#i am making eimileen problematic

[of-elves-and-mad-hatters]

WIP

A little segment from Ch. 11 of The Azure Sky that I'm working on.

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Emily reaches a hand absentmindedly to her amulet. It feels cold again, prickly with static. Unpleasant. 

An instense spark jolts her finger. She recoils. 

A rush of half-faded images, a memory, impress upon her mind. Her eight-year-old self trembling under a quilt on her grandmother’s couch, crying because there was a wailing thunderstorm that night and she hated the way the world looked when it was lit up by lightning. 

They illuminated the dark faces in the trees, the ones too melded with the night to see any other time. And she begged her grandmother to make them go away. 

Her grandmother smiled pityingly, and whispered that she was too old to be hunting spirits anymore, but not to worry, that the dark things were farther away than they appeared, and that there were barriers that kept them locked away. Because that’s how the light deals with darkness, by casting it far away. 

Of course there were the few who dealt with things by swallowing the shadows, but her grandmother told her never to pay them much mind. That you should just tell them white lies because they tended to be grumpy and might not otherwise help anyone with the darkness. 

Little Emily objected. Her parents said that lying was always wrong. 

Her grandmother only smiled gently, tucked a strand of hair behind the child’s ear. Whispered, “Sometimes the only way to love is to lie”. 

[exams-will-make-me-cry]

"Sometimes the only way to love is to lie."

How the fuck did you just quote my OCs?

WIP

A little segment from Ch. 11 of The Azure Sky that I'm working on.

----------

Emily reaches a hand absentmindedly to her amulet. It feels cold again, prickly with static. Unpleasant. 

An instense spark jolts her finger. She recoils. 

A rush of half-faded images, a memory, impress upon her mind. Her eight-year-old self trembling under a quilt on her grandmother’s couch, crying because there was a wailing thunderstorm that night and she hated the way the world looked when it was lit up by lightning. 

They illuminated the dark faces in the trees, the ones too melded with the night to see any other time. And she begged her grandmother to make them go away. 

Her grandmother smiled pityingly, and whispered that she was too old to be hunting spirits anymore, but not to worry, that the dark things were farther away than they appeared, and that there were barriers that kept them locked away. Because that’s how the light deals with darkness, by casting it far away. 

Of course there were the few who dealt with things by swallowing the shadows, but her grandmother told her never to pay them much mind. That you should just tell them white lies because they tended to be grumpy and might not otherwise help anyone with the darkness. 

Little Emily objected. Her parents said that lying was always wrong. 

Her grandmother only smiled gently, tucked a strand of hair behind the child’s ear. Whispered, “Sometimes the only way to love is to lie”.