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saltwaterbells · 3 years

Photo

crown the ravens who paint the sky - a wip introcuction

Excerpt:

When the trees bleed mist, and the jagged branches on the trees silhouette jagged shapes into the sky, I get on my knees and pray, in a church made of concrete and glass, the graveyard watching through the shattered window, the world stained blue and green.

On the wall, white hot iron digging into their hands and the back of their mouth and through the exposed bone of their shins, all their skin peeled off until they’re only a mass of flesh that had once pretended to be a human, is a young fae. They fill the air with the smell of flowers and burning flesh and mountain air, descendant of the goddess that so many search, caught, like a broken butterfly on a corkboard.

They gasp for breath that isn’t theirs, rasp out words that don’t belong to them but that they’ve stolen, no name of their own to claim so they take and take and take, the never ending desperation that comes from the hunger their magic induces.

“Welcome, fellow daughter of these woods,” they rasp. “What wisdom do you seek.”

Genre: Forestpunk, low industrial fantasy, litfic? (It used to be so much more fantasy-ish and now it’s very much a character study but it still has fantasy elements and stuff, so take it as you will)

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Summary:

One hundred years ago, Sithau refused to be conquered. Now it pays the price. Factories grow from soiled ground, iron statuettes drill for oil, mines defile what used to be sacred mountains. One hundred years ago, whatever hides in the woods drained the life and sanity from whoever dared lay hands on Sithau’s treasures. Soldiers were found, hundreds of years old when they were merely men just the day before. Other found wild eyed and feral, clawing at whatever dared come near, muttering about faeries and a desperate craving to be human. One hundred years ago, something protected Sithau.

When the bodies of two students at the local military academy are found, rumours begin to flourish, claiming the deaths resembled those that occurred all those years ago. Whatever protected Sithau one hundred years ago could be back, which means for some people in Sithau, it’s time to kill a goddess.

Themes: violation, humans as religion, what makes a monster, coming of age, rebellion, generational trauma, nature vs. nurture, humanity, the quest for power, how far will anyone go to achieve their dreams, exploitation, humanity

Aesthetic: whispered prayers to forgotten gods, winding mountain roads shrouded in mist, branches carving a jagged silhouette in the sky, a white blouse coloured red with blood that isn’t yours, fog, abandoned warehouses reclaimed by feral woods, flashes of white in the foliage that could be bones, but you don’t want to look, wrought iron gates leading nowhere, ancient bitter things lurking behind the eyes of the youth, cigarette smoke trailing against a cloudy sky, books left behind by someone who loved them, words pencilled into trees so long ago they’re no longer legible, gods hiding round the bend, drunks warning you of the things hiding in the woods and between the intentions of the townsfolk, water-stained splashes of ink on crumpled paper, dried flowers pressed between pages, the wind telling you secrets you’ll never hear, the birds going silent all at once, gaping mouths and rusted nails

Characters:

sofiya mikhailova hears the whispers of unholy gods and the power to craft reality to her will roils through her veins. flowers bloom under her feet and wither as soon as she steps away, the world is hers to command. left to die in the woods as an infant, the woods should have killed her, but whatever happened in those woods proves sofiya mikhailova isn’t human.

[eldest daughter complex - ripped apart with anger - exists in the limbo between past and present - tempest of emotion locked away - feels too much and has decided to thus feel nothing - hollow - painful - bitter - built from a wild sea and an even wilder sky]

ayse terzi is the only good thing that’s ever come out of sithau, her dresses coloured blue and red like the bruises she inflicts without meaning to, she doesn’t belong here, deserves some place better, but sithau is what she has and she’s good enough to want to influence her world: make sithau better, make sithau kinder, as if that’s something that can be achieved.

[convinced she’s always right and it destroys all the people she’s trying to protect - too young to be this old - so tired of being the mother but doesn’t know how to do anything else - less soft than she looks - less kind than she thinks she is - cares too much about your opinion - fabricated from silk and silver]

irene bishop was fire in human form. fury and gaunt eyes and bloody fists. she protected secrets she didn’t understand, wallowed in her need for revenge, and if she had her way, all those who ever dared think of harming anyone she loved would be dead. she smiled with broken teeth, hollow bones ready to take flight, autumn colours in a raging inferno.

[burn scars and hatred - blind devotion - petty squabbles - repression and refusal to be someone she’s not - could kill you but doesn’t - all sharp edges - dead inside and out - breaking apart - a walking catastrophe - six feet under - can’t be happy - wants to be happy - wants to make everyone happy]

halisi athiambo sees the world in a way she can show no other. machinery speaks to her in a way no human can, and in turn, she creates wonders, for the small price of a soul. colours bleed from her mind when she’s thinking, fireworks spark and ideas flow and what she wants to create now might just be what pushes her over the brink.

[inquisitive - yearning - mind soars through the air - nihilistic - warm and lovely and everything and nothing - bleeds machinery - sees terror and is not impressed - laughter and creation - has outgrown her own depression so she’s given it away - cobbled together from dreams and invention]

romeo beauregarde is bred from old money and older gods, the power behind his name the kind others can only dream of wielding. but he doesn’t know how to use it, coddled and loved to the point of incompetence, softened where everyone else has been hurt, but his heart is too warm and too big and too open and he’ll only hurt himself in the end.

[golden boy and golden heart - means well - should have grown up by now - passionate about what others love - formed by what others want - never good enough - bedroom eyes and soft lips - they call him whore behind his back - warm hugs and ruffled hair - shouldn’t be a part of this - where are his scars - money dripping from his fingers and mouth, pooling at his feet]

Taglist (send an ask to be added/removed): @semblanche @bulletgirl @crystallized-ink @theaestheticarmchair @erinnharper @lord-fallen @pen-for-sword @howdy-writes @reininginthefirewriting @surroundedbypearls

General Taglist (send an ask to be added or removed): @saintsjoan @andiwriteunderthemoon @fablemancy

#wip introduction #writeblr #writers of tumblr #writing #writer #wip: crown the ravens who paint the sky #ch: sofiya mikhailova #ch: halisi athiambo #ch: romeo beauregarde #ch: irene bishop #ch: ayse terzi #salem.writing #wip #writing wip

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saltwaterbells · 3 years

Photo

sofiya mikhailova - a character introduction

excerpt:

“Darling,” I say, take another drag from my cigarette, perch it in between two fingers and exhale, look up at the sky, and letting it mix with the cold fog nipping at my heels, and letting it dissipate, the hunger of my magic unfurling like new leaves and smoke as I speak, words clawing at the hollow of my ribcage, petals blooming in my throat. “I don’t want to tell you again. We’re not here for me.”

pinterest - tag

aesthetic:

the ringing of church bells over an abandoned cemetery, the reflection of a cathedral in a puddle on the pockmarked asphalt, trees parting before the people who walk through them, the howling of wind and mocking laughter echoing over the mountains, the creak of a door as it opens, the flicker of a porch light as it turns on, ashes in a ring of stones, iron nails driven into wooden crosses, the taste of iron on your lips, the feeling of shocking awake just before you’re about to fall asleep, a group of ravens scattering at the nearest sound, blue-purple swollen storm clouds converging on the horizon, the cracks in old glass farmhouse windows, tugging your jacket closer to your skin, the feeling of bruises blooming up your arms, the ache of walking all day and then walking more, winding mountain roads that abruptly end, deep scratches in park benches, the rustling of leaves, the first note of a violin, the sun setting far too early, winter chills far before winter, the branches of a willow tree reaching for the water, silvery birch and gnarled pine, small towns with their small secrets, the everlasting silence before the storm, the moment before lightening flays open the sky, the chirping of crickets stopping in unison, dolls sitting on shelves watching, the ringing in your ears, pine and woodsmoke and packed earthen roads, an abandoned amusement park, strips of linen tied to trees and waving in the wind, long nails and sharp teeth

appearance:

Sofiya Mikhailova is petite of frame, all her wilderness built up, so much you can’t believe it fits. Her hair is long and dark and curly, blue-black ringlets cascading down her back like a waterfall of night, punctuated by dark doe eyes, blue black like her hair, skin so pale you think she could be a ghost, pale blue veins tracing along her arms, patterned with bruises, both fresh and fading, the hint of a smile on deep blood-red lips, but you can’t tell how cruel it can be, flashes of sharp white teeth hidden behind even sharper words, the same-red flowers blooming underneath her bare feet as she walks through the woods, close enough to delicate that most people can be fooled. But she bites, and she kicks and screams, beaten and bloody and everything in between, nails like claws, burned by her own iron, faerie and feral and terrified. The kind of rage that seeps out through her, sickly in the air like perfume, like her magic, the smoke of a cigarette blooming like new leaves, death and rebirth, both ends of the extreme but neither, child and ancient, bitter growing.

playlist: //natural by imagine dragons //demons by imagine dragons //radioactive by imagine dragons //killer queen by queen //sinners by barns courtney //bad guy by billie eilish //glitter and gold by barns courtney

inspiration: My inspiration for Sofiya comes from basically all the female protagonists I’ve ever created. I really like anti-heroines and Sofiya embodies what my favourite type of anti-heroine is. Bitter, calculating, willing to do whatever it takes. I’ve written so many versions of her in so many different projects, but this is the one I’ve settled with! And I’m very happy with her. Objectively, she’s a terrible person, but I still love writing her.

#ch: sofiya mikhailova #character introduction #wip: crown the ravens who paint the sky #salem.writing #mine #character intro

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