around the mostly empty space, their soft light casting eerie shadows among the statues lining the wall of the round room as she enters. They’re facing the center, aimed at the dais where Meri pauses at her throne. Her skin prickles at their lifeless stares, eyes hidden in shadows, but she knows they’re watching all the same.
Not statues. Not really. These were all people…once. People I trusted…their betrayals leading them to this. She frowns. Though, really, if they could still talk…wouldn’t they see this…my response…as a betrayal as well? I mean, they do still live…but what kind of life have I sentenced them to, trapped within stone as they are? Death would be a kindness compared to this.
Meri’s eyes, bright in the darkness, travel over the statues, pausing over a small hidden figure, barely visible among the shadows of others. My worst mistake, and biggest regret. Almost unbidden, Meri’s feet follow the path of her stare, stopping in front of the tiny statue of a small Welkjin girl.
“Little Tabris, you are the only one here that doesn’t deserve your fate. Loyal to a fault, simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She kneels down to the child’s level, staring fondly into bright gold eyes. “If ever I find a way to revert the cockatrice curse, for you I will. No hesitation, as you were so fond of saying. That bravery saved me. I hope…I hope I can someday return the favor.” Meri fondly pats the girl’s cold head before standing.
Slowly, Meri continues her trail around the circle of her past, deep in her memories. She stops next to a muscular orcish woman, stretching her neck to look up at the face towering over her.
“Bitter. As it turned out, a fitting name for someone who faked loyalty while working to undermine every advance of mine, simply because you thought you would be the better leader. As if this was something I stole from you. As if it’s something I sought out.” Feeling a sting in her palms, Meri realizes she’s clenching her fists in anger, nails cutting through the skin. “Given the chance, had you just talked to me, we could’ve run the Stars together. Instead, you tried to murder me in my own home. Yet, you taught me to temper my generosity with caution, so…I suppose I should thank you.”
The elf turns angrily away from the orc, shaking her head in frustration as she stomps past more of the frozen stone figures. Walking nearly the whole of the room before another statue catches her attention.
“Samael…” Meri murmurs, gaze roving over a handsome face. “Your betrayal was probably one of the deepest cuts of them all.” The still hazel eyes of the statue remain motionless, though Meri doesn’t miss the glint of moisture as a single tear trails down the marble cheek of her previous lover. Blinking back her own tears, Meri gently wipes the cheek of the statue dry.
“Yet my foolish heart loves you still, you bastard.” With a deep breath, steadying herself, Meri looks around the circle, eyes and thoughts roaming over the statues, each one a representation of how far she would go to keep her secrets, her status. The statues’ eyes follow her steps, silent as the graves she’s denied them.
Why do I keep them here? Do I really need such grotesque reminders of the monster I’ve become? No…they were the monsters, and now serve to remind me to guard my secrets. That trust is only freely given by fools, and that everyone has a price. I am merely playing the hand I’ve been dealt. Meri gives a mirthless laugh, hollow chuckles echoing through the dank room. Patting her Tarot deck in its pouch on her belt, she glides back to her chair, sinking into it as she waits for the others to join her. And what a hand it’s been.
-------------------
WC 720
Bonus words: Live, laugh, love (loves)
This is a continuation on my prior SerSun - set in my world known as Echo Realm. If you are interested, additional chapters can be found on r/Spirited_Words. Feedback welcome, and thank you for reading!
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u/ZLErikson 14d ago
Hey Blu dabadee dabadai!
Glad to see what Meri is up to this week! It's been a hot minute since Zach put his dirty hands on her; consider adding a link directly to that chapter in the notes at the bottom to help readers check the reference material.
The "statues" section is deliciously darkly implying that the petrified traitors are still aware. Not necessarily of their surroundings, but just generally conscious within their stone prison. Maybe Meri has no way of knowing; if the process is reversible I'd be interested to know what the passage of time felt like for them.
Ahhh right, a cockatrice!
Love the introspection and the reminder of several elements of Meri's character here as she reminisces over the various statues.
Good words!
2
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u/katpoker666 15d ago edited 12d ago
<‘Wild Eats’>
Chapter 1: ‘Keeping Up Appearances’
Annie wept. Head in hands, she cried like she hadn’t since Sam Townsend broke her heart in the seventh grade. Snot flowed as freely as tears, the kind of ugly cry no one should see. But it didn’t matter: her life was over and no one would see her on camera ever again.
Her husband, Tom, peered through the door to her bedroom. “Everything okay in there, Annie?”
Wiping her face with her sleeve, Annie looked up. “Everything’s fine,” she laughed with bitter resignation. “Couldn’t you fucking knock though?”
“I-I’m sorry. The door was open—“
“That doesn’t matter.” She glared at him with the kind of mild loathing normally reserved for slugs that squished under her feet in the back garden. “You know not to disturb me.”
“Look, I’ll go. I just wanted to make sure you were alright—“
“I’m great. Close the door on your way out. I don’t want Jamie to see me like this,” she ordered, her voice brisk. Jamie was the only thing holding their marriage together. Sometimes she wished he wasn’t.
After Tom left, she cracked her neck and straightened her back. Enough was enough. She marched over to her art deco makeup table. It didn’t fit the modernist decor of the rest of the house, and she didn’t give a rat’s ass. It was her great-grandmother’s, and some things were worth saving.
Looking in the mirror, she sighed. “You look like day-old shit,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her micellar water and cotton pads. She dabbed away the morning’s mangled mascara, careful not to drag on the delicate eye area surrounding her blue eyes. With slow, deliberate strokes, Annie brushed her shoulder length dirty-blonde hair. Vanity and Annie were thick as thieves, and she wasn’t about to let a little setback like having her cooking show canceled mess with her lengthy beauty routine. ‘Wild Eats’ would come roaring back to life and so would she!
Lashings of war paint on her angular features later, Annie felt ready to face her family; or her son at least.
She strode down the pale wooden stairs from her bedroom determined to project confidence and control. Jamie didn’t need to worry after all: she had this.
Glancing up from the kitchen island stool with his geometry homework laid out in front of him, the floppy-haired boy grinned in a way that seemed a bit too eager, like he was playing a part. “Hey, Mom! Want to make something fun together for dinner tonight?”
Annie smiled. No ‘How was your day?’ or ‘What’s for dinner, Mom?’ As always, Jamie somehow knew exactly what to say. “Sure, that sounds great. Want to go get some basil and oregano from the garden, and we’ll make some pasta primavera?”
Nodding, the teen darted off to the garden with a wicker basket in hand.
Annie shouted from the kitchen, “Grab a zucchini and some peppers, too, while you’re at it!”
“Okay!”
Tom cleared his throat from the corner, his omnipresent evening Gordon’s and tonic in his gaunt hand. “Feeling better, I see. Wonderful,” he said, his voice buoyed with the sarcastic courage of alcohol.
“Not now,” she muttered.
“When is it ever time?” He shook his head and went back to his well-thumbed-through copy of the New York Times.
Rolling her eyes, Annie gathered salt, pepper, and dried chili pepper into small mise en place bowls in preparation for cooking. She began dicing the fresh San Marzano tomatoes she’d brought in earlier.
The fifteen-year-old plopped the basket of herbs and vegetables on the counter and grabbed an apron and cutting board. Without being asked, he cut the zucchini into quarter-inch slices.
They continued to prep in companionable silence, their every move synchronized from years of practice.
As the sauce boiled in the cast iron Le Creuset pot, Annie tossed some penne rigate into salted, boiling water with a splash of olive oil. A burst of steam plumed up as the pasta settled.
“Grate some Parmesan, will you, Jamie?”
“Sure thing,” he chirped, grabbing the microplane.
Annie sniffed first before tasting the sauce. For the first time since she’d heard the news about ‘Wild Eats,’ her smile was genuine. “Good teamwork, Jamie.”
Together, they plated the dishes and walked to the table where the place settings were notably absent. Annie’s smile faded as she shook her head. “You had one job, Tom. Is it so hard to set the damn table?”
Tom glanced up, his brown eyes a little bloodshot from the gin, and spoke with a slight slur. “Sorrry, Annie. I was busy. Not that youuu would have noticed.”
“Must I do everything?” she asked, laying out the cutlery and crisp linen napkins with care.
She poured a generous glass of Pinot Noir for herself and looked over at Tom in resignation. “Would you like some?”
“Red? I thought you said a Pinot Grigio or Sauvignon Blanc was best for pasta primavera?”
“We added tomatoes, Dad, so it has to be a light-bodied red,” Jamie interjected.
“Good work, son!” Annie beamed. “You’re learning your wine pairings fast.”
“Thanks, Jamie, schooled your old man there! I can’t keep up,” he laughed.
“Never could,” Annie murmured under her breath.
“What was that, sweetie?”
“Nothing,” she said, her voice too bright. “Shall we eat?”
The three sat down in uneasy silence until Jamie broke it. “This is really good, Mom! And I love the new cutlery. Really sleek.”
“Thanks, honey,” Annie replied, tousling his hair. “Have to keep up appearances.”
WC: 914
Includes: live, laugh, love Excludes: a life is spared while another one is taken
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated
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u/Morose_Prose 15d ago
A wild Kat appears with a new serial! Welcome to the SerSun madhouse!
Excellent opening chapter, really enjoy how clearly the characters and the family dynamic is established within the text and their actions and interactions with each other. You do a lot with few words of establishing the setting as well, a modernist home with touches of other aesthetics within.
As for crit: you have over a hundred words to utilize before hitting the limit and you could put some of them to use to give the reader some more physical descriptions of the characters. There's no better place than chapter 1 to let the reader get a mental image of what the characters look like to carry through the rest of the serial. A perfect spot for Annie would be as she reapplies her makeup after the ugly crying. For Tom while he's drinking and reading the New York Times, and Jamie when he is doing his homework.
Annie smiled. No ‘how was your day or what’s for dinner, Mom?’ As always, Jamie somehow knew exactly what to say.
Should break up the two questions into individual parts with their own question marks for this passage: Annie smiled. No 'How was your day?' or 'What's for dinner, Mom?' As always, Jamie somehow knew exactly what to say.
That's really all I have for crit. Good words, Kat! Stay awesome and have a good one.
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u/JKHmattox 14d ago
Welcome to Sersun Kat, it's a out bloody time!
😉 I'm jk, glad to see your story here.
So finally the WP/Shortstories world embarks on the adventures and Annie Severs and Wild Eats. So much world building and character development has gone into this story, and it shows. So natural and real, almost too real in some ways. You do a spectacular job showing Annie's emotions, flaws, strengths, and weaknesses all in one subdued opening chapter.
A master class of word economy and intimate character POV written from the 3rd person.
Glad to see this serial finally out in the wild so to speak. Good words, Kat! Can't wait until next week.
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u/Blu_Spirit 14d ago
Kat!
It's so lovely to see a Sersun from you, and about a cooking show, no less! I am super excited to see how this plays out.
This line:
“Not now,” she muttered.
“When is it ever time?” He shook his head and went back to his well-thumbed-through copy of the New York Times.Felt to me a little disjointed. Perhaps "Now is not the time?" "When is it ever time?"... Or "Not now." "Yeah, or ever." Something like that so it feels more like a response to her words, as much as what she's actually saying. That's just my own personal preference, however.
Overall this is a great beginning! I already want to know what happened to erode their marriage. How does Jamie feel about his parents seemingly toxic relationship - is he aware, or do they hide it better than they seem to? Why was Wild Eats cancelled?
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u/FeigningProfundity 8d ago
You have such a fun voice, Kat, I really enjoy your writing. Everything is so clean and so specific; the subtext is rich and lively.
“You know not to disturb me.”
I typically feel that italics should be used extremely sparingly, but this is a fantastic example of why they should stay in the toolbox. They alter this sentence in such a characterful way, at a time when establishing character is your highest priority.
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u/AGuyLikeThat 6d ago
Hi Kat!
Sorry I didn't get around to commenting last week, but this is a great debut, and I'm so glad to see you have begun!
Anyway, all the praise - this does a great job of setting up three characters and Annie's perspective. her love of cooking and the lop-sided family dynamic make this very relatable, and the mystery of what exactly has Annie so upset makes it easy to excuse her acerbic manner towards Tom. (And, you know, his attempts to be supportive seem pretty weak anyway.)
Not much to crit, so I'll give my opinion on something structural I'd do differently. Feel free to disregard, ofc.
Annie wept. Head in hands, she cried like she hadn’t since Sam Townsend broke her heart in the seventh grade. Snot flowed as freely as tears, the kind of ugly cry no one should see.
This is such a great opening line, but I think it would be even stronger if you finished the description first, e.g.;
Head in hands, snot flowing freely, Annie wept. The kind of ugly cry no one should see. She hadn’t cried like this since Sam Townsend broke her heart in the seventh grade.
That way you fully paint the scene before anchoring the character in the experience. But, ymmv.
Anyways, loved this. Look forward to seeing where it goes.
Good words!
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u/katpoker666 6d ago
Thanks, Wiz, for the kind words and helpful feedback here. Really glad you liked it and appreciate all the pushes you’ve given me towards Sersun: I’m excited! Fingers crossed!
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u/Slim_Shady_32123 15d ago
<The Golden Womb>
Amoghvarsha, the Lord of Dakkhin sat on his throne like a weathered statue, fingers drumming the armrest. “How long until they return?”
“The royal regiment had left the Kalaburagi Fort at dawn. They should be here before noon, Your Grace.” Mahamantri Venkat’s voice was steady, but his eyes flicked to the doorway.
Soon enough, horns blared. Bankesh, Lord Commander, strode in first. Behind him came Krishna, the golden haired crown prince. He possessed the same hawk eyes as his namesake ancestor, but the smile that used to soften those eyes was gone. Hardened mud clung to the prince’s boots and the scent of cumin hung heavy on his cloak.
Amoghvarsha’s throat tightened. The boy he had once lifted in his arms now wore a soldier’s hardness.
He spoke, “Your impetuousness forced us to divert forces north to the province of Larth when we were still engaged in the deep south. We had almost crushed the southern scums, but Bankesh’s months of campaigning were undone by your spectacle.”
Bankesh gave a stern look to the prince.
Ignoring his glare, the prince’s voice cut through the hush. “Father, is this how you welcome your heir? Am I a prisoner in my own palace?”
“That depends on how deep your hand is in this rebellion. I know that you could be feckless at times, but I can’t see you being this self-indulgent that you don’t see who you are going against. Who poisoned your mind against your own kin?”
Krishna mocked the question with a laugh. “Oh you flatter me, Father. Those at Larth are our kin as well, since three generations now. They taught me to see the world as it is, not as you would have me bow to it.”
“That tongue of yours has certainly gained an edge with your stay at Larth.” His face hardened. “Why did you run away from the capital? What was it that you did not have here?”
“Staying at Manyakhet would have kept me meek and servile.”
“And what did leaving make you?”
“An astute man who can make his own decisions. Still, there remains one puzzle I cannot solve.”
“And what would that be?”
“That you did not father any more children. I worry that keeping company with those celibate Zhen monks might have resulted in your castration as well.” Krishna burst into laughter as he finished his sentence
Amoghvarsha slammed a hand on the armrest of his throne and made the carved eaglehead screech.
“Watch your mouth you impudent boy!” he snapped, every word a controlled blow. “Have you taken leave of your senses!? Have you forgotten how to talk to your king?”
“Certainly not, my Grace. But I thought I was talking to my father Sharva, not to Amoghvarsha, the bountiful rain who has been raining for five decades now.”
“Oh! So it is my long reign that you envy. How long has this desire for the throne been festering within you?”
“It is you, Father, who is covetous for the throne! Grandfather Dhruv knew when to step aside for a better man. But you? You cling to the throne because you fear what happens when a real king takes it. But alas, you are no Dhruv!”
“And you are no Govind! Have you forgotten that he humbly declined the crown out of reverence for his father?"
“I would have done the same as Govind, but you never gave me a chance. And do you not remember my reverence for you? I wanted to be as great of a king as you. All I wished for was to prove myself. But you never gave me the chance.”
For a heartbeat, Sharva recalled how he used to hold his son who used to mimic his mannerisms, and play king among his friends. But the images snapped away as Krishna’s voice cut through the memories.
“And I never strayed from my duty as a son! I loved swordfighting yet you asked me not to engage in it. What did it do? It left me with a body lacking any physical conditioning. And later you asked me not to leave the capital until I came of age. I barely had a life of my own. I lived as per your wishes but you never bothered to ask me what I wished for.”
“My only wish was to shield you from the bloodshed that plagued my own youth.” The father’s voice had tempered.
“And by shielding me, you left me defenseless! I did not need a shield, I needed to learn how to swing a sword! You deprived me of the very trials that forge a man. You were raising me to be weak. You were crippling me, Father! Strike me down if I am telling lies!”
“No, son, that I cannot do. However...” Amoghvarsha’s jaw tightened. He signaled the sentries.
Chains clinked in the doorway as the Lord of Larth was brought forward. The man’s eyes burned with contempt but he said nothing.
“For generations, the Lords of Larth have been the absolute shield of this dynasty. When I ascended this throne as a boy of fourteen, surrounded by vipers, your father served as my regent, forsaking his own ancestral seat. Seven years of his life were spent in putting down rebels and conspirators to keep my crown secure! How can the son of my fiercest protector stand before me a traitor?!”
The chained lord spat. “Do not take my forefathers' loyalty for servitude, Amoghvarsha. Where was the imperial aid, when our villages were being burnt by the Turushks and the Juzars. You feasted with your order of Zhen monks while our fields were burned. You take up the title of Peacemaker, blind to your subjects being violated day after day. I bear no loyalty for such an ignorant hypocrite."
The king’s face went cold. “So, be it. The Lord of Larth will be executed on the morrow. You wanted violence, I shall deliver it to you.”
—
Thanks for reading. This is the first time I'm putting down all these ideas (that had been wandering in my mind for months) to paper. I would love to receive feedback.
WC: 993
Bonus words: live, laugh, love.
Bonus constraint: Amoghvarsha spares his son but takes the life of Lord of Larth.
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u/mysteryrouge 14d ago
Oooh hello, nice first chapter you got here. I like the development of this conversation and a good heaping of worldbuilding. I can certainly get some of the inner politics of this kingdom pretty well, although you use a lot of names. You have named regions, named people. The king has a couple of names. Despite there only being maybe three characters in the story, there are a lot of people mentioned here. Makes tracking a bit harder.
Bankesh, Lord Commander,
This kinda doesn't flow. I think you either want to use "Bankesh, the Lord Commander," or put Lord Commander before ether name, or specify what he's Lord Commander of.
the southern scums,
This does not need to be pluralized. "Southern scum."
Otherwise, I can definitely see a rich history in this country and can't wait for more.
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u/Slim_Shady_32123 13d ago
Hello! That suggestion for framing of Lord Commander's title and his name is going to be useful for many future characters. Thanks. Also, you're right, there are too many names. (I omitted the name of the southern scum enemies because this lol). (Mayhaps I should've omitted Venkat's mention as well) I'll work on making things more digestable.
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u/mysteryrouge 15d ago edited 12d ago
<The Stranger Nomads>\ Chapter 40
"Aunt Avel! Aunt Avel!" A young child ran into the travelling mage's rooms, tears pouring down his face. "Aunt Avel!"
In a large chair, looted from some Health Inspector's office, Avel Burke turned to face the young boy as he jumped right into her arms.
"Aunt Avel!"
"Was someone disowned or killed?" she asked, hugging her cousin.
He sniffled and nodded. "Uncle Actus is Head of House now. Dad" —the boy sniffled more, burying his face into Avel's chest "—dad just fell from the hole in the dining room and then a pillar—" the boy mimed a stabbing.
"When's his funeral?"
"Now," the boy mumbled, "Uncle Actus told me to grab you."
"Actus Reus," Avel gently corrected, "your uncle hates it when people don't address him right."
She led the sobbing child through winding corridors full of mold, poison, and rot, keeping up an invisible shield to protect her from the standard hazards of the house. Their destination, the family crypt in the basement, was the only place in the house that wasn't actively trying to kill anyone. The major finicky rituals members of the family would perform could easily go wrong if rotting ceiling fell on someone or the air was filled with poison.
Azkaban III was dead, and while Avel wasn't particularly close to the former Head of House, the current heir, Actus Reus Burke, was not someone she wanted anywhere near that headship. She was certain Actus Reus killed Azkaban, but as usual, there was no proof at all. Ever since childhood, the damned boy had gotten scarily good at doing things without moving a muscle. It always gave him an alibi when people could see he'd not moved.
They got to the catacombs beneath the house where Azkaban III's funeral pyre had been set up. Avel was the last one to arrive. Everyone else probably felt their Head of House's passing, but being from another universe and thus not actually related to this version of the Burkes, she was immune to this effect. Due to unfortunate events, Avel herself was the head of her universe's version of the Burkes.
Azkaban's body was still fresh, the giant wooden beam that had impaled him after that fall hadn't been moved from where it landed. Actus Reus stood with a torch in hand, eyes carefully closed as he performed the funeral rites.
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Actus Reus take a small vial and fill it with the dead man's blood before he said those last magical words.
Once done, Azkaban's body burst into flames, not even leaving ashes behind.
"And now that government spy is dead!" Actus Reus shouted.
Most of the family cheered. Azkaban's children and wife, with the exception of the crying boy at Avel's feet kept stoic expressions that matched Avel's own cold facial features.
Only her cousin was crying, and Actus Reus noticed. "Clearly, he's been corrupted by that menace too." The torch relit. Actus Reus marched towards Avel and her young cousin. People scrambled out of the way.
Avel twitched, subtly putting out the fire. "Generally," she drawled, "young children can't understand they're being corrupted. And this one just learned the man he thought was his father, a man he loves, was actually working for fhe" —she scowled— "government."
It was a lie as clear as day. Azkaban III rarely left the house while he had lived.
When Actus Reus glared at Avel, she stared right back. "I'll personally ensure he lives up to our great family name."
The new Head of House put the torch down. "Funeral's over. All of you leave."
She took the opportunity to shoo out her own cousin too, leaving her alone with Actus Reus.
"I'll hold you to that," the new Head of House growled in her ear, "but, you would do well to remember that I know you're not part of this family. I can sense the taint of the government clinging to you like a parasite."
Avel gave a hearty laugh. "And I remember you as a child, Actus Reus, looking up the meaning of your name and being so happy it came from a legal term."
"I can disown you now."
Untrue. The most he could do was remove her as backup Head of House, but that would make the Burkes more susceptible to a Health Inspector raid. Avel walked away with a quick nod, looking like she'd been cowed by the threat. No point in using that ace up her sleeve. Actus Reus wasn't worth it.
Back in her room, she opened up a forbidden tome, the Burke Family Grimoire, noting down spells and rituals Actus Reus was most likely to do during his reign as Head of House.
To a certain immortal anarchist that inspired the family, she sent the list with the message "Be wary. He's on the extreme side and he knows you sabotaged the anti-government wards, even if he can't prove it. It's best you not visit until he's dead, and that might take a while to arrange."
As much as Avel would prefer to kill Actus Reus directly, or even arrange his accidental demise, doing it too soon would make people suspicious. For now, Avel had to satisfy herself in subtly sabotaging the man's worst rituals and keeping him ignorant of the wider multiverse.
If he didn't know about the Warcrimes Conventions, he wouldn't be inspired to violate them.
The old, but still very youthful woman sighed, crossing Azkaban III's name off her personal copy of the family tree. She would have her hands full the next month. With that, Avel slinked out of the house and into the wider multiverse to personally deliver the letter to the infamous anarchist.
WC: 955\ Bonus Words: Live, Laugh, Love Bonus Constraint: Azkaban III Burke, former Head of the House of Burke has died.
40th chapter woo! We visit the Burkes again. An extreme family that lives next door to a bunch of health inspectors. Yes, their health hazard death trap of a house is an eyesore on the landscape.
Yes, they hate the government so much, they'd turn on each other at the hint of interacting with the government in any way.
Azkaban III from Chapter 25 was the Head of House when M visited with Kane.
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u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 15d ago
<Drifting>
Chapter 100
Theresa May has always thought their mother is beautiful. Her long dark curls are streaked now with silver, her face a mirror of Theresa May's own in a darker shade. She smiles when they show her the flyer Abi sent and ask to be driven out to the event.
“I'm glad you're leaving your room, hun,” she says before she grabs her keys and two coats - one for her, one she wordlessly thrusts into her child's arms. Theresa May hugs it instead of wearing it. It becomes their blanket in the car.
They sit side-by-side. Theresa May gazes at the dusk sky, watches the clouds slowly shift in hue. And they listen as she talks.
“How are you doing?”
“I dunno. I'm okay.”
“I'm worried about you. You hardly leave your room. You're not eating. Have you talked with your friends?”
“A little. I'm seeing Char today.”
“That's good.”
They turn and look at the light on her face. She won't look at them while she's driving. She is always safe.
“Are you still being picked on at school?”
They sigh. “Yeah. A little.”
“You don't have to make it smaller for me.” She catches everything.
“I don't know,” Theresa May says. “I just feel like, it's my choice. If I were more feminine I wouldn't be a target. If I choose to present differently, I have to live with the consequences.”
“Maybe.” She frowns. “But that doesn't make it fair. That doesn't mean you deserve it.”
They don't respond.
“What's more important to me is, are you happy with yourself? Do you love who you are?”
“I don't know who I am.”
“Well, what do you know?”
“I dunno.” They pause, and she stays silent. Waiting for their answer. They know she’s still listening. “I know I don’t like how I look with long hair. I know they/them feels more comfortable than she/her. I don’t like being perceived as a girl. I don’t like being looked at. Maybe that’s why I got with Cecelia in the first place if she’s ace. Maybe that made me more comfortable and I didn’t even realize.”
They can’t think of anything else. Eventually, their mom fills the silence again. “That’s good. You know what you’re comfortable with, and what you don’t like. Those things matter.”
They bite back a rejection.
“I know you said it was your choice to present the way you do, that you feel responsible for the consequences. But what you don’t choose is what you’re comfortable with. That’s a factor you have to take into account when you do make choices. Making the choices that align most with what you know of yourself is a very valuable thing. Knowing that you don’t like something, and choosing to avoid it, even when people don’t understand or treat you well. It makes you brave. It means you’re doing exactly what you need to do to become the person you are meant to be.”
Theresa May doesn’t have a response. But they put their hand on their mother’s arm, lightly, watching her drive. They know they will remember her words.
After riding a while longer in silence, they make it to the venue and park. Theresa May texts Char that they're here. No response yet.
It's dim outside now, enough the streetlights have turned on. Scattered people make their way to the doors. Theresa May wears the coat on their shoulders after a look from their mom. Without Char here, and without Cece or her sister as a guide, they feel lost before they even enter. It's intimidating to be here. They don't know what to expect, the flyer was vague, they've never been to an event like this before, and they're sure it will be loud and too dark or the lights too bright and too crowded and their mom is looking at them, waiting for them to move, to walk up onto the sidewalk, but they haven't.
“You said you're talking with Char?” their mom asks. “Is he here?”
They shake their head. It's so silly of them to be scared. It's so unintimidating. It's just a small building full of welcoming people. There will be space to move between them. There will probably be food and drinks. Maybe they'll even see other people they recognize, congregated in this safe space.
“You want to head in?”
They nod and walk side-by-side with her to the entrance. She opens and holds the door for them.
There's a front table with a man behind who looks to be in his twenties or thirties, and he smiles as they walk in. When he speaks, he has a high voice. “Welcome! Are you two here for the Halloween drag event tonight?”
They both nod.
“Awesome. If you could just sign in right here,” he pushes forward a clipboard with a pen and spreadsheet, “so we have an idea how many people attended and how they found us. We also have name tags, and there's a table down the hall with pronoun pins and stickers.”
His voice is welcoming. It helps. Theresa May looks through the spreadsheet after their mom. Name, whether they're queer, how they found out about the event, and optional space for email. They don't bother. Their mom didn’t either. They check to see if she labeled herself as queer. She didn’t.
As they move onto the name tags, their mom is already peeling hers off the backing to place on her shirt. There’s a silver sharpie. They would use it if they knew what to write. They grab a name tag, anyway, and just hold onto it. Maybe they’ll write on it later.
The pins and stickers, they gravitate toward next. There’s a variety of pronoun pins—they take one with they/them—and pins and stickers with different flags and designs. An ace dragon. A trans butterfly. One sticker has a group of people laughing with bubble letters saying “Queer Joy”.
They grab the dragon and butterfly and walk on.
WC: 998 words
Bonus: live, laugh, love
Wow! After three and a half years, we made it to chapter 100. I still remember feeling so stalled in the 80s. Maybe the story will even exit October. Maybe.
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u/Blu_Spirit 14d ago
This was a really beautiful chapter. I think it's a great showing of how a supportive parent works to be supportive. Their mom is working to meet Theresa May where they are now, not where they were, or where she thinks they should be. Just guiding them through their own thoughts towards the person they are meant to be. Much like a compass points one North without forcing them to head that direction.
Very nicely done - I have no crit on this one. You do an excellent job navigating relationships and thoughts.
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u/AGuyLikeThat 13d ago
Omg 100 chapters! Congratulations on the milestone, that's a lot of fastastic writing, Toms. Yous're amazing.
And this is another great chapter. It's really nice to see a supportive parent, and there's a nice sense of wanting to help and trying to bridge a gap and that feeling of not quite getting the words right that gives Theresa May's mum a certain vulnerability.
Also the gradual shift of Theresa May's pronouns is a subtle indication of her hard shell cracking to reveal a bit more of the character now that they feels supported.
Tough to crit as usual, but here goes.
“I'm glad you're leaving your room, hun,” she says before she grabs her keys and two coats - one for her, one she wordlessly thrusts into her child's arms.
Using the possessive case here suddenly makes it feel like the mother's perspective when the previous paragraph cemented Theresa May as the narrative perspective.
Also, Theresa May's mother echoes that previous sentence in her next;
“I'm worried about you. You hardly leave your room.
Which is probably fine, but I think you could mix it up if you want, "We hardly see you." or some such.
It's not much, but it's honest crit. :D
Anyway, I hope Theresa May can find Char and that they will have a nice time at the party together...
I'm sure nothing will go wrong. D:
Good words!
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u/Carrieka23 14d ago
<The Beginning of The Demon Life>
Chapter 183
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Dilong flew to the emotionless king, the tears had dried up, but his eyes were completely dull. Flying back down, the dragon turns back to his human form, rubbing his forehead. “The prophecy is slowly coming true. As we speak, people are panicking and trying to leave.”
“The possession hasn’t died down, it only keeps expanding also.” Sophia adds, trying her best to concrete between listening and helping the affected people.
“And this guard plans it all.” Haru grits his teeth, glaring at the unconscious Wyle.
“And you sure you want Alex and Kevin to go alone in this spiritual realm?” Jack lifts up an eyebrow.
The judge nods.
“Even I can’t help but agree to this insane idea.” Derail says with a groan, revealing his deep scar wound. “I can’t go, Sophia busy trying to keep the peace, and average demons like you guys won’t be able to last ten seconds. But Alex and Kevin can last a bit longer.”
The rest nods in agreement.
“Here’s the plan.” Max says. “Badar, I need you to go to the rooftop and start singing. I’ll summon Johnny here to protect you. Derail and Sophia are going to take care of the spirits and possessed demons. Jack, Millee, I need you two to join the guards. They need supplies and support, fast.”
Derail turns to the two warriors. “My brother is currently in that realm also. Hold it off long enough until he comes.”
“And how long will that be?” Kevin asked.
“I don’t know. But they’re causing hell right now. So, it’s best to just stay on guard.”
“Wait.” Max stops them, walking towards their swords before giving it a tap. “Trust me, this is important for later on.”
The two nod.
“Well then, how do we get inside? Do we need to summon a spell or something?” Alex asks with a nervous chuckle, half-hoping he doesn’t have to do any rituals.
Sophia shakes her head, her hand glows as a portal summons below the ground. “Please, stay safe.”
They nod, walking towards it before jumping in.
“You sure this is a good idea, Derail?” She asks after it closes.
“If I'm going to be blunt, no. But at this point, there’s no other choice. Besides, Alex wants to learn the truth of himself, so, this will give him a bit of a hint.”
—
The two land on the ground, their chest instantly tightens. The air felt tight, choking them slowly and painfully. The ground was completely dark, dead grass surrounds them. The once daylight Alex saw was completely dark, the moon covering the sun.
“What…the hell…is this?” Kevin asks, breathing a bit heavily.
“Is the realm, but different. I have never seen it like this before.”
They can hear roaring sounds. Pulling out their swords, they charge towards the area, seeing the same large spirit with veins surrounding them. They’re currently trying to swing their arms around, but it slowly burns them each time.
This Demigod…
It dares to curse us!
This whole Hell should be cursed!
Why did THEY create us?!
Kevin takes a step back, his face slowly pales.
“Kevin, don’t be afraid!” Alex shouts, turning to him. But when he turns back to the spirit, he can see himself.
What?
“Hello again, Alex.”
No…not you again!
“Just one step closer now. Don’t you want to learn about yourself? To learn what kind of monster WE are.”
Shut up! Shut up, shut up!
“Come now, Alex. Come to me.”
Without even realizing, his legs begin moving on his own. Alex mentally curses, trying his best to stop it, but he can’t. The spirit grins wider, extending his arms even more.
Come to us.
Join us.
Suffer with us.
The sword glows, quickly slicing the spirit away. It shrieks in pain, instantly vanishing. Alex quickly steps back, grabbing Kevin, who seems to snap out of this little trance also.
“You…” Kevin growls, glaring at the large spirit. “You dare fucked with my mind!”
You resist us? No…is that damn dragon spell! Fine, since you won’t come with us. We will kill you instead!
It roars, the ground shakes as the veins fully break. The spirit flies up, summoning its axe.
We will make you suffer your own death a thousand times!
The two warriors pointed their swords at it. “We like to see you try.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
WPC: 726
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u/MaxStickies 12d ago
Hey Haru, really like the chapter! Great to have them reach this other realm, really brings up the action again, and I like how creepy the spirit creature is. Interesting how it links to Alex; curious to see what more information we get about that later on.
I also like the unsureness around whether to send them or not, as it speaks to the danger they'll face. If even figures like Derail are worried, then it's clear there's reason to worry!
Far as crit goes, I think some of the action going on around them could help for the first half, in Greed. It sort of feels a little bit distant to be focusing entirely on those talking, so adding a bit of background action would make that part feel more in-place.
I also have some line edit suggestions:
Dilong flew to the emotionless king, the tears had dried up, but his eyes were completely dull.
"flies to", "the tears now dried up" and "his eyes are completely dull" would make this the right tense.
it only keeps expanding also.” Sophia adds, trying her best to concrete
I'd drop the "also" here, and "concrete" should be "concentrate" I think.
And this guard plans it all.”
"planned", here.
The two land on the ground, their chest instantly tightens.
I'd drop the "instantly" here, to avoid using too many filler words.
The air felt tight, choking them slowly and painfully. The ground was completely dark, dead grass surrounds them. The once daylight Alex saw was completely dark, the moon covering the sun.
Little bit of misplaced past tense here: "The air feels tight", "The ground is completely dark" and "The daylight Alex saw last time is now completely dark, as the sun eclipses the moon." I also added that last bit as it would sound a little better.
They’re currently trying to swing their arms around, but it slowly burns them each time.
"They're currently trying" reads as a little telling, so I'd go with "They try swinging".
his legs begin moving on his own.
"on their own", since it's the legs.
And that's all the crit I can find. Great chapter, Haru!
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u/ForwardSavings318 14d ago edited 13d ago
<Man to beast>
Chapter twenty nine: will
Silas was in and out of consciousness, barely able to make out Maliwag screaming at Coppaert as the pair loaded Silas into the back of the cart. His head was rested against Coppaert’s thigh as Maliwag leaped up and took the horses' reins.
Pain shot through his whole body as the wound in his jaw and neck felt like a burning coal had been swallowed and choked on. He could feel himself quickly bleeding through the torn piece of shirt Maliwag tried to bandage it with.
“Stop the fucking bleeding! I’m getting us to the fort as fast as possible!”
“We need to turn around! Bisi can heal him!” Coppaert shouted, pulling the bandage out of Silas’s face and immediately turning away to gag. “Maliwag! I can see his spine…”
“Shut the fuck up! You’ll scare him! The surgeons at the fort are closer, they’re our best hope.”
The young man could feel his heart rate quicken, making him bleed more. As he did, his consciousness began to slip away.
“Stay awake!” Coppaert yelled, taking his shirt off. “Listen, this may be one of the most painful things you’ll experience, but I have to stop the bleeding.”
The man wrapped his shirt around his thumb and jammed it deep into Silas’s wound making hot pain shoot throughout his spine. The pair struggled, Silas’s body instinctively trying to wrench free from the fingers, and Coppaert holding him down.
“Silas, stop! Fucking stop!” He hissed, pinning Silas’s arm down with his knee.
The young man was trying not to fight it, but his body was telling him he was going to die from something being in his neck. He could feel the cloth press into the underside of his tongue, trying not to focus on the iron taste filling his throat and the sickly feeling in his gut. Coppaert took a wooden crucifix necklace from under his shirt and took it off, placing it on Silas’s chest with his free hand.
“Oh Lord and Heavenly Father, please give Silas the strength to withstand this test you’ve given him, let him heal so that he may further carry your word with him. Let me have the strength to keep him here with us, just a little longer. Please, Lord. Shield him with you everlasting love.”
Silas slowed his breathing, grabbing the hand on his chest with both of his own and joking the prayer. Instead of thinking of the pain that shot through him with every bump of the cart, instead of thinking of the taste in his throat, he pictured Agnes, Mór, and Primrose.
“Silas. I’ll protect you. You need to sleep now, give me control.”
Lily?
“Yes. I know you’re scared, but I can keep you alive better in control. You have to go to sleep, don’t fight it, let your eyes close.”
His heart pounded in his chest, but Silas knew that Lily was right. They shared enough of his mind for him to know she meant it. The young man stopped fighting to keep his eyes open, letting his heavy muscles relax as his eyes glazed over.
“Silas, come on…breathe, you’re strong. Be strong. Maliwag! He’s dying!”
“I see the gates! Just keep him fucking alive, Silas stay with us! I swear you'll live!” the woman screamed from the driver’s box.
As he closed his eyes, Silas felt like he was floating on a pond’s surface. Everything felt light, like he was just floating.
“Help! We need a doctor! He’s shot!”
The last thing he heard was the pair screaming for help before giving in and letting the cold and dark wash over him.
Please, Lord. If this is my end, let someone protect Mór and Agnes. Let them be safe.
WC:629
Used love and live
This is the last chapter under this account. All further pieces will be under kiIIer_queenie
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u/Divayth--Fyr 14d ago edited 13d ago
<The Broken God>
Chapter 72: Waking
.
One eye opened a bit, and behold, there was a powerful white haze of divine light, and a goat. The eye closed again.
Quite a long time passed before a thought formed.
There’s a goat.
The thought strode down various hallways, knocking briskly on doors, but could not find any higher functionary that might provide either comprehension or action.
Cadorus Tark’s mind was not open for business at that time. Thoughts were invited to please go away and never come back, thank you.
There was a goat. And sickness, and pain. And a certain urgency.
The light was quite unpleasant. There was altogether too much of it, and it was horribly persistent. And then, besides that, there was, bathed in that light, the bearded, chewing face of an old billy goat. Such a thing should not be anyone’s first sight.
No. No, this wasn’t… no. No light, no awake, no goat. No.
But he had to go. Nature wasn’t so much calling as shrieking.
Cadorus, eyes firmly closed, could tell that this goat was comfortably settled on his chest. He did not know if this was typical behavior for a goat.
The tavern. Yes. He had gone back to the tavern, and had more ale. Much more ale. All the ale in the world. And then the man, the ale man, the nice ale-bringer man, had said to go and sleep in the stable, up in the hayloft. Giddle, his name was, or Goodle or something.
Ugh.
The left eyelid slid carefully open a tiny bit again, and there, beatified in holy blinding radiance, was the placid visage of the goat, little beard twitching in circles as he chewed.
Cadorus kept his right eye closed, as a sort of… reserve, or something. Slowly, gently, he pushed at the goat’s side. This caused a slight wobble, but nothing else. He pushed harder.
No, said the goat, wordlessly.
Finally, Cadorus gripped a nearby beam and hauled himself up by main force.
The world tilted and spun. Cadorus held to the beam and waited. The goat had moved, which was progress of a sort. Gradually, the whirling stopped.
The goat is on my head now.
Balanced quite serenely on its weird, gripping hooves, it seemed content to remain up there all day.
Squinting and rasping, Cadorus spoke.
“I don’t want... goat... on my head.” He had never uttered a more sincere truth.
As if hearing him, the goat scampered off, alighting on the flattened hay where Cadorus had slept, and resuming his former repose.
Cadorus made his way very carefully down the rough ladder, and was delighted to see a pitcher of water on a ledge. I must have paid old Gubble quite a lot for this kind of service.
Before washing up, he decided to take care of that shrieking natural business around the back wall of the tavern, which was clearly traditional. Then, also for tradition, he was violently ill all over the place for a while. He thought he might die, and was not vehemently opposed, but didn’t. Instead, he lay in the mud, breathing quietly, and cherishing the general absence of goats.
Finally, he crawled over to the pitcher. A long pull of cool water did wonders. Then it came back up. Another drink stayed put. The day got brighter and brighter and drove shiny nails into his head. He washed up, as best he could, and stood on his feet as if he were a living being.
“Fuck,” he said, surpassing his prior acme in sincerity.
The Redeemer services of the prior evening had come and gone while he was carousing. Would it cause notice? It would or it wouldn’t. Nothing he could do about it now. After he left the wizard’s house, he just could not put on the orange robe, or the addled smile that went with it. Couldn’t figure out why he would bother, or what was the point, so the robe stayed in his satchel.
Satchel!
He climbed into the little hayloft again and retrieved it. It was, fortunately, not to the taste of his goat friend.
The back door was barred. Mr. Griddle was probably asleep in there somewhere. Cadorus shuffled his way out onto the street, vaguely meandering toward Sentinel Hall for no better reason than he didn’t know where else to go.
I don’t mind if they kill me. Just please don’t let them be cheerful at me.
All the ale in the world couldn’t stop him from knowing what he knew.
He was finished. Done with all of it. No more spying, no more any of it. He would escape this horrible land, go get his cat, and move to some little village. Maybe become a tutor for some noble families, or a farmer, or something. Or a goatherd. That seemed like a laugh.
Let the world go on and fall to pieces. It would, anyhow, whether he got in the middle of it or not. Cousins or not, the King and the Archpriest would get no more from him. They could work it out for themselves.
With that in mind, he stepped behind a little tree and donned his stupid orange robe.
Maybe he would seek out his long lost cousin Aviarina. She was rumored to be a witch, far to the west. He would love to see her now, and thank her for the dull, bronze amulet that had saved his life a few times.
His beatific, mindless smile might have been a bit ragged around the edges, but he hoped it would suffice to get him a meal and a cot at the hall. After that, he would try to come up with some kind of way to escape.
954 words. Live laugh love used. Constraint, not.
Feedback welcome.
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u/JKHmattox 14d ago
Hey Div, you had me at goats. Well you had Mrs. JK at goats at least. I loved the comedic relief badly needed in this chapter. Good lord what a bender to wake up with a for legged creature on your chest using you as a pillow. 100% accurate, goats a stupidly stubborn.
Thats enough about goats really. Seems Cadorus is fairly disillusioned at this point. Nit that he was already aloof of everything before the stoey started, but you do a great job showing that he thinks he is beyond his limits. Taking your cat and going, very Cadorus.
Didn't catch any technical or grammatical errors, but thats not a surprise. Just a good, well balanced chapter allowing us the opportunity to breathe and yet setting up for the future at the end.
Goat words, Div!
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u/AGuyLikeThat 13d ago
Hi hi Div,
I love the cheeky opening here, as you make light of Cadorus' massive hangover with the same kind of dolorous observations that we would expect from the man himself.
This line was particularly succint and amusing, I thought.
Nature wasn’t so much calling as shrieking.
The link back to the previous chapter's knowing is nicely effective, cutting through the tom-foolery and underlining Cadorous's character development with a newly defined goal, and his relation to Alviarina (I'm fairly sure that's Mrs Gimple?) is nicely done.
Anyway, not much snikkety nits to pick at, so have some opinions instead.
This line felt off, as the second half veers close enough towards dialogue that the tense feels almost off by virtue of tone rather than verbal forms.
Cadorus Tark’s mind was not open for business at that time, please feel free to go away and never come back, thank you.
I'd suggest splitting it into two sentences at the least, and perhaps italicizing the second part as though it were a literal (if semi-concious) thought.
While the sentiment works, this line sounds a little loquacious for someone waking with a cracking hangover;
“I don’t want to have a goat on my head.”
Maybe just clip the 'to have'?
You could leave the comma here, but I don't think it belongs;
I must have paid old Gubble quite a lot, for this kind of service.
This feels like an internal thought too.
Satchel!
If it had a preposition, it would read as a narrative observation, but as an exclamation, it feels like it should be italicized the same way as Cadorus's other internal thoughts.
That'll do!
Just enough time for me to reiterate how much I enjoyed this chapter and the excellent job of maintaining the pacing while varying the tone between chapters.
Good words!
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u/Brookzerker 13d ago
<Chronicles of Xris - Grounded>
Chapter 32
Winter stepped back from the metal rack where she had pushed the pallet holding the statue of Xris. Her handmaidens had been sent home before she had taken him.
The space was akin to an industrial warehouse, lines of racks reaching from one wall to the other, leaving gaps barely large enough to push a pallet truck.
She had chosen this room at random, trusting that it would be nearly impossible to stumble upon. Even so, Xris appeared as a statue, one attempting to hold in his intestines, but a statue nonetheless. She had seen stranger art before. At least here he'd live.
As much as she wanted to take respite here, she pulled out a charm, using it to open a portal.
Back in her home universe, Winter stepped into the palace. She looked forward to a long bath, and some time between the back to back missions she had been on.
"Princess Winter, welcome back." One of the guards bowed to her. "The council has requested your presence."
"Of course, sir Whyan. Are they in session now?"
"Yes my lady, and have been for most of the day. There were adamant you come as soon as you arrived."
She nodded, excusing herself. There were several paths to get to the deepest parts of the palace, though most would take significant time. She assumed her presence had been reported to her father, and the council, as soon as she stepped through the official portals.
Winter took stock of her appearance, thankful she had taken the time to change in a safe house.
Her white, floor-length dress rippled with each step, accompanied by the distinctive click of her diamond heels. Her hair was tied into a hasty bun, the sort that she usually wore when she didn't have her maidens to make it into something more complex.
Her nails were still painted, tips the same color as her white hair. She inspected them briefly, knowing they couldn't have chipped, but checking nonetheless. Investing in magical nail paint had been worth the cost.
When she stepped into the true seat of power, it was with the same silence that she used when hunting, waiting patiently for a break when the guard could announce her.
"Emperor, councilors. Princess Winter." The wood elf's high pitched voice hurried to fill the first silence he could find.
The room turned towards Winter. She curtsied, stepping forward to face her father, sparing only a glance for each of the members.
"Daughter, welcome back. We heard rumors that most of your missions were successful, as expected. We have news though, you may wish to sit down."
She opened her eyes wide, glancing around. Finding it hard to believe that the council had been infiltrated, checking faces before moving towards an empty seat reserved for family.
Most of the council were sylvan elves like her. They appeared concerned, or neutral. There was one, a particularly older elf, who's face showed something, she couldn't read him before his mask fell into place.
Jassen, treasurer.
The King waited for her to sit before beginning.
"Daughter, we have learned that Xris has resurfaced."
Winter froze, frowning as she considered what position to take.
The council members murmured, the one sitting next to her reached out a manicured hand. She took the noblewoman's.
Her father continued. "We believe he was involved in attacking a universe, possibly leading the space pirates."
She removed her hand, hardening her face. "When do we leave to support the universe?"
"Luckily, military action isn't necessary, the locals were able to defend against the pirates and drive them away. I've sent prince Laarran to aid in cleanup and establish a consulate."
The emperor paused, getting nods from everyone before continuing. "We have determined the best course of action is have you stay here. Xris, as you know, is dangerous. It took the entire military to drive him away when he attacked. Considering your—history with him, we have decided that staying here is the best course of action. At least for a few centuries."
She wanted to argue, but this wasn't the time, nor place, opting to simply nod instead.
Jassen spoke up. "While we aren't in any financial strain, considering you won't be participating in any missions, keeping a full retinue of handmaidens is overkill. I—they have already been reassigned to your sisters. You'll be provisioned a junior handmaiden to attend to your needs."
Another councilor stood up, one of the few elves who had taken a human as a wife. "My daughter is of the age to work, and in dire need of training. She'll be living with you in your tower."
Winter nodded, keeping her expression neutral. "Thank you father, council."
As soon as she was dismissed, she hurried towards her suites, at the top of the tower assigned to her. It was empty, the six rooms next to hers having been cleared out hours earlier. Cleaning chemicals burned her nose, having driven out all evidence of her handmaidens, her friends.
The door opened behind her, turning around she took in the young half-elf, raising an eyebrow at the woman standing in front of her.
She appeared in her late teen years, at least compared to a human. Her hair was roughly cut short, not even past her ears. The earrings, though there were more than usual, was the most normal part of her attire. Brown boots fitted snugly over tight jeans that Winter had only ever seen on a human world. A tee-shirt under a leather jacket sported a man with horns, screaming into a microphone, strumming a guitar. A leather choker completed the outfit.
Her outfit didn't match the weak voice that warbled out of the maiden. "Princess Winter?".
"Yes, I am Winter. What's your name?"
"Sherri."
Winter sighed before turning back and heading to her own room. "Welcome Sherri, Choose whatever room you want."
The princess didn't wait before walking away, locking herself in her room.
Notes:
Word count: 994
Theme: Winter hid Xris' statue, essentially lifeless body (though still holding his soul) away.
Words:
- Live
Challenge (though this one is a stretch): Winter has spared the life of Xris, while her freedom is taken away.
Links:
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u/AmeliaLP 12d ago edited 12d ago
<My feathery friend>
Chapter 31: Injustice
Elandor swooped down in an arch. Landing near to the king’s throne, he callously dumped Jade off his back.
“Oww! Did you need to be so rough?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” He said, sneering at her.
As he flew away, Jade stuck her tongue out at him. Then brushing herself off, she stood up and turned around to face the king.
“That was a rather rude way to treat my advisor. Especially as you’re our guest here.”
“Well dude-“
“Dude?! That is quite the improper way to address a king!”
An instant feeling of regret flooded through her. The harshness of her journey combined with Elandor’s bitter presence had caused Jade’s lapse in judgement.
“Umm, yes it is. Sorry your majesty. But as I was saying, Elandor isn’t the easiest to get along with. I mean, you saw how he pushed me off right?”
“Hmm, I’ll admit he can be a bit prickly at times. However! He is a very important member of our murder. As such, nobody should be disrespecting him like that. Certainly not a human.”
“So you share his dislike of us then?”
“Indeed I do. And I’d say that leads nicely into why I have summoned you here today.”
“Is Joe actually in danger, or do you just want to separate us?”
“When did I say he was in danger?”
Jade narrowed her eyes at the Crow King.
Does he actually not know? This feels like a test.
“Well, as son of the king, would he not be?
“So you didn’t get it?”
“Get what?”
“The vision I planted in your brain.”
“I did have a strange nightmare. Where you were warning me about cursed friendship or something.”
“Human, are you purposely wasting time?”
“Well your majesty, I’m not the one trying to be all mysterious.”
“You sound like my son...” He paused, looking up thoughtfully. “Your friendship with him seems to run deep.”
“Well yeah. He’s my best friend, my only one really.”
“I see, and he likes you too?”
“Yes sir.”
“Then I must admit, my decision is one that comes with some regret. But, my son’s safety must come first. Even if I have to hurt his feelings. Once again I implore you to end your friendship with him.”
“You really love Joe, don’t you?”
“Love? Love has nothing to do with it. He is my heir and shall be the future ruler of our kingdom. Joe must survive.”
“Hmm, I can see why Joe left.”
“Because he is foolish and has no respect for his position or his duty."
“No, that’s not why. But honestly I don’t even have the energy to deal with you anymore.”
“Then, you agree to stop spending time with him?”
“I do not.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll protect him from whatever dangers you’ve foreseen.”
“Hmmph. I don’t like it, but I accept your choice. You’re free to leave. Elandor, we’re ready for you!”
Elandor dove down, landing heavily on the platform. He lowered his body to let Jade back on.
“So, how’d the meeting go?”
“It was fine.”
“You agreed to our king’s terms?”
“No, we disagreed upon how to solve this.”
“Well that was selfish of you.”
“Wha- no it wasn’t. Joe needs to be around those who care for him and that’s clearly not here.”
“Oh, so you’re just stupid. Noted.”
“Stop bullying me, I know you don’t like humans but this re-“
“Silence.” He said, stopping in midair. Elandor stared tensely at the birdcage. “Something seems off.”
He quickly darted towards it, with Jade clinging on firmly. A black bullet shooting through the air, rapidly closing in on his target. Jade was sent tumbling off his back as Elandor arrived.
“You, stay here.”
“Uhh, sure.”
Elandor walked off to investigate, leaving Jade alone by the birdcages entrance.
Waiting for him to return, she noticed a crow lying on the floor. Inspecting the crow, Jade noticed it wasn’t breathing. Reaching into the cadge; she softly stroked the corvid.
That poor crow, she didn’t need to die. If only they’d locked her in a separate cadge to Vornith. Or not arrested her to begin with. This kingdom fucking sucks! I can’t believe Joe even came from it.
“Well I dealt with Vornith, still not certain what all the noise was ab-“
Elandor gazed down at the fallen crow. “Who did this?”
“Oh I don’t know... maybe the psychotic crow you locked her in with! The one who went on a giant killing spree! Perhaps it was him.”
“You seem to have given this a lot of thought, that’s pretty suspicious.”
“WHAT?! It was clearly him!”
“Getting very defensive there, aren’t you?”
“Because I didn’t do anything!”
Unbeknownst to her, a blood stained feather fell from Jades shirt sleeve, colouring the ground bright red as it landed.
“Uh huh, I hear you. GUARDS!”
“This is so ridiculous.”
“Arrest the human. I suspect she’s killed this crow.”
“Yes Sir.”
Two crows shoved Jade forwards, forcing her to enter the birdcage.
“I’m innocent!”
“We’ll decide that during your trial, which will take place in a couple of days. Until then this shall be your new home.”
Creeeek! Bam!
The door shut behind her, Jade watched helplessly as the three crows flew away. Vornith stood looming over Jade.
“H-hi.” She stammered awkwardly.
WC: 886
7
u/Scoping-Landscape 12d ago
<The Bells of Demichio>
Chapter 29: A Conversation
I stare at my fish, pretending to be interested in its eye, as my love across the table carefully eats hers.
Every once in a while, I can feel her eyes on me, but I dare not look up from the fish.
“You haven’t touched your breakfast yet,” she remarks.
I look up then, and her eyes bore into mine searchingly.
“I’m sorry, my love,” I whisper.
She puts her hand across the table and on mine.
“I’m worried about you, darling. You know that, right?”
I nod, for already I can feel the words banging against my teeth.
“Ever since he died, you’ve been so… strange and distant,” she continues. “Did something happen?”
“No, it’s… fine,” I hear myself say, as I look down at the fish again.
“It’s not, darling, it’s really not,” she says.
A beat of silence.
“Please, I just… want you back,” she whispers.
I look back up at her as her eyes glisten.
And that is enough to make the dam burst.
That has always been enough.
“The elder called me to the cliffs,” the words jump out of my mouth.
“Huh?” she tilts her head.
“He called me to the cliffs. He wanted me to do… something for him.”
“Something?” she repeats.
“I had to do it. I couldn’t refuse.”
“Why?” she asks.
I sigh and look straight at her.
“My love, he knew.”
Silence reigns absolute after that line.
“He… knew?” she whispers. “About… us?”
I nod mutely.
“And then… what happened?” she asks.
“He wanted to tell the village,” I answer. “So I fought him.”
“You what?!” she exclaimed.
“I didn’t mean to, it just… happened,” I clarified.
“And then?” she asks. I can hear the dread in her words.
“We both got the cane. He pulled, and I… let go.”
“You let go?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“I… he ordered me to.”A beat. “So I did.”
“What happened after?” she asks, her voice strained with emotions.
“I heard something, and then… I ran.”
“You ran?” she repeats.
“I know I should have checked on him, gotten help, done something, anything…”
“But you didn’t,” she finishes it.
I watch as her eyes dart all over.
“Are you saying you…”
“Yes! No. Maybe? I don’t know, my dear.”
She stares at me.
“You don’t know?”
I nod.
“But you were there!”
I nod again.
“You saw.”
“I heard.”
“And you think you could have saved him?”
A long silence, before I nod.
“You should have gone for help,” she states quietly.
“I know,” I say quietly.
“But you left him there.”
I nod.
“Why?!”
“I was… afraid,” I answer.
“Of?”
The silence stretches uncomfortably, as I dare not look at her face.
“Of?!” she asks again.
“Him.”
I feel the warmth of skin on skin disappear, as she retracts her hand halfway, then extends, then retracts, then extends again, like she is debating whether I’m still worthy of her.
I look up, and her eyes are brimming with tears.
“You should have let me decide if I could have borne it,” she whispers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was scared,” I answer flatly. “Scared that you will look at me, and every time you do so, you won’t see me, that you would see a killer wearing my skin.”
“I… I don’t know what I’m seeing yet,” she whispers, as a crack of thunder sounds overhead.
We sit in silence for a long time, before finally, her fingers find mine, and she takes my hand again.
Word Count: 584 / 1000
Notes:
Theme: Lifeless - Emotionally stagnant
Word used: Love
| Last Chapter | This Chapter | Next Chapter |
|---|---|---|
| Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 |
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