#augustdwc2023

[daily-writing-challenge]

DAILY WRITING CHALLENGE 2023 IS BACK!

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO USE THE ACTUAL WORD FOR THIS CHALLENGE, YOU MAY SIMPLY BASE YOUR STORY AROUND ONE OF THESE IDEAS!

Choose one or both words/IDEAS and write a story, drabble, poem, or anything else once a day, every day, for a week!

Tag @daily-writing-challenge so we can reblog your stories.

Write the number day/challenge somewhere on your story.

LIST CONTENT WARNINGS VISIBLY ABOVE STORY! (Use a ‘read more’ line if content gets too graphic.)

Tags that will be used: #augustdwc2023,  #augustdayX2023 (X=whatever number day you’re writing for), #yourtumblrurl

There will be no optional challenges for the weekly DWC’s, but please feel free to make up some of your own challenges!

The next writing challenge will be in NOVEMBER and last one week!

CLICK HERE FOR OTHER IMPORTANT INFORMATION!

Good luck and more importantly, HAVE FUN! Encourage your fellow writers and show them some love and support with likes/reblogs/comments!

We look forward to reading some amazing writing!

((Written word list below the cut))

Day 1 - August 20:

Beginnings, Endings

Day 2 - August 21:

Enchanted, Horror

Day 3 - August 22:

Ominous, Possibility

Day 4 - August 23:

Relationship, Somber

Day 5 - August 24:

Wanderlust, Violation

Day 6 - August 25:

Truth, Permanent

Day 7 - August 26:

Growth, Ruin

[astarmaux]

DWC August 2023: Ominous, Possibility

Thunder rumbled deeply overhead as glass rattled from the lighted chandeliers that very gently swayed, now giving way to forgotten particles of dust that sat up high within the rafters over the library halls and showered down nearly unseen to the naked eye here and there. As goes to show, that even the most thorough of custodians could never be immaculate in their work. There was always a nook or cranny somewhere, someplace; that even the most capable of hands and minds might not be able to reach entirely or even as often given the patterns of the day and how the sun sat, the clouds came, and so on and so forth as with weather and all such things. 

Saedre felt a familiar tickle upon her nose and immediately reached into her pocket for her handkerchief, sneezing quite promptly into it just in the nick of time before getting it all over the book she was casually leafing through at the end of one of the aisles. No matter how courteous she was in keeping the sneeze contained and as quietly as possible, in a library where solitude was key, she still felt the gaze of some onlookers who were annoyed by the natural disruption to their studies and day to day, as if the inclement weather outside wasn’t causing enough of a ruckus as it was. Perhaps there was a time where she may have given the same look to another under the amassing pressures of approaching deadlines to midterms and final exams, and so, she could only let the discomfort roll off of her shoulders.

Before she could put the book away she had suddenly grown bored with, one of the library custodians approached with a well-polished cart and patiently waited for the elezen woman to set the book onto it instead of returning it back to the shelf. Understanding the process a million times over and the intent that the book would need to be properly cleaned anyway as a precaution before it could be returned to the shelf, Saedre surrendered the book with a gentle smile and a nod before she looked to the opposite end of the hall.

How long would it be before the storm would pass? She really didn’t have much of a reason to be here at the primary library as it was, but if she had spent another moment at her family home in silence, pondering on the worries of her family and the archonship she had wanted so badly for herself before, surely she would have driven herself mad. In truth, and only to herself had she come to terms and accepted, that even if archonship would be out of the cards for her after everything - well, then there would just have to be other possibilities now, wouldn’t there?

---

@daily-writing-challenge

[tazindrox]

AUGUST DWC DAY 1 - BEGINNINGS/ENDINGS

It was hard to believe they were only a couple months shy of the Dracthyr’s ‘release date’. It had felt like a lifetime ago that Tazindrox had crawled out of his creche amidst all the chaos and death happening around him, breathing fresh air for the first time in 20,000 years. That had been a confusing and upsetting time in all of their lives, but new beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.

Ten months wasn’t nearly enough time for the Dracthyr to absorb all the new information being suddenly thrown at them. There was so much history, geography, languages, and everything else in between to learn. It was overwhelming, but it was also liberating in a way Taz had never known or felt before. They were free now. Free to pursue their own lives with no expectations forced upon them any longer. While the majority of them did remain behind to assist in the Dragon Isles, Taz included, afterwards he could do…anything. Everything.

At times it felt almost too good to be true.

They were officially a part of Azeroth now and no one could control them. They could go out and get ‘normal’ jobs; some of them opted out of the fighting and already had. Like many others, Taz was still lost about what to do or where to go once the campaign in the Isles was over. Aiding his brethren in retaking their home in the Forbidden Reach and rebuilding was the most obvious option - not to mention the safest and the easiest. 

But was safe and easy what he really wanted to do with this new life? He respected those that preferred that option, but now was not the time to play it safe.

Once the fighting was done in the Isles, should he still have his life, he would explore the ‘new’ world and immerse himself in different cultures and languages. Maybe even become an Ambassador of some sort. Life was too fleeting and the Dracthyr were given a second chance to forge their own way in this world. That is just what he planned to do.

@daily-writing-challenge

[fio-renze]

August 22 - Day 3 Possibility

“Mother?” 

Fiorenze turned sharply, her eyes wide and ears pinned back. That hadn’t been what she expected to hear from around the thick bramble of bushes she’d been foraging for saxifrage in. 

She didn’t recognize the girl, armored in spellweave with leaves clinging to her loose brunette braid and dirt smudged on her cheek. But maybe she did — the soft swell of her cheeks, porcelain skin and bright eyes were the same as what she saw in the mirror every day. 

Her mouth went dry. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” 

Fiorenze wasn’t sure what to do but stare and listen to her heart thunder in her ears. 

The girl — woman, she was a woman grown — ran up and hugged her, making the hazy edges that her shards of reality had taken on as soon as she’d spoken come crashing together, “I saw Aunt Pyra out here days ago and hid because— well— I was right. You’re here.” 

It took a moment, but Fiorenze hugged the unnamed daughter back. Acrid ozone, the same scent that lingered all around Eon’s Fringe, clung to her. “Am I not in your timeline?” She knew the answer already; there was too much joy, too much hope, in the younger woman’s tone. 

“Am I not in yours?” Her time-lost child pulled back and looked at her, blue eyes bright and brimming with soft tears. She had a spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks — like Pyraelia did. This close, Fiorenze could see Halandir’s influence, too. Less than her own family’s, but still there. 

Fio shook her head and reached up to rub at a smudge of dirt on the girl’s cheek away, “I have no children here. What’s your name?” 

“Sylmae! And there’s Finn, too, but he’s not here. He doesn’t like to fight, which Father prefers. I think he’s his favorite, I look too much like you— it doesn’t matter, I found you,” she hugged Fio again, tightly. 

The knife twisted as Fiorenze smiled; Sylmae had been her mother-in-law’s name. She’d had the children Halandir had always wanted — did he love her there, until she died? Did he love her still? “He’s not remarried has he? Your father, I mean.” 

“No, never,” Sylmae’s voice was muffled from where she’d pressed her face into the crook of Fio’s neck, “He tried but apparently all the courting was exhausting and—” 

How interesting. 

Fiorenze carefully, kindly, put some distance between herself and Sylmae, keeping the fae child at arms distance. It was hard not to smile fondly, and it was harder not to want to keep her. But what if she could go there? 

“If I find the right portal, can—” Sylmae looked up at her, hopeful, before she broke off into a bright, disappointed laugh, “That’s… It doesn’t work like that, does it? I’m being ridiculous.” 

What did she have here, really? Pyraelia and Keranna, but they’d both be fine without her. They’d understand. Xylaes… they hadn’t talked in over a month, and every time she’d wanted to recently it felt like she’d be intruding. He had his son, the mercenary group, and she’d never measure up to Callia. Arandori and Tinnaire had other friends. They’d all be fine without her, wouldn’t they? 

Her brow furrowed a bit before she shook her head and smiled, “Walk with me? I… maybe it does. My sister has a friend here from another timeline — they’re trying to find a way to keep her here forever. Maybe I can offer a trade? Or… I don’t know. I’m not going to promise you anything.” 

“I get it. It’s nice to think about the possibility though. What if I stayed here? Like Aunt Pyra’s friend? I’m not— well— home isn’t—” Sylmae sighed, obviously a little flustered. Overwhelmed, like Pyraelia got sometimes. 

“Maybe. We can ask. That’s the least we can do. The Bronzes are—” 

“Pretentious assholes? Oh. Sorry. Language,” her daughter had the grace to look a little sheepish, but not sorry. 

Fiorenze smiled wryly, heart aching, “No need to censor yourself on my account, darling. There’s a lot for us to catch up on. We can take the longer path back.”

@daily-writing-challenge / @kharrisdawndancer & @xylaes small mentions.

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC August 2023 - Day 1 - Beginnings/Endings

Her body moved through the village with a familiarity that belied the scant few weeks she had spent there. Was this the ending?

It was all getting too confusing. Another temporal anamoly was developing, and she felt it pull like a siren’s song. Pyraelia--the usual one, at least--preferred she didn’t go to where they were about to distill, but she was working somewhen else at the moment. Khaeris headed down to where the gardens were.

Cabbages kept rewinding between falling and shattering and back to green missiles flying back into the air. Dragons and their allies were helping sort things out one cabbage at a time. What was it about these vegetables?

Khaeris was here to fix her time problem and there were some promising threads to follow. But it was getting a bit hazy for her. It was probably time to step away and regroup again. She was gathering the sands of the timeways like glitter and it shimmered around her. After helping with the garden she would head to Valdrakken. She had not been yet, a previous fear of running into Bronzes had kept her out. But now, she knew they would look at her funny, but she had the words to soothe them and how to turn their attention away. There was supposed to be a spa, close to Valdrakken. Maybe she would go. At least until the glittering, golden time-sand was gone again. Pollux hadn’t been too happy she’d been in Eon’s Fringe; maybe he’d join her at the spa.

@daily-writing-challenge

Brief mentions: @polluxhale @pyraelia

[vixannya]

AUGUST DWC DAY 2 - HORROR

Decades ago no one would have ever thought that Vixannya Ana’diel, bastard daughter of a well-to-do noble and his wife’s best friend, would become a famous and well-respected artist. Her birth had been all the commotion among the community for a while, not that it was unusual for nobles to have a mistress - but one certainly never spoke of it and especially never got them pregnant. It was all quite the scandal, and the perfect way for Vixannya to be introduced to the world, in her opinion.

In her youth, she had always been the ‘spooky’ girl that preferred skulls and the color black. She never had many friends, but would always stand up to bullies, even if they weren’t her own. While her mother never really understood her daughter’s obsession with death, she encouraged Annya to never be ashamed of her hobbies or likes. As long as it wasn’t hurting anyone around her nor herself, what did it matter?

She had discovered her fondness for art, specifically the horror genre, when she was still very young. Most of her teachers had tried to veer her away from the macabre, but Vixannya had inherited a large amount of stubbornness from her father, and even more free-spiritedness from her mother. She wanted to become an artist, and no one was going to tell her what she could or could not paint.

She would often display her work in smaller galleries, typically around Hallow’s End when that type of art was better received. Yet it was still too taboo for most to have art depicting the death of a historical figure or the death of someone still among the living hanging in their home, even if the paintings were beautiful. They would come and look, gasp over the bloody and gory details - some even looked offended and those were her absolute favorite - but then they would simply move on.

It wasn’t until one of her recent subjects was found brutally murdered in the same way depicted in her painting that she began to make headlines. He was from an old noble family, and just so happened to be one of Vixannya’s current lovers; not that it was public knowledge, at least not until the investigation began. Her art immediately made her a suspect, yet she had a very solid alibi. That didn’t stop a group of people assuming that she must have hired someone to do it, and yet again Annya found herself in the middle of a scandal. 

Exactly where she wanted to be. Soon after the second death occurred that had been portrayed in her work, everyone wanted a Vixannya Ana’diel original. Even more wanted to be captured by her brushes, whether or not they actually believed in her abilities. The attention brought her art front and center: The upper class loved to own scandalous things made by scandalous people. She had found her calling.

@daily-writing-challenge @inistellan - father

[aerdendios]

August Daily Writing Challenge Day 1 - Beginnings

The papers were signed and the date was chosen: January 8th. It was still 4 ½ months away, but Aerden knew that it would sneak up on him in no time. This would be a day of new beginnings for him, the day he would begin his training to join the Elite Forces. It had been nearly six months since he was originally approached, and after a lot of thought and talking to his father Pollux, who had been a long time member in the Forces himself, he decided to go for it.

Training didn’t necessarily indicate that he would become a member of the Elite Forces, but the training itself would open new doors and opportunities for him even if he weren’t officially accepted into the highly selective program. It would be a grueling couple of years, both physically and mentally, and he had a very short amount of time to prepare. 

He needed to practically triple his training regimen and ensure that he had his empath abilities well under control. Of course, still being out in the field didn’t allow him that much free time, but at least here he could keep his abilities honed. Not to mention another soldier within the camp would be training alongside him, so they at least had each other to confide in.

The next obstacle: Telling everyone. He was fairly certain that anyone he wanted to tell would be proud, but he also knew his free time would become more limited than it was now. Pollux had told him that he would make lifelong friends while training, but he also mentioned that his relationships back home might suffer. That it would become harder and harder to relate to civilians until he was able to find balance. Balance for Pollux didn’t come until decades later, and well after the explosion that changed his life. For some, balance never happened.

As much as Aerden wanted to think that it would be different for him, he knew better than to ignore any of the warnings. Even now he already felt that draw of wanting to be back on the field when home for too long, that feeling of being useless while resting. It happened to so many of them. In the end, he knew he made the right decision, and was both excited and nervous for the new opportunity.

He gave a final glance down at the document in hand, lips curling into a faint smile at his signed name. It’s what his mother would have wanted for him, even if it did make him a little sad. The name had brought him far more pain than happiness, so it was time for a change.

Aerden Hale

@daily-writing-challenge @polluxhale

[taricdarkmorn]

August Daily Writing Challenge Day 5 - Wanderlust

Taric had spent a better part of the year traveling and working alongside his uncle’s crew as they sailed around the Dragon Isles and assisted wherever needed. The members of the Lady Lillium acted as a mercenary unit in times like these when the military couldn’t always handle every situation. It was good coin, and it gave them all purpose outside of their typical ‘salvaging’ duties.

Given he was more of a lover than a fighter, Taric didn’t participate in the field work all that often - despite being a decent fighter - and preferred to explore and chat up the locals. His role ended up being a great advantage to the crew in general as he had a knack for easily befriending and gleaning information from just about any source, alive or deceased.. He had a ‘trustworthy face or aura’ about him, so he was told. He would find them the jobs that made them the most gold, thus easily pulling his weight and making him an honorary member of the crew.

This arrangement also fulfilled his deep-seated wanderlust. Despite having a home firmly rooted in Booty Bay, he traveled as often as he could. The employees of The Red Rook, his alchemy shop, were more than capable of running things in his absence so he never had to worry about that. It gave him the chance to collect and study new herbs, and learn all their secrets with the locals who had already been working with them for centuries. It really was the best way to get familiar with the new plants.

He would have found his way to the Dragon Isles on his own even if he wasn’t invited by Red, but he was grateful and felt much safer to have a large group of fighters watching his back. Especially any time they had entered a time rift. Of course Taric’s curiosity got the better of him and he had joined them at least a couple times in those rifts. Upon realization that anything he had collected within them eventually turned to sand in their own timeline, he lost interest very quickly. That could have led to some amazing discoveries, but it simply was not meant to be and he understood why. Still, he kept the sand just in case.

However, after months of traveling he was finally beginning to feel that desire for the familiarity of home and had decided to take his leave. The possibility of returning was always open to him, but he missed his own bed and his cozy nook. Most of all, he missed his cockatiel Pickles.

@daily-writing-challenge @tristennedarkmorn

[theconstructsworld]

August Daily Writing Challenge Day 2 - Horror

The night is darkening round me, the wild winds coldly blow; but a tyrant spell has bound me and I cannot, cannot go.

The night is darkening round me, Death’s embrace is all I know; but there’s yearning to be free yet I cannot stand to go.

The wild winds coldly blow, and cradle this lifelike soul; a constant ebb and flow of surrender and control.

But a tyrant spell has bound me, shaped this horror’s heart; never me, nor you, but we, it pains us to depart.

And I cannot, cannot go. He and I are intertwined, forever this is our design, as above, so below.

Glosa by me using a quatrain from the poem: Spellbound by Emily Brontë

Changed up the rhyming scheme in the last quatrain for funsies!

@daily-writing-challenge

[keranna-zerine]

Day 1 - August 20 Beginnings/Endings

Keranna smiled. 

Joviara and Valaya would be shocked to see her now, rest their souls. The quiet, unfurnished rooms certainly weren’t an Estate of her own, nor were they the spinsters' cloister Jo always threatened their parents were going to put her in, but the modest apartment was hers. 

Sure, her elder sisters would probably be appalled at the circumstances — it would’ve been unthinkable, back then, for the monarchy to have collapsed and the rest of the nobility in shambles around the Regency and military government, but here she was. 

Her centuries of service with her cousin’s family, the Sunmotes, had afforded her some luxury. This place — her place — wasn’t quite the top floor unit in this tower block, but it was close enough. Morning light spilled in through the grand arched windows, and it was pleasant to think of how autumn breezes would make gauzy, Sin’dorei silk curtains billow after she got around to having someone install them. 

There was room to entertain, room to office, room to indulge… The kitchen alone had so much promise.  

Long delayed as The Move had been, it felt like time. The Sunmotes had been the last thread of nobility left in her own family line, and with Fiorenze losing her titles that chapter was finally closed. That ending would inevitably lead to a new beginning there, not quickly, but some things took time. Pyraelia had already chosen that path for herself years ago, but the pressures of the family had never weighed on her as heavily as they had on her elder sister. 

Having the tower to themselves would be for the best. It was a bittersweet thing, but she’d be just down the road from them if they needed anything. 

Her heart swelled as she looked at the tiled hearth, the aging ceramic backsplashes and empty cabinets. She’d never had the opportunity to ‘feather her own nest’ as the saying went, but now she had the time to throw her own pots and plates, and glaze tile sets in ways that she liked. 

The only thing she’d brought with her this time, on this first visit as its owner, was a well worn and loved painting. One that had been restored and reframed many times in its almost seven centuries of existence. She set it on the bare counter, a temporary place, and delighted in the way the airy daylight made the only remaining image of Jo and Val, and a much younger herself, come to life. 

One was never too old to begin again.

@daily-writing-challenge

[daily-writing-challenge]

COMING SOON

For more information, please see our FAQ page —> HERE!

It’s our third challenge of the year! We’re looking forward to writing with you all again, learning more about your OCs and reading your stories!

See you with a word list soon!

[karaamberlight]

August Daily Writing Challenge Day 4 - Somber

It was a somber mood in the Amberlight household today, Kara had insisted on celebrating their mother’s birthday despite the woman having been gone for over a decade now. It wasn’t exactly an annual tradition, but the two did enjoy coming together every now and then to reminisce, share some type of bottle of booze, look through old photographs, and tell some of their favorite stories.

The four graves within the small cemetery in the Amberlight family plot near Dicenne’s shop were adorned with handmade flower crowns before the two siblings baked and decorated Zariel’s favorite type of cake: An opera cake. Neither Dicenne nor Kara were all that skilled when it came to baking intricate and fancy cakes, so while it may have looked a wreck aside from Kara’s artistic piping, it at least tasted decent. 

Kara pointed at one of the pictures contained within the album they were currently flipping through, “This is my favorite.” She pointed out the same picture time and time again, but everytime she looked at it she was reminded of everything they had both lost between then and now. It was a picture of a much younger Dicenne and herself, both making the ugliest faces they could muster. It was from a time before the Scourge invasion at one of their infamous Amberlight gatherings where the entire clan would get together. There would be plenty of barbeque and booze to go around, which would eventually devolve into the more musically inclined forming an impromptu band while the rest danced the night away. 

If one thing could be said about the Amberlights is that they had always put family first, and no issue couldn’t be solved over good food and better company. Those were the best times of Kara’s life. It was a time when both their parents were alive, when all their family was still alive. Dicenne’s wife Linalia had easily fit right in with all of them, and it was before Kara had been kidnapped and left….different.

Now it was just the two of them left. Theirs was not a unique story when it came to the Sin’dorei. The remaining members of their race had lost the majority of their family during the invasion, but the shared trauma didn’t make it any less painful individually.

Kara leaned harder against her big brother and sipped on her wine. “Do you think it’ll ever feel the same?”

“No, probably not. But there will be new moments where we’ll feel just as happy in other ways.” He gave her a little nudge, offering a smile despite the glistening gaze. “You always have fun when the Tarts and friends come over for a barbeque, yeah?”

She nodded in agreement, “Yeah. Different kind of happy. We should do that again.”

“We should, you’re right.” He looked down at his mushy cake…pile. “Maybe make a different type of cake though, we are awful at this one. Mom would be internally appalled.”

She cracked a smile, something she knew he was going for. As sad as these days of reminiscing could be, she was forever grateful that she had Dicenne by her side to share it with.

@daily-writing-challenge @dicenne

[pyraelia]

Day 2 - August 21 Enchanted

There was no chance in hell that he was actually going to read this letter. 

Pyraelia sighed and shoved it into an envelope anyway, frustrated. A weariness, deep and heavy, had started to settle on every aspect of her life and it was starting to make her punchy. 

Things out here at the Fringe were fine. Not excellent. Not stellar. Just… fine. She had learned so much more about chronomancy, but at the same time it felt like she hadn’t grasped anything at all, and they were no closer to figuring out something to help Khaeris — who had been getting more and more distant. 

Mairidormi had gotten drunk and told her there was an alternate current timeline where Fiorenze was dead, which she didn’t think was the right one, and had been part of the reason for her to strongly suggest bringing Fiorenze here to help. That was just fine too, for now, but Pyraelia knew her sister. That had always been one of their greatest strengths and trials as siblings close in age — having grown up together it was hard to hide anything from each other. 

Her otherwise enchanted life had abruptly hit rock bottom, and there wasn’t much Pyraelia could do to make that okay. 

Except this, maybe. Not that he was actually going to read it. Not that it was actually going to make anything okay, even if he did, but it might give Fiorenze some sense of control over her life again if he did, and agreed. 

Because that was the thing, really. At the end of the day both of them liked to have control over the direction of their lives — as much as they could, in spite of knowing how futile it could be at times. The illusion of it counted all the same. 

She clutched the envelope between both of her hands, knowing full well that was what this was for her, too. In the wild, unsettling, unfulfilling post that was Eon’s Fringe, she needed to do something that might result in a win. Anything, at this point, really. 

Not that he would read it. She wasn’t important enough, just a Kirin Tor Scholar. The violet ink shimmered in the lamplight all the same, offering an almost cheerful promise. 

To: Grand Magister Rommath

@daily-writing-challenge / @kharrisdawndancer

[fio-renze]

August 23 - Day 4 Relationship/Somber

In this life, if it seemed to good to be true, it usually was.

Sylmae had gone on at length about her mother. Her Fiorenze. The one she missed. The one she wanted her to be. That Fiorenze was a pious woman, though kind and fun. She’d only been dead since the Orcish horde invaded their Quel’thalas about four decades ago. Sylmae had been sixteen or so, but Finn barely five.

But that Fiorenze wasn’t her. That Fiorenze had never murdered her parents and committed treason by doing so. That Fiorenze was a good, dutiful wife. Not an Arch Magistrix. Not an agent of the Regency — their Monarchy was still intact, the Sunwell unblemished.

If she went back with the girl she’d be the one that ‘came back wrong’. Out of sorts with her surroundings and unfit for the scene.

If Sylmae stayed here, she’d just be disappointed. Fiorenze was not her mother. The loving one that died too young, that she idolized.

Still, it was hard to let go. Fiorenze let her stay in the Perfect Penthouse dimensional plane overnight. It was enough for the girl to get cleaned up, and rest safely. There was no chance of a relationship there, and part of her felt terrible for giving the strange child more hope, knowing that the end result would just be more heartbreak.

She didn’t sleep a wink; how could she with the un-daughter curled up around her in the sound slumber that came after days on the run? And Xylaes, with his uncanny timing, texting her about help with Garren and Callia. They could at least commiserate about how shitty this all was. The last time they’d talked in person he’d implied wanting to know more about things she was working on to keep her from making stupid mistakes. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? The promise of this potential relationship was false, but the siren song of it lingered.

He agreed, at least, that she was right. She couldn’t go there. Sylmae couldn’t stay here. That cemented her resolve a bit more, even as her heart broke into smaller pieces.

Dawn came too fast, and with it a hard conversation. And with it, a somber walk back up to the Bronzes. And with it a painful farewell. Here she was, a traitor again to a daughter who wasn’t hers, that she’d never know. A daughter who now had a wild story of a wrong-mother, one whose hands were too bloody to ever be anything like the gentle ones that raised her.

It was right to send her back through to where she was from, but it hurt.

@daily-writing-challenge / @xylaes / @garrennorassin

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC August 2023 - Day 3 - Omninous / Possibility

..ssssszzzzzz…

Khaeris wrinkled her nose and turned over in the bed. It was deep night. Fans of enchanted leaves stirred the warm air through the otherwise still. Stars seemed to twinkle around her, falling through the dark. She slept on.

…sssSSZZZzzzz…

Her ear flicked and her earring caught the first light of dawn to throw a sparkle against the wall. Khaeris pulled the sheet over herself and twisted away from the noise.

…sSSSSZZZZZzzz…

The elven woman blinked owlishly. Daybreak. It was about that time. She covered her yawn with a fist before stretching her arms up over her head. Today there was nothing on her schedule except see where the day took her. She reached over to turn off the alarm and realized there was no alarm. No white noise coming from her comm to help her sleep (Thank you, Pollux).

She rubbed at her eyes, feeling the grit of sleep tug. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she felt the rug give oddly under her feet. It had been thick and plush the night before, but when she looked down it was full of sand.

Shimmering, glittering, temporal sand.

…SSSSSSSSZZZZZZZZZZ…

She could feel it everywhere now. A light dusting of the stuff throughout the room with the heaviest focus on the bed. On her.

Well, shit.

@daily-writing-challenge

[dicenne]

AUGUST DWC DAY 7 - GROWTH

‘Change is inevitable, but personal growth is a choice.’ It was something his great-grandfather Dicenne, the man he was named after, had always told him while growing up. Great-grandparents aren’t supposed to have favorites, but there had always been a strong connection between the two from the start. Along with the name, they both shared the same orangish-red hair color, the taller than average height, and extreme strength; traits that none of the other Amberlights had been blessed with. There was a running joke within the family that one of the Amberlights had a child with a Vrykul somewhere along their line and only a scant few since had been touched by those genetics. (A joke, but honestly it would explain quite a bit.)

The quote was a good lesson that Dicenne had carried with him throughout the years. Change was impossible to avoid in a world cursed with nearly constant war, and survival was all about adapting to whatever life threw at you - and life had thrown an awful lot at him. He had lost his entire extended family and most of his friends in the Scourge invasion, his blacksmith shop had been completely razed during the Legion invasion, both of his parents had passed within years of each other, Kara had been taken and traumatized for life, he nearly lost his life during his time in the military, and so, so much more. All of those events were awful and life-altering, but he had managed.

It was the death of his wife and newborn child on the same day that had broken him, and if it weren’t for his great-grandfather Dicenne, he probably wouldn’t be here today. The elder Amberlight had gone through a similar experience back in the day, he too had lost a wife and a child, but in an accident. It was something he had never known about his great-grandfather, considering the man was now happily married with plenty of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. 

No one ever truly gets over that type of loss, but you eventually learn how to smile and have fun once more, and you remember how to give your love again. The healing process had felt excruciatingly slow and as if there would never come a day when he didn’t feel absolutely crushed. But the time passes regardless, and then you look back to where you once were and realize how much you have grown since then

He would never be fully healed, but he realized that he didn’t need to be. He still had so much more love to give in this life, and he was no longer going to allow his past to hold him back from doing just that.

@daily-writing-challenge