#enchanted lighting aes

[indecentpause]

For the random questions ask: If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go? - (@enchanted-lightning-aes)

OOH what a good question,thank you!

I'd actually like to maybe one day try both, but I think I'd be better at one that has no dialogue. But having only dialogue could be fun, too, depending on the context and the type of conversation being had. I mean, plays and screenplays are a thing! And I know there are stage directions but I think with the right phrasing you could get around that.

But the one I'd be more likely two write is one without dialogue :)

[pupsmailbox]

MAGIC ID PACK

NAMES︰ ace. adonis. agate. amber. ambrose. amethyst. anders. aqua. aquamarine. arion. arthur. ashlin. asriel. astra. astrid. astro. athena. atlas. aurora. blaise. bran. briar. bruxo. bunnie. bunny. calamity. callisto. callum. calypso. cantasyia. caspian. cassian. cassiopeia. cedar. cedric. celeste. celestine. cherish. circe. clem. clemet. cosmo. coven. crystalesse. crystalette. cullen. cynthia. draco. drake. dreerie. duske. eerene. elphias. elysia. ember. emil. espen. etherial. fay. felix. finn. finnley. florian. fredrich. fyre. galatea. galen. garnet. glyra. griffin. haven. hazoire. hera. hypnyra. indigo. jade. jasper. jinx. juno. jynx. kara. kian. kimble. krystal. krystalle. lapis. lennix. leo. link. lucien. lumen. lumiere. luna. lune. lunesse. lunette. luz. lyra. mabel. mac. mackenzie. maddie. maddy. madelyn. madison. maggi. maggie. magia. magique. magnus. maria. max. maxwell. melanie. melodie. melody. mercy. mia. milena. miles. milo. minerva. moonesse. moonette. myrror. mystique. nova. onyx. opal. orion. oscar. oswald. pandora. pearl. pearlesse. pearlette. pearlle. phineas. phoebe. phoenix. pinkie. pinky. ruby. rune. sage. salem. sapphire. selene. seraphina. sereia. silouet. sirus. skye. sol. sora. sorcyrie. soren. spella. twyla. twyllusia. vince. zephyr.

PRONOUNS︰ abra/cada. ae/aer. agate/agate. alch/alchemy. alchemy/alchemy. amber/amber. amethyst/amethyst. an/angel. angel/angel. aqua/aqua. aquamarine/aquamarine. arc/arcane. arcane/arcane. blue/blue. bow/bow. ca/cast. cae/caer. cast/cast. cha/charm. cheer/cheer. ci/cir. cla/clash. con/conjure. cry/crystal. crystal/crystal. cu/curse. cur/curse. cure/cure. curse/curse. de/demon. di/dim. du/dusk. elix/elixir. en/enchantment. en/entity. ev/evil. fae/faer. fan/fantasy. fea/feared. fi/fight. frill/frill. fu/future. garnet/garnet. glitter/glitter. go/golden. go/good. grim/grim. grim/grimoire. h?/h?m. hae/haze. hex/hex. hx/hxm. hy/hym. illus/illusion. illusion/illusion. jade/jade. jasper/jasper. joy/joy. know/knowledge. krys/krystal. light/lightning. ma/mage. ma/magic. mae/maer. mag/magic. mag/magical. mag/magician. mage/mage. magi/magic. magic/magic. magic/magical. magick/magick. mance/mancer. melody/melody. mi/mist. moire/moire. moon/moon. muse/muse. mys/mysterious. myst/myst. mystic/mystic. myth/mythical. necro/mancer. necro/necro. obs/obscure. onyx/onyx. opal/opal. orb/orb. pe/peril. pearl/pearl. pink/pink. po/potion. po/power. poi/poison. potion/potion. pow/power. pretty/pretty. pu/purge. pur/pure. pur/purity. pure/pure. ru/rune. ruby/rubie. rune/rune. sapphire/sapphire. sept/septor. sh?/h?r. sha/dow. shae/shade. shine/shine. shx/hxr. shy/shyr. sing/sing. sini/ster. soc/sorcery. som/somber. sorce/sorce. sorce/sorcerer. spar/spark. spark/spark. spark/sparkle. sparkle/sparkle. spe/spell. spe/spells. spell/spell. spell/spells. spi/spirit. spirit/spirit. staff/staff. star/star. strik/strike. strike/strike. stry/stryke. sup/supernatural. super/super. sweet/sweet. th?y/th?m. thxy/thxm. tri/trick. trick/trick. vae/vaer. wa/wand. wa/ward. wan/wand. wand/wand. ward/ward. whims/whimsical. wi/wise. wing/wing. wit/witch. wit/witchcraft. wiz/wiz. wiz/wizard. wizard/wizard. ⚡️. ✨. ⭐️. 👁. 👼🏻. 💢. 💥. 💦. 💨. 💫. 📖. 🔮. 🧙‍♂️. 🧙🏻. 🧙🏻‍♀️. 🧙🏻‍♂️. 🧹. 🧿.

[invisi-idol]

mlp - lyra heartstrings npt ! 🩵

requested by : @mod-ais-icons

₊˚⊹⋆ names :

amory / emory , elyra , eleni , harper , harpy / harpie , harpha / harpa , heaven , haven , cora , felicity , vega / vera / vada , violet , viola , daphne , despina , lyre , love , lyric , legacy , london , ingrid / sigrid , star , selena / selene / seline / selina , serenity , memory , melody , penelope , persephone

₊˚⊹⋆ pronouns :

cie / cier , che / cher , she / sher , sol / sols , shy / hyr , ki / kir , ke / ker , ve / ver , vey / vem , vae / vaer , dae / daer , ae / aer , fey / fem

harp / harps , heart / hearts , hear / hears , bird / birds , div / divine , dear / dears , light / lights , adore / adores , angel / angels , crown / crowns , chirp / chirps , note / notes , string / strings , song / songs , sing / sings , sun / suns , star / stars , lyre / lyres , lyric / lyrics , love / loves

🩵 / 🩵s

₊˚⊹⋆ titles :

the songbird , ( prn ) the songwriter , ( prn ) with / the gift of music , ( prns ) brilliance , ( prns ) excellence / excellency , the embodiment of greatness / music , the gentle storyteller , ( prn ) with the enchanting song / voice , the ( queen' s / king' s / monarch' s / royal ) harpist / entertainer

[chayscribbles]

five senses tag (11.6.2024)

thanks @winterandwords for the tag!

rules:

📝 Share a snippet to represent each of the five senses! (Taste, Touch, Smell, Sight and Sound)

these are all from the gemini heist!

TASTE

Leo nudged aside her veil with her glass just enough to take a sip of her drink, as if the sweetness of the wine could dispel the bitterness she felt at his words.

TOUCH

Purple light erupted from Illiana's fingertips, flowing into the lock. She could feel, in her mind, the various pieces of the lock’s mechanism as if she were running her fingers over them, and after having done this a few times, she knew which parts to move and where. Within seconds, the lock gave way, and with a creaky complaint, the door slid open.

SMELL

Sweet, fruity perfume filled Euna’s nostrils, making her head spin even more as she gazed up into [REDACTED]’s face.

SIGHT

Now that Leo had her back to her, Gabi couldn’t help but allow her gaze to linger on Euna’s face— rounded chin, small flat nose, rosy cheeks, and cupid lips. Lips that curved into a tiny smile as Euna’s brown eyes lowered from the ceiling and locked with Gabi’s. Gabi quickly hid her warming face behind the screen of her datapad.

SOUND

“I’ll do it,” said Zeya. Everyone whirled around at the sound of the soft, feathery voice behind them. Zeya now sat on the pool table, knees drawn to her chest. Euna, who had, in her shock, spit out a mouthful of lavaroot tea, wiped it off her chin with the back of her hand and demanded, “How long have you been there?”

tagging: @abalonetea @akindofmagictoo @uraniumwriting @em-dashes @enchanted-lightning-aes and anyone else who wants to do it!!

[writingamongther0ses]

Lines Tag

Thanks for the tag, @incandescent-creativity

The first line of a chapter/scene/section- Treasure Triplets

It was a beautiful day.

The last line of a chapter/scene/section- Treasure Triplets

"Meliodas, set course for Klein Manor."

A line of dialogue where someone is lying- Bite Me

"No," she lied out loud. She didn't have time to be scared.

A line you think would go well on an aesthetic edit- Bride of Loki

"Well, I could. All I needed to do was have confidence that what I cast was real and others believed it. Confidence in yourself, even if it's forced, is the most convincing illusion you can create. Do you think you can cast that illusion for a bit?"

And a line where a choice is made- Bite Me

A burst of fury-fed fear shot through her veins and the adrenaline kicked in. She lunged forward. His neck was closest. And Melody found herself not opposed to biting a man's throat out if it meant she lived to get her niece out.

And something with world building if you have it- Bad End

It looked like a huge old gothic manor. The paint outside was light pink. Probably to make it look cheery but it ended up looking depressing, due to the weather and time wearing the color down. The garden was a mess of dead plants that might’ve been roses once. Kudzu covered one side of the house entirely, a goat munching and looking uncaring of the car that had just driven up. "I got it off special!" Frida continued, not noticing her daughter's growing horror. "Apparently, it used to be a girls' school, then an insane asylum. Then it burned down and got rebuilt into a museum! Before the owner sold it."

I'll tag, with no pressure, @enchanted-lightning-aes, @westywrites, @aye-write, @atelierwriting, and @inky-duchess. My lines request is:

A line that shows what season it is

A line showing a favorite thing

A line you hate personally

A line that describes food

A line that has an animal

[akindofmagictoo]

DRAGONSONG: draft 2 update: 06/01

previous word count: 0

current word count: 8,383

notes: the draft is officially begun and i made a lot of progress! i expect this will get weirder as i divert more and more from draft 1, but hey, we like an easy start. (and there were definitely things that changed!)

[edit: if you thought this word count said 6598 earlier... i got inspired and did more writing hehe]

snippet:

Every movement of her armour echoed off the stone. Isi hoped the dragon would not be alerted to her presence too soon… but then again, it had likely already been disturbed by the quake. And taking her armour off would be an even worse idea. That thought was only further validated when the tunnel opened out into a larger cave, and they caught their first glimpse of the dragon. A small crack in the stone high above them offered just enough light to see the creature. Pale pink, significantly larger than any creature Isi had ever seen… and asleep, it seemed, curled up in a nest of sorts against the far wall. Its scaly sides rose and fell, slowly but rhythmically. Isi paused; the dragon seemed to be no threat right at that moment, so she could take her time. A sweet smell lingered in the cave. The dragon’s nest seemed to be the source: plants and flowers of all colours and sorts stuck out of it, flattened under the dragon’s weight. “It’s beautiful,” breathed Robin behind her. Isi took a deep, slow breath. “It is.” Truly, she had never seen anything like it. And she had orders to kill it.

TAGLIST

@isherwoodj @metanoiamorii @lilmissravingwriter @weekofwednesdays @the-unwrittenwriter @talesofsorrowandofruin @little-boats-on-a-lake @teriwrites @magicalwriting @magic-is-something-we-create @writingbyjillian @waysofink @perditism @thehellinsideyourhead @calicowrites @vellichor-virgo @google-plexed @therecouldbecolorsandlove @the-orangeauthor @ellatholmes @happyorogeny @ladywithalamp @ashen-crest @authortango @strangerays @moononherwings @nikkywrites @ambersky0319 @ambsthom @talesfromgringolandia @wickerring @wizardfromthesea @diphthongsfordays @e-lisard @enchanted-lightning-aes @emscribblings @teardropsandtherain @lowslore @fablewritten @copper-dragon-in-disguise @dirtybarkshark

[oh-no-another-idea]

Find the word tag

Thank you for the tag @starlit-hopes-and-dreams! <3 I'll find contrast, cheek, choose/chose, and chill from the Invisible Girl...

Contrast:

The voice belonged to a tall man wearing a sharp black fedora hat and suit. In contrast, his skin was milky pale and his eyes a frighteningly light gray. There wasn’t a spot of color anywhere to be found on him.

Cheek:

“You’re a stowaway, aren’t you,” Antonio said, having followed Velia and come to the same conclusion as she.       Fynn stood, the dim lighting casting dark shadows under his cheekbones. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was simply trying to take a nap.” “Oh, I don’t mind,” Antonio was quick to add. “Ms. Greene is a stowaway too and she and I are well on our way to being friends.”

Choose:

“Where does it end?” Lewis demanded, throwing his hands up. “I go home to my tiny drafty flat where I can barely pay the bills, and Fynn supports his whole family and Paris has one too many accidents and loses a finger, and Velia gets trampled to death by a horse—” “It ends with us,” Antonio interrupted, before Velia’s imagined death could get any worse. “It ends where we choose it to.”     

Chill:

On the station platform, it was impossible to believe Velia was still in the city. Fog, thick enough to be masquerading as pea soup, swam and mingled with the steam rolling off the locomotive waiting on the tracks. Nearby lamps blinked feebly, and Velia’s nice maroon jacket wasn’t enough to keep her warm. Or maybe that was just fear chilling her bones.

Open tag for any who see it, and also gentle tags for @sarandipitywrites @enchanted-lightning-aes @lady-grace-pens @on-noon @cherrybombfangirlwrites @wrenofthewords @sleepyowlwrites @lena-rambles and @rhikasa -- your words are talk, bottle, sail, honor, and open 🌈

[charlesjosephwrites]

Find the Word Tag

Thanks for the tag @oh-no-another-idea!

My words were yesterday, motto, specific, and green. I couldn't find the word motto in the current draft of The Magician and Ms. Psychic, but here are some snippets for the other words!

yesterday

“Morning!” Claire sounded way happier than anyone should have been at five A.M. “I’m gonna make breakfast. Do you…” Her voice trailed off, and a frown overtook her usual smile. “Are you okay?” I turned towards the TV. “Why wouldn’t I be?” “You’ve got a nasty bruise.” I instinctively brought a hand up to the side of my face where I'd been punched yesterday. “I’m fine.” “What happened?” “I’m clumsy.” A moment of silence passed over us as I refused to elaborate.

specific

I’ll admit, I wasn’t stoked about being in an enclosed space with Max, but I didn’t know this place well enough to just pop on up to a specific place, so I sucked it up, and I slapped the button for the tenth floor. The soft piano music coming through the elevator’s speaker definitely did not fit the evil vibe I was going for. I tried to hum my own suitably evil background music, but Max cut me off with a harsh glare. I crossed my arms, and I did my best to return his glare. “What’s your problem today?” I questioned. Max’s top lip curled up into a snarl, and his eyes took on a harsh shade of blood red. “I just don’t like playing babysitter.” “Babysitter?” I echoed. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” “I’ve got to be the one to make sure that you don’t fuck everything up again.”

green

“You’re not going to get me down that easily.” Ms. Psychic;s words were as confident as ever, but her voice wavered slightly. I gritted my teeth and reached into my sleeve to start pulling out a line of handkerchiefs. “Oh, good.” I popped behind her to wrap the handkerchiefs around her neck and yank her back into my arms. “What kind of show would it be without a little drama?” She choked and kicked me in the shin, but I managed to pop us back up into the recording studio before I let go of her. “Here you go, folks.” I shoved Ms. Psychic towards the camera. “Our guest of honor!” She gritted her teeth and reeled around to face me. “I told you I’m not playing this game, Magician,” she growled. I huffed and stomped my foot. “Would you stop being such a bitch? This is supposed to be my big break!” One of the stage lights came flying at me, but I popped out of the way in time for it to rip through the green screen instead.

I'll tag @enchanted-lightning-aes, @space-writes, @author-a-holmes, @winterandwords, and anyone else who sees this and wants to play along.

Your words are forget, forever, favor, and forgive.

[cherrybombfangirlwrites]

WIP Themes Tag

tagged by: @arctic-oceans thanks! (this has been sitting in my drafts for ages oops)

tagging: Open Tag and soft tagging @wherearetheplants | @oh-no-another-idea | @bloodlessheirbyjaquces | @italiangothicwriteblr | @lyralit | @enchanted-lightning-aes | @winterandwords

how to: bold the themes that appear in your WIP (& italicize those that are loosely covered)

Fractured Stars Falling

addiction | beauty | betrayal | change vs. tradition | chaos vs. order | circle of life | coming of age | communication | convention vs. rebellion | corruption | courage | crime and law | dangers of ignorance | darkness and light | death | desire to escape | dreams | displacement | empowerment | facing darkness | facing reality | faith vs. doubt | fall from grace | fame and fortune | family | fate | fear | fear of failure | free will | friendship | fulfilment | good vs. bad | government | greed | guilt and forgiveness | hard work | heroism | hierarchy | honesty | hope | identity crisis | immortality | independence | individual vs. society | inner vs. outer strength | innocence | injustice | isolation | knowledge vs. ignorance | life | loneliness | lost love | love | man vs. nature | manipulation | materialism | motherhood | nature | nature vs. nurture | oppression | optimism | peer pressure | poverty | power | power of words | prejudice | pride | progress | quest | racism | rebirth | relationships | religion | responsibility | revenge | sacrifice | secrets | self-awareness | self-preservation | self-reliance | sexuality | social class structure | survival | technology | temptation and destruction | time | totalitarianism | weakness | vanity | war | wealth | wisdom of experience | youth

(the big one that's not on the list: trauma, how it affects us, and what makes life worth living)

The City is Ours

addiction | beauty | betrayal | change vs. tradition | chaos vs. order | circle of life | coming of age | communication | convention vs. rebellion | corruption | courage | crime and law | dangers of ignorance | darkness and light | death | desire to escape | dreams | displacement | empowerment | facing darkness | facing reality | faith vs. doubt | fall from grace | fame and fortune | family | fate | fear | fear of failure | free will | friendship | fulfilment | good vs. bad | government | greed | guilt and forgiveness | hard work | heroism | hierarchy | honesty | hope | identity crisis | immortality | independence | individual vs. society | inner vs. outer strength | innocence | injustice | isolation | knowledge vs. ignorance | life | loneliness | lost love | love | man vs. nature | manipulation | materialism | motherhood | nature | nature vs. nurture | oppression | optimism | peer pressure | poverty | power | power of words | prejudice | pride | progress | quest | racism | rebirth | relationships | religion | responsibility | revenge | sacrifice | secrets | self-awareness | self-preservation | self-reliance | sexuality | social class structure | survival | technology | temptation and destruction | time | totalitarianism | weakness | vanity | war | wealth | wisdom of experience | youth

Galaxy Destroyer

addiction | beauty | betrayal | change vs. tradition | chaos vs. order | circle of life | coming of age | communication | convention vs. rebellion | corruption | courage | crime and law | dangers of ignorance | darkness and light | death | desire to escape | dreams | displacement | empowerment | facing darkness | facing reality | faith vs. doubt | fall from grace | fame and fortune | family | fate | fear | fear of failure | free will | friendship | fulfillment | good vs. bad | government | greed | guilt and forgiveness | hard work | heroism | hierarchy | honesty | hope | identity crisis | immortality | independence | individual vs. society | inner vs. outer strength | innocence | injustice | isolation | knowledge vs. ignorance | life | loneliness | lost love | love | man vs. nature | manipulation | materialism | motherhood | nature | nature vs. nurture | oppression | optimism | peer pressure | poverty | power | power of words | prejudice | pride | progress | quest | racism | rebirth | relationships | religion | responsibility | revenge | sacrifice | secrets | self-awareness | self-preservation | self-reliance | sexuality | social class structure | survival | technology | temptation and destruction | time | totalitarianism | weakness | vanity | war | wealth | wisdom of experience | youth

(ones for this one that aren't on the list: fighting fascism/the dangers of capitalism (in the background of the story), learning to love something and protecting it, that's a baby not a weapon)

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Dragon Reborn! Chapter 22: The Price of the Ring

Everyone always wonders why heroes in fantasy stories are so reluctant to get the cool magical artifacts and stuff. This chapter justifies why you should be a little cautious around free doodads, especially when they're enchanted! Anything else would be spoilers though, and if you don't want spoilers for the whole Wheel of Time series, you shouldn't keep reading.

This chapter has the Flame of Tar Valon icon because we're seeing the Accepted ritual again and because Egwene is going to be the Flame of Tar Valon for a hot minute or two. Also the Amyrlin's voice is heard at the end. Lots of meaning, this chapter icon.

But Sheriam seemed to have dismissed the papers from her mind as soon as she asked.

Since the first word out of Egwene's mouth was "Verin," Sheriam probably dismissed them for that reason. She either knows Verin's allegiance or buys the cover that she's a distracted old wmoan.

“I listened to the lectures,” Egwene protested, “and I remember them, but . . . can’t I have a night’s sleep first?”

It's funny to consider that when Egwene gets raised next time, she'll spend a night traveling through the world of dreams.

An Aes Sedai sat cross-legged on the bare rock before each of the spots where arches joined ring, all three wearing their shawls. Alanna was the sister of the Green Ajah, but she did not know the Yellow sister, or the White.

Sadly, we don't know them either. I wouldn't at all be surprised though if they were significant players though, since Sheriam, Elaida, and Alanna all are too.

“She should not be given this chance.” There was iron in Elaida’s voice, and her face was scarcely softer. “I do not care what her potential is. She should be put out of the Tower. Or failing that, set to scrubbing floors for the next ten years.”

Elaida's just bitter that Moiraine has outmatched her in recent all-star recruitment. Cute that their animosity starts so early.

She sounded as if she had said this many times. There was a light of sympathy in her eyes, but her face was almost as stern as Elaida’s. The sympathy frightened Egwene more than the sternness.

If a member of the BA is feeling sorry for you, you know your life is about to suck hardcore.

“There is some sort of—resonance.” She never took her eyes from the arches. “An echo, almost. I do not know from where.”

Two T'A'R access points conflicting with each other?

“Then let her face what she fears.” Even in its formality, there was a note of satisfaction in Elaida’s voice.

Already Elaida thinks Egwene can't survive the punishments coming her way. And already she's wrong. A remarkably pig-headed woman.

Of course Rand was her husband—her handsome, loving husband—and Joiya was her daughter—the most beautiful, sweetest little girl in the Two Rivers. Tam, Rand’s father, was out with the sheep, supposedly so Rand could work on the barn but really so he could have more time to play with Joiya. This afternoon Egwene’s mother and father would come out from the village. And probably Nynaeve, to see if motherhood was interfering with Egwene’s studies to replace Nynaeve as Wisdom one day.

Egwene's first archway takes her to the closest equivalent of a fluffy high school/coffee shop AU that the setting can allow. A true hell for Egwene, who needs shit to do.

Egwene knew—she thought she knew—Whatever it was, was gone.

Egwene's Seanchan trauma is so strong that she can almost recall it across timelines. I think the only reason she doesn't spend any of the three arches in the damane collar is because she's already faced that fear as thoroughly as possible.

When Rand’s head hurt, strange things happened soon after. Lightning out of a clear sky, smashing to bits that huge oak stump he had been working two days to root out where he and Tam were clearing new field. Storms that Nynaeve did not hear coming when she listened to the wind. Wildfires in the forest. And the deeper his pain grew, the worse what followed.

Huh. After my migraines we get sudden thunderstorms and those cause forest fires. Am I the Dragon Preborn? I fucking hope not, though getting channeling as a reward for suffering through the headaches would be fucking fantastic.

But three times now, Egwene had cured someone Nynaeve had given up for dead. Three times she had sat to hold a hand through the last hour, and seen the person get up from a deathbed. Nynaeve had questioned her closely on what she had done, what herbs she had used, in what blending. Thus far, she had not found the courage to admit that she had done nothing.

It's interesting to note that in a world where the EF5 never leaves town, Egwene eventually becomes more capable at Healing than Nynaeve. It might just be that their blocks are different, I suppose, or that Wilders are prone to implausible feats in the initial period that they can't necessarily replicate after the fact, though Rand's channeling outbursts are things he'd do quite easily later.

She halted, looked back at Joiya gurgling in her cradle, at Rand still pressing hand to his head and looking at her as if wondering where she was going. “No,” she said. “No, this is what I want. This is what I want! Why can’t I have this, too?”

Fucking Wheel, making women choose between families and careers no matter what position it's in. How depressing.

She stiffened her back and kept walking, but she could not keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks. Rand’s groans built to a scream, drowning Joiya’s laughter. From the corner of her eye, Egwene saw Tam coming, running as hard as he could.

Really the fact that Joiya is laughing hysterically while her dad is having a horrible meltdown is good evidence that these possible timelines aren't entirely real but are specifically designed as a trap.

“Every woman I have ever watched come out of there has asked that question. The answer is, no one knows. It has been speculated that perhaps some of those who do not come back chose to stay because they found a happier place, and lived out their lives there.” Her voice hardened. “If it is real, and they stayed from choice, then I hope the lives they live are far from happy. I have no sympathy for any who run from their responsibilities.”

And what about your responsibilities to not be an evil witch, Sheriam? Pretty hypocritical of you to judge the women trapped in the ter'angreal when you aren't even a true believer but only joined for political power!

She stared down at her dress, blue silk sewn with pearls, all dusty and torn. Her head came up, and she took in the ruins of a great palace around her. The Royal Palace of Andor, in Caemlyn.

This is of course foreshadowing the eventual destruction of Caemlyn as the central location of the Last Battle that never does quite come to pass under Brando Sando's work.

Once she stepped on a woman’s arm, sticking out from under a mound of plaster and bricks that had been an interior wall and perhaps part of the floor above. She noticed the arm as little as she noticed the Great Serpent ring on one finger. She had trained herself not to see the dead buried in the refuse heap Trollocs and Darkfriends had made of Caemlyn. She could do nothing for the dead.

It's for the best that real Egwene never quite has to steel herself in this way.

“The madness, Egwene. I am—actually—holding it—at bay.” His gasping laugh made her skin prickle. “But it takes everything I have just to do that. If I let go, even a little, even for an instant, the madness will have me. I won’t care what I do then. You have to help me.”

A lot of people think that Egwene judges Rand way too harshly in later books and while I definitely don't think she's as good as a friend as she should have been, I think we can blame this vision for some of it. The Rand of later books becomes more and more like this madman, laughing at inappropriate, mood swinging violently, not always able to channel reliably or effectively. Egwene gets to see the end of the road before everyone else does and even though he's still relatively stable in LOC, she's definitely seeing him take the first steps down it.

“If they take me—the Myrddraal—the Dreadlords—they can turn me to the Shadow. If madness has me, I cannot fight them. I won’t know what they are doing till it is too late. If there is even a spark of life left when they find me, they can still do it. Please, Egwene. For the love of the Light. Kill me.”

While the arches do seem to be psychologically manipulative, they are also great teaching tools. This scenario is clearly built out of Egwene's fear of Rand's channeling ability, but it has to up the stakes even beyond that and so pulls more facts for her to learn from.

It is a thing not done, so far as I know—Light send it has not been done!—since the Trolloc Wars. It took thirteen Dreadlords—Darkfriends who could channel—weaving the flows through thirteen Myrddraal. You see? Not easily done. There are no Dreadlords today.

But there are members of the Black Ajah, who are Dreadlords in all but name. And Sheriam can lie. But like I said, she's not a true believer, she did it for the opportunity. Is she being truthful to Egwene here, both in that the technique has not been done in two thousand years and in that she hopes it has never been done? Is that one of the reasons she holds her position, to recruit naturally and hope that things never turn to filling out the numbers in a different fashion?

Egwene stared into the standing mirror, and was not sure whether she was more surprised by the ageless smoothness of her face or the striped stole that hung around her neck. The stole of the Amyrlin Seat.

Like Nynaeve, Egwene's third vision is of a very similar future to the fate she actually gets. Is that common to all of the women who go through these arches, or is it just that their fates are so firm there's nothing to pull from but the truth?

There was an Aes Sedai at her elbow, a woman with Sheriam’s high cheekbones but dark hair and concerned brown eyes, and the hand-wide stole of the Keeper on her shoulders. Not Sheriam, though. Egwene had never seen her before; she was sure she knew her as well as she knew herself. Haltingly, she put a name to the woman. Beldeine.

"Not Sheriam, though." Fun foreshadowing for Egwene's first Keeper and her removal, that.

That thought shook her. Not that she had been Green Ajah, but that she had to reason it out.

Another question is whether the ring broke this vision but not the other two because of repeated exposure, or if the future-predicting aspects of both ter'angreal was the thing that let the resonance grow out of control?

That seemed an odd thought, too. Part of her remembered something called the Great Purge. Part of her was sure no such thing had happened.

A much less important question is if the Great Purge of this timeline was more or less successful than the main timeline, considering how things turned out.

The Flame of Tar Valon lay centered in the floor, surrounded by widening spirals of color, the colors of the seven Ajahs. At the opposite side of the room from where the ramp entered, a high-backed chair stood, heavy and ornately carved in vines and leaves, painted in the colors of all the Ajahs.

Our first look at the hall, even if it is fake. Note the emphasis both in-text and in-universe on all seven Ajahs. Even though there's definitely some problems and changes to come, all are consistently treated as an integral part of the Tower until the breaking.

One of the Red Sitters stood. Egwene was shocked to recognize Elaida. At the same time she knew that Elaida was foremost of the Sitters for the Red, and her own bitterest enemy.

Lucky of Elaida to not get taken by the Seanchan. Perhaps the arches neglected that detail specifically to fuck with Egwene more, or perhaps it was an inevitable consequence of whatever butterfly effect we're dealing with here.

One of the Green Sitters was on her feet, anger bright through her calm. “Shame, Elaida! Show respect for the Amyrlin Seat! Show respect for the Mother!”

Obviously this could be virtually any non-Black Green, but I like to think it's Farnah specifically. Could be Faiselle though if it's one of the three actual Sitters Egwene gets, probably not Rubinde since she's an Elaida loyalist in the real timeline.

As Egwene opened her mouth, Beldeine moved beside her. Then the Keeper’s staff struck her head.

No surprise that Beldeine, one of the women who will be sent to box Rand, would betray Egwene to Elaida even as her Keeper.

The pain in her head made thinking difficult, but it seemed important to count them. Thirteen.

Would being 13x13ed here have truly changed Egwene, I wonder? Was Sheriam hoping it might and trying to play towards it, or is this entirely of the resonance and thus not an outcome she could have predicted?

Flames burst from Myrddraal skin, ripping through black cloth as if they were solid daggers of fire. Shrieking Halfmen crisped and burned like oiled paper. Fist-sized chunks of stone tore themselves free of the walls and whizzed across the room, producing shrieks and grunts as they thudded into flesh. The air stirred, shifted, howled into a whirlwind.

Either Egwene is able to throw around way more power than she should be able to (our girls will later find out that setting Halfmen on fire is actually a rather bad choice, all things considered), or the arches are just playing along with her.

Egwene’s mind put a name to the face. Gyldan. Elaida’s closest confidante, always whispering together in corners, closeting themselves in the night.

We do not ever meet a Gyldan in the main timeline. She may be a real Black who just doesn't get up to much in reality, or perhaps the real Gyldan is even more unremarkable and in this timeline Mesaana replaces her, not the Brown (in which case, good on you for punching her out Egwene!). Perhaps she doesn't exist at all, though Beldeine certainly does.

It was unnerving, trotting through empty hallways. The White Tower no longer held the numbers it once had, but there was usually someone about.

Consider that the White Tower is already at its lowest membership count ever and that in this timeline we have no evidence of the reforms that lead to the Rebels having a larger roster. It may well be that with the Blacks mostly purged (or victims mostly purged, since obviously 13 are still running around), the Tower has virtually no one left at this point.

“What would you have done? What? Nothing! There’s nothing you can do. But they said they could give it back to me, with the power of . . . the power of the Dark One.”

So apparently Nynaeve never cured stilling in this timeline. She and Elayne, and really a wide variety of Aes Sedai who you'd think would be a bit sympathetic to our girl here, all seem to be gone. Has the resonance up and put Egwene in a T'A'R nightmare, is that why things are so incoherent? Can she not remember what happened not purely by glitch in the system but because there's no logical way to arrive at this scenario, so there's no memories to give her?

“More than anyone suspects,” Egwene said. “I never held the Oath Rod, Beldeine.”

This of course should technically be another bit of early installment weirdness where Jordan hasn't decided that the Oath Rod is what causes the ageless look, not channeling as a whole, but since we're in a resonance cascade or whatever it might as well be just another mismatched puzzle piece in the mystery that is this timeline.

It would need to be done quickly; there was no point if Rand was gentled while she was still wrapping Warders in Air. Even Warders would break if she loosed the lightnings on them, and balefire, and broke the ground under their feet.

I love how balefire isn't even the final option here. "I'll shoot them with lightning, and if that doesn't work I'll retroactively remove them from existence, and if THAT doesn't work I'll stick their legs in a rock because if they refuse to be balefired they obviously can't be killed, only slowed down."

Twelve Aes Sedai surrounded him, and another—who Egwene knew had to be wearing a seven-striped stole, even though she could not distinguish it—stood before Rand.

You've got to hand it to Elaida. Very few people have a destiny so set in stone that it comes true in an alternate timeline that isn't really even a timeline, but dammit every variation of her that has ever existed is going to usurp the Amyrlin Seat, and that includes nightmare versions.

Thirteen Aes Sedai. Twelve sisters and the Amyrlin, the traditional number for gentling. The same number as for. . . .

No Egwene, focus on that thought. Sure it's really only because of the metaphysics that everyone's arrived on the same number, but what does it say about the White Tower that its court system is only a mirror image of the Black Ajah's most despicable ritual?

There on the tower top, tilted to sit flat against the sloping tiles, was a silver arch filled with a glowing light. The arch flickered and wavered; streaks of angry red and yellow darted through the white light.

Are they having troubles keeping the door open because of the resonance alone, or because Egwene's scenario is so far off the map it's not normally where the arches point to? I know we'll never know, but both answers provide such rich potential for how the arches work at all. Alas.

Light plucked her apart fiber by fiber, sliced the fibers to hairs, split the hairs to wisps of nothing. All drifted apart on the light. Forever.

Pardon the math joke, but isn't that being a bit hyperbolic, Egwene?

Next time: Egwene recovers from her sorority hazing!

[sleepyowlwrites]

Ash and Amber | Colors and Creation

so one time I swallowed a desert, one time it followed me home. it sat upon my doorstep and it kept me all alone. it shifted through my albums and taught me how to cry. I couldn’t find my tears because the desert drained me dry.

I linked strings to all the memories I’d buried with the sun. I dug them up and took a look at all that I had done. the desert sat beside me, sat inside me, wrung me out. I plowed through sand and sadness and refused to sit and drown.

so one time the desert ate me, consumed me, body and soul. and I clawed my way out, and climbed my way up, until at last I was a semblance of whole. and the desert did desert me, and I stole back all my tears, and I lingered in the spaces where I once had hid my fears.

I stabbed every single enemy, I found my courage in the light.

So one time I swallowed a desert, but it didn’t swallow my fight.

[ID: a divider made up of various leaves in shades of blue /end ID]

originally written in 2021 by M. J. Valentine

poetry taglist: @enchanted-lightning-aes @diphthongsfordays @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @winterandwords @pandawriterstuff @the-orangeauthor @jaxwrites

[soleilst]

▪︎3 Times the Moon Visited Me (original short story)

I've always been enchanted by the starlit sky, for countless nights it was the only thing I had. It seemed to bring some sense of comfort to my sleepless nights. At nights such as those, you see, I never slept, I couldn't...I simply waltzed around my chamber either in deep thought or utter anticipation. I was either lamenting over my own worries or waiting patiently for her arrival--sometimes both. Who is her that I am speaking of you may wonder, but fret not dear reader,as the one I'm describing is no other than the moon herself.

You see, in my dreamers nights of solitude there was one that kept me company, and oh was she fine company... Fortunately she visited me quite often, every night in fact. However three were the times that I ever got to talk to her.

The first time I remember quite vividly, for it was the night I met her. To me this night is very dear, so I would appreciate greatly if you paid slightly more attention to this passage.

It all happened on a cold December night, like all enthralling things do. I was of course in my little room of solitude, this night in particular sitting curled up in a dark and dusty corner where no candlelight could reach me. Bruises covered my skin like purple patches of fabric, yet they all stung horribly as they were quite fresh. It wasn't that I wasn't used to them though, and in spite of their appearance on my body being quite frequent, the words that were uttered upon their creation always hurt the most.

There i sat and wept by myself once again on a starry night. The chamber was completely silent for the biggest part of the night, however ae the clock neared midnight the howl of the wind accompanied my pathetic sounds of sorrow, whistling in my ears words filled with loathing and hatred, not for anyone in particular, just myself.

The air around me seemed to become thicker and breathing increased in difficulty. It felt adequate though I was drowning in an abyss of self-loathing. My senses were clouded and panic surged through my chest as I got up shakily and made my way with stumbing steps to the chamber's inky window.

Slowly, I tried to regain my composure and release my body from this horrible tension and anxiety that had possessed it momentarily. However, the teats glistening in my eyes didn't go unnoticed. Moments later, as I gad placed my head in between my arms on the windowsill in an attempt to wind down, a shining light caught my attention. As the bells of the church signaled the arrival or midnight, the clouds in the sky drifted ro reveal : her.

There she stood, in the middle of the midnight sky, smiling down at me with such tenderness I had never in my life seen before.

"Thou shall not stain thy porcelain face with tears" she said as she approached me.

Her voice was that of an ethereal entity, it's echo embracing all silence in the room and making it quickly disappear info thin air.

"The sky as thou see it is quite crowded with stars, is it not? They could not gauge the number of orbs up above."

As she said this I couldn't help myself from turning to have a look at the starry sky. Perhaps I gazed for too long though, as her next words were of such :

"Do not be fooled by its beauty, my child. Do thou know what it takes to create beauty?" She asked and turned to face me.

Hesitantly I shook my head and she averted her gaze to the night sky again.

"Every star that adorns thy night sky stands for every tear thous mortals shed. Every light up above the sky represents all the pain and sorrows of humanity, every single one of them stands for one of your tear-stained laments thous exclaim in woe."

Upon hearing this I wiped my tears in embarrassment, feeling exposed and suddenly aware of my actions.

"Is it bad?" I asked her in a voice that was barely a whisper.

"No, it is not." She responded and turned to face me once again. "However, I do not enjoy seeing thou weep in pain under my gaze." She said and a small smile adorned her lips before she leaned closer and enveloped me in her arms.

That night, despite it being freezing outside, I found myself asleep on my chamber's windowsill. Unaware of the harsh winds of winter, I slept peacefully with the stars as my duver and her voice as my lullaby.

The second time she visited me I was not alone.

A pitch black familiar rested on my lap as I stroked its fur with gentle movements. From time to time it would make a noise of satisfaction and turn to look at me with eyes of emerald.

The familiar and I sat in the middle of my chamber, on top of a carpet that was covered in dust. Around us laid a thousand pieces of objects that once decorated this room.

I must admit it was a shame that they were so heartless destroyed.

Thankfully not many had harmed me.

The little familiar was humming nocturnal tunes the whole time until the church's bells chimed twelve times.

Suddenly the familiar fell silent and jumped from my lap and made its way to the window, rubbing its head on the foggy glass, as of signaling me to open it.

Curiously I followed its instructions and was immediately met with a freezing gush of wind which sent shivers down my spine.

"I see thou are not in solitude too." Spoke a mysteriously familiar voucher.

"It's...you?" I asked in utter bewilderment.

"Yes, tis' I and thou, thou and I, do thy eyes lie?"

I shook my head in response and brought the familiar closer to my chest before it could jump odd the window.

"My child, tis such a beautiful night, why are thou isolating thouself from the nocturnal joys? There's no use in mourning over mere materials." She said and I guessed that she probably had a look at the state of my chamber.

I didn't reply, instead turning ro look a the disarray of objects as well. I felt empty, as I'd the destruction of my possessions as also the eradication of my inner self, my thoughts, my emotions--everything.

"It is not easy for one to let go of something they hold dear. The stars let fo of their light ro illuminate the earth, the moon and the sun as well. What is stopping this from doing so too?"

"I-i..." I stuttered, but she cut me off before u could utter a concrete sentence.

"Yoh are attached." She stated and shook her head in disapproval and mild disappointment. "Thou is attached to things that have inflicted nothing but harm upon thou. Is it really worth mourning their loss?"

I glanced down at my feet in shame. She was right but I still didn't feel exactly content.

"Sorrow and woe thou shall not feel. Instead, lift thy head up and celebrate. Celebrate thy unspoken liberation."

This eas the last thing she said that night, right before she disappeared once again.

But as she did so, for the first time that night I felt something other than grief--I felt hope.

The third and last time she visited me was the night before My birthday and on that night I was already sat on my windowsill, filled with anticipation.

I could tell this night would ve special, for it was the first time in a while that I felt genuinely happy. My eyes gleamed with hope as I waited anxiously for the chime of the bells to echo and midnight to arrive.

When she appeared on that night, she didn't greet me--she looked solemn.

"Recknsider, my child...Thou do not deserve this." Was all she said that night.

Despite her lack of word though, she stayed by my side for the entirety of it.

I savored each and every moment. The lamination of the stars, the dark shadows and most importantly: her.

"Farewell, my friend." She spoke for the last time, as she cupped my face with both hands and laid a kiss on my forehead before disappearing into the night.

Tears mixed with anguish and joy flowed down my face.

I was finally free.

Free from my bounds.

Free for eternity.

Those were my thoughts as I smiled to myself before jumping from the chamber's only window and putting this story to an end.

I was liberated, never to be bound again.

.

.

.

And then the sun rose.

[sarandipitywrites]

NaNo update 11/27

ok so here's what we're gonna do. i'm gonna put today's Art of Empty Space excerpt under the cut. i'm going to walk away. and i'm going to go cry in a corner. ok? ok.

"Lienzo?" His legs froze in place, rooted his feet to the floor. Lienzo stood in the center of the grand foyer, gazing at the stained glass above the stairs. And there he was. Baz hesitated on the mid-tier landing, his hand resting on the banister. Outside, the clouds parted just the barest sliver. Golden light spilled through the crack, painting crow-black hair in radiance. "You came back." A hot, giddy buzzing started in Lienzo's chest, radiated out to the rest of his body. "Of course I did." Every nerve screamed for him to move, to rush forward, but he was paralyzed — enchanted by the pull and stretch of muscle as Baz took the stairs two at a time, by the sweeping sway of cloak and tail. Not even his lips obeyed him as they stretched into a wide, ridiculous grin. "What, did you think I'd forgotten you?" Baz stopped, less than an arm's length away. The sun stuttered and flickered in his eyes; his smile cracked. He wrapped his arms around Lienzo and squeezed until Lienzo thought their skin might run together like ink on a page. But however he tried to melt into it, the embrace couldn't touch the numb, guilty hollow in Lienzo's chest. After too short an eternity, the pressure decreased. "I— I thought..." Baz pulled away, hands trailing down Lienzo's arms as though they couldn't yet bear to let him go. "When you left with them, I thought—" "Well, don't think. I said I'd stay, and I meant it." He'd meant it then. He meant it now. He couldn't leave if he tried. "Lienzo—" His hands slipped down to Lienzo's. They ghosted over his wrists. Baz's soft smile twisted into confusion. "Lienzo?" Lienzo's heart shuddered. "It's— it's not—" Baz took Lienzo's left hand in both of his, pushed his sleeve up. A band of pale skin where there should have been a band of silver. "You...?" "I had to." His heart wobbled, teetered on the edge. "I didn't have a choice, Baz, my maza was sick and we needed the money, and..." The words withered and died in his mouth. The pinched confusion on Baz's face crumpled. He glanced from the empty space on Lienzo's wrist to his face. He swallowed once, twice. His expression hardened. Lips peeled back from vicious teeth. "...Baz?" Baz snarled and shoved him. Lienzo stumbled back, slipped. He fell. Shuddering shockwaves radiated from his tailbone to his skull. His heart dropped to the floor and shattered. Baz turned, dropped to all fours, and ran up the stairs and out of sight. The clouds outside churned and thickened, snuffing out the sun. Distant thunder growled over the sea.

AES taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @notwritinganyflufftoday

[writingamongther0ses]

Hiya there again. Happy STS! If any of your stories was animated, what type of animation would you choose? - (@enchanted-lightning-aes)

I have three in mind:

Don Bluth style

Cartoon Saloon

Old school Disney

Hand drawn- Flying Bark stuff

I just really love 2D animation and really wish it would be brought back as full movie animation (with the animators getting properly paid and treated, of course). I actually, as a writing exercise, imagined at least three of my WIPs as cartoons with symbolism:

Bad End: Lot of grey and darkness and under that brown and green; almost all light is artificial and you can’t see what colors the characters are under the darkness and different lighting so you’re constantly guessing; a mixture of art styles like Gravity Falls and Over the Garden Wall; in happy or hopeful scenes the rain stops and the sunshine peeks through and in real light you can see what the characters look like.

Arcane: Like the poisons in Jekyll’s glass cabinets, Henry and Emma have this sort of glitter around them; Virginia gleams silver because she might be under their care but she’s not one of them; the glitter disappears when you get to see under their masks; transformations and Hyde always have lime green lighting.

Among the Stars: Mixture of 3D and anime style; all scenes in the Empire have false lightning and the Resistance has mostly natural light; halo symbolism for the Lowes; Death Sendura has a lot of shadows while Kate has a lot of light.

[akindofmagictoo]

DRAGONSONG: draft 2 update: 06/04

previous word count: 54,876

current word count: 56,692 (1816 words added)

notes: at this point in the draft it's a nice balance of "broadly similar to draft 1" and "tweaking stuff to make it fit properly". i think the character moments are much better this draft :)

snippet: (ft grumpy dragon <3)

As Sierra and Holly left their little campsite, Enya fluttered over and landed on Isi’s shoulder, then smacked her with her tail. “What can I do for you?” Isi asked. Enya grumbled, took off, and landed by the fire SB was halfway through constructing. When Isi stayed where she was, Enya huffed smoke and gestured with her head towards the half-finished fire. “Is she gonna help me light this thing?” SB said. Isi smiled. “I have no idea, but she is hungry, and thinks we should be eating already.” “She’s right. It’s getting late for an evening meal.” “Sierra and Holly will be back soon.” Isi directed her next words to Enya. “Soon, Enya. Soon.” Enya huffed again, then curled up on the ground.

TAGLIST

@isherwoodj @metanoiamorii @lilmissravingwriter @weekofwednesdays @the-unwrittenwriter @talesofsorrowandofruin @little-boats-on-a-lake @teriwrites @magicalwriting @magic-is-something-we-create @writingbyjillian @waysofink @perditism @thehellinsideyourhead @calicowrites @vellichor-virgo @google-plexed @therecouldbecolorsandlove @the-orangeauthor @ellatholmes @happyorogeny @ladywithalamp @ashen-crest @authortango @strangerays @moononherwings @nikkywrites @ambersky0319 @ambsthom @talesfromgringolandia @wickerring @wizardfromthesea @diphthongsfordays @e-lisard @enchanted-lightning-aes @emscribblings @teardropsandtherain @lowslore @fablewritten @copper-dragon-in-disguise @reneesbooks @dirtybarkshark

[livums]

Hey there, Liv! Gallimimus and Carnotaurus - from the dino ask game, pls? Sending all the good ☆☆ vibes ☆☆ and good luck to ya! - 💫 (@enchanted-lightning-aes)

Hi enchant!! tysm for the ask 💜💜💜

(Ask game here!)

Gallimimus - share a happy or lighthearted scene

this one also sent me into a crisis because i was like ... have i really not written one lighthearted scene....... by god..... this was the closest I could come up with and even that is like. tinged with some amount of edgy thrill. LOL. anyhow, it's short but the next one is so long that it evens out i think

Kesh was still growing accustomed to walking around as herself. Her grin was as wide as her stomach was twisted. The dazed wind of late summer that ambled through the market alley did tug through her rusty curls, and at points blew them right into her dark eyes, as if to remind her that she was really doing this. That when she sauntered past the stalls and the wares therein, what the merchants and townsfolk would see when their eyes drifted over her (for truly she looked nothing special) was not the skin of one invented or imitated, but the light brown into which she had been born. And the freckles that stippled her arms, her neck, and her cheeks, blushing from the glee, had been splashed there by no intention save the Sun’s itself (or Himself, for they were in Host country).

Carnotaurus - share a scene that contains some cool worldbuilding

Sylah spoke first. “Hunter Vordenburg,” she called. “I see you have managed to track down our lorekeeper.” Without hesitating, Dove pivoted on her heel and dipped her head for a moment in deference. “Good evening, Hunter Renora,” she replied. “Your eulogy this afternoon was striking. Powerful.” From any other hunter, Sylah might have rolled her eyes at the compliment. But from Dove, every word was said in earnest. “As I mentioned, I have business with Sister Genevieve. I had not been successful in locating her until this very moment.” Dove paused, thoughtful. “I must have only just missed her all day.” Over Dove’s shoulder, Sylah locked eyes with Nieve, who quickly looked away. So her nun had been alerted to the hunter’s arrival, likely by Father Asa, if Sylah’s guess was correct. Dove turned away from Sylah to face Nieve once again. “Sister,” she said. “I meant to confer with you regarding the presence of vampire-marked individuals in the town and surrounding area…” As Dove spoke, Sylah watched closely the way Nieve’s eyes remained glued to a point on the wall, the way her face had gone a tinge paler, the way she reached up to adjust her hair—finding that it was tucked away beneath her veil and coif, she instead laid her hands on the table, one atop the other. With every word from the hunter, Nieve looked like she would more and more like to climb up the wall to escape. Sylah’s instinct was to intervene, but she found herself refraining. Her eyes did not stray from the nun and her fretting. Sylah crossed her arms over her chest, adopting a more relaxed stance and continuing to observe the exchange in silence. Even as Nieve looked more and more like she was liable to explode. She wanted Nieve to ask for her help.

“…and if you might be so kind as to grant me access to your records. Any censuses taken from the last three decades would suffice,” Dove finished. A formality—under the Guild’s authority, Dove could kick open the door of the Abbey archives if she so chose and access anything she wished, and no one could stop her. Nieve knew this as well as anyone. The nun picked at a stray fiber on one of her wide cuffs. “Certainly.” To her credit, Nieve’s voice remained far more composed than she herself seemed. “The Guild is within its rights to audit our records.” Sylah could not see Dove’s face, but she could hear the sincerity and the smile in her voice. “You have my gratitude,” she said. Sylah sensed hesitation before Dove went on: “There is another matter of some importance which I should like to discuss with you directly. May I share your table?” She gestured with one hand to the empty chair across from Nieve. Despite Dove’s courtesy, Nieve refused to meet the hunter’s eyes. Sylah watched intently. If Nieve permitted Dove to join her, she would be well and truly trapped in conversation. But refusal was suspicious. Nieve finally raised her face. She smiled a feeble smile at Dove. “Please do,” she said. When she did not so much as glance in her direction, Sylah frowned. “Thank you.” As with all of her motion, Dove took her seat with what Sylah could only have described as mechanical perfection. From sliding the chair out from under the table, to straightening it out, to tucking the length of her cloak tidily beneath her as she sat. She then reached within her cloak to produce a small book. A short pencil was attached and dangling from a length of string. Sylah was surprised to find that she remembered the thing—Dove had used it to study the Hecatologue when they were apprentices. Sure enough, as she flipped cleanly through the pages with her thumb, Sylah spied the neat and precise repetition of the commandments, one after the other, in perhaps the tiniest penmanship known to mankind. As Dove readied herself for whatever inquiry she had planned, Sylah found her ears homing in on the absence of the telltale squeaking of the tavern door swinging open and shut. The tide of incomers had stemmed in the time since her and Zova’s arrival. The buzz of conversation remained lively, if uneasy. “Now,” Dove said, laying the book flat on the table, open to a fresh page. “You are indeed Sister Genevieve Ostra, of the Abbey of Mont Estival. This is correct?” Nieve’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Aye.” “Thank you,” Dove continued, as if they were alone in a study as opposed to huddled in the corner of a busy tavern. She made small and quick marks on the page. “And you are not a native to this place.” Nieve’s hands shifted slightly to rest on her forearms, as if holding herself. “I am not.” “Where is your place of origin?” “…Issile.”

Dove looked up from her writing. “And what was the reason for your relocation?” Sylah stopped herself from clicking her tongue in disapproval. It was not a question she would have felt necessary to ask—everyone knew the woeful state that had plagued Issile for as long as anyone alive could remember. But Dove was nothing if not thorough. Behind Sylah, the door creaked. Open, and shut again. Nieve’s gaze was momentarily unfocused, blank. “It was dangerous. The evils, you know. My family sent me away to live with my cousin, here.” “Yes, the abbot.” Dove nodded. “But none of your immediate family joined you. Why is that?” Sylah tensed. Dove was circling the heart of the matter, and she would stalk the truth until she was convinced that she had found it. And Nieve was not a good liar. The nun replied, albeit with hesitation. She could not be far from yielding. “My family—“ She stopped herself sharply. Sylah could almost hear the calculations that Nieve had made, in real time: her knowledge that the truth condemned her as vampire-marked, her instinct to lie that her family had perished or otherwise succumbed to the stalking horrors, her realization that Dove (or any Guildsman) would not have posed the question without already knowing the answer, in all or in part. Her understanding that she was cornered. Nieve’s mouth remained open while she considered her situation. The moment dragged on. Finally, finally, her dark eyes met Sylah’s, and Sylah felt as if she had been struck by lightning. She let herself take in that face, that face that silently pleaded, Help me. At last, Nieve had acquiesced. Sylah allowed herself the barest of moments to savor it. She tried to keep a smile off of her face. Then, she nodded minutely, and sprang into action. “Sister,” she cut in, her tone firm. “You look unwell.” It was not a lie—Nieve looked one rough shake away from being ill or falling onto her face. Dove turned in her seat. She looked at Sylah as if she had forgotten that she had been standing there. Maybe she had—Dove was always the focused sort. When Sylah met the hunter’s eyes, she could not help but think of Father’s journal. What had been taken from it. What the Guild had decided was worthy of redaction. What they had decided she should not be permitted to read. She found herself wondering just how much Dove knew. Rationally, she understood that a novice like Dove would not be privy to the higher-level machinations of the Guild authorities. Yet the question prodded at her. She thought again of Zova’s misgivings. She thought of the voice: Beware.

“Aye…” Nieve cleared her throat. “Forgive me, good Hunter, I have been out of sorts since yesterday…” she said to Dove, weakly. Sylah bolstered the nun’s timid assertion. “Hunter Vordenburg, our lorekeeper seems unfit to continue this conversation. I will escort her back to the abbey now.” She leaned on her seniority, and hoped that Dove registered how non-negotiable this was. One way or another, she was taking Nieve home. “I see.” Dove’s expression was unreadable. As subtly as she could, Sylah scanned her colleague’s face for any sign of displeasure. Seniority could only rescue them from the immediate line of fire. If Dove had an inkling that Nieve was dodging interrogation, or that Sylah was purposefully obstructing the inquest, they would invite more danger than they sought to avoid. “We’ll be off, then. Excuse us,” she said, indicating for Nieve to rise. The nun stood at the prompting, but her eyes never left Dove, whose eyes never left Sylah. Before she realized it, Sylah was holding out a gloved and lightly-curled fist. The back of her hand facing Dove, she offered the young woman her knuckles. Relief cascaded through her when she saw that the gesture had the intended impact. Dove’s brown eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. The closest she would come to showing her surprise. After a second’s hesitation, she reached up with the back of her own fist, lightly tapping her knuckles against Sylah’s. Far from the usual precision of her movements, Dove approached the motion like some sort of baby animal, with a big and wide uncertainty about everything. Sylah found that a cordial smile had worked its way across her face. “As brothers,” she said. “Blood and ally,” Dove responded. She did not mirror Sylah’s smile, but her delight was obvious in the way she nodded, short yet ardent. It was clear to Sylah that she had truly caught Dove unawares with her small salute, for even as she made her way with Nieve to the door, she could still cast a look behind her and see that her colleague remained in her seat. Dove looked down at her hands and thumbed idly through her little notebook.