#argh I itch to edit everything but I must finish the first draft...

[serenanymph]

find the word tag

tagged by @oh-no-another-idea over here! my words were butter, mellow, mild, and smooth! no pressure tagging @toboldlywrite, @sidhewrites, @loopyhoopywrites, @lorenfinch, @sam-glade and whoever else wants to hop in! your words are cold, crystal, cut and cross!

butter I found one instance of butterflies, so we'll have to go with that since there's nothing else

He watches, knees tucked up to his chest, curled up on the couch, as his mother bustles about. Her heavy travel cloak brushes against the floor, just barely fluttering from her larger movements, sending shadows like butterflies flitting across the walls. The curtains are drawn, the fireplace cold with not even the embers glowing, and the sole candle lit isn’t anywhere close to beating back the darkness. She shoves things into the rucksacks on the table and mutters and sends furtive glances at the door and barely acknowledges his existence at all.

mellow

The windows look out onto the courtyard below, covered in white snow tinted sunset orange. Heavy dark purple curtains with gold tassels drape to the floor, and Carrick feels his feet sink into soft, plush carpet. There are bookshelves lining the walls – not just AMA drivel, but history and science and fiction, atlases and dictionaries and a few old texts. In a corner, next to a crackling fireplace, is a low table and a few stuffed sofas, and the lighting is soft and mellow.

mild(ly)

Meals are three times a day, salted mush and rubbery meat and wilted greens; shower quick and only after everyone has left or it’s blood against the porcelain tile again and staying up to scrub it off, then scrubbing the toilets on all the floors above too. Lessons involve AMA doctrines, AMA laws, AMA history – slap across the cheek if you’re wrong, slap across the cheek if you’re right, slap across the cheek if you answer in a way that’s even mildly sarcastic, if you answer at all (and he is always, always, called on).

smooth

He speaks up, finally, asks though he already knows: “Mom? What’s going on?” The fear leaks into his voice despite how he tries to keep it out. She spins, then, walks over and crouches in front of him and tries to smooth down his hair.

beast taglist (lmk if you want to be +/-): @sapphos-scientist, @allianaavelinjackson, @arctic-oceans, @space-writes, @reneesbooks