#writeboardwalk

[redbeanpress]

THE RED BEAN PRESS IS OPEN FOR SUBMISSIONS!

hello writeblr! welcome back to the red bean press, a writeblr-first literary magazine! from now on, the red bean press will be releasing issues every two months, therefore, submissions are opening for our january-february issue. 

the theme is LOVE, and the many forms it takes. whether platonic, romantic, or something else entirely, feel free to write whatever comes to mind! 

send in your submissions by february 21st to redbeanzine@gmail.com with your name (or anonymous), your preferred social medias, the title of piece, and any necessary content warnings! 

we’re excited to see what you all have to share! if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out to us at the same email as above, redbeanzine@gmail.com, or drop a message into our askbox.

[sprigofbasil-archive]

WHERE RUN THE DEATHLESS WOLVES ↳ A WIP INTRO BY @SPRIGOFBASIL

graphics by the amazing @moariin !

"Why have you come here, Ivan Tsarevich?" 

"That's not my name," he forced out, the words catching and dragging sharp in his throat. 

She bared her teeth in a grin. "You're the son of a tsar, aren't you? In the end, that's all that matters."

GENRE: YA Fantasy, Slavic Fairytale Retelling

TYPE: Standalone (for now)

POV: Past, dual POV (third-person limited)

STATUS: Outlining

THEMES/TROPES: Fairytale logic; sword lesbians; curses and retribution; the loneliness of immortality; sibling rivalries; wars of succession; himbo and the beast; the hollow ringing of revenge

FAIRYTALES: Ivan Tsarevich and the Grey Wolf; The Death of Koschei the Deathless; Vasilisa the Beautiful

SUMMARY: 

A self-avowed tsar lies on his deathbed, his crown threatening to shatter between three pairs of unfit hands. The throne will fall to the most deserving son, the one to catch the mythical firebird, and born under the shadow of his two brothers, Ivan Petrovich vows that it will be him.

Meanwhile in the far north, the motherless Vasilisa Evgenievna has always been fated for something more. She has the gift, they say, though she can’t help but wonder for what. Her city is dying, rotting from the inside out decades after its light has begun to flicker, and to save it, Vasilisa is soon saddled with a purpose greater than herself: bring back the heart of a firebird.

Taking the path of greater resistance, Ivan finds himself at the mercy of a great beast in a wolf’s skin, its secrets buried deep within its long-crumbling castle. Meanwhile, Vasilisa’s quest brings her to a hut on chicken legs, her life now in the balance of three impossible tasks. Between them, a thread of malachite through a needle. 

But myths borne by flame do not make for easy prey, and the clever, foolish hunter is no better than the hunted.

CHARACTERS:

Ivan Petrovich Voronin  |  the third son, the soft-hearted prince who can’t help but want for more. Handsome and charismatic, but too honest to bear the crown he knows that he doesn’t truly want.

Vasilisa Evgenievna Lebedeva  |  the beautiful, with the name of heroines of old. Meant for greatness, the shadowed weight of her own purpose lies heavy on her shoulders despite her quest for light.

Galina Bogdanovna  |  the foundling, with no family nor hopes beyond her self-imposed debt. Her own hand grasps a glass hammer over her heart, ready to give it away to anyone who asks.

↳ Marya Morevna  |  of broken promises

↳ Koschei Bessmertny  |  in the eye of a needle

↳ Baba Yaga  |  of bone-legged sorcery

↳ Mistress of the Copper Mountain  |  from malachite

LINKS: wip page | main tag

tag list under cut (send an ask/dm to be +/-!):

One-time tag of some moots who might be interested! @tsainami @vitrichor @atelierwriting @scaevolawrites @incipientdream

General tag list: @bookism @problematicallybored @adaparkwrites @citrinus @harrowingwords @elaichichais @sondials @bijouxs @nikolae @endymions @cometworks

WRTDW tag list (except for reni bc i already tagged her for the god-tier edits): @serpentarii @bulletgirl @sidhewrites

[crtalley]

BEARSKIN – excerpt 9 ; ‘so many stories’

Transcript & more below the cut //

The prince pulled a trio of hollow gemstones from the bowl in front of him, each one of them clear but reflecting red, and slid one over his needle. When he returned his attention to his sleeve, the stone fit into place as if it had always been there; Irina couldn’t make out the stitch he used to keep it flush to the dark fabric. It was as if his thread changed color to suit his needs, even as it ran plain and white to a spool on the tabletop.

Finally, she couldn’t hold her curiosity back. “Is it not nice enough already?”

“It’s only half done,” he answered. “I always finish the left side first.” He shrugged his arm back into the sleeve and lifted it from the table, turning it so that Irina could see the lines he had been working on before. They were so thin as to be visible only when they caught the light, each one running in a careful straight line between two stones and never intersecting. Nearer to the hem of the sleeve the design was more complete; he must have started working from the outside inward. A handful of complete shapes were already evident, a few slanted rectangles and one made up of six connected stones that was near-round.

Irina’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. She couldn’t place where she knew those shapes from. “Always?”

He nodded, his smile thin and bleak. “Every year. I’m afraid my mother, ah…dislikes my handiwork,” he said with a laugh sharp as his needle. He laid the sleeve flat across the table again and went back to work stitching his straight lines. “She casts the stars from the sky, and I am the one who must sew them back in place. Every year,” the prince muttered.

Irina paused, fish falling off her fork. “The stars?”

“Yes. The constellations. I don’t know what their new names are,” he sighed, “but I’ve done this for—six hundred years? Or is it seven, now?” The prince looked up from his coat. Deep bruises pooled under his eyes. “You do know the stars make constellations, don’t you?”

“Of course I know.” Irina bristled at the accusation that she wouldn’t. She was a hunter; she had been raised watching the sky. She shook her head. “I just thought…”

How had she not recognized the six bright stars of the Beacon? It was one of the first constellations her father had taught her, pointing it out where it sat on the horizon in the summer months. So long as she knew where it was, he said, she would always be able to find her way home.

“You didn’t think it would be so menial a task?”

She didn’t want to say that. She had made her mother angry enough in the past when she called carding and spinning useless. Irina set her fork down and glanced at Kseniya, still as statuary in the chair next to her. She begged any kind god to bring the other woman back to this conversation and give her the right thing to say.

When no such thing happened, Irina asked carefully, “Do you make it the same every year?”

“To the stitch.” The prince bowed his head in a nod. He sewed another stone in place, again too quick for Irina’s eyes to follow.

“You’ve never done it differently.”

He arched an eyebrow and asked, “Why should I?”

“Isn’t it…” Irina weighed her words and decided on one that he had used earlier. “Boring?”

The prince mumbled something she couldn’t catch from the far end of the table. His hands shook this time when he pulled his needle through the fabric, and he hissed curses under his breath.

He stuck the blunt end of his needle in his mouth and picked apart his last few stitches with sharp fingernails. “Of course it’s boring. Everything is,” he said through gritted teeth. “Why do you think there are so many stories about me?”

[anomaly00-archive]

WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL DAY 1: PROTAGONIST

FENICE VI AETIER’S EXISTANCE IS AN ENIGMA. She had the entirety of her world at her fingertips before she was even born. A princess to one of the richest nations of the century and daughter to KING DANTALION and TITANIA OF TAUL, two of the most powerful mages of their generation and whose love story was once the stuff of legends.  She was conceived with the promise of unimaginable power, an experiment from which a god-child should have been born. Through her, Dantalion’s still contested claims to the throne would be stabilized. Through her, Dantalion and Titania would create a dynasty unparalleled.

And then, the young princess was born dead. 

Deadborne. A condition that leaves parents mourning their children as soon as they are born. ANIMUS MAGIC is a prerequisite to living, and for all those poor infants who came into the world without it, their death is an inevitability. Some last a few minutes, others a few days. It is why Fenice vi Aetier’s existance is the greatest mystery of them all, having survived eighteen years as a deadborne, earning her the scorn and morbid curiosity of many. 

Fenice led a very isolated life in Isidore— her mother’s fiefdom and primary residence after their divorce—both due to her rank as princess and future duchess, and her condition manifesting in a weakened immune system that left her weakened and susceptible to most illnesses. This, too, was a deviation from the norm, as most royal children are raised within the palace until their coming-of-age. This period of her life would prove vexing to future historians as, with the exception of her correspondents with her uncle prince Andras, not much is known about Fenice’s early life. She is studious, had taken to learning all sorts of instruments, had a penchant for learning languages, and is very partial to sewing and embroidery— but then again, there are only so many things you can do when stuck within a house (however palatial it may be).

She idolizes her mother, Titania of Taul, of whom it’s been stated many times she remarkably resembles. Titania was mother, friend, and protector; those who sought to harm the young princess stood no chance with the Witch of Taul guarding the gates. When Titania suffered an “untimely” death, Fenice was left emotionally and physically vulnerable against all who wished to do her harm. And so, at the urging of her father and uncle, she was whisked away to the royal court for her protection.

But court life has given Fenice a taste for the life that could have been— should have been  hers, and she finds that she has quite the palate for all the politicking. The crown is now within reach. For Fenice whose jealousy and ambition have been stewing for years, the only way to sate these new desires is to rectify the wrongs destiny has dealt her. Princesses trapped in their towers are hardly as docile and sweet as the stories would have you believe, and dead men have little else to lose.

[bookphobe]

WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL DAY 7 — THE LOVER ARCHETYPE [ QUEEN SERIKSA OF GLORIATA, THE SUN OFFERS NO REDEMPTION ]

“Do you not understand? I do not care! I will doom the entire kingdom if I could! My husband can execute me. My kingdom can call me a whore, a traitor.” Seriksa turns to look at him.

“They can all burn. I did not want to be Queen. I accepted him in the belief that I would receive love. I have not received that here. I am only getting what I am owed.” wip intro

And that is it!! special thanks to the admins at thewriteboardwalk for creating this event, this was loads of fun & gave me an excuse to procrastinate by creating graphics & talking about my wips lmao 💖💖

general taglist @hydrancheas , @hekat-ie , @radiomacbeth , @sprigofbasil , @eeuwigheid ​ , @zarinaelahi​  , @veiliza

tsonr taglist @ladywithalamp @fandomtrashkaye @sunnydrops @semblanche @alicewestwater @fartistically @ryskus

[lasbrumas]

WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL. DAY 1: PROTAGONIST ↳adelina de la cruz

Adelina let her head tilt back to gaze at the massive stained glass windows that lined the cathedral, covered in scenes and portraits of the Saints, those holy people who had once built these cities and their history.

She did not believe, by any means, there was anything to these people. They had been humans, like she was, like her mother was, like Emilio. So she highly doubted praying to them would elicit anything. Still, swept up in the moment and the buzz of a shared experience between the people in the cathedral, she sent out a little prayer, a note she told herself, asking for just a little bit of help. If not for herself, then for Emilio and for her uncle.

[scaevolawrites]

CAPTURED LIGHTNING - CHARACTER INTRODUCTION KISTHET |  ??? years old - They/Them - Demon Distant - Aloof - Distrusting - Blunt - Loyal

The shadow swarming at your feet | A moonless night, only lit by a few stars | That gust of wind that makes you sweat on a winter day | The darkness that comforts you | That warm feeling you feel in your fingertips when it's too cold outside | The black cold that endures the white heat | The tree that still defies gravity even in death

Being of the Void. Shaded Passenger. Kisthet didn't remember how they came to be. There was nothing, there always had been. Then a single moment passed and they seemed to inhabit this Nothingness, this Void. The drifted through this blankness, it was the only thing they could do, until Kisthet met other like themselves. Beings that didn't seem to have a solid form, ever-shifting and changing. Then they started to feel something, at the edge of their senses. It was barely registerable at first, after some time it grew stronger and stronger, it started to bother the demon. But it would never affect them in any meaningful way. It would just sit at that edge, mocking Kisthet. Like a thin fog it rolled into their lives, contaminating everything it saw, heard, felt. Suddenly it pulled them into another world, one were the fog wasn't there. Where everything was crisp and sharp. Something shouted at them, it's arm drenched in red. Kisthet knew it was blood. They knew that blood had pulled them into this world. Somehow they knew. It was delicious. The thing - a human - asked them for a favour. Citing his blood to be adequate payment. Kisthet granted it. And then the fog rolled in again, muddling their senses. Making them yearn for the Red. So it went. Blood spilled, favours asked and granted, answers given. Only for the cycle to begin anew. Until those old women spilled not their own blood, but that of someone else. And they had spilled more than Kisthet had ever seen. It was her blood. And she asked for one thing.

Vigilance turned Loyalty | Paying what is Owed | Knowing Nothingness and Emptiness are not the same | Hiding in the Darkness | Waiting for that Single moment | Naked Truths over Clothed Lies

Taglist under the cut (ask to be added/removed)

@endymions @serpentarii @inky-duchess @ladywithalamp @talesofnetline @seomarshalls @anomaly00 @sprigofbasil

[wordsbynathan]

WIP: Black Squirrel

genre; queer, literary

POV; 3rd past

length; short story (~7k words)

status; revising

synopsis;

Ezra is in love with his boyfriend Teddy, but he’s so afraid to say these words that he constructs a game that will allow him to discover if the love is mutual. All they have to do is share their deepest secret with each other; Ezra figures that if Teddy knows the worst thing he’s ever done and sticks around, that’s enough.

What Teddy tells Ezra sends ripples of uncertainty through their relationship and Ezra finds himself drifting away, though he can’t quite put his finger on why until he sees a familiar poster on the wall in a professor’s office. The truth clicks into place, but Ezra’s always been good at denial.

characters;

Ezra is an obsessive person, focused on controlling every aspect of his life that he can. And though he can’t control Teddy, wouldn’t dream of it, he can control the idea of Teddy in his own mind. Ezra has a dark past that exists as an undercurrent over the frozen surface of a lake, and his fixation on the cold causes him to over-prepare for the weather and approach winter like a cautious but entranced child.

Teddy is perfect, he’s Ezra’s perfect thing, a beacon of goodness and purity in a world that so often feels sullied. But he’s hiding a strange desire, a compulsion that Ezra isn’t sure he can wrap his mind around. Ezra’s internal construction of Teddy hits a wall and hits it hard, and though the last thing he wants to do is abandon someone the way he’s been abandoned, Teddy’s secret has Ezra in over his head.

excerpts;

extended excerpt IDs and taglist under the read more (feel free to ask to be +/- from general taglist! <3)

excerpt 1;

“The dark fur is actually a result of an abnormality in their genetics,” Teddy explained. He was full of hyper-specific animal facts. “The extra pigmentation probably helps them keep warmer in the cold months.”

“So you’re saying I’m a mutant?”

Teddy laughed, a cloud of vapor puffing up in front of him. “No, I just mean they’re always ready for the cold, just like you.”

But Ezra always thought they were more like Teddy. Soft, resilient. Perfect. Part of him wishes he’d heeded his father’s words with more care. When he’s with his boyfriend, Ezra so often feels like he’s finally made the catch. But he doesn’t know what to do next. He’s just holding on for dear life, hoping Teddy doesn’t decide to squirm away. Hoping that Teddy doesn’t bite him.

excerpt 2;

Once, towards the end of that first summer they spent together, they were sitting on a dock at Ezra’s family’s summer home and after a playful shoving match, both ended up in the water. Though Teddy took it in stride, Ezra could tell later he was upset by the occurrence. When he asked his boyfriend what the problem was, Teddy said, “Wet clothes make me feel naked.”

Ezra thought about this a lot after the fact. He thought about the way some experiences were like being shoved into a lake and emerging sopping, the way wet clothes cling tight to the body, revealing everything even though one is still completely covered up.

excerpt 3;

Ezra crouched down slowly. He wondered what was the good of camouflage if it only protected you in the dark. If it only kept you warm at the cost of revealing you in the light.

The squirrel seemed frozen, its eyes wide and darting about madly, though the rest of its body didn’t move. Ezra pressed his forehead against the window, cold glass a shock and a relief against his skin. The squirrel stared at him. Its tail twitched.

Ezra closed his eyes. He could hear the snow coming down, little pitter patter of soft wet on soft wet. This was interrupted by a small thump, and when he cracked his lids open, the animal was gone.

Taglist (tagging gen and some others!): @my-liminal-spaces @ahowlinwolf @sugarcoatedglass @chloeswords @rainbowcoloreddays @alicewestwater @ryns-ramblings @vitrichor @lasbrumas @sprigofbasil @reverieternal @incipientdream

[the-child-of-darkness]

Writeboardwalk Ferris Wheel Day 1 - Protagonist

Raj Bahatma

Raj is one of the main characters of my wip Deck of Cards. Ever since he was little, everyone always knew there was something special about that scrawny little kid in the orphanage. Raj himeself felt like his life fitted into something more. Some part of him sensed that, someday, he would be a part of something bigger, much more powerful and unnerving than his mundane life. That day came when he accidentally stumbled upon an old intricately patterned tarot card in an antic shop in East London. It read The King.

Extract: Raj absentmindedly traced the delicate golden pattern of his card, eyes lost into the empty space before him. He was acutely away of the drawing and the title at the back of the tarot card. The King. What a king he was. A king was supposed to lead, to strategize, to save his people... Raj didn’t know how to do any of those things. He’d liked to think he would fit his role when he first understood who he was, but he’d been a fool then. And arrogant fool. If he was a king there was no doubt he was a bad one. He was terrified. So terrified of losing his friend; Jack and Will with their familiar banter, Marlene with her soft spoken advice and Dimitri with all his books and his wry comments. And Lyann. Lyann and her warm smile and the sparkle in her eyes. Lyann with her exasperated sighs and sudden bursts of laughter. She had told him that she believed in him. That if anyone could save them all, it was him.... Raj gaze focused and he flipped the card to stare at the skull wearing a heavy golden crown. They would live. They would all live, he would make damn sure of that, well-fitted or not, king or not.

[sprigofbasil-archive]

transcription and tag list under cut:

winter falls soft and hazy on your window, 

and your skin begins to crack.

your mother chides you as she rubs cream

into your hands—it smells of oil and wilted 

flowers, and she presses it into the fractures like clay. 

your fingers are delicate, she says. pianist’s fingers, 

long and thin, free of the calluses marking her own. 

they say that touch is a love language, but you 

don’t think it’s yours.

you think there’s something in you, something 

too much to live within the confines of your skin.

you leave your window closed, trapping the warmth 

where the winter wind cannot steal it away.

the cracks will heal come spring. 

you hope that you will too.

n.l. // prelude for the bitter light

General tag list: @bookism @problematicallybored @angelpngarchive @adaparkwrites @citrinus @harrowingwords @elaichichais @sondials @bijouxs @nikolae @endymions @cometworks @raven-ink @localdeadlylaser @scaevolawrites

Poetry tag list: @halcionic @vitrichor

[crtalley]

BEARSKIN – excerpt 8 ; ‘it’s delicate’

Transcript & more below the cut //

She was two and a half days closer to the new moon. Two and a half days closer to what could be, all said and done, her death.

Or Fedya’s.

“I asked Kseniya to leave your timepiece. Did she not?”

“I have it.” Irina bit her lip. So it was working, then. It had been pointing at the full moon when she first woke up.

Had she slept since then?

The prince fell into Irina’s side with a shocked laugh. He threw an arm out to catch himself, and Irina scrambled to get away from him, only to see he’d been pushed over by Trishka, begging for the attention she rightfully deserved. Kana sat just behind the other bear-dog, her brown tail swishing in a lazy curl behind her as she watched and waited her turn.

“Wild creatures,” he scoffed, but the grin never faded from his face. He sat on his knees and took Trishka’s face in his hands to scratch under the dog’s jaw.

Her mouth lolled open, spittle dripping onto the floor and then his coat as she pushed her head up on his shoulder. There was something familiar about the way he laughed, then, like he was one of the men in the village who had been helping her family with the shearing, or who had come to watch her father work with the sheep. He shook his head and wrapped his arms around Trishka, the darkening fabric of his coat stark where it sank into her sides. The trailing edges of his long sleeves had picked up more white dog fur than Irina thought should be possible.

Irina glanced down at herself. She was just as covered in fur as he was—and this was her only shirt and her only pair of pants. She brushed her hands over her mother’s embroidery, trying in vain to pull every white hair from the needlework without destroying it.

The prince set a hand on her knee. Irina stiffened, ready to flinch away from any sudden movement. It had been easy to forget who he was, and what he was, while his attention was on the dogs. The second she raised her eyes to meet his, her gut twisted. He gestured at her shirt and asked, “Can I help?”

Irina crossed her arms over her stomach. “No. It’s fine.”

“I—”

“It’s delicate.”

[anomaly00-archive]

WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL DAY 4: LOVE INTEREST

DANTALION AND ILLYSANDRE’S RELATIONSHIP WAS NOT BUILT ON LOVE. It was not even built on hate. Their’s is a marriage built on politics, indifference, and a mutual respect for one another. Though their union is not one of the more passionate or romantic ones to come about, almost eighteen years of marriage has brought with it stability, dependability, and even companionship. 

— Illysandre;

Perhaps she could have loved him, had actually fallen in love with him once upon a time. He is handsome, charismatic, and it is so very, very hard not to fall in love with a fairytale come to life when her entire family is urging her to catch his eye. And who would not want those burning eyes to look upon them? To have someone look at you like you were the sun, the stars, and all things irresistible?

It is a pity, then, when he proposed.  Her family milling expectantly in the background; her lady, the dowager queen, smiling behind her painted fan;  he on one knee and she with her arm outstretched in the foreground; a glorious painting of a romantic proposal. Staged. Practiced. A formality. His lines delivered soft and sweet with eyes so very dead. And oh how her heart ached, how the fires in her heart puttered out. A pity that this man, this man of love and legend, should not love her. 

And like many other noble lords and ladies, she gives in to this loveless eventuality. Resigned to duty, to destiny, to her family’s ambitions, she says yes. 

— Dantalion

Perhaps he could have loved her, actually might have fallen in love with her in another time. She is beautiful, charming, and her connections so very, very hard to ignore. But he could not. Can not. Not when She will forever linger in his mind. Not when She had carved so deep a place within his heart that no power on earth could ever force Her out. 

He was not in love with his new bride. Not when the courtship was so short— little more than a formality—and the engagement period even shorter. Not when she and the child they would have is a constant reminder of the things that could have, should have, been. But with time, he knew, he could come to care for her. When the years smooth out those sharp pains into something a bit duller, perhaps he could try to love again. But his heart aches at the thought; to betray Her once more even to soften his own longing.

He can only hope that this marriage, this union, would be kind to the both of them.

[bookphobe]

WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL DAY 2 — SIDE CHARACTER [ VALENYA, THE SUN OFFERS NO REDEMPTION ]

“In the north, they call you . . . 'The Southern Flame', Princess, as well as the 'The Lady Tiger of Qardan'.”

Valenya frowns. “I do wish they stop that.”

She stops brushing her hair. “Stop calling you such titles? Is it not something to be proud of? To be legendary in names, spoken of as myth?”

“No,” Valenya starts, shifting in her seat. “Do not mistake my words—it is good to be known. But those names are not who I am. They say I am an exotic creature; a mythical entity, something foreign, not entirely real. One step further and they will call me the entity that lurks in children's folktales.”

Ena chuckles and resumes combing through her hair. “I see it as a good thing. Those people, they fear you. Is that not power?”

“Fear. Let them fear me.” She raises a hand—stop—and stands up from her seat. “I only wish they fear me as what I truly am: the heir to the Maharsekan throne, with half the continent's worth of soldiers under her helm. Surely, that is a more fearsome thing to behold.” wip intro

[lasbrumas]

WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL. DAY 3: FOIL ↳emilio de la cruz

No doctor or priest could find a source for Emilio’s sudden silence. He simply had a limited number of words he could say a day. In the beginning, sometimes he’d be cut off in the middle of a sentence, the thought left unfinished as he worked his mouth uselessly, before realizing with a huff that he had used up his last word.

Making this more difficult was the fact that the number of words he was allotted per day varied. Some days, he could actually carry almost an entire conversation before he’d run out. Others, he was reduced to saying only ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to avoid hitting his limit.

TAGLIST {ask to be +/-}

@vitrichor @aetherwrites @donghyeuck @aslanwrites @writingbyjillian @happyorogeny @serpentarii @endymions​

[scaevolawrites]

A DISCOVERY OF SNOWDROPS - Character Excerpt

Niya slowly wandered around the forest, letting the icy sunlight warm her face, while she took in the white scenery around her. It had been months since she had been able to freely walk around. She couldn't remember much of that night, but the Council of Witches and even the Eldest had been afraid of her after that.

A sharp pain under her breast. A feeling akin to falling. A multifaceted demanding why it was here. The stinging pain like claws ravaging her shoulder. The Anguished screams, pleading for mercy.

She had awoken days later, with only moonlight streaming inside the hut. Crowning above her had been the Council. As soon as the witches had seen she was awake, they had jumped away, with those fear-filled eyes still peering at hers. "What did you do, you wench? What did you do?", the nasally voice of the Eldest stretched around the group and seemed to fill the hut. "How did you tame that - that abomination? What did you ask of it? What did it give you in return?" "Abomination? "What is an -" The Eldest wouldn't let her speak, no one ever would. "The demon, you insolent little girl! The one that came after we tried to offer you to the Goddess! The one you summoned. You. The witchling with no spellworking ability. What. So. Ever." "How did you do it. Answer me!" Niya had none, so could only give them silence.

That had been months ago, and the other women in the coven seemed to actually take care of Niya, giving her food and providing shelter. Yet it was clear to her that they did not do this willingly, frightful eyes watched her every move and undistinguishable whispers followed her. She felt like a prisoner. She started wishing for the old days, when not a single witch would pay the runt of the litter, the Untouched Girl, any mind. If not for the food and shelter she would have returned to her scavenging. Eventually, with nothing happening around her, the frightful eyes vanished. As did the food and shelter. Right in time for winter.

She loved the winter, there was something mystical about it. How everything green turns the purest white overnight. How the low hanging sun shines upon the forest, creating hauntingly beautiful spells of light and shadow. How the frost glisters in the night, only illuminated by the moon.

Niya winced, even now she still wasn't used to the network of scars that now lived on her left shoulder. She tried to massage her shoulder and the scares flared up. She stumbled, and fell down in front of a patch of newly bloomed snowdrops. The pain was still alive inside of her, burning around her heart, eating at her muscles. The cold winter air grew colder still, and the icy sun light seemed to temper the flames. The frigid breeze seemed to play with her hair. "Take the snowdrop, it will keep you cold", it whispered in her ear. She took one of the flowers, looking quizzically at it. "Eat it." "What? Why?" Niya tried to look to where to whispers came from. But that burning pain had her shackled to the ground. "Eat it. Or burn." She huffed, and put the flower inside her mouth. Loudly chewing she tried to find that frigid breeze again. Wanting to show it, how wrong it was.

But then the burning stopped, the flames around her heart froze. Her shoulder grew cold again. The snowdrop had worked. The winter air had been right. It had given her the flower. And it had changed something. Like when the green forest turned white.

It had given her something that felt like magic.

[Taglist (ask to be added/removed) and Photo ID under the cut]

@endymions @serpentarii @inky-duchess @ladywithalamp @talesofnetline @seomarshalls @anomaly00

[Photo ID: A header image portraying a winter landscape with the road and the trees all covered in snow. In the centre of the image sits the name ‘Niya’ in all caps /end ID]

[ayzrules]

WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL DAY #3: FOILS

writeboardwalk ferris wheel - day iii, foil characters { mai + izzy }

Mai is “I will pretend to be soft to make you comfortable” Izzy is “I will not make myself palatable for you”

—my friend @/artless-whimsy summing up my characters in 2 seconds ;DDD

PRINCESS MAI, the rose of Liang—clever and charming and cunning and ruthless (because she'll do anything for her country, you see, even if it means marrying the man who murdered cousin and pretending to love him), with soft smiles and twinkling laughter that does not quite reach her eyes; knights have their chainmail and breastplates and steel gauntlets, and Mai Mei has her red lipstick and high heels. She has children, with him. She'll kill him herself, one day, and nobody will ever know.

PRINCESS ISABELLA, the ice queen of Evalusia—cold, and as ruthless as they come. She'll not be a pawn under her father's destructive regime, not anymore—her sister's gone because she never said anything, and now she is filled with ice and edges that cut like glass. She'll do anything for her country, even if it means dying in a war to seize the throne for herself. To hell with marriages and secret alliances and pretending; she'll kill her father in front of everyone, if that means saving her people.