#Stitches and Memories

[stesierra]

Since I'm trying to share something every day to motivate myself to write again, here's the first chapter of one of my adult fantasy books. At one point I loved it but I had a critique partner read the whole thing and now it embarrasses me. So this is probably terrible but give it a chance maybe? Trigger warning: magical seizures.

Please tell me if you want to be removed from the taglist. Or added, I guess.

Stitches and Memories

(WHY DID I PICK SUCH A TERRIBLE TITLE?)

Chapter One

The 4th Day of Spring, 502 King's Rule

Antea didn't spend her thirtieth birthday celebrating with the few people who called her acquaintance. She spent it dying. Again.

A normal woman wouldn't be on the floor of her bathroom, occasionally spasming hard enough to slam her head into the wooden tub. All she was doing was reliving her first kiss at age seventeen. It was just a memory. It was just a memory, brain, get it together.

But her brain did not get it together. It flooded her with memories of the boy's pink lips -- too wet and too large -- at the same time as it slammed a pickax through her eyes over and over again. She'd blacked out too much to see the room around her, but she felt it when her legs spiked straight and slammed her into the wall. She came away with splinters in her arm and cheek.

"Shut up over there!" her neighbor bellowed from the next apartment over. "Keep pounding on the walls and I'll report this to the constables!"

He probably would, too, the bastard.

In her mind, the boy drew back and beamed at her. The memory ended there, but the pickax didn't stop for another twenty minutes.

When the agony died down, she dragged herself over to the chamber pot and threw up.

When she finally eased her eyes open, a partly digested pasty stared up at her. The pounding on her door registered then. Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound raised dread in her heart. Only one type of person knocked like that in Drazen. With that terrible implacability.

When she wrenched the door open, hinges squealing, a broad man in green stared down at her over his posh black mustache. Some seamstress had embroidered his doublet with the king's symbol, a golden lion biting its tail. The gold thread was real, which meant she'd gotten an up-city constable somehow, which was deeply unfair since she lived in the slums.

He frowned at her. She could guess what he was seeing: a barefoot, brown-skinned woman who had just grown out of being pretty, wearing a dress that had been mended too many times. Her golden hair was mashed in a nest on one side of her head. She smelled of a few days of sweat and dirt.

Her black hair had turned metallic gold when she was eighteen. No, she didn't know why. There was a lot about being eighteen that she didn't know.

She bowed deeply. "May I help you, sir?"

He said, "I've had a noise complaint here. Pounding on the walls. Disrupting the peace."

"I had a fit of convulsions in my bathroom."

He frowned at her, his whole face drooping. "We have had a lot of complaints about these convulsions."

Antea resisted the urge to wrap her hands around his fat neck. "Yes. That's because it's a medical condition." And it was true, even if they weren't the normal sort of fits, not normal at all. As far as she understood it, normal people with convulsions thrashed around less and passed out and sometimes forgot the whole thing. She wasn't normal. She was awake through the fire in her head and every twitch and spasm, and she remembered everything.

The constable leaned in close. "Have you been praying for healing?"

"Yes."

"If I go and check your records, will I find you tithing regularly to at least one of the gods?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Because if I check and you haven't, then you aren't really trying to be healed, and you will be held wholly responsible for remaining ill."

"Which entails?"

He sniffed. "After all this commotion, I would think eviction, at least."

Her rentals always ended in eviction, but she had hoped this one would last out the year. "Sir, the Stag God teaches mercy to the infirm and poor. Seeing as I'm both, I would be most grateful for your understanding."

"There are many such deserving citizens in Drazen. But with your extensive record--"

"Of what? Running into walls in the night? That's not even a crime."

The man straightened to his full height, towering over her like the Eagle God over his foes. "If a constable of the law says you have committed a crime, then you have. Gather your things if you have any. I will speak with your landlord, and it will go poorly for you if you are still here tonight."

Antea sagged against the doorframe. "Yes, sir."

He smiled at her, wide and smug. "Oh, and remember the curfew."

It took all her willpower not to punch him. She turned sharply instead and shut the door in his face.

She didn't have much to gather. Her ragged haversack weighed nothing when she slung it over her shoulder. Her leather shoes were hiding under the bed. Even though the seams on the sides were giving way, they covered her toes at least. One change of clothes and a wool blanket lay on the mattress. The blanket served as a blanket, but her extra dress was her only pillow. She wrapped one inside the other and tied them to the bottom of her haversack.

One last thing remained. A letter. When she'd moved in, she had shoved it under the mattress where she wouldn't have to look at it. She pulled it out now and thought about throwing it on the fire. It would burst into flames, burning fast and hot, the dry paper shrinking into black curls before they crumbled away into white ash. If she burnt the letter, she would never have to read those words again. The pain in her head might always be with her, but that pain she could leave behind.

She read the letter. It said:

"My beloved daughter, I write this for my own sake, for you will never read it. Forgive me. What I tore from your mind was necessary, but with that wound, I know that I have killed you. May the gods have mercy on my soul."

She ran her fingertips over his signature. Then she put the letter in her bag and walked out of the tenement never to return.

--

It was two hours before the doleful tones of the curfew bell would ring across the city, two hours for Antea to find shelter for the night. She didn't have the coin for an inn. She had just paid the damn landlord the next month's rent money, not that he would ever consider a refund. If she asked he would laugh in her face, and the law would be on his side, too, like it always was.

With no other option, she headed for the nice part of the city. Not the nicest because that was up near the royal castle and the queen's spire, and people like her weren't allowed there. No, she went to the parts frequented by merchants and the new rich, where no one would care that she was there.

In the dimming light, the nice quarter was all faded stone edges and empty streets. Even the rich had to follow curfew. But even in the twilight, the library stood out as the biggest building in the district. Pilgrims that followed the Crow God visited from all over Ritalia. Its marble facade was hidden under red leather prayer offerings. When it rained the entire building stank like a wet dog.

She slipped between the leaving patrons and headed for the front desk. Zoren, the head librarian, raised his eyebrows at her. He was a pleasantly overweight man in a long black robe, with large spectacles sitting on top of his bulbous nose. The blue mage light beside him shone off his bald head. "Antea? This is quite the departure from the norm. What's going on, then?"

She flushed and hiked her haversack higher on her shoulder. "I got evicted. I was wondering--

"If you can sleep in one of the back rooms tonight?"

She nodded.

The librarian's voice was gentle but unyielding. "If we were caught housing people in a building not zoned for it, we could get into a great deal of trouble with the constables."

"That's a no?"

"I'm sorry, Antea. Good luck finding shelter tonight."

She bowed to him and slumped out of the library. But she stopped on the front steps and straightened up. She wasn't giving up that easily. The constable who had evicted her thought he'd catch her for breaking curfew, and that he'd see her locked up and the key thrown away. But Antea had planned for this, even if she had hoped the day would never come.

All her worldly possessions on her shoulder, she walked half a mile to the Shrine of the Gods.

The Shrine of the Gods was not one shrine but many, all marked by white marble columns that thrust up from the city streets. At its base, each pillar bore the painted statue of one of the gods. When you approached a statue, you were isolated from the others by head-high circular walls around each column. They carved out a little bubble of space so that it was just you and whatever god you had chosen, and anyone else who wanted to pray had to wait in line. Those lines sometimes stretched out for miles, but at this time of night, every statue she passed was alone.

An overnight vigil was the one thing the constables couldn't complain about. She wouldn't get any sleep that night, but she wouldn't end up in jail.

Antea paced around, refreshing her memory about which god's statue stood where. There were thirty-two gods to choose from. Some of them were so minor no one worshipped them, but the Shrine represented all gods. Leaving one out just because they were as popular as moldy cheese was unthinkable.

Antea picked the Dog Goddess because she'd always been fond of bitches, and who didn't need a little guidance in their lives? She sat cross-legged on the braided wool mat spread out before the goddess's marble toes. The Dog Goddess stood in two forms next to herself. One was a rearing limer with floppy ears, painted black and brown, the other a small-breasted naked woman, painted with dark skin and white hair. The woman's hand was outstretched in benediction. It shone white at the tips, the details of her fingers worn smooth from the touch of too many worshipers.

Antea leaned close and said, "Hi."

The goddess did not reply.

"It's been a while since I talked to one of you gods. I'm not very pious, I know."

The dog statue of the goddess had its head tilted as if Antea had done something peculiar.

Antea drew her knees up to her chest. "It's funny, you know. I used to be very pious. Ready to do anything any god asked of me. Thirteen years ago." Thirteen years ago, she'd been a lot of things.

In the twilight, the goddess's expression looked sympathetic, but Antea had had twelve years to learn how little the gods cared.

She said, "I think I'm supposed to ask you for a gift. It's traditional, or something."

Someone passed by outside, and Antea forced herself to stay relaxed. Go away. She was communing with her god, like a good little citizen. Go away.

She stayed silent until the footsteps had faded. Then she said, "So, demanding things. I can't think of what I want. I mean, I want to be healed. But you've all said no to that." Thousands upon thousands of prayers, all unanswered. She'd even tried the gods no one prayed to anymore. And nothing.

Beyond the shelter of the shrine walls, the constables were ringing curfew. They'd start searching the streets soon, looking for beggars and troublemakers and other unwanteds. People like her who hadn't been smart enough to hide out at the Shrine. She needed to look prayerful, but it was early enough spring that the nights were still cold. Surely it couldn't hurt to pull out her blanket and cover her lap. The devout didn't have to freeze, did they?

"I'll ask for food and a place to sleep. That's nice and humble, right?" She undid the ties at the bottom of her haversack and yanked her blanket loose. When her spare dress clung to it, she stuffed it in the bag. And the letter fell out and fluttered to the stones.

Antea froze. She stared down at where it lay, heavy with its words. When she sat back down, blanket hugged against her chest, her movement bumped the letter a few inches away, but it didn't disappear.

She buried her face in wool and said, "You can't be serious. That's not a reasonable suggestion."

It wasn't, but the Dog Goddess wasn't suggesting anything. Antea was just talking to herself again. If the goddess had actually been present, the statue would have lit up with bright light, perfectly white the way mage lights never managed. Antea had seen the gods answer petitioners before. She used to watch her father-- Never mind. Forget it.

But she didn't forget it in time. Stabbing pains made her squeeze her eyes shut.

Someone cleared his throat behind her. She spun around, and the headache and the motion nearly made her vomit.

A Shrine worker stood there in his modest tunic and apron, both glowing white. He bowed his curly head and said, "You're here very late, daughter."

Antea kept her head high and clasped her hands together on her lap. "I'm keeping a vigil."

"I thought that perhaps that was the case. We do permit vigils, despite the curfew, but I must ask what you pray for tonight. The constabulary has us keep records, you see."

Of course they did. And if she didn't tell him something worthy of a goddess's guidance, he would call the constables. And she couldn't say she was asking for healing because the Dog Goddess wasn't a healer.

The letter lay innocently on the stone beside her. She picked it up and held it in her hand. Words flowed from her lips as if someone else was doing the talking. "My father hurt me and left me for dead, twelve years ago. I don't know what happened to him after that. He never came back to the city."

The worker's brows lifted, and his lips pursed as he took a step towards her. "That is... troubling. What guidance do you hope the Dog Goddess will grant you?"

Antea slumped, letting the letter trail against the ground. "I just... I need to know why. Why he did it. But he's the only one who knows, and there's no way I could afford a passport to even leave the city, much less to go to all the places he might be. That's why I've never found him."

The Shrine worker nodded. "That is a difficult problem, and one I fear I cannot help you with. But keep your vigil, daughter, and perhaps the goddess will grant you her wisdom." He swept his hands in a sign of blessing, and he walked on.

Antea let her breath out in a rush. She shoved the letter back in her haversack with shaky hands and wrapped herself up in the blanket.

"Close one, huh?" she said to the goddess's statue. "Maybe give me some guidance if you feel like it. Because I would like to know what he ruined my life for."

The goddess's statues stayed dark. If the goddess intended to guide her, it wouldn't be directly.

She sighed and rocked back and forth. "I know I'm very stupid. What am I hoping for? To remember? Trying to remember makes it worse." Even remembering something near to that day threatened to tear her mind apart.

The cloudy heavens overhead split and spilled out a thousand stars, winking and sparkling like candlelight seen from far away. Her brain throbbing with its usual rhythm, Antea sank down in her blanket, shut her mouth, and closed her eyes.

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@Hyba

[egophiliac]

buckle up lads we're going BACK INTO THE BOOK

[mortisbane]

I cross stitched Riku's face down sprite from CoM because it's a mood and wanted it immortalized

[stesierra]

I finally found this word! In Stitches and Memories! YAY!

Six long days passed at the heart of the scraggly forest. Jedan hunted rabbit and fowl, and he left Antea to watch over their fire for much of the day. Alone, she fed it sticks and watched it devour them down to their black and white bones. Sometimes she sat numb and still and thought of nothing but the warmth of the fire baking her knees and chest. Other times her mind was awhirl with memories and questions, the main one being, what now? The quest had guided them this far, keeping them marching on even though they were marked for death by Doval's hand. What would keep them going now when they had lost that direction? Survival? That seemed to be enough to motivate Jedan, who kept busy feeding them and hauling brush for their fire. But it seemed like a paltry thing to Antea. She hadn't realized it at the time, but part of her had given up on surviving to see another year the day that the constables came for them. No one escaped a manhunt like this, or at least not for long, and how arrogant was she to think that she would be the exception?

Daily Sip 1/12

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[a-titty-ninja]

[badstitched]

Rainbow Bridge - one of those patterns I hate promoting, but people may find solace in stitching it. I designed this to celebrate and process the passing of our pets, with lots of options and customization included. My model doesn't currently have a name stitched since we are not there yet in our pet journey. Rainbow Bridge Cross Stitch Pattern -> https://badstitched.etsy.com/listing/1659792917/rainbow-bridge-cross-stitch-pattern-pet

[r0w0fie]

I had to do it to him

Stitches Emoji WIP. I'll finish it eventually.

[essenceofarda]

heyy would anyone like to see more Gigolas Dads AU art??? I have a BUNCH more doodle ideas and mini comic ideas for that au 👀

[mxnordberg]

BUT WHO ARE YOU?

[the-raven-and-the-tower]

Grief is no knife but a swallowed stone, Smoothed by time, yet sharply honed. A scent, a sight stirs pain once known— Always another jagged edge to be shown.

[stesierra]

Since you people like the maps I made with Inkarnate, I thought I'd share what my maps look like when I don't use fancy software. It's.... Not good.

Let's start with a couple from the Revenant Trilogy.

Next, one from As Immortality Fades.

It gets worse. Here's Stitches and Memories. What's in the blank areas? No idea.

So you see, without pretty software, I am a total map gremlin and not professional at all.

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@macabremoons

@the-dragon-chronicler

@teacupsandstarlight

@vorskra

@wrenofthewords

@amostdelectablescribbler

@savvy-minnow

@mysticstarlightduck

@phantommill

@gracewritesbooks

@aziz-reads

@owlsandwich

@symbioticsimplicity

@squarebracket-trick

@fishythewriter

@koala2all

[embroiderystringsandthings]

Tiny quilt collaboration with my niece, for her kitty that passed away

[timona-lisa]

I can vividly remember seeing the ads for Lilo and Stitch as a kid and thinking they were comedy gold. The Little Mermaid one was probably my favorite and my friend and I used to quote it a lot. ("I was singing here!") The hype for the original movie was unreal, it was such a fun time... 😭

[stesierra]

Hah hah hah, I have this one! At last! From Stitches and Memories.

"The law is very clear. We are not registered to distribute charity. We can only pay you what you have rightfully earned."

The words shouldn't have been a blow. The law was the law, and that everyone had to obey it or be torn to pieces by the constables. Part of her had hoped Zoren would take that risk for her, but of course he wouldn't. She was nothing but the maid. "If you won't help me, you'll end up with a new maid when I get jailed for vagrancy."

"A good, friendly place. They house the needy when they have nowhere else to go."

The librarian sighed again and rubbed a hand across his bald scalp. He pulled a sheet of paper and a stylus from his satchel. He scribbled something out before handing the sheet to her.

She peered at it. Zoren's handwriting was heavy and neat, spelling out a detailed address, accompanied by directions and a tiny map. Beneath that was his looping signature and all his titles listed out as if he'd written a letter to the king. "Where are you sending me?"

"Why haven't I heard of them? All the other charitable organizations trumpet their works to everyone." And were booked out by years.

Daily Sip 2/18

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You reblog someone else's snip!

Just tag it sipofsnips so everyone can find each other. ^.-

[a-titty-ninja]

[sogyokun]

I cross stitched their in game sprites already. The next thing to do was this, make their portraits.