#which is why its sat there for months untended

[fruityumbrella]

reading back my own wip is driving me crazy like fuck me this writing is so GOOD AAAAAA.

its not Objectively good of course, its too long winded and heavy handed and outright confusing in some parts bc of how wordy the sentences are, but its so absolutely perfect FOR ME. like its so good. im obsessed w myself. amen

[arotechno]

The Heartless: Chapter 4

Read on Inkitt

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Chapter IV: in which ignorance is bliss

The next day found us in the next town over, a small farming village full of stout cottages and open pastures. Petra briefly suggested we snag a few vegetables from whichever farmer’s harvest looked the most plentiful, an idea I promptly shot down with a reminder that we don’t steal. She was not deterred, however, and I caught her more than once snatching a handful of berries or an almost-ripe cucumber out of some poor family’s garden.

On one such occasion, I caught her literally red-handed plucking raspberries off of a row of scraggly bushes behind a small cottage overgrown with vines snaking up the walls around a weather-worn wooden back door.

“Petra, how many times do I have to tell you to stop?” I scolded. “Every time I turn around you’re at it again. I thought we agreed before we left home that we weren’t here to steal.”

Petra stood up from her squatting position between the rows of bushes, dropping a handful of berries into her bag. “How many times do I have to tell you that I have done this a hundred times and have never been caught?” she retorted.

“You have been caught, Petra. Need I remind you yet again that I saved your life?”

“You and I both know that had very little to do with the food.” Petra stared at me incredulously, challenging me to argue further.

I took the bait. “Okay, fine, but that doesn’t change the fact that this food belongs to someone else.”

“Does it, Ace? Look around you!” Petra gestured broadly around us, at the overgrown house and untended garden rows full of weeds that came up past our ankles. To our right stood a run-down stable that looked like it hadn’t seen use in a very long time. I was beginning to consider the possibility that Petra was actually right when the back door clattered and a woman’s voice rang out over the garden.

“Do I know you two kids?” the voice asked, its owner scurrying through the garden towards us, holding a baby of no more than several months at her hip.

Serves me right, I thought, frozen in place at the woman’s approach like a deer at the sound of an arrow being unsheathed. Petra quickly hid her hands behind her back and kicked me lightly in the shin as if to say, be normal in front of this woman or I will leave you here and never come back.

“Sorry, ma’am,” I apologized when the woman stopped several feet from us, her free hand placed on her other hip. “My… sister doesn’t have any manners.”

At that, Petra kicked me again, this time not so lightly, though the motion was obscured from the woman’s view by the row of untrimmed bushes between us. I stifled a wince at the pain and shook my ankle discreetly, ignoring the odd look the woman gave me and every instinct in my bones telling me to run.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Petra echoed softly, sheepishly presenting her overflowing hands to the woman, and I bristled internally at how polite her tone was when she had kicked me moments before.

“Keep them,” the woman urged, to Petra’s quiet surprise. Then she examined our ratty clothing and, turning to me, she asked, “Are you both orphans?”

More or less, I thought. “Yes, ma’am,” I said aloud. “We’re on the road.”

The woman seemed to mull it over for a minute, rolling the idea around on her tongue for a while before she proposed, “Why don’t you help me clean up this place a bit? I’ve been so busy with the baby, lately, and there’s no one else here to help me. I can’t pay you, but I can give you some food and a place to sleep. I don’t have any spare beds, but I do have the stable. It’s been empty for quite some time, but there’s still plenty of hay to sleep on, and I may have some extra blankets.”

I had an excuse that I had been preparing the entire time she was speaking ready on the tip of my tongue when Petra broke in with a resounding, “We’d be honored, ma’am, thank you so much!” that gave me no room to protest.

“Wonderful! Let me put the baby down to sleep and then I’ll show you where the tools are.” The woman shifted the baby’s position on her hip and turned to go back inside. She called back over her shoulder, “My name is Esther, by the way!”

“I’m Petra, and my brother here is Ace!” Petra called in reply. Esther smiled wide and entered the house. When the door shut behind her, Petra turned on her heels and fixed me with her most exasperated expression.

“Why did you say yes? We could be caught!” I hissed before she had a chance to open her mouth.

“Caught doing what?” Petra shot back. “She already caught me stealing and is still choosing to be kind to us!”

I lowered my voice. “What if she figures out what we are?”

Petra narrowed her eyes at me. “How is that you’re the one who has lived on the outside and yet you’re more worried than me?”

“Because you need to learn that the more you press your luck, the closer you get to someone finding out the truth, and that never ends well.”

“You need to learn that not everyone is out to get you all the time. It’s not like you’re walking around with a big sign over your head that says, ‘Hey, look, I don’t have a pulse!’ If anything, acting like a paranoid weirdo all the time is what’s going to put a target on your back!”

I was going to argue further, but Esther returned then, carrying several baskets not unlike those we’d seen at the market the day before. She set them down amongst the raspberry bushes and gestured to a battered wooden bin by the back door.

“There should be some garden tools that my husband left behind over there,” she explained. “But let’s say we start by picking these berries before the animals get to them, and then next week one of the neighbors can take them to the market. That sound good? You can eat as many as you’d like—Well, not too many. I’m going to make some beans for supper.”

That seemed like an amicable enough arrangement, so I agreed, and Petra and I set to work while Esther went back inside to check on her sleeping child. We spent the rest of the afternoon filling basket after basket with the garden’s best raspberries, and taking breaks to lie back in the sun-baked dirt whenever Esther would come outside with something for us to drink or another story she wanted to tell.

When the blazing sun had just begun to dip below the horizon, Esther poked her head out the back door and called, “Supper is almost ready. Would you kids like to come inside to wash up?”

The prospect of “inside” felt daunting to me. Crossing the threshold into this strange woman’s home felt like overstepping some unspoken boundary, one that existed only in my own head to separate the relative safety of emotional distance from the dangers of familiarity. Out in the garden or in the forgotten stable, I could be merely a passing stranger. Entering the house, even if only for a few moments, felt like encroaching on something intimate and personal. Nevertheless, I trailed behind Petra into the tiny cottage, leaving my anxious thoughts in my wake.

The back door led into Esther’s small but lively kitchen. The windowsill was lined with tiny potted herbs, and in the corner stood a faded wooden table surrounded by three chairs to match. At its center sat a vase of striped carnations that made the whole house smell vaguely sweet. The walls were adorned with old portraits and photos of children and happy families, many with Esther and a man I assumed to be her husband. Esther stirred an old pot on the stove, the wood crackling softly as it slowly burned itself out. The baby could be heard cooing somewhere in a different room.

We ate our beans by the light of a small lantern out behind the house where it was cooler, out of small wooden bowls with delicate silver spoons that had clearly seen years of use but still managed to shine in the last fading sliver of sunlight.

Esther was a lot like that herself. She was a kind woman, soft around the edges, but she carried herself with the self-assured air of a person who knew she only had herself to count on. As the moon rose above the trees to replace the blistering sun, she told us about her life, as the baby slept in her arms. I learned that Esther’s husband had vanished on her about a year ago, leaving her to tend to their small farm by herself. She had been pregnant at the time and unable to work, and as time went by she was forced to sell what few animals they had and most of their equipment, leaving behind only what we saw before us. Since then, the farm had fallen into disrepair, and while it seemed clear to me that Esther’s neighbors were supporting her, I knew all too well the feeling that it simply was not enough.

“It gets a little lonely sometimes, with just me and the baby here,” Esther confessed. Then she smiled. “You two are welcome to stay here as long as you’d like. I welcome the help, and the company.”

I glanced down at my side, where Petra had already dozed off in the grass, before looking back at Esther and saying, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

I swallowed hard and averted my gaze out over the rows of raspberry bushes, the question laying heavy on my tongue. “What do you think it means to be alive?”

Esther hummed. “I think that would be different for every person. But to me, the point is to be happy, and to be a good person. Nothing more.”

I nodded. For the briefest of moments, I thought about telling Esther the truth. But the fear of being rejected, or worse, quickly swallowed that idea whole, and just as quickly as the thought had arrived, it was as if it had never existed.

The baby blinked back into wakefulness and stuck out a chubby arm towards me. Unthinking, I reached forward, and the baby pressed its tiny hand against my palm. The contact elicited a soft inhale, but I was left breathless. Esther merely chuckled. This baby, this precious child, knew nothing of curses or of what unexplained evils my calloused palms might hold. To them, we were one in the same, two pieces of the same star, floating under the same sky. I could never be sure if it were true, but that night, I had never been more certain of it.

 After supper that night, Basil and I sat in the tall grass behind his house, waiting for the fireflies to emerge as night fell over the village and the woods just beyond the yard. The summer heat was fading slowly into the gentle warmth of night, but I could not sit still.

“Stop fidgeting or the fireflies will get scared away,” Basil urged in a whisper.

I hesitated, twiddling my thumbs in my lap. “Basil, do you think that story Marcus was telling us is true?”

My best friend tensed momentarily. “About the curse? Why do you ask?” His voice was uncharacteristically flat, as though he were trying to keep it from wavering.

I shrugged in response.

"Well, I mean, I don’t think it matters if it’s true.”

“Maybe.” I paused. “M-Maybe we can go ask your parents if they’ve heard of it before.” I pushed up from the ground to walk back to the house.

“Don’t!” Basil’s hand quickly reached out and grabbed my wrist, sending me falling back to the ground. The fireflies rose from the grass and scattered.

Horrified at the contact, I tried to pull my arm away, but Basil had a vice grip on it. “W-Why not?” I yelped.

“Because if you tell them about it, they might send me away!” he blurted. We stared at each other in shock; Basil didn’t move, but a certain desperation had suddenly filled his eyes. A single brave firefly landed on the hand around my wrist, glowing against his skin, but still he did not move. As realization replaced desperation Basil slowly released his grip at last and quickly averted his eyes toward the dirt. (I wondered if he had noticed I had no pulse.) After a moment’s hesitation I reached a cautious, shaky hand out toward him, but he flinched and pulled away. Instead, I grabbed his hand and pressed his palm against my chest, ignoring the ingrained urge to flee that began to buzz beneath my skin. Basil tugged for a moment, until I felt his hand go still and saw the panic in his eyes settle into calm confusion; when I let go, he brought his hand to his face and stared at it in disbelief. Basil’s expression evolved quickly from shock to awe to relief, and when he tackled me to the ground in a hug, I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, and I cried at the feeling of being understood for the very first time.

[hanmajoerin]

Looking for some soft, post-canon InuKag? Look no further than chapter two of Lost Time which is promptly titled “With Me.”

The story is posted on Fanfiction.net and AO3 and is also available for your viewing pleasure below!

The fire popped three times, another confirmation about InuYasha’s claim.

Three years.

Kagome’s mind chewed on the idea like taffy. Even though InuYasha sat mere inches from her, she still carried the weight of his absence. The idea that they spent another two years apart sent Kagome’s hand flying to his. She gave it a sincere squeeze, relieved to find that she could touch him. That he was still real. “InuYasha... I’m so sorry.”

There was so much she wanted to tell him, but Kagome hesitated, wondering if she’d only be repeating herself. They hadn’t been able to talk about their first reunion and she didn’t know if she had been back for a few days, weeks, or months. Regardless, Kagome wanted to share with him what was in her heart right now; the difficulties she experienced with her first real heartbreak. Kagome bit her lip slightly. Would he want to relive this? Did she already tell him how she probably sealed the well? Could he forgive her? Did he know that he was on her mind every day? Did he know—did he know how much she needed him?

“Don’t apologize,” InuYasha was quick to say, nearly slamming his free hand onto the wooden floor beneath them. Kagome gasped slightly. He shook his head, silver hair whipping from side to side. “I could have jumped out of the well back then but I didn’t. I felt it pulling me back and I let it because I thought knowing you were safe was enough.”

InuYasha knew instantly what the high schooler meant. However many moments passed between them since then hadn’t dulled the determination in his amber eyes or the resolute conviction in his speech. She could feel a small smile forming. It didn’t take away the pain in full but it meant something. She wanted more. Emboldened, she asked, “Was it enough?”

A beat passed between them and Kagome took a sip of the medicinal tea InuYasha brewed to fill it, trying her best to keep focus as a vague static played like a song in her mind.

InuYasha sharply turned his eyes away from her, a grim expression haunting his features. “No.”

Kagome placed the clay cup onto the floor with more care than it deserved. The way she breathed, the way the glazed surface of her teacup shimmered from the fire’s light, the crude weight of her night robes against her chest, the way she was wearing them instead of her pajamas, InuYasha answering her questions... it all created an ethereal atmosphere that lingered like the warmth on her palms. Maybe she should be angry for losing her memories or scared, but those emotions felt impossible with InuYasha at her side. They would find a way to get her lost time back. For now, there was this reunion. It was one that she could share with the boy she never knew could become irreplaceable. It was sacred. 

Kagome leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Given their positions, a healthy heap of space still rested between their lower halves but Kagome couldn’t have felt closer to the half-demon. His fire-rat robe felt like silk under her skin. It was familiar. Her cheek all but clicked into place against his shoulder. “I really missed you,” she murmured. 

InuYasha slid closer, returning the embrace and resting his cheek on top of her head. He sounded tired as he took in a deep breath. “There wasn’t a day I stopped thinking about you.”

“Me, too.”

A comfortable silence blanketed the couple. Kagome wondered in passing if she should wait for InuYasha to speak first or if he was captivated by the same film that drifted through her mind. As he continued holding her, she watched the part when he pulled her to his chest and apologized for taking so long to save her. When he pushed her back slightly, she saw the time when his wide, red eyes receded to white and amber upon an entirely different reunion. When he squeezed her shoulders in support, she closed her eyes and felt her backpack grazing against her thighs when he carried her home from school. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the moment she whispered her loyalty to him and the time he swore his life on protecting her. Theirs was a movie she never thought would end. It was beyond a relief–beyond her wildest dreams–to be creating the much anticipated sequel.

“Does your head feel better?” InuYasha asked eagerly, thumbs brushing against the light blue fabric of her night robe. They were warm but still felt as fragile as glass which helped Kagome stop herself from laughing at the abrupt topic change. I guess he’s had plenty of time to reminisce. 

“It still hurts but I probably have a concussion so it’s to be expected.”

“Maybe you should rest more,” InuYasha suggested, moving the tea away from her. Kagome reached out to pull it closer. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to sleep after you get a concussion,” the high schooler countered, slipping in another sip as if to prove its continued usefulness. 

InuYasha glowered at her, arms crossing over his chest. Kagome’s eyes lingered, briefly wondering what it would be like to be caught between them. Encircled by sleeves that could blanket her entirely, grounded to reality as he held her against his chest, moved to glimmering tears at being precisely where she belonged.

“What does it matter? You’ve already been out since this afternoon.”

Kagome blinked a few times, her visions faltering. “This afternoon!? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“It’s not like we didn’t try. You were out cold!”

Kagome stared at the purple kimono which was used as a makeshift blanket. It barely covered her shins, but the thought of having it pulled back into place along her shoulders had her clinging to her cup like it had the chance to prevent her companion from moving her a single centimeter. “I don’t know if I’m ready to go to sleep yet,” she admitted, a blush dusting her cheeks. Falling asleep and waking up to find her pink comforter instead of a deep and unmistakable red made the idea utterly unappealing. Although announcing the idea seemed embarrassing considering she was also unmistakably back in the Feudal Era. 

“Uh...” InuYasha stuttered, picking up on her blush. Kagome wasn’t sure why he hesitated, but all thoughts stopped as soon as he brushed his hand against her cheek. She inhaled the mingling smells of autumn leaves and safety. InuYasha cleared his throat, anchoring Kagome to the moment. “We should wait until you feel better to do...uh... that.”

The insinuation sent Kagome’s hands flying to her cheeks in abstract horror. She ended up slapping one of InuYasha’s hands in the process but, once it was in her grasp, she refused to let it go. “InuYasha, get your mind out of the gutter!” He laughed. “It’s not funny, InuYasha!”

The chuckles hardly lasted but his crooked smirk lingered and it wasn’t long before he spread it her way. “You said the same thing when you first got back,” he confessed. “Guess I’m still a little ahead of myself.”

A single fang gleamed and Kagome took a deep breath. Her blush was back and after a few horrendous seconds, she tactfully decided to ask another extremely unrelated question. “That reminds me, how long have I been back?”

“It’s been... about seven moons.”

“Oh,” was all Kagome could manage to say. She wanted to ask InuYasha about their relationship. What they had done and who they had become to each other, but her flustered heart fluttered against her ribs. She cleared her throat. She wasn’t like InuYasha when it came to “getting ahead of herself.” They were together once and they could be together again but she needed to process it all. “Hey, InuYasha,” she started to say, her fingers brushing against his as if she hoped it would give her the courage to continue. InuYasha quirked a brow in response. 

Kagome felt a whole new blush slam across her cheeks. She was beginning to think her body rivaled the temperature of the untended fire. “Do you remember our first new moon together?”

“Hard to forget that shit show,” InuYasha grumbled. 

Kagome coughed slightly; it was a physical restraint to keep from taking full offense of how he didn’t recognize that she was referring to their sleeping arrangements, not the spider heads. “After Myoga sucked the poison from your blood... you asked if you could lie in my lap.” 

“I did, didn’t I?” InuYasha asked, scratching at the back of his head with his free hand. It was almost as if he was scrambling to remember and Kagome’s smile instantly faltered. “D-don’t look at me like that! I try to forget all my nights spent as a human!”

Kagome dropped his hand and let out an audible groan. “How can you say that? You told me you liked my scent! It was...” Kagome cut herself off and rubbed her forehead. It just didn’t seem worthwhile to start an argument with InuYasha when all she wanted was to touch him and relish in their joint existence. “InuYasha?”

“What is it now?” He grunted, clearly losing his patience. 

Then, she plagiarized his words from that night. “Let me use your lap.”

“Okay,” InuYasha said and it shocked Kagome that he hadn’t sputtered or blushed. He was comfortable with being intimate although Kagome should have recognized that earlier. It didn’t take InuYasha long to be sitting properly behind her head and with great care, Kagome got herself situated. She closed her eyes and took in the scent of the forest in fall and a love that saved her over and over and over.

Even though her small fear lingered in the black behind her eyes, she was tempted to fall asleep. A tender silence filled the hut and Kagome felt a warmth building in her stomach despite her growing headache. 

“Kagome.” She hummed in response, too comfortable to offer any actual words. InuYasha continued, “When you came back, you said your exams were finished and you didn’t have any regrets. That’s gone now. I...” he paused as if he couldn’t quite string together the right words. Kagome turned her head just in time to see a light flush spreading across his features and it took her a minute to recall how actions and words came different to the half-demon. “I—I just hope that you’re okay with being here. Okay with being with me...”

“InuYasha, I’m exactly where I want to be,” she reassured him, the statement so strong that Kagome couldn’t stop crocodile tears from staining her cheeks. No matter the consequences–no matter the sacrifices–the high schooler couldn’t forget their journey. Coming home was a choice she didn’t need memories to stand by. 

Relief overtook every part of InuYasha as he gawked down at her. Kagome never loved him more. They sat still, amber and brown eyes talking in ways spoken language couldn’t hope to say. “Kagome, you...” InuYasha swallowed, this time bending his neck downwards. Kagome’s heartbeat echoed through her ear drums. After spending seven months together, this probably wasn’t their first kiss, but it was her first kiss. Cheeks stained red, Kagome squeezed her eyes closed and was rewarded with chapped lips brushing against hers. His lips were true to his character: rough around the edges even when he was trying to be gentle. His kiss was everything Kagome wanted and she lifted her hand to caress his cheek.

She blinked at the loss of his touch. His attention seemed to be taking away the pain in her head far better than Kaede’s tea. “We’ll visit Kaede in the morning but uh...” a small smirk touched at his features, eyes softening. “Welcome home.”

A dazzling smile and a few more tears crowded her face. Silver hair was like a curtain keeping her attention on InuYasha alone. “I’m home.”

II Chapter 1 II

[drowsy-quill]

Hello and happy Saturday! For each week in this month of Camp Nano, I will post a little snippet of The Temple Seeker! Below the cut is the entire first chapter, entitled The Wild Mother, I hope y’all will enjoy!

Current Word count: 5,262

Words remaining: 6,738

In the 105th year of the Age of Steam, there was a child. This child was so unlike any child born before, for she had been touched by Fate herself, her soul tied to an Age long past from her world of clockwork and steam, tangled in the fates of the gods of her realm- the gods of Na’asi. This connection, this tug on an invisible string, pulled the child to the edge of the Elder Forest, it’s ancient trees stretching high, high into the sky. She dared not step foot into the lush forest, for fear of her mother’s wrath and of the legends that were oft told to her about the Forest. ‘Never step foot in the Faery Forest, for you shall never return. There are spirits and sprites who love the taste of younguns’ that wander the woods.’ The girls would shriek and the boys would glance warily at the green on the horizon, peeking over the copper and bronze rooftops, although there would be boys that shrieked and girls who were silent- But Gwenivere, for that was the child’s name, never believed those tales. She knew in her heart of hearts that there was something in the forest, but nothing even remotely malevolent- it was more like a true mother’s embrace. Nothing like the cold detachment that Gwenivere received from her own, but like the warm smiles that the Bookkeeper would give her as she curled up in a forgotten corner, surrounded by tomes that stacked higher than her small form.

She resisted the Fate-tug, that is, until one morning when her mother fell deep into one of her raging storms and small Gwenivere fled towards the outstretched arms of the trees, unwavering and unfaltering and did not stop until she was deep inside its walls. She came to a halt then, when the roots curled overhead, and the leaves blocked out the sky, with multi-colored wildflowers forming a carpet under her feet. It’s beautiful, she thought, lost in the grand magnificence of it all. A twig snapped in front of her and she nearly bolted from fright before she saw the cause- a massive elk, antlers dripping with moss and brilliantly colored flowers.

Gwenivere took a few shivering steps towards the creature, and it mirrored her actions with ancient grace. The two stood not far from each other then, close enough to touch, and Gwenivere reached out a small hand towards its soft nose, stopping a breath away- letting the beautiful beast chose whether or not it wanted to trust the child. It extended its neck,  nuzzling its velvety nose into her palm. She gave out a silent laugh and hugged its large neck. It shook its head, breaking away from her grasp before kneeling down onto the ground, giving her a slight nod. Gwenivere tentatively stepped around the creature and gingerly sat upon its broad back. It stood and she clung to its great antlers, once the elk felt she was secure it begins to run. Through the woods- faster and faster and faster and faster and faster, the landscape turning into blurs if color before it can work a sudden but gentle halt at the foot of a great temple, stone slightly crumbling and covered in greenery. Gwenivere dismounted the beast and mouthed her thanks as the fate-tug pulled her through the grand arch and into the very heart of the temple. It was quite dark, the openings overhead overrun with years and years of growth, and a massive ancient withering oak sprawled across the open chamber.

Young Gwenivere began to climb higher and higher up the great tree’s branches until she was at the iron gridded opening.  The branches seemed almost to stretch themselves up, giving her aide as she ripped free the coverings of the skylight, and the grate came crashing and clattering down the trunk, nearly hitting Gwenivere’s head on its path. Sunlight poured in, giving life and light to the once dark chamber, illuminating a long-untended hearth that stood proud in the corner. She scampered back down as she feels that tug in her gut once more, pulling hard and strong towards the hearth. The sight of the long unlit stone bowl brought tears to the young girl’s eyes- exactly for what or why she did not know- but as she laid her small slender hands on the rim, a bright warm flame blossomed under her touch, whorling and shifting into a cheery blaze in the center. She fell back, startled, but the flame did not go out. 

With the hearth lit, the temple seemed to come to life- withered plants arose from their decay, she could hear a fountain come to life and the chirps of long flown birds in the sanctuary. She smiled a smile in the way only the young can- full of wonder and joy and wholly indescribable. As she turned to leave, she felt the presence of a warm hand on her shoulder and a warm motherly voice spoke in her ear, “Thank you, my child. Let this be your place of refuge and rest. You will be safe here, whenever you seek it.” 

Gwenivere turned to see who spoke but there was nothing but an ash-colored cloak made of the softest material Gwenivere had ever felt, and a crown made of wildflowers and twigs. She delighted in the soft comfort of the cloak- it felt like the embrace of a loving mother, or at least, that is what Gwenivere imagined one such embrace to feel like. 

When she left, that great elk was there waiting to escort her back to the edge of the forest. As they sped, Gwenivere thought not of the temple, or of the voice- but of her mother’s wrath when she returned home. It was well into the evening, only the finest shred of the sun still visible behind the mountains, far past when she was supposed to return. 

She clumsily leaped off the beast and gave it a quick kiss on its velvet nose before rushing to her home, which was- thankfully- not too far from the edge of the forest. As she drew nearer she could hear the thunderous snores of her sleeping mother and she thanked the stars as she hurried inside quietly as to not wake her. 

As she flopped down on her little straw cot, she told herself that she would visit the Bookkeeper that next morning and tell her about what she experienced. The Bookkeeper would know what, who, that time belonged to. And visit the Bookkeeper she did, her mother did not notice her leave, still slumbering heavily in her chamber. Gwenivere skipped to the library, her new cloak fanning out behind her, rippling in the wind. The grand oak doors were propped open, welcoming any and all into its halls, and Gwenivere made sure to greet the ancient inert stone golems that stood guard along the various branching-offs of the main hall. They had been there for as long as the library had existed- which was well before the Age of Steam- they no longer were filled with protective magics, but they still served the purpose of connecting to that age long forgotten. 

The Bookkeeper, an assi in their middle ages, smiled kindly at Gwenivere as she passed their desk, waving her over as they pulled out a wrapped parcel from under their desk.

“Splendid morning, isn’t it?” They smiled, Gwenivere nodded in return. “I have a little something for you- my husband made some bread for you. It’ll help you grow big and strong- plenty of nuts and herbs. Go ahead and sit back here and eat, and I can pull some books out for you.” Gwenivere nodded enthusiastically and gratefully accepted the still-warm loaf. As she tore into it, sitting comfortably underneath their desk, they flitted around the shelves, accruing a small pile of tomes for her.

By the time the Bookkeeper came back, not even a single crumb was left and Gwenivere had a blissfully content smile on her face. The Bookkeeper sat down next to her, their frame just barely squeezing in the remaining room under the desk. 

“Here, this one is about how plants turn sunlight into sugar to eat, this one is about how certain animals talk to each other, and these two are about our constellations. What do you think?” Gwenivere shook her head and shyly pointed towards the door to the room that held the scrolls from the Age of Ancients.

“Oh? Alright, I don’t see why not. You’re a careful one, yes?” Gwenivere nodded enthusiastically and practically leaped from under the desk. The Bookkeeper smiled and unhooked a rather large ring of patina brass keys. They almost reverently unlocked the door and motioned for Gwenivere to explore. “Please be very careful, I trust you okay? Just come back when you’re through or if you need any help.” Gwenivere made an X over her heart and the Bookkeeper turned to let her explore. 

She gingerly piled a stack of dust scrolls into her arms and found a large window bench to read on, and as morning turned to afternoon and into the evening she read. She read about gods who cared so much for the world they created and their creations loving them right back. She read of daring heroes and true love and bloody wars and astounding friendships. It was only as she noticed she had nearly no light to read by that she pried herself away from the scrolls and made her way back home, making sure to hug the Bookkeeper extra tight as she left. 

Her mother, as usual, did not even notice that she came home. She just stared with her blank eyes at the wall, so lovingly painted like a meadow of wildflowers, barely even blinking. It had been three years since Gwenivere’s father died, she still had nightmares of that night, of masked men coming into the house, yelling about money and jewelry. She remembered rough hands and her utter inability to scream. She remembered the blood, so so so much blood, some, the men’s, some, her father’s, and some hers. She remembered her mother changing, changing into a cold-hearted, uncaring monster- into a shell of the woman she was before. 

It was time, in school, for the children to sit around and tell each other, and the teachers, what they were reading and what they had learned. Gwenivere, like each year before, sat quietly in the back, listening to the other children speak. In the schoolyard, the taunts flowed more freely, taunts of her mother, her father, her muteness, her clothes- any bit of information they knew they hurled it right back towards her. 

It had been happening for years, but all of a sudden things became quite clear for her- she needn’t withstand their abuse, their jeers, any of it. And so that was her last day at school. Her mother did not notice, and the Bookkeeper was more than willing to continue Gwenivere’s education themself. Gwenivere was happy, she was happy to learn from the thousands of tomes and scrolls, she was happy learning how to read and listen in languages new and old, and she felt at peace, as if this is what she was meant to be doing. 

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Not all Saturday Snippets will be this long I promise! Anyways,  happy trails and keep writing!