Story under construction. Tidbit incoming.
It sounds like exaggeration, does it not? I was there, and it is still difficult to credit.
She guided me – taught me, which by design should not have been possible – to never kill children, to avoid the unwisdom of well-armed cities. She
taught me, friend, to stop before my prey would die.
I had discovered a state of existence other than hunger, and I wanted more. Tranquility spins a siren-song of its own.
Tiny yearning tugged at me. What would I find, if I could find my way there?
They did not grow old. They never knew illness. They could be injured, but they healed, and they never simply lingered. All this was why Jonathan made no sense.
That power. Lips could lie but power could not.
I was in a van with Robin Goodfellow
and some Shadow’s Breath rando, and I had no idea where we were headed.
We carried stories from town to town, transmitting parables like pathogens, connecting people via the thin threads of empathy and imagination who would otherwise never meet.
So many things seem eternal, seem, in the moment, to be without end and culturally permanent scars. The great flood; the memory of dragons; the knowledge that there are demons in the dark.
I now present an unedited snippet from Notte, the dramatic hero of my WIP. SO dramatic. Oh my.
The tower was filled with breaking. Breaking wills, breaking minds, breaking cries. At every turn, every landing, even every stairwell, Saqalu draped and twisted, wings out, faces stretched, and if they were aware of me at all, they told me to run.
She sort of… skipped, boots barely touching the treacherous ground, keeping on her feet even as I slipped and staggered and relied solely on her grip to keep me on mine.
Just a short, dark excerpt from my current WIP, Beloved Notte. Enjoy!
Hey, all! It’s been a while since I posted. I actually have a good reason: homework.