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Beowulf; or, the Justifications of Toxicity

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An Essay

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Is a book a classic only because of the period it has been written in? Countless works have been hailed as incredible classics when many find them dull, foolish, or poorly written. From the over-hyped Romeo and Juliet to the ridiculousness of Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot,” many fictions that are revered truly lack anything that makes them overly special. What would the general public say if they knew Romeo had been in love with someone else before Juliet? Or that the prince in The Idiot was truly a calculating politician? Beowulf does not deserve its praise, for it lacks any true emotion, plot, or well-defined characters, but instead dives far too deep into the male psyche, and their obsessive need for glory, fame, and fortune. Not only that, in fact, but also degrading female roles into either docility or villainy. 

Foremost, Beowulf lacks any true emotion or plot. Rather than display human vulnerability, or our tendency to err, the text only showed their bravado, confidence, and fear. No true happiness was felt, for no true sadness was borne. “Solitary, salt-scourged, he swam screaming over open ocean, Ecgtheow’s son repatriating grief-stricken to homeland.” (Line 2369, page 102). Rather than create an atmosphere of grief, or have Beowulf show any such in his actions, rather, they (The translator) said it once and then decided that must be enough to prove his sadness, for men show only strength. The sexism of this text showed once again, as they then spent a paragraph detailing how, in the wake of the battle that caused Beowulf to swim to safety that her [Hygd] husband died in, she did not even mourn him, as the author attempted to show women in the light of mercenaries, any negative emotion but rage a weakness to be exploited. The plot remained helpless to the emotionlessness of the texts, the book progressing in a series of exponentially convenient events. The first six pages (a costly amount in a 136-page poem) were merely background information, the majority of which was useless and had little to do with the main character, Beowulf, for whom this book was named. When Beowulf comes, he is honored oddly fast for a man coming to a foreign king bearing an army fit to destroy the king’s own. Rather than be fearful, they believe him unconditionally for their desperation and his silver tongue, following that by calling the king a “good king,” a recurring theme that was only precluded by shows of “manliness,” such as violence. No king was revered for their intelligence, but rather, for their ability to fight and win. The sexism was especially prevalent in, “He has no verve, no urge to visit beds, no wish to father a new son, now his firstborns dead.” (line 253, page 106). This displays the author’s contempt for men who show their grief, following a child’s death, displaying the activities they felt he should be doing before carelessly mentioning the cause of his reluctance. This is unempathetic, and frankly, quite disgusting that they believe a man is only allowed to be considered as such unless he does the aforementioned acts that can, in some and most circumstances, be considered sins to the Bible, for which this book mentions in droves. Following this was the unrealistic following of speeches. The characters would often have rather long-winded speeches, lasting for several pages, that they could have said “quickly?” One character, after Beowulf is killed, is passing by, on horseback, giving a speech about Beowulf’s death that lasts for six pages. Six. How is it possible that this speech could have been said, while on horseback nonetheless, for all to hear? Most would hear only a portion that would be out of context unless they decided to race after him to hear the end of his speech. That is highly unrealistic, even for a fantastical novel such as this, because though it may meddle in the affairs of magic, it is still grounded with earthly laws. 

Following this, it is paramount to mention that the characters of Beowulf lacked definition. They were merely caricatures, mockery of humanity unnamed. Beowulf, rather than being shown as a character with thoughts, feelings, and a past, was shown as a superhuman figure incapable of err, but rather prone to boast. The definition of a hero has been debated for hundreds of years, over whether it references deeds, or perhaps the character of them, but a common theme among heroes of the past is strength and bravery. The myth of Theseus and Ariadne is flagrant with such ideas, calling Theseus a hero despite his abandonment of Ariadne, and then marriage to her younger sister. His later actions were considerably horrific, from the kidnapping of a child for future marriage to the murder of his son. Could such actions be considered heroic? While it may seem I have wandered upon a tangent, the principle remains the same. Can a man be considered a hero considering his actions that lack heroism? Many of Beowulf’s actions could be considered positively villainous, even those that are meant to show his strength. The murder of the dragon, while written to appear justified, was hindered by the previous explanation that a man stole from her, and when she tried to warn all others away from her, they came to kill her for not allowing them access to the treasure she has spent centuries amassing. Are we meant to lynch billionaires who do not give as much to the public or charity as we’d like? This has value, even today. Beowulf’s character was a mere caricature of masculine heroism, while the only character that retained their emotional and historical value was the main villain of this tale, the dragon, who was then killed for attempting to defend herself and her home. The king also was mentioned merely to state that after his son’s death, he had no wish to do “manly” things, such as kill, or sire other children. The oddity of such a thing would not hold in the modern day, as a man who lost his firstborn would be justified in any refusal to have other children for grief or participate in bedsport as well. “Is there laughter in far-off places, at me, and at my men?” (line 474, page 23). This line displays his lack of regard for the lives lost to the first villain of this tale, Grendal, instead focusing on the shame it might cause him if others realized his plight. The characters of Beowulf, therefore, lacked any definition and were rather caricatures of toxicity and selfishness than true people. 

In addition, Beowulf was horribly sexist towards women. Sexism is defined by the Oxford Dictionary as, “Prejudice, stereotyping, or discrimination, typically against women, on the basis of sex.” Not only did they acknowledge within the definition that sexism is usually done towards women, but they also mentioned the stereotypes usually thought of as related. For example, “Heorogar, Hrothgar, Halga, and I heard he hand-clasped his daughter (her name’s a blur) to Onela.” (line 60, page 5). From the beginning, they establish a theme of female inferiority, even going so far as to say they did not know who married the great warrior Onela, for she was merely a woman to be his wife, not anyone of importance. Her name was a blur. “Hygd tried to quicken him with the throne, offering him gold, gemstones, a potent position, a life less lonely.” (line 2370, page 102). Hygd was a mercenary, her only goal being the protection of herself and her son. Not only that, but instead of having Hygd offer a mere prize if he returned to rule, she offered herself, degrading not only her position but her honor and mourning. Her mind was not mentioned, nor her cunning or intelligence, only her beauty and wealth, as they seemed to be the only things that made her valuable. Such an argument or point of view can be a picture-perfect definition of sexism and the demeaning of an entire gender within those few sentences. Continuing upon this line, Beowulf’s mother is never mentioned, yet his father is mentioned at least once every two pages, as they refer to Beowulf consistently as “Ecgtheow’s son.” This showed how the author believed women to be unimportant to the memories and development of children, and as adults, usually find themselves lacking their mother’s aid, so that the women who raised them might fade to obscurity. According to the Healthway Medical Group, “A mother plays multiple roles in a child’s development, as she is a teacher in every aspect of a child’s developmental growth – social emotional, physical, cognitive and independence.” If mothers remain so essential to a child’s development, why was her role demeaned in her absence throughout the book? Beowulf mentioned his father teaching him to be brave and to fight like a soldier, yet he mentioned not his mother, even though due to societal constraints at the time, we can assume not only he had one but was raised by her. Also, Grendal, who is often hailed as one of the main villains of the novel, was easily felled by Beowulf within a paragraph. However, Grendal’s mother necessitated an entire battle, armed to the teeth, saved only by luck and the will of God. Beowulf admitted she was a terrible foe to face, while with Grendel, he boasted about the ease of the kill. To describe Grendel’s mother- for she was nameless but for the son she sired- they said, “Now his mother was here, carried on a wave of wrath, crazed with sorrow.” (line 1274, page 56). They made it so that the only way a woman could possibly best or dare to fight a man is when they have gone insane from the death of a male family member. Can such a novel that supports these hapless and foolish attempts at sexism truly be considered a classic?

However, some might argue that Beowulf has examples of heroism, and bravery, and allows for analysis into male psychology. Indeed, they might quote, “ The horror wasn’t muted by the measure of women’s strength against man’s brawn. Both can hold slaying swords, glazed with gore, and score the boar crests from their war helmets, warming them with blood.”  (line 1284, page 57). However, this was precluded by descriptions of Grendal’s mother’s thirst for blood, followed by a disdainful explanation of women’s lack of honor on the battlefields. A single quote that is then argued upon by the same novel from whence it came is hardly an example of the beauty of this poem. Furthermore, they could possibly mention Beowulf contains themes necessary for understanding the time, perhaps portrayed in, “War was the wife Hrothgar wed first.” (line 63, page 6). This showed how they valued battle, for they had preceded this by mentioning how Hrothgar was a good king who destroyed his father’s legacy in order to build his own. In this, we could find a reason to argue as to whether or not war should be a thing that is worshiped so highly, however, we cannot argue that Beowulf does introduce the themes and semantics of the time, and so, that point cannot be argued. However, other books were written during that time (6th-10th century, approximately) such as Book of Fixed Stars (Year 964), Deor (Year 975), and many others that followed. If the only point that supports Beowulf is its representation of the time, many other books can and have as well. So why is Beowulf any better?

In conclusion, Beowulf does not deserve to be considered a classic of our time, with far too much sexism, no emotional depth within its characters, and a lacking plot as well. The heroes showed villainous traits, and the villains were far too human, and could only be thought of as the anti-heroes of the plot. Women’s role was heinously degraded, the entire gender forced into a single box that was meant to represent us all. Beowulf was a caricature, a man borne only to show heroism rather than be a true man at all. History is so much more layered than what they attempted to show, and that gray area exists as well. It is not merely black and white. While I cannot argue that Beowulf might have been a wonder for its time, now, in this era, Beowulf has truly lost its value. How can we progress if our minds, our entire idea of classics are still stuck not only in the past but in its outdated stigmas that we have come so far from? We are more than our past, and that is all Beowulf is. A poem that would do well to be forgotten in the shadows. 

Works Cited

Britannica. “Beowulf | Summary, Poem, Characters, Monster, Analysis, & Facts.” Britannica, 7 March 2024, https://www.britannica.com/topic/Beowulf. Accessed 18 April 2024.

Headley, Maria Dahvana. Beowulf: A New Translation. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2020.

Healthway Medical. “A Mother’s role in early childhood development.” Healthway Medical, 17 April 2020, https://healthwaymedical.com/a-mothers-role-in-early-childhood-development/. Accessed 18 April 2024.

Oxford. “The Oxford Online Dictionary.” Oxford English Dictionary, https://www.oed.com/?tl=true. Accessed 18 April 2024.

Chapter VIII- Yin & Yang

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Bang.

Crunch.

Slam.

The sounds filling the air were both reassuring and terrible.

Crash.

Boom.

Crack. 

I panted as he lunged again, people cheering around us, jeering, calling, laughing. Disgust flit through me as I turned a sneer towards the crowd.

What am I doing here?

I have no idea.

Repressing a sigh, I looked at the crowd, and a thread of hatred ran through me. As I turned to leave-

“Where do you think you’re goin’ pretty boy?” The fat man in the brawl pit sneered at me, his overdone red face gruesome, as though he had been at the losing end of one too many fights.

“I’d tell you,” I said, a small part of me loathing my words, words made to pick a fight, “Yet I find that you require a certain amount of intelligence to understand that I, unfortunately, believe you lack.”

He glared at me, the look in his eyes a mixture of hatred and the idiocy of a man too stupid to understand the insult, but just bright enough to realize it is one. Tilting back his head, he spat at me and the glob of spit landed on my boots. I blinked, disgust almost overriding my senses. Did he, a common pit fighter, just spit on my shoes? I’ve killed men for less. 

And I’m not about to end that wonderful tradition now.

Lunging with sudden brutality, I landed a blow on his jaw, a crack resounding. A low kick to the knee, as I pinned his arms, broke the point, and I grinned at the howl of pain he released.

“You-“

“Ah, ah, ah, mind your language! There are ladies here!” It was a feral sort of joy that encompassed me now, the thrill of the hunt.

He snarled and a wild smile filled my face.

Bucking back up, he thrashed on the ground like an animal, blood, and saliva mixing on the ground before him. A sudden yank on the pinned arms dislocated them with a satisfying pop. Driving my knee down to his spine, I pulled back his broken arms, and he screamed.

Tears soaked the ground before him and I rose, aiming a harsh kick to his head that made a satisfying crack.

He didn’t move again.

There was silence before the noise became a roar as men called in bets and money changed hands. Walking over to the bar, I took an iced water and drank, eager to cool down.

“So, this is what you do.” the cold, judgmental voice behind me said. I didn’t bother to turn around. I already knew who it was.

“Weren’t you here to look for someone?”

“We’ll look in the morning,” I said, my voice rough. I felt someone grab my chair and whirl it around, and I was face to face with the disgusted Ishaan Kaur.

My fists clenched as he kept watching me and judging me. I will help them look in the morning. I’m not lying.

“Are you drunk?”

“It’s water.”

“At least that’s something.”

I scowled.

“What do you want?”

“Why are you here?”

“Cooling off steam.”

There was a glint of humor in his eyes as he surveyed the place and turned back to me before his eyes snapped to the person behind me and they turned cold.

“You scum!”

I didn’t turn, but my hands tightened on the glass and my back stiffened. A hand gripped my shoulder and whirled my stool around again to get me face-to-face with the spitting image of the man in the pit. His small, piggy eyes were spitting venom in their rage, his pink face bulging.

“You know, you all have to stop commandeering my chair, it can get quite tiring-“

“That was my brother! You killed him!”

“Really? Had no idea. Should have bought him a drink first.” I leaned back into the bar as I watched the swirling ice in the drink with a faintly amused expression.

“Sarcasm. Isn’t. helping.” Ishaan hissed. 

“Why? Brings the fun into life.”

He poked a fleshy finger into my face and shoved it between my eyes.

“I can make your life a hell if I want to, and I definitely do.” A ring on his finger glinted with the design of a wolf. It was the emblem of all Enamani fighters.

I stiffened further as Ishaan sucked in a breath. What’s an Enamani boxer doing in Hirhol?

“Now gentleman, there’s really no need-” Ishaan began before the red-faced foreigner cut him off.

“I know about her too. And you’re gonna regret this. I know what a tendre pretty boy has for her-”

I cut him off with a fist to the mouth. Blood spurted out, and he screamed as he pressed his palms against his lips. Grabbing his neck and yanking him closer, I snarled in his ear,

“You will never tell anyone about her.”

He made a gurgling sound, his eyes widening and bulging with fear.

I tightened my grip into a choke. No one can know about her. She needs to be safe.

I blinked. No, I need to keep my brother safe. Get your priorities straight, Gray.

There’s no such thing as a victory without a sacrifice. His face turned blue and his hands, clawing at my arms, became weak. A foam dribbled from his lips as he whispered.

“I’m…not the only one….who knows.”

And then his pulse died. Dropping him, I turned to the men slowly approaching me, murder in their eyes. 

“Sorry to ruin your fun, girls. How’s a drink sound-”

With a high kick, one of the men closest to me attacked, his eyes practically red with rage. A bar stool went flying towards me, and as the first man tried to fight my front, two more men attacked my back. I laughed, exhilaration replacing the emptiness of a few moments before. I paid for that distraction. A punch to the cheek had me seeing stars, and a fist to the spine almost broke it. Drawing in a shallow breath, I readied my fists as I lunged weakly at the golden-haired man in front of me when a snap at the back of my head had me falling. Sprawled on the ground, I looked up with blurry eyes to see a knife flying past me into the heart of the man in front of me. His eyes widened as he looked down slowly at the knife before swaying. I watched as he crumpled to the ground, and blinked the grit from my eyes.

What the hell?

But the world was starting to fade.

“Let’s get you out of here,” A quiet voice said as they hooked their arms and carried me away as the world went black.

____________________

“What?”

“Where’s Damien?” Mikhail repeated, this time with more force. I blinked as I looked around blankly. 

Where was he?

“See Aleksandr? This is what happens when we split up!” Alyona’s sharp voice was shrill enough to give me a headache as I turned to glare at her. 

“None of you saw him leave? Not even you, Levka?” 

As Levka shifted uncomfortably, Alyona snorted and turned. 

“You know what? I’m gonna book a room at that inn, then I’m going to have dinner and find Maria.”

“I’m with Alyona,” Levka said, aiming a smile at her she deliberately ignored.

I winced as I ran a hand down my face. Why were women so ridiculously emotional? 

‘Promise me.’ Her voice still echoes in my head. 

‘Promise me.’ 

“Fine. The inn was that way.” Pointing west, I closed my eyes again as I clenched my teeth in frustration. 

As Alyona turned west and began to walk, I took a deep breath and then followed. I scanned the people scurrying past, their furtiveness feeling…wrong. All at once, for no reason, my mind flashed back to the compound, and…her.

“We-we haven’t been properly introduced, right? I’m Annamaria, but everyone calls me Maria, and wow, this room is pretty bright, isn’t it?” Her voice filled the silent room, her light seeming to be almost palpable. 

‘She did this. She ruined everything.’ I forced myself to remember, forced myself to focus. But that felt wrong. Despising her felt wrong.

“What are you doing-”

“Shut UP!” I roared, my outburst desperate and pleading, and because I was a fool, I turned to look at her. And it was like a bullet. Her black hair and red eyes were just like Gabriela’s. 

I couldn’t stand it. 

“Must you speak to fill every silence? Silence is not the enemy, and you are no more than a murderer. I only do this as I was ordered to.” I turned away, a burn flowing into my veins, filling my blood with fire.

I knew she thought I was talking of that useless enforcer.

She was wrong. But she wouldn’t know who I was talking about. I doubted Gabriela kept track of every life she ruined anyway.

“Turn on your stomach.”

‘You’ll regret this.’ A voice whispered.

‘No, I won’t.‘

I looked at her back and froze. 

It was covered in a thousand scars, each one deeper than the other. And worse than all, were the bright red scars of Gregori’s punishment.

‘You’ve already gone this far. You can’t back out now.’

Then, she insulted me, her voice vitriol and arsenic.

Her cold, Enamani accent was the same as her mother’s.

She truly is her mother’s daughter.

Enamani dogs.

My hands seemed to act of their own accord as I picked back up the needle and smiled internally.

As I turned to look at my sketch, I placed the needle to her back and pressed to begin. I would normally have given her a pain reducer or talked her through the pain. For her, for the name she carried with pride, I did neither.

Even as I felt her tremble beneath the needle, shuddering to hold back the cries of pain and tang of blood.

As I turned away to bandage it, I saw her turn to see it in the mirror and freeze. Her eyes widened, then closed. When they reopened, they were full of unshed tears. They hit me like a blow to the chest.

She turned to look at me, her eyes full of sorrow far beyond her years. Like I was just one more person who had disappointed her, and she was too far gone to even care. With her soft hair falling into her eyes, and her lips trembling, she was beautiful. And I could have painted a thousand portraits of the pain in her eyes that somehow did not seem to even recognize the pain of the tattoo.

Only what they meant.

My breathing was ragged as I helped her bandage her back. I tried to hide it, tried to make my hands as quick as possible. But something about her felt different. The light that had seemed to be almost sun bright was now that of a candle.

Glowing, but flickering.

About to go out.

My hands lingered on her back as she rose and slipped back into her dress. She glided towards the doorway. She hesitated and turned back to me, and I prayed she did not see the tightness in my chest or the flickers in my eyes. She opened her lips as though to say something, an emptiness simmering in her eyes as though she was about to let the words tumble out before she closed them and shook her head, turning away again as she seemed to float out of the room, leaving me behind her, the shattered mess I’ve been since her death. The beast of the story.

The monster.

Like I always would be.

And I turned away as I picked up my sketchbook, collapsed back onto my chair, and began to draw.

“Here!” Alyona announced proudly, jolting me from my thoughts. Her eyes shone and her smile was triumphant.

‘Promise me.’

Levka and Mikhail looked at each other again, and they burst out laughing as though this was a grand joke. I pushed past them in disgust as I entered the small inn, their laughter conspicuous, drawing attention. A woman was sitting behind her desk, writing something down in what looked like a ledger. Her hair was tied back, and she looked middle-aged, her eyes a tired green. As she looked up, she smiled and waved us over.

“Good evening, travelers! How may I help you?” 

“We need a few rooms,” Alyona said, her whole manner different. Her eyes were wide and honest, her smile looked bright and genuine.

“Of course! How many?” She turned back to us, her eyes questioning as she traveled over the bags and dirty clothes. 

“Only three,” I grumbled. We should be finding clues about the prince’s whereabouts, not sleeping. 

“Wonderful! Now, what type of room-” As she continued with Alyona, I wandered over to the small bookshelf near the door. A section was labeled ledgers, and bored, I pulled it from the shelf. My eyes widened as at a date,

The Eighteenth of the Third Month.

1; Guest pays in gold jewelry.

A ring lay in the middle, a thin gold one easily lost in the thick volume. But these engravings were only used in one family, only allowed to be used by one family.

The prince had been here.

But why?

Slipping the book into my jacket pocket, I walked back over to the counter as Alyona turned, three keys in her hands.

“Breakfast is at ten in the morning, and room service is on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays!” The woman said cheerfully, before turning back to her ledger and her smile faded.

“What did you find?” Levka murmured as we reached the stairs.

“I’ll tell you later,” I whispered back. 

If I was right, we were one step closer to finding the prince.

But if this is a decoy or a trap, then we’ll never find him.

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As I closed Little Women, a smile still lingered on my face. I love happy endings. I rose from the rickety little chair and slid the book back in place as I sighed.  Turning towards the exit, I saw another man standing near the shelves on the opposite side of the room, his hands sliding over the spines as though still deciding. His clothes were nothing short of aristocratic, and his way of standing obviously was that of someone who was used to having his orders followed and now came to expect it always. Those types weren’t the ones usually in a library.

Wary, I slid behind the shelves as I silently crossed to stand behind him.

“You know I can feel you standing there,” His voice was amused, and his shoulders shook as though repressing a laugh. I straightened, my pride stung, and as he turned, I grabbed his arms and shoved him into the bookshelf. 

“How strange. I’ve actually been compared to a ghost on numerous occasions. The only reason you would know I was here was if you were looking for me. So what do you want?”

“I could explain if you released me,” He said, his voice now a bit strained. I looked down and realized my silver bracelet was digging into his spine that was jutting out in the position I held him. Releasing him, I grasped his shoulders and spun him around to see the most handsome man I had ever seen.

Hazel eyes along with high cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and a strong jaw came together to make a face that was beautiful alone, but his black hair falling into his eyes combined with a happy-go-lucky smile he was now aiming at me made his face boyishly charming, yet stunning. 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance at last Ms. Lopez.” 

“How do you know my name?” A feeling of dread crawled up my throat as a chill ran down my spine.

“It would be the fool who did not know who you are, Maria,” He laughed, a deep sensuous sound. “After all, I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

“You know my name, not who I am.”

“Darimati,” He said, his eyes serious. “An Enamani magic-wielder. You know, your home country would pay quite a lot for a wielder of your…caliber.” His eyes ran over me in a way that was cold and downright clinical. I blinked and opened my mouth before closing it again.

“Don’t look so shocked, it took me years to find you. Your mother was quite the skilled hider.”

The world around me was shaking.

“You can’t tell anyone,” I said, desperate and numb at the same time, pleading with him, begging him. 

He regarded me as though I was a curiosity, his face expressionless.

“I don’t need to. The King is who ordered me to find you, and he already swore me to secrecy. I’m not some mercenary.”

My knees almost collapsed in relief as I slid back onto the comforting wood of the shelf. I took a deep breath as I remembered what Mother had said. 

Wrap them tight. Hide them. Never let anyone see. 

My terror had invoked it, that inner darkness that yearned for death. The monster inside me, the monster that I have spent my whole life controlling. I bound it tight again, knowing that I could never set it free. I opened my eyes to focus on him.

“What do you want with me, and how did you find me?” My voice was rough, and he smiled again, pleased for some reason.

“The King? He merely wants you to do him a small favor. And as for finding you, now that, that was the hard part. It was only after your mother died – my condolences, by the way- that I was able to pick up the trail again and find you.”

“What favor?”

His eyes were unusually bright.

“I am not the king’s confidant, Ms. Lopez. My job was to find you.”

“No.”

“No?” He raised his eyebrow, and his face was almost disappointed.

“Ms. Lopez, I thought you were smarter than this. I don’t want to hurt you, but I do need to bring you back.”

“I’m no one’s pet, and I know just enough to say that if I go with you, I’ll never get out. ” I turned and ran for the doorway, but paused to look back at him. He watched me leave with a sad look, shaking his head in dismay.

“Really Ms. Lopez? I hate to sound cliche, but you can run but you cannot hide.” 

I raced out the door and was on the street, but his words still found me and haunted me.

“I will always find you.”

I ran through the streets until I couldn’t anymore, my eyes burning. How had this day gone so very, very wrong? As I stopped to breathe, I put my hands to my knees and gasped until I caught my breath.

“Now what woul’ a chit li’ you be doin’ here, sunshine?” A man said behind me. I whirled around, on my guard. I hadn’t looked where I was going. I was in an alley, dark and dank smelling. The man who’d spoken was old and tired-looking, but his eyes a twinkling sharp blue.

“Raphael!” I gasped, never happier to see my old boss and the man who’d gotten me into this whole mess.

“I couldn’t let you do this alone, now could I?” He said, a smile on his face as I rushed over, throwing my arms around him for a hug. 

“Listen, I don’t have much time here,” He whispered, his voice serious, and I leaned back to stare at him. His eyes were furtive, his expression urgent. He wrapped his hand around mine, and I felt the soft sharpness of the paper. 

“He isn’t who he says he is.” He whispered it quickly, his grip suddenly strong.

“Who?” 

“I can’t tell you. I wish I could. Just promise me, you will always have your guard. Promise me.” His desperation leaked into his voice like a vile poison, the poison he consumed for me. As I wrapped my arms around him once more, I whispered,

“I promise.”

”Then all will be well.” He said, his muscles relaxing. I stepped back as he rose.

“Come with me.” Turning, he hunched over and looked around as though to see if anyone was watching him, and he gave me a fleeting smile.

As he walked through the alleys and backstreets, people watched and stared. Even in the dregs of the city, the people watched and listened and spied. 

“Do not fault them,” Raphael said, his voice stern as he faced me. I blinked, and he nudged his head towards them.

“They watch to be paid, they listen to survive.” 

“I know.”

His eyes turned questioning, but I didn’t say anything else. I couldn’t afford to be distracted here. And all memories are useless distractions. I blinked again, then rushed after Rapheal, my mind still whirling. As he stopped in an empty alley, he knelt next to the wall and murmured something I couldn’t hear. He looked at me.

“Don’t watch.”

I closed my eyes, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. 

“Open your eyes.” As they reopened, I saw him standing in front of me with a book. 

“You were always a clever girl. Now use it. “

“But-”

“You’ll find your friends at the Queen’s Inn.”

The Queen’s Inn.

I fled. I fled like the coward I am. I ran, ran through the streets, just like before. I didn’t want to hear his lies. He didn’t know my mother. He’s wrong.

I am a monster.

I am a monster.

I am a monster.

And I can never forget it. 

As I collapsed next to a building, I looked at the book he had given me. It was a diary.

I opened it and began to read the first page.

Dear Diary,

Yesterday, I gave birth to the daughter I have been waiting for for so long! I will name her Annamaria. Things are finally looking up. Marcus cannot wait until she’s older, and he’s already set about spoiling her!

With excitement and hope,

Gabriella Triona Lopez

Dear Diary,

My worst nightmares come true. Today, Marcus’s cat got too close to Maria and scratched her. She screamed, and the cat brushed its tail against her in annoyance. It died.

With fear,

Gabriela Triona Lopez

Mother.

A tear slipped down my cheek. It felt like she was here again, her voice soothing as she stroked my hair and told me to be better. To work harder.

I know I’ll find something in here, something important. Otherwise, Raphael never would have given it to me.

But for now, I just want to sit and remember.

Just sit and remember people how they used to be.

_____________________

I sat in the lounge of the inn, my lips pressed together in disgust as I pretended to read a book on… what was it again? I glanced down.

Oh, right. Geological formations.

“Now what are you doing down here alone?” The woman who had been behind the counter came to sit across from me.

“Reading,” I answered. She snorted.

“If I were you, I’d be anywhere but here. What are you doing with those handsome men? They seem to know you, but it seems like a business partnership, not one of choice.” I stiffened, and she laughed.

“Dear, I’m 46 years old. I’ve seen enough rebels, liars, and honest people to tell the difference and know when someone is more than one. So what are you?”

“That depends on who you are.”

“My name’s Irene Grilqua. Who are you?”

“Alyona Morozov, from Jeterna.”

“I’ve never met a Jeternian in Hirhol.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not by choice.”

She chuckled as she reached past my shoulder. 

“I think the radio would be better entertainment than Jilfins Account of the Rocks and Formations of the New World, don’t you?”

“My friend would find this fascinating, actually,” I said with a grin. 

“Would he? I-”

The front door opened and a beautiful dark-haired woman stepped in. Her eyes were sad, and she had a tremble in her lips, playing on her pale face.

“Meet my friend-”

Irene interrupted me, staring at her as if seeing a ghost.

“Gabriela?”

Maria turned to look at her, the corners of her lips curving down at the corners.

“No. That’s my mother.”

Irene recovered quickly and laughed it off. 

“Of course! How silly of me, you’re far too young to be your mother. I’ll leave you girls to your business.” Rising quickly, Irene walked into the back room and closed the door.

Maria sat in front of me and wordlessly pulled out a book. 

“What is it?”

“My mother’s old diary. Raphael met me in an alley today, and he showed it to me. He said it would help us.”

I looked back to the cover and closed my eyes. 

She was hiding something. 

I opened my eyes. So was I. 

Gabriela.

My fault.

I opened the diary and began to examine it. 

The first thing I noticed was the first letters of the later entries. There were three main calligraphies in Enami at the time, and Gabriela used two of them. Except for the first letters at the beginning of each entry, each one written in Hansit, large and overdone. I would barely have noticed….except she only did it for a single year.

“Look.” 

“What?”

“What happened to your mother in the year 1825?”

“She got a new job.”

“Well, something about that job made your mother cautious.”

Her eyes sharpened as she re-examined the entries, and I pointed at the Hansit. Her eyes widened.

“She’s writing a passage!”

I lurched up.

I ripped out a blank page from the back, grabbing a quill from the stand next to us. 

“THE KING IS LYING. HIS SON IS NOT WHO HE SAYS HE I. HE WANT BRING HER BACK. SHE IS DEAD. HE CAN STOP KING. FIND THE SWORD ENAMI. FIND THE PORTRAIT IN RTERNA. PROVE HE ISNT WHO HE SAYS HE IS.”

We sat back as I set down my quill, my hands now ink-splattered from the pace at which I had written as she had recited the letters.

“Your mother had terrible grammar,” I finally said, and Maria’s head snapped.

“Shut up.” I blinked. It was the sharpest Maria had ever sounded as she stared at my messy scrawl. “We have to find the sword.”

I hesitated. “Maria…your mother was famous for her love of games. What if this is just another one?”

As our eyes met, there was nothing of the kind young woman in them I’d come to know.

“Then we play.”

We only have 5 days left.

It’s time to use them.

“We need Damien,” She said, standing up abruptly and turning to walk to the stairs. 

“But we don’t know where he is!” I called after her.

She stilled before whirling to face me.

“What happened to him?”

“We don’t know. He was here, but then, he vanished.”

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply.

“Nothing is going right.”

Suddenly, the clock began to peal loudly, chiming in midnight.

Midnight.

A new day has begun.

“We need to find Damien.” She said hoarsely, opening her eyes slowly.

“I know. But how?” I said softly.

“I can help if you’re looking for someone,” Irene called from behind the counter, where she had resumed her perch.

Maria turned to look at Irene, an empty smile playing on her lips.

“ And who are you?”

“Irene Grilqua”

“Well then, Irene, where would you find a teenage boy with good fighting skills around here?” 

She was quiet for a moment. Then she furtively glanced around and bent over to whisper, 

“Virmirs Alley. It’s an underground fight club. But the only people who go there either have nothing to lose, or everything to gain. Be careful. But don’t tell anyone I told you.”

Maria gave her a wan smile.

“Thank you.”

“Glad I could help. It breaks my heart to see these good young men throw their lives away like this.”

Maria smiled again, this time sharp and jagged.

“I feel the same way.”

Picking up the diary and the paper, she stuffed it into the book and hurried out.

I turned to look at Irene.

“Can I ask for directions?”

She laughed before saying,

“Go right down till you see a bakery that says “Closed,” then, turn left, right, straight. They’ll want a password if you’re not a fighter. Tell them, ‘Everything is made to be broken.’‘“ 

“Thank you,” I said.

“Glad I could help.”

I turned to run out the door, to follow Maria. Irene stood still before returning to her chair, then her backroom. I watched her from the outside door.

She wasn’t alone. 

I ran to catch Maria.

__________________

“Who is ‘e anyway?”

“No one.”

I groaned and tried to open my eyes, but my eyes felt like wet sand, and opening my eyes seemed a monumental effort for such a small thing.

“I think he’s waking up.”

“Put ‘im under, then!”

I felt something sharp slide into my arm. My eyes snapped open. 

The horror on one of the men’s faces was enough to spring me from my bed, a drunken-sounding snarl erupting from my ravaged throat as the world became blurry. 

“Who are you?”

“The only people keeping you alive right now.” The sharp voice was so familiar. “Sit down before you hurt yourself.” The world came into focus, and standing next to me was Ishaan Kaur. His eyes were cold.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Damien.” A man was leaning against a wall, his eyes sparkling with humor, his smile so casual, it was as though he were ordering ice at the park instead of standing in front of a drugged and dazed prisoner. There was something boyish about him like he’d either never had to grow up, or he’d been forced to too soon.

“Do you recognize this, Damien?” Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a paper and threw it at me, as though I was a dog rather than a human. ‘The amount of disrespect I was receiving within this week alone is more than I’ve received in a whole year,’ I thought dryly. My good humor vanished the moment I began to read. 

“I saw him, you know.” His voice was casual, his smile still light. Monster. One who hid rage behind soft laughs and hate in warm looks. We both knew who he was talking about.

“Mateo looks a lot like you, but very different personality, I must say. “ Charm like the devil and looks like an angel,” the guards say. Wonder how much longer that will last.”

“Don’t you dare touch him!” I roared, lunging at him as the other men melted from the shadows to hold me back.

“Come now, Damien, let’s not get too emotional. I’m here to offer you a deal is all. I happen to have an old score to settle with the husband of your landlady, and he happens to care fondly for her. Get rid of her, and your brother will receive a raise from his present….accommodations.”

Ishaan’s eyes widened, and I remembered that he had called her a friend just yesterday. 

“There is no need to bring her into this, Charun.”

“I think there is.” His tone was final.

He glanced at the shadow passing over Ishaan’s features and laughed.

“Come now, don’t tell me you have feelings for the old bird?”

“I owe her a favor and call her a friend.”

Charun’s smile faded.

“You once called me a brother.”

“Not anymore.”

The tension within the room was thick as the fog that covered Hells Alley, Charun’s face as inscrutable as Ishaan’s. Finally, he turned back to me.

“Bring Death’s Messenger to the king,”

“What if I can’t?” My question was ragged. I wasn’t sure if I could betray her. Hurt her. Take her to someone who will so willingly break her. The corners of his lips tilted. 

“I’m sure you can.”

“Ishaan will watch you. If you tell anyone anything..” 

The threat was a poison lacing his words. The goon beside me brayed a thick laugh like that of a donkey.

The world slowed as rage began to seep in through the cracks in my mind, turning everything a thousand shades of red. Lunging to the side suddenly, I drove my fist into his jaw with all the strength of a drained man. He doubled over, and I grabbed him into a headlock. I panted, the steps I knew better than my own hand becoming harder and harder.

Kicking out the backs of his knees, he fell to the ground. Flipping him over to face me, I pressed a knee to his chest and clutched his windpipe. His eyes widened as he mouthed words he couldn’t say. Suddenly, I felt a crushing pressure from behind me, and I gave a groan of pain. Feeling myself being hauled off by my shirt, I gave a weak twist. 

He laughed.

“Behave, Damien,” His chiding voice murmured above me.

Patronizing pig.

His long fingers grasped my neck lightly, his skin rough with hidden calluses and scars. He suddenly snapped it to the side, and before I could make a sound, he slid a syringe into my neck and I froze, almost wincing at the sudden pain, the alarms in my head slowing to mere beeps.

“This syringe is now in your carotid artery, Damien. One movement, just one, and I inject it.”

“What’s in it?”

Ishaan’s voice was warning.

“Air.”

I would have laughed. He saw the amusement on my face, and something flickered in his eyes.

“Don’t think so highly of yourself, Sariati. The oxygen will invade your veins and travel to your heart, clogging the necessary valves around the heart, and it will mimic a heart attack. A fatal one.” All amusement died on my tongue.

“Now listen to me. You will bring her. You will kill the rest. And you will not tell anyone about Ishaan.”

Slowly, he drew out the syringe. 

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

__________________

I blew out a breath as I looked around Aleksandr’s room. He had a smile on his face that would be faintly frightening if he were actually aiming it at someone. Instead, it was a triumphant smile. 

“What in Jarni’s name is that?” I finally groaned, bored and annoyed with his self-righteousness and secretiveness. 

“An old ledger.”

“A ledger?” I flopped over onto the bed again, annoyance bubbling to the surface. “Good gods, I’m already bored.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how you passed primary school,” Mikhail groaned from the couch.

“It’s not my fault,” I muttered, “that the instructor let me pass on looks alone. This beauty can be a curse.”

Aleksandr gave me a look that said yeah right, before turning back to face Mikhail, still slumped sideways on the couch.

“A ledger that includes notes,” he said triumphantly. I stared at him, five seconds from lunging over the table and throttling him. He rolled his eyes when I growled in anger, his sigh of frustration suddenly seeming incredibly condensing. “When a ledger includes notes about the guests, it usually includes where they were, where they’re going after this, how long they’ve stayed, how much money they paid, and the currency they used.”

“So?”

“So, that means that we know the prince obviously didn’t come here with his real name, so we need to find a guest that would match what we believe he would have. And he paid using his own ring. On that day, only three men checked into this inn.”

“And how exactly would we know where they were going?” I scoffed, almost laughing at the comical flash of anger on his face.

“They’re all heading to the same place. It’s a very good thing the innkeeper is nosy. She asked them where they were heading, and they all said the same thing.”

His face was grim. I was confused for a moment before realization dawned.

“No. Nope, not doing it, you can’t-”

“We’re going to Enami.”

“Dammit, you said it.” 

“What’s so bad about Enami?” Mikhail asked tentatively. Aleksandr snorted.

“It’s where his sister and her family live.”

“Why is that so bad?”

“Did I mention she put a price on his head?”

Mikhail gaped. 

“Why?”

“Because she’s still the same petty little girl she was when we were five,” I grumbled.

“They had a falling-out.”

“Falling out,” I repeated as I remembered the furious look on her face when I showed her the reality of her friend, the shock the next day knowing my own blood had made me little more than a criminal. And since there was nothing for me in Enami, I found somewhere else that could take the work of a newly minted fiend.

“Really?”

Aleksandr started laughing.

“Her friend, Lady Dowager Arashita Von Mokari, turned out to be a famous thief wanted in two kingdoms and one empire for treason, grand theft, and bigamy.  She stole almost half of his sister’s wealth, then ran off to find some other kingdom to torture with her presence.”

“How the hell do you know so much about my family?”

With a smirk, he picked up a newspaper left on the table and snapped it out in front of his face. 

“Research.”

Mikhail was still gaping at me, his eyes wide.

“But why do you have a bounty on your head, then?”

“Because going after an old friend she loved parading about would have been humiliating, especially since countless others were doing the same. Better to make it all my fault.” My voice was throw-away, even as the familiar betrayal flashed across my eyes again.

“Wow.” He blinked again, the book in his lap clearly forgotten as a slow smile spread across his face. 

“Does Maria know you’re wanted in her home country?” His voice was teasing as his eyes laughed.

“No.”

“Are you gonna tell her?”

“No.”

“You’re so grumpy,” he grumbled.

“Bit late for that,” Aleksandr snickered as he returned to the paper.

“How can you read that?” Mikhail asked. Aleksandr raised his eyebrows as he slowly lowered the paper.

“Because I can read.”

Mikhail flushed as he hurried to say, 

“Yes, but it’s not in Jeternian”

Aleksandr shrugged.

“I’m not a barbarian.”

Mikhail watched him in amazement.

“Back to the original point, Aleks, do you have a plan?”

“Don’t call me Aleks.”

“Do you have a plan?” My voice was forceful, but his silence spoke for itself.

“I swear, I don’t care if you’re lying. Just tell me you did not just drag us to a hellhole without a plan.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“We better.”

“Yeah, we better. Or we won’t live through next week.”

_________________

I blinked at the alley the woman had directed us to. It was dark and dank and disgusting, but completely empty. 

“Where-”

“There.” Alyona nudged her head towards a homeless-looking man sitting with a coin box next to him. Her white streak shone bright in the chocolate of her hair and with the moon glowing, her chocolate looked black. 

Black and White.

Yin and Yang.

“Then let’s go ask.”

Chapter One

Featured

By Sara Aziz

______________________________________

I stared silently out the window, ignoring the hissed conversations of my captors.

Dead. She was dead. I wonder if that meant anything to anyone besides me. Lorkai didn’t care, if he’d approved her death, approved my capture by any means.

“Shut up, Achar,” the hunter growled, and my pointed ears flicked in his direction. “The king will not be pleased.”

Lorkai was no king, but I supposed in his mind, by the people he ruled and the land he controlled, he was. What power flickered in the hunter’s eyes?

“Who are you.” Not a question, but a command I was surprised they allowed me to make.

“Aiden,” the hunter said. No family name, nor title. Did he not know his? Was he illegitimate? His face tightened as he seemed to read the thoughts in my eyes. “It’s not your place yet to know who I am beyond that.”

I bristled, and Achar huffed a growly laugh. As I turned back to the window, face flaming, I cursed myself for allowing him to hurt me. Why was I insulted by this callous killer? I felt someone slide beside me as we went over a particularly bumpy part of the path.

“What’s your name?” I stiffened as the questioner breathed against my neck, hot and far too close. Achar.

“Nothing I wish to tell you.”

“So I will call you Fawn,” he murmured, and my hatred flared in a blinding heat as I stilled. His harsh, cold fingers ran down my throat, tracing my collarbone, trailing lower, lower, and I screwed my eyes shut to avoid the inevitable touch, till they suddenly stopped. Opening my eyes, I dared to glance over at the reason behind this lack of movement and saw Aiden gripping Achar’s hand in a death hold as they engaged in a silent staring contest.

“Don’t touch her,” he ordered, and I blinked. “The king will be…displeased if we return his daughter as the damaged goods you no doubt intended.”

My lips quirked in a smile that lacked humor, and it caught Aiden’s eye as I winked. He scowled, and I wrinkled my nose in distaste. Aiden may want me safe if only for my father, but it was safe nonetheless. I would need to keep him near once we arrived at Lorkai’s castle -or fortress?- and hope his fear for my father kept me alive. Mother would have said to ‘watch, wonder, listen.‘ Keep my mouth shut and my ears open. My lips twitched as Aiden moved to the seat across from me and leaned in, expression conspiratorial. Which was pure bull.

But for Achar, for stopping that touch, I would allow it.

“What is your name, Fawn?”

I considered him, considered the merits of telling my name, and tilted my head in faux acquisition. I never agreed to anything I didn’t want to.

“Gianna.” My voice was deliberately soft, my eyes wide and sad, and his own softened. By the gods, the man was a fool. “My mother calls me Gia, though.” She didn’t. But the false moniker lured a smile onto his hard lips, and he leaned back, satisfied with his findings. He’d already forgotten the wink after Achar’s touch, the spit that had spilled from my lips as I vomited when they forced me into the carriage. I buried the flicker of disappointment beside the endless pit of rage deep inside me. The rage they’d incited with the thoughtless murder, the planned execution.

“I believe I will still call you Fawn.” Aiden’s eyes once again traced my grass-stained clothes, and I shivered when they heated. What was wrong with me? I stuffed that strange feeling right into a box labeled, Things I Will Deal With When Drunk. Achar snorted, and my gaze cut to him.

“Why do you laugh?” I blinked innocently after the question, but there was something in his eyes I couldn’t decipher, an understanding of sorts.

“The strange thing about fawns,” he said, falling deeper into his seat with his eyes closed, “is when a hunter’s around, they always get shot.”

No one spoke for the rest of the ride.

___________________

I sucked in a breath as the seemingly endless array of pines and elderwoods thinned as we entered the center of the Korinaj. Lorkai’s home…I gazed out the window in wonder as a building reminiscent of the castle of the skies came into view. Cold and imposing, it was grand in a way that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. Mother would have despised it. I jolted as I realized she had despised it. And Mother would have had no problem voicing it. Luna always had been brave.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Aiden’s voice was amused, and I felt a burning humiliation flash through me. He thought it was funny, the wild girl of the woods just encountering civilization. Keeping my face smooth, I cast him a saccharine half-smile.

“It’s rather ugly, isn’t it?” I relished the way his smile dropped and the way the confusion in his eyes conflicted with a dormant resentment. “The stone is so cold and dramatic against the woods. It’s almost an eyesore.” I affected a shiver after that, keeping my voice open as he nodded, swallowing every word.

“It’s meant to be that way, and even so, it grows on you.” He smiled, and I feigned struggle before letting a small one flash. Mother would be so proud of me.

“It’s incredible regardless.” Achar’s sharp voice cut through, and I unintentionally stiffened. Achar was…unnerving. He was suspicious, watchful, distrustful. Him, I would need to avoid. For my sanity, and my life.

“Don’t mind him,” Aiden chuckled, and I twisted my hands in a show – a rather impressive one- of being torn. “His mother was the architect.” At that, my head whipped towards Achar, who was staring out the window. His mother? Lorkai allowed a female to design his home? Achar’s jaw was clenched, and for the first time, I truly looked at him. His lupine features had vanished -called forth at will, I’d learned when he’d relaxed and his face gained features I would have said were Fae- and without them, his face was harsh. Carved of ice, born of snow. His hair was white, silver-colored eyes constantly flashing with streaks of gold in rage, along with an aquiline nose combined to create a visage I supposed some could call handsome. Achar caught my eye, raising an eyebrow, and I blushed. Sharias’s name, was I admiring him? After what he’d done?

No, I was merely examining him. Examining my prey. That had to be it. I swallowed, hard, as I looked back out the window. The accompanying guards had ridden outside with the coachman, and I pinched my lips as they opened the door now. The cold winds whipped my face, snow finding it’s way into my hair and onto my thin clothes.

“Will you go down yourself,” Aiden said, his eyes cold in the face of outsiders. “Or do I need to drag you before your father myself?”

I shook my head slowly, taking the humiliation he’d incited in those words and pushing it deep, within the same pit Achar had opened inside me. “I won’t fight.”

I heard Achar snort, but I ignored him, instead stepping out onto the cobble, ignoring the lingering stares of the guards. I will find them all later. Mother always said I had Sharias, the goddess of attraction and loves gifts. Guards always knew something from watching and protecting every day from their places. And very few were unsusceptible to a lovely woman’s invitation. I flashed a pretty smile at the tallest male guard and he flashed his white teeth in a wolfish grin that lasted for less than a second. I continued walking, ignoring Aiden coming in beside me, Achar following like the dog he was. I shivered as my slippers stepped into a particularly large pile of snow, pain shooting up my foot, and I let my eyes flicker over my shoulders for a moment to see Achar’s features had turned lupine again. I narrowed my eyes before looking ahead again, only hesitating for a second as I stepped into the castle. Entered my new prison. Achar grabbed my arm, his grip rough and biting as he dragged me down the halls. Stumbling, I desperately tried to stretch my legs to keep up with him, but Achar had to be at least six and a half feet. Looking up, I flushed when I saw he was already staring down at me, silver eyes almost completely gold. His lips curved, and I jerked my gaze forward, swallowing the rage he ignited. Looking around the halls, I bit my lip as I noted the expensive paintings and gold lining the walls. The lush carpets beneath my thin slippered feet. I reached up a hand to brush some of the snow out of my hair, and Achar locked on the movement for a moment, his eyes flashing pure gold before looking ahead again. Did I make him that furious just by messing with my hair? With a secret smile playing on the corners of my lips, I pulled my arm from Achar’s grip and began braiding my hair gently, slowly, choosing the most intricate design I knew. As I braided, I started actually looking at what was around us in the hall. My feet delicately stepped on the deep red carpets that had to have been custom-made, the cold gray stone of the walls emanating a foreign thing that wasn’t of this world. We were near Lorkai. We were near my father. I sucked in a breath as the guards near the door gave me an almost pitying look when Aiden stepped forward to open the door with ease. His face was cold as Achar grabbed me again and pulled me through the doors, the guards filing in behind us. I blinked at the dramatic change from the plush, luxurious halls to this almost dungeon-like room. It was bleak, dark and shadowy, the floor smooth cobble, the walls painted black and leaking cold. There was only one window, and my eyes darted to it and were arrested by it. The view was nothing short of incredible. The snow covered the grass in a bright, sparkling layer that reflected the sun in each falling snowflake. The sky was cloudless, and I was breathless as my body turned towards the window almost against my will.

“Your mother loved that window too,” a soft voice cut through the silence, and my head darted toward the deepest shadows nearest to the center of the wall. A tall man rose from a throne of pure white that reminded me of bones. A chill ran down my spine as my mouth dried. “Of course, now I realize it was because she wanted to run away through it.”

The man stepped out of the shadows, and I lifted a hand to my face as I finally saw the visage of Lorkai, Lord of the Night. I’d thought he would be ugly, old, burly. My father was none of those things, at least, not the last one. The first one, perhaps only on the inside. His face was sharp, crow-black black hair falling into dark, almost playful eyes. High cheekbones led to a full mouth, his black suit perfectly tailored to a lean body you could still see was lined with muscle. No wrinkle marred his skin, but a scar slashed across his eyebrow. Rather than taking away his looks, instead, it only gave him an air of mystery I could see how my mother had fallen for. Lorkai was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. Now, I understood the love that had always laced my mother’s voice.

“What is your name, little one?” His voice was still soft, a velvet covering for a knife’s edge. He called for her death. He allowed her to die. I felt the howling pit of rage climb up my throat, begging for me to scream and fight and break his ridiculously perfect face. My father’s face was mirthful like he knew every thought going through my head, every instinct telling me to hurt, to kill. To enjoy the screams that reigned.

“What is your name?” He repeated, and I let a smile ghost my lips.

“Gianna.”

“Gianna,” he said, almost as though he was tasting the name, and I stiffened against Achar who was still holding me. “A beautiful name. But I think I will call you something else Gianna. Perhaps, my little fawn.”

His eyes cut to Aiden, laughter dancing in their depths. He knew.

He was toying with us. Using every bit of my restraint, I kept my fists from curling, held myself back from any hint of emotion at all.

“You may call me whatever you wish, my lord.” I put a considerable amount of disdain in my voice, a gamble I hoped would pay off. Achar sucked in a breath behind me, clutching me tighter as he stiffened. My father’s eyes turned icy.

“You may leave now, Achar.” A command. Now I saw the Lord of Night in him, the tight fury bleeding into his voice, the dead eyes. The expression lacked any sympathy, any pity, at all. Achar released my arm, and I almost stumbled at the sudden loss of pressure. The dead eyes now had a fire in them that looked to almost explode at my quick loss of balance. Achar hurried out, a dog scurrying away with his tail between his legs. A quick jerk of his head had the guards leave quickly before sliding the door shut with a terrifyingly final click.

My father turned back to me, and his eyes were now cheerful and warm again. The sudden change would be frightening for anyone scared by quick shifts of emotion. My mother was one of those people.

Was.

“Is their contempt in your face, fawn?” There was a quiet note to his voice that caused me to meet his eyes with a courage I hoped he would see and appreciate. Remember.

“My mother is dead, my lord. And I was told it was because of you. May I feel a bit of contempt for the man who took away the woman who raised me?”

He shook his head, and one of his fists curled. For the first time, I felt I may have overstepped. Went too far. I stepped slightly towards Aiden, my utterly useless safety net. Yet instead, there was regret in his eyes.

“I never wished for her death, and you can be certain, my little fawn, the male who did it will be punished.” From the cold rage that flashed in his eyes, I knew he spoke the truth. And as the taste of blood filled my mouth with a phantom of the past, I wished I could be the one to let Achar feel the pain he’d let me feel, the pain he’d caused. Let the chaos control him as it did me. “But, my little fawn, we have important things to discuss, no?”

Blinking up at him, he walked towards me in a few long strides, grasping my hand as he pulled me with him, out of the throne room to a smaller, adjourning room which was as leisurely extravagant as the halls, leaving Aiden staring after us as the door swung shut. In the center of the room was a long table, covered with food.

“Who-who else will be eating with us?” I asked, turning towards my- no, Lorkai. He didn’t deserve to be called my father, not even in my mind. Not yet.

He gave me an affectionate look as you might an adorable dog than a sixteen-year-old woman asking a question. “No one, my little fawn. Just us.”

Leading me to the table, he pulled out a chair next to the head to which he then sat in himself. Taking my plate, he began filling it with rich foods, and the scents of exotic spices began to float in the air. My stomach growled quietly, and I was reminded of how little I’d had to eat today, how my meal had been interrupted. Mother would have made sure I’d eaten. Mother always made sure I was well. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I accepted the plate from Lorkai. I glanced towards the closed door and remembered Aiden standing on the other side. Was he laughing at me, at the “naive” wild girl he’d encountered in the forest? He must be, considering the luxury for which he lived.

“I am glad I finally get to meet you, my little fawn,” my father said, leaning his elbows onto the table as he met my eyes. “I just wish I could have been there for longer.”

I give him a small nod, and he sighs.

“My court is a deadly place, my little fawn, and they will not care if you’re my daughter or not.” His eyes were penetrating, and I swallowed the question rising in my throat. Did they care who mother was either? Did you care? ” I have no intention of losing you as well, my little fawn, so I’ve arranged the perfect opportunity for you to become one of my court and be accepted.”

A shiver ran up my spine and the fork I’d been fiddling with now felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

I set it down.

“What?” In my head, my voice seemed to come through an ocean, roaring and sloshing as high tide rose.

“A marriage, my little fawn. To the son of my most trusted advisor.”

“Wh-who?” I stuttered, my voice a little too high-pitched, and he laid his palm above my hand with a comforting expression.

“You’ve already met him. Aiden Evergreen, my little fawn.”

Aiden. I would have to marry Aiden? I felt suddenly nauseous, and I drew back my hand as I pulled my legs under me and curled up in the chair. I’d never wanted to get married. And now, I had to merely to get my revenge? My father rose with a sigh.

“I will give you a moment to understand your new situation. I wish things could have been different.” His eyes shone with regret I refused to acknowledge. “If only your mother had thought things through…”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode to the door, every movement assured, as though he knew he would get what he wanted.

Not this time.

Pulling out the button from my sleeve I’d stolen from my father’s suit when he laid his hand on mine, I fiddled with it as I began to scheme.

I would marry Aiden Evergreen over my dead body. Because the only way they were getting me to the altar was in a casket with lilies in my hair. I would sooner greet hell than marry Aiden. Now, all I had to do was convince him of that too.

Prologue

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By Sara Aziz

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The sun rarely shines in the North. Instead, it flees among the clouds to spur the moon’s rise so it may dance with the stars. That’s what Mother says, her pale, silvery eyes gazing at the sky with both hate and love.

A burning hatred and a fiery love. For my mother, murder, and fear had been her companionable sins for too long. It was he who had created these new hells in her.

“Never fear the darkness, my love. The world was birthed in darkness, and that is where it shall return.”

The oddest thing was that I had never feared the darkness, regardless of what she said. Terror of the dark was for those who never knew what they could find in it. But Fae never feared the unknown. Fear was a death sentence.

And I had no intention of dying today.

The wood was quiet in the silence of the night, and I hummed quietly to a tune mother used to sing when I was a child, golden hair swaying with her. The Korinaj forest was almost my home, where I knew I could feel him.

Lorkai, Lord of Night.

My father. His power stretched across the land, but the cursed woods were his domain especially. I’d once asked Mother how they were cursed, but she’d told me to not ask again and to never summon in the woods. She said Father had, and that was why he was the way he was. I still wished sometimes that I could even just see my father, even if he didn’t know I existed. The snow was falling softly, hitting the grounds like the chimes of the school’s bells. I ran a hand down the trunk of a proud tree, relishing the rough feel of the bark beneath my hands. I sighed with pleasure as I raised my face towards the moon, the cool rays a temptation against my bronzed skin. I heard the crunch of footsteps on the snow and froze. Mother tread so lightly, to hear her was to hear the gentle breeze and the water ripple. This was someone else, their steps loud and fumbling. I felt my lips quirk unexpectedly at the strangely endearing way this person bumbled through the forest. Creeping towards the source of the sound, I threw myself behind a tree when I heard a foul curse. The voice was deep, a baritone that did something to my head and made me wish for things I couldn’t describe or voice.

A man.

Peeking around the fauna, my eyes widened at the sight of a tall, lean-figured male with a bow strapped to his back. The hunter turned in my direction, and I hid deeper in the darkness, even though I knew he wouldn’t be able to see me unless I wanted him to. His dark eyes flashed across the trees, silvery black hair ruffling in the wind. The sharp angles of his face spoke of a life similar to my own. He wasn’t traditionally handsome- no, his features were too harsh for that, but it was the round tips of his ears that made me stumble back. He was not only a human man, he was a human man who intrigued me. Who made me want. By the gods themselves, Mother was going to kill me. The stumble made me clumsy, and I stifled a gasp as I stepped on a twig and it snapped. The sound echoed through the trees, and his head darted to the tree I’d been hiding behind. I stilled, suddenly very aware I was wearing nothing but some simple black trousers that were a size too small and a tunic my mother had bemoaned its use of any longer. I narrowed my gaze when he pulled free his bow and loaded it. Stepping out of the shadows, I slowly approached him so he could see me in the moonlight. I thanked Diana it was so bright tonight, and I gently lifted my hands in a silent plea for understanding. He swallowed when he spotted my pointed ears. Or perhaps he was just looking at the ridiculously low neckline of my tunic. Mother had told me to throw it away.

“The Fawn of the East,” he breathed, and I nodded slowly at the moniker the villagers had made for the daughter of the beautiful wild woman. The girl who drifted through the shadows without leaving a trace, who knew the woods as her home above the company of others. “I thought you were just a rumor.” Was that a hint of sadness in his voice?

“No more than you,” I whispered, and he stumbled at the higher note of my voice only Fae could achieve. Perhaps he hadn’t been looking at my ears after all. “What are you doing in these woods? There is no wildlife left in its winters.”

He blinked, glancing down at his bow as though just realizing what he was holding. “I’m not looking for animals.”

I felt a chill skitter down my spine. “You mean, you’re not looking for prey.”

He met my eyes unflinchingly, a smile playing at the edges of his hard lips. It lacked humor, and I swallowed at the violent edge in his eyes. “No. I didn’t.”

Backing away, deeper into the woods, for each step I took he followed. It felt like a cat toying with the mouse as he played with me, allowing me the illusion of escape. The gentle breeze lifted, twirling about us in a dance I knew better than to join.

“Whatever you’re looking for, I hope you find it,” I called to the winds before turning on my heel and darting away, allowing only the silence as companion. But still, I couldn’t outrace his quiet words.

“You shouldn’t.”

I sat on the wolf’s fur carpet before the fire, warming my cold hands when the door slammed open and Mother appeared. I jumped to my feet, hurrying over to clean up her spot on our small oak table, biting my lip as she sat with a panicked expression. That couldn’t have been panic.

Mother was never frightened.

“Gianna, did you meet someone in the woods?” She turned, meeting my eyes, and I found I couldn’t lie when she looked at me like that.

Like one wrong word would break her heart.

I tilted my head before nodding. My odd tick I could never get rid of. Her face turned white, and I swallowed at the shame climbing my throat. What had I to be ashamed of? It was he who’d encountered me, spoken with me, then followed me.

“I’m not looking for animals.”

“You shouldn’t.”

The sadness in his eyes as he murmured my moniker.

He wasn’t just looking for prey.

He’d been looking for…me.

“Mother…?” The words climbed my throat, demanding answer, reason, any way to make sense of the nonsensical.

“Gianna, we have to go. Now.” Jumping from her seat, she hurried to the bedrooms, and I paled. Following her, I found her throwing clothes in a bag, messy and uncoordinated. What had happened in town? Why had the huntsman been searching for me?

What did she know?

“Mother-“

My question was interrupted by the bang on the door as a growly voice called, “Open the door now, Luna, or we break it.” I flinched at the harsh words, and Mother placed a comforting hand on my cheek before grabbing my arm, dragging me to the window.

“Run, my darling. You have to run now,” she whispered in a hushed tone, “you have to go before they get you too.” There was a panic in her features as she unlocked and opened the window, flinching at the sudden onslaught of cold.

“Who?”

“Him.”

There was only one person who could inspire that sort of love and hatred in my mother’s voice.

It seemed the Lord of Night had found us at last. I bit my lip as I tilted my head, a confusing mixture of fear, excitement, and rage pulsing through me. Fear for the day I would meet the man known as the bane of the kingdom, excitement for the thought of finally meeting him, and rage for what he’d done to my mother.

Running towards the window, I leaped out the glass, toppling into the snow. Mother would be fine.

Mother could survive anything and anyone. She’d survived the Lord of Night once, she could do it again. She had to.

Jumping to my feet, I whirled and ran face-first into a stone-hard chest. Looking up, I saw the cold face of the hunter from the forest. There was a regret in his eyes as he gripped my arms.

“You shouldn’t have run.”

I tilted my head, and he gasped as a shadow stabbed into his leg, another forming a dagger at his throat.

“And you shouldn’t have come, human.” He stared cross-eyed at the knife, and I bared my teeth, fire swirling through my veins. “It won’t kill you, sweetheart. Just mimics the pain enough so that you’ll wish it did.”

Drawing the knife away, he stared down at me with an appreciative glint in his eyes.

“Let. Go,” I said through clenched teeth, and he shook his head as he dragged me to the front of the cottage.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, emphasizing the last word, and I flushed. “I can’t do that.”

I swallowed a scream at the scene that encountered us. My mother was on her knees as a wolflike man towered over her, sword poised above her throat.

This wasn’t a summoning.

This was an execution.

“Your mother was supposed to live,” the wolfish man growled. “But it was you the Lord truly wanted. And it seems you need to be taught the consequences of trying to disobey the Lord. By trying to escape, you signed her death sentence.”

Lunging for my mother, the hunter yanked me back into his chest, lashing his arms around me. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and I spat at his shoes in response.

The man raised the sword, and I wished I could close my eyes, but I wouldn’t steal that honor from my mother. The honor of a daughter witnessing her death.

And the sword fell. I tried to ignore the nauseating clunk of her head hitting the ground and the way the pure snow around her slowly turned red with blood. The empty gaze of her pale eyes.

The world was drowned out as a roaring in my head deafened me. One of the hunter’s arms around me lifted to press a hand to my mouth, encasing the screams that begged to be released.

The executioner met my eyes, a slow smile spreading across his lupine features. “I’ve never killed a Fae before. You lot were supposed to be immortal, weren’t you?” He looked back down at the still corpse. “But you’re as weak as a human.”

“Enough, Achar.” The hunter’s voice was harsh above me, but I barely recognized them over the blood rushing in my ears.

I’ll kill him.

I will kill him.

The shadows began frothing around his feet as I clenched my teeth, a howl building in my throat. But I tamped it down, letting the shadows disperse.

Mother wouldn’t just want me to end them. She would want me to tear them apart till they were begging for mercy.

Weak as a human. Achar would regret that. His death, I will enjoy the most. But first, I would start with the man who’d sent them, who’d wanted me back after so many years.

I belonged to no man, much less my father.

I would tear the Lord of Night and his court apart.

Till all that was left was bones and dust.

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Character Development

Writing Tips 101

Who is your character?

Do you know who your character is? One of the biggest problems with new writers is that they don’t fully flesh out their characters. And fully fleshing out your character does not only mean that your character’s name is Demetrius Kajan, and he’s very handsome. [Don’t laugh, this has actually happened] What’s his worst nightmare? What’s his most beautiful dream? If he does get into a relationship with the other MC, what about his past made him averse to romantic entanglements that you might want to explore? I know some writers think that because they are “pantsers,” [They write by the seat of their pants] they don’t need to think about these questions, because they’ll figure it out later. But to write a consistent character readers are capable of falling in love with or severely hating, you need to figure out who they really are. Otherwise, you risk just creating a flat character your readers will be indifferent to.

What are your character’s quirks? Strange habits?

What does your character do, as a nervous habit, or old muscle memory, that is a bit strange, or different? In Keeper of the Lost Cities, Sophie tugs at her eyelashes whenever she gets nervous. It was notable when she slowly regained her confidence and stopped tugging her eyelashes because readers noticed. It doesn’t need to be anything as noticeable, but perhaps your character taps their foot when they’re excited or starts curling their hair when they get scared? Your character needs to have something that makes them unique, and character quirks and strange habits are fun ways to break out of your character’s flatness and make them 3-D.

What challenges does your character face internally?

Every powerful character is facing an internal battle or war, big or small is the only debate. Rhysand, from the Court of Thorns and Roses series, faces an internal battle in A Court of Mist and Fury because he believes Feyre might never heal, or grow past what happened to her. In Finale, Scarlett Dragna is fighting an internal battle as she contemplates whether or not to forgive Julian of his lies or destroy their past together for her fear. What is your character internally fighting himself/herself about? Do they secretly hate themselves? Do they fear ever caring about someone again because of a tragic event years before? [this might be cliche, but it’s always a fun trope!]

Character Cliches. Good, or Bad?

A lot of people wonder whether or not using cliches in your characters is a good idea or not. I personally think cliches can be a wonderful addition to your story, done right of course. Some famous examples.

Men

The Sulky Steve– How many of you writers have read books with a broody MC who’s always growling and snarling at people, then retreating back into his shell? Not to say the Sulky Steve isn’t a fun character to read about, because personally, I love the grumpy grizzly who turns out to be an adorable teddy bear! But your MC doesn’t always need to turn into a soft teddy to make readers love reading about him. He can be a Sulky Steve, but he needs to have something that makes him special. Say, he’s rude to everyone except his learning-impaired baby sister. Maybe he has a pet cat he reads stories to every night before sleeping. Something that plays on the cliche without forcing your character into the stereotype.

The James Bond– We all know this cliche! This character is basically perfect, the guy who knows how to con and trick and fight his way out of every situation, preferably with a blonde on one arm and a brunette on the other. This character is one of the most necessary to explain, the most necessary to create a back story and motive for. One famous James Bond would be Kaz Brekker, from Six of Crows. Kaz is a brilliant 17-year-old from the Dregs, and already one of the most feared men in the Barrel. Dirtyhands will always get the job done. However, instead of making Kaz a boring perfect James Bond, or a Sulky Steve, Leigh Bardugo masterfully manipulated both cliches. Kaz has a disability in his leg that ruined his ability to walk without his cane, and he has trust issues since the betrayal that lost him his brother. She played on cliches by making him so similar and so different at the same time.

The buffoon– This character has to be my least favorite cliche, but sadly essential for many novels. He exists simply to be the comedic relief in the face of the Sulky Steve and often serves very little greater purpose. But did I not just write that they are essential in many novels? That’s because they can become very interesting characters when developed correctly, and even some people’s favorite. The most well-known example is most likely Leo Valdez from The Lost Hero. Leo is meant to be the funny guy in comparison to Jason’s seriousness and often is the guy who can make them smile, even when they are eating tacos in a sewer. He brought a humourous tint to the darker outskirts of the story and became one of the most beloved characters in the series. So when you write about a buffoon, just remember that playing on these stereotypes of cliches is often the best way to capture a reader’s attention.

Women

The Blonde– We all know the dumb blonde stereotype, right? Well, writers took it to a new level. The number of blonde villainesses that flooded the media in the 2010s was ridiculous on completely different levels, from blonde school bullies to the blonde who ruined your family. Now, while media has taken a different turn since then, dumb blonde is still a stereotype writers love messing with. Rick Riordan’s adaptation of the dumb blonde created Annabeth Chase, one of the most admired heroes in the Percy Jackson universe. By making the cleverest character blonde, Rick made her work twice as hard as the brunettes to prove she was just as smart, effectively breaking the preconceived notion all blondes must be stupid until proven otherwise.

The “Independent, Strong” Girl– This one is understandably annoying. How often is it that when we read about a male character who is strong, cold, emotionless, and an all-around jerk, but he’s handsome, our first immediate thought is “God, no?” Because those kinds of male characters are boring and rude, and make us want to throw things. So why is it that some authors choose to make their female characters just like this? A famous example of such a toxic FMC was Captain Marvel from the 2019 film “Captain Marvel.” Carol Danvers’s journey throughout the movie was supposed to be her acceptance of emotions and failure, but by the end, her character had not developed at all, and she was just as cold and annoying as the beginning. The best way to avoid this kind of cliche? For most newbies, my advice would be to stay away from this particular cliche until you feel you’ve mastered the other cliches because while the others done wrong can be funny, this cliche done wrong is often viewed as insulting and demeaning, or just incredibly antagonizing.

The gossiper- This one is probably the most obvious, mostly because all of us have seen at least a few when we were in school. The gossip girls, the ones who stood straight in the middle of the high school hallways and would not stop talking, forced everyone to not only maneuver around them but also hear the latest earful of, “Did you hear what Sheila did last weekend?” Unfortunately, I did not hear what Sheila did, nor did I care. And I doubt your reader will either if you choose to write your gossiper as one dimensional as that. The best way to execute this cliche would be to narrate it through this character’s point of view and allow them to grow and show why they feel the need to consistently poke their noses in everyone else’s business. Did her parents never tell her important things when she was young, not divulging the reasons for their arguments till “the table talk,” where she hears they’re getting divorced? Or did her best friend tell everyone her deepest secret in third grade and now she tells everyone everything just as a way of trying to redeem herself in her own eyes? While this character isn’t always the best idea for all plots, done well, they can be wonderful additions to your cast!

Mean Girls 2.0- We all had to hear the read-aloud in elementary and middle school where the character is bullied by a mean girl, right? The mean girl, usually a mix of “The Blonde,” and “Mean Girls 2.0” often has no reason to bully this other kid, and never has any back story to it. But some writers still say to me, “But this actually happened to me!” Okay, so this happened to you, but reality isn’t always so great at being realistic. The point of a novel, for fiction, is to transport you to another world, whether it be the Wisconsin countryside in 1950 to a futuristic planet set in the year 3672 A.D. Just like dialogue, characters don’t always have to be realistic, otherwise, they won’t feel realistic. While this might seem confusing, it’s a very important concept in writing fiction. Being realistic often means ignoring reality.

The Ms. Havisham- This character is especially entertaining! Ms. Havisham, from Charles Dickinson’s famous novel, was an old woman who has lived in her wedding dress since she was jilted at the altar by her fiance. These are the cliches that are always pining after a man, whether it be their husbands, lovers, or boyfriends that dumped them. They would usually do anything for their infatuation’s attention, and live for their praise. While the Ms. Havisham done right can be especially entertaining, done wrong, she can be a character your readers quickly grow bored of. And if your readers are bored with your characters, chances are, they won’t want to read your book. Done right, the Ms. Havisham can be a comedic relief, a woman whose obsession went so far, that it’s hilarious to readers who think it’s so vastly overdone, it’s ridiculous. or, she can be the chill factor, making your readers feel real terror when she steps out of the shadows, gun in hand and a psychotic glint in her eye as she snarls at the MC, “Get away from my husband.”

Character Inspiration.

What inspires you to write certain parts of a character’s personality? Some writers think there is a magical solution to getting inspiration, but while there is no miracle cure-all to getting inspiration, there are some tried and true methods.

  • Observing people: I found some amazing character ideas can come from just seeing how people interact with each other. I was shopping at Costco when I heard two college girls talking about how one of them couldn’t afford to go to college, and one of them asked why she couldn’t just apply for student loans. The ensuing conversation was so interesting, it inspired my story, “Now Why Would I Do That….” People are so unique themselves, they can inspire characters and stories in the oddest of ways!
  • Music: Music is a fun, carefree way of inspiring your characters, from Taylor Swift to Imagine Dragons, your character can be vengeful, cheerful, and psychotic, and your well will never dry up!
  • Books!: This is my favorite method of getting inspiration. Books give me ideas on all different sorts of characters, like how Legend from Caraval helped inspire my idea of using illusions as a form of dark, forbidden magic. Even if you don’t feel like reading inspires you, then reading is still essential to writing. Reading shows us the best examples of the genres we are trying to write and can show us some common pitfalls and some major ideas and themes that are necessary for each genre. [i.e. romance needs to have some sort of conflict to drive the MCs apart before they can resolve it and live happily ever after]

Resources

Quintessential Pen 47 Questions for your characters – The Quintessential Pen – 47 Questions

150+ Character Quirks and Cliches to Avoid – Reedsy: Character Quirks

Masterclass Writing Character Development – Masterclass – 45 Questions

Dramatics 99 Questions – Dramatics – 99 Questions

Barley Hare Books 40 Questions – Barely Hare Books – 40 Questions

Conclusion

I hope this article helps you with your writing! Best of luck with each of your characters, and please like and subscribe!

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Lovely Worlds

Poetry by Sara Aziz

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Planet of Beauty

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Where a thousand things will float around the sky, fire, ice, and breathless lies,

Venus glides, a planet of beauty and shallow, indescribable follies.

Of dreams once sent,

of dreams never answered,

of beauty without substance, with only fire to its name,

and with its allure so callous and cold,

came the goddess of love,

Venus of old. Of astronomers who gazed upon the sky, when faced with the enchantress, could only cry,

And say it was fire, and say it was ice, and say it was full of terrible delights,

Of which their minds, so clever and irreprehensible, which were so fixed on what was unattainable,

Like the goddess of old, her beauty so fake, she shifted her form with every human she faced,

Ever changing, ever going, yet empty and cold, of malicious curlings in her veins, jealousy and hatred burning her brain,

She hated the glory that was not hers, and the myths say she was cruel as a world, of dry rivers and bare plains, of no air in the sky, no air we could breathe, and so we would die, in its elegance and pain.

A planet of fire,

A planet of ice,

A planet of beauty and terrible delights.

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Planet of Seas

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The planet of seas yet untamed,

of the blue face so many have named,

Of ice and fear and liquid life, of potential and quiet and human wonders,

of tears of worlds, yet unfound, have left their hopes upon its cold bounds,

Its serenity is unmatched, in a universe of silence, blackness, and fear, stretching for miles,

upon miles, upon universes of truths ours have yet to find.

And one we have,

we reject,

in the name of science, and yet for pride,

and yet insanity is called our lies, and have we no shame in our pronouncements and changes, of which should not be,

and yet the world goes on,

and yet the universe continues,

and for shame shall we go on,

and for shame shall we abandon the world our ancestors have built for this oasis of quiet,

in our world of torment,

a world of oceans,

and seas,

and peace,

yet untrod by our human feet.

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Planet of Speed

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The burning planet,

set on fire,

from the flames that keep us alive, with a warmth that keeps us on our wits, and duels of honors broken vows,

it’s speedy in its revolving, the gods of Rome once sent,

and named him Mercury, and away he went, his sandals of gold keeping him aloft as he soared about to protect the lost,

and so the ancients could only say,

to this planet of speed and fire away,

‘Mercury, he is, and Mercury he shall be!’

And away he flew throughout the galaxy!

And so we hear, from time to time,

his laughter at our petty crimes,

and some say he still protects the lost and the lonely,

a smile and skip away,

and so the history is not gone, and the planets revolve,

spinning, spinning, until eternity and a day.

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Thank you for reading my poetry on space, “Lovely Worlds,” and please like and subscribe!

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Beware! & Perchance,

Poetry on Human Emotion and Allegories by Sara Aziz

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Beware!

A mountain torn asunder,

A flash of lightning, filling the sky with white fire, the rain the tears of angels, as they weep for every lost soul that has cursed this wretched land!

Beware!

Beware the grass of poison, beware the hanging trees, their branches arms, their knots tearful eyes, as they weep for lost redemption!

Beware!

Beware these souls who wander the empty plains, searching for the final piece that eluded them in life, an obsession so great they cannot see they have withered and died, they have left their bodies behind, unknowing, yet searching, forevermore!

Beware!

Beware the wretched souls that haunt us, their immorality a black veil of grief as they shadow us all with their empty broken hearts of black and death, screaming of horrors like the demons of hell!

Demons, beware! Beware for every soul still guided by God’s hand, and when we die, may our actions stand behind us on our rights, a bright and shining light, so that may we stand tall again, in a life after this, so that may we stand tall again beyond the Gates of Heaven, and the Gardens of God!

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Perchance,

Perchance my soul will flame alit, with loving words and tender kiss, of mother’s love, and fathers pride, that give me hope, of a world beyond,

Perchance my soul will soar so high, the likes of which make angels cry, as I grow a heart, like a blooming rose, a pile behind me of actions grow, upon my right, not on my left, and so I beam with soul a-lift,

Perchance my heart will miss a beat, as I wait for love to look my way, perchance my heart will grow and brighten, leaving me warm like a roaring fire,

Perchance my mind will blank-or pause- before a rush of doubts and words will fall, perchance your mind might draw up plans, of the life you wish for, of the life you demand,

Yet perchance your soul will be snuffed and cold, a suffocation of sorts, a tale so old,

Perchance your heart might be torn in two, waiting for life to come to you,

Perchance your mind might well up with doubts, like a river of fear, a mountain of mistrust,

Perchance can mean a million things, a hope, a dream, a doubt, a sin.

Perchance life will find you,

Perchance it won’t,

Perchance you fall in love,

Perchance your heart will be torn in two,

A rhyme they sing in a meadow of frolic, and like the tick of a clock, your perchance will never stop, ’till you stand in that crowd, and take a deep breath, as the voice in your mind screams ‘Perchance, Perchance,’ till you smile and wave, and take the first step, till the voice in your head just fades away, and yes, you are vulnerable, and yes, you can be hurt, but you will never know, what will happen, ’till you walk up and say,

“Hello.”

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I hope you enjoyed my poetry, and please like and subscribe!

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August Book Bingo

By Sara Aziz

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Hey readers! This is the first edition of my Book Bingos of the Month, where I design and publish a new bingo every month! This month, I just completed a new book that has become one of my favorites, and I realized I had found it simply by trying to fill out a bingo sheet! I hope this helps you find a new book you might love, or helps you step out of your comfort zone! Enjoy, and please like and subscribe!

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Chapter VII- People of Stone and Ash

By Sara Aziz

Hey readers, hope you enjoy Chapter 7, and please like and subscribe! This will be the last chapter I publish over summer break, but I will continue the story after the start of the new school year!

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We continued to walk, the silence suffocating. Damien was near the front when Aleksandr suddenly stopped.

“What are you doing, you psycho?” Alyona nearly shrieked as she stumbled into him.

He have her the gesture to be quiet, than muttered in a sharp voice,

“Will you be quiet.”

“EXCUSE ME? MY FEET ARE FREEZING, I’M HUNGRY, AND YOUR JUST STOPP-“

Aleksandr lunged over to clamp a hand over her mouth, his gaze warning. He nudged a head to the bushes.

Someone was spying on us.

Alyona stilled, and Aleksandr removed his hand as he crept towards the bush, slowly unsheathing his knife. He crouched next to it -the next movements were really to fast comprehend- but I think Aleksandr grabbed the person and threw them to the ground, because they were struggling against his grip as he pinned them. Walking closer, I saw he was a boy, around the same age as me. His hair was a dark brown with black streaks, and his skin was a sort of bronze, like the people who lived in the foreign kingdoms. He opened his eyes, revealing a silvery gray color, like the portrait frames back home, and suddenly, I felt a cascade of homesickness. Shoving that to the side, I stepped back so that Alyona could have a closer look at the sneak.

As she leaned towards him, he began to yell, seeming to have finally regained his senses.

“Get off me! Get off me, you brute! You lummox! You scoundrel of the lowest order!” He went on ranting as Aleksandr quickly tied him, then rose as we moved back a step.

“Thieves! Bandits!” He continued shrieking, almost hysterically.

Aleksandr leaned towards him and muttered something in his ear that had the color draining from his face. He gulped, then turned to look at us, his eyes darting to us, then our surroundings, trying to find somewhere to run no doubt.

“Wh-Who are you?” His voice was quiet, and very scared. I winced at the fear in his voice, hating I was one of the causes of it. He didn’t know who we were, what was going on, or what amount of danger he was in. Almost involuntarily, I walked towards him and knelt next to him.

“We aren’t going to hurt you,”

“We won’t hurt you, I promise.”

He looked at me, his eyes wary, but hopeful. Unsure as well.

Finally, he let out a breath and said.

“My name’s Ishaan. What is yours?”

“Annamaria. But you can call me Maria.”

He turned to look at the rest of us looming over him.

“Then who are you?”

__________________________________

She was still kneeling next to me, her skin radiating warmth in the terrible cold. Her hair shielded her face, her porcelain skin as pale as the snow that surrounded us. With her delicate skin, dark hair, and deep red eyes, she looked like a Rashkinka doll from back home, like my little sister used to play with. It was meant to stay on the shelf, but she loved that doll anyway.

The excitable brunette came closer and smiled at me, her brown hair matching her eyes like a forest.

“My name’s Alyona. Do you mind if I check for injuries?”

I immediately recoiled as she outstretched her hand.

“I don’t like being touched.”

Her eyes were startled, before looking at the dark-haired woman rising next to me, obviously hoping her friend could give her some explanation. Then, her eyes lit up, sparkling with a mischievous glint I used to see every time Charun dragged me into another of his plots.

Charun.

My best friend.

वह ईश्वर के बगीचे में सदैव ऊँचा चलता रहे

“Where are you going then, Ishaan?”

“Anywhere you’re not.”

“Then you’re out of luck, Ishaan. Because you’re going to be our guide.” Maria whipped her head up to stare at her as everyone else in her group glared. Alyona’s smile was serene as the brute that had tackled me leaned forward to growl,

“This is not your choice, Alyona. Your whims cannot determine our safety.”

“You think he is a danger to us? Don’t make me laugh. He is travelling on his own, seems to understand the terrain, and most importantly, he’s our only option.”

I decidedly already knew I despised people choosing my future for me, and this brown-eyed brunette wasn’t going to command me anymore than they had.

I felt a small hand on my arm, and I looked down to see a scarred, white hand clasping my arm.

“Please. You’re our only hope of getting there within the next week. I’m begging you.”

I didn’t know what was so special about one week, or why they had to be there, but she was obviously desperate, and the tugs at my conscious did not to allow me to refuse. She and Alyona didn’t seem like bad people, after all.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Hirhol.”

Hirhol. A city of ghosts and graves.

“I’ll take you”

“No. It’s not safe, Maria.” A boy with hair as black as hers and golden eyes stepped towards her, his eyes soft as they looked at her before hardening as he turned to glance at me. They were obviously friends, and he seemed determined to protect her.

“For once, Aleksandr’s right.” The large brutes sputtering at the golden-eyed one was almost enough to make me laugh.

“We can’t trust him.”

“Really Damien, I highly doubt it.”

Damien. Alyona. Aleksandr. Maria.

“Who are you?” I asked the one hanging near the back.

“Levka.”

“Mikhail,” The other one supplied, stumbling a bit as he quietly clutching a stack of books like his life depended on it. Levka had words tattood on his arm, I saw, as his sleeves rolled up when he went to help take some books from Mikhail, who was beginning to struggle.

There is no home in life, but in death, there you will find eternal peace

The Ten Skulls

Hmm. I narrowed my eyes at the still arguing Damien and Maria as both of them decided my fate again, taking it from me.

“Why can’t she choose?” I asked.

“Because Maria doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” He almost shouted the words, fear bleeding from the broken edges of his voice, like glass. But glass is double edged.

Break glass, and you bleed.

“I can take care of myself.” Her voice was curt, and he winced before rubbing the back of his neck and sighing.

“Fine. If Maria really believes he’s harmless, he’ll be our guide.”

Aleksandr looked like he was about to choke, his face was so blue, as Maria knelt again and untied me, her hands feather soft.

She stood and held out a hand to help me rise. They don’t know who I am. Perhaps it is best that way.

Perhaps.

________________________________________________

Ishaan was quiet as he led us through a towering forest, the green mixing with the suns setting pink and orange hues, reflecting upon the white of the crisp, pure, untreaded snow to create a picture so enchanting, a thousand words of a thousand writers couldn’t not have described, nor could a painter have captured it, the darkness of an eternal night now melding with the light and sun of day, creating the best of both worlds.

‘That sounds wrong,’ I thought. I explain a lot of things wrong, don’t I?

Levka stood next to me, his arms carrying many of my books.

Friend.

Maria walked near the front, glancing back every now and again to make sure I was alright.

Friend.

No book could have described what it felt like to care, and to have someone care. It felt like a single misplaced word could ruin everything, and also like they could destroy everything you own, and you will still love them. Friends,

Friends,

Friends.

Ishaan stopped for a moment as the sunset began to end, the darkness beginning.

“Why are you stopping?” Aleksandr’s irritated voice broke in.

“The sunset is about to be over, and I wish to see it.” His voice was calm, and his face was serene. Once the sun had faded and the moon finally took its place in the sky, Ishaan continued to walk, footsteps forming in the snow from each fall of his boots, leather and thin. He wore a green shirt that had seen better days, each blow of the wind a whip upon my heavily prepared self, but Ishaan didn’t even flinch, his tranquility at odds with the hysterical boy Aleksandr had tackled earlier. We must have walked for hours, my legs growing tired quickly, each step a struggle. Alyona collapsed, but Aleksandr quickly caught her and carried her through the rest of the wood, her breaths thin.

“How much longer?” He finally barked at Ishaan after hours of peaceful silence.

All Ishaan did was point. And there, down the hill, was a city, fortified with walls of stone.

Hirhol.

A city of ghosts.

“If you can get inside, I can take you too a…friend of sorts, who can help you get anywhere in the city.”

“What do you mean, if we can?”

“Hirhol is one of the most well-fortified cities on the planet, and they plan to keep it that way. Immigrants and refugees are guarded against with a ferocity that is well-known throughout the educated countries.” His smooth jab at Jeterna in his calm voice was enough to make Aleksandr clench his fists, Alyona narrow her eyes, and Damien growl.

Patriotism.

I never was one for it.

“We aren’t refugees or immigrants, though.” Alyona told him, her voice a tad cooler.

“Then what are you?” He had a slim eyebrow raised, his voice genuinely curious. Maria hurried to stand next to him.

“We are nothing and we are no one. We’re just looking for someone.”

“Who?”

This was going into dangerous territory.

“My father. Marco Lopez.”

“I’ve heard of him! He’s a neurobiologist?”

“Yes. He went missing a few months ago.”

Ishaan nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer. They didn’t seem to notice the tremble in her voice, the way her fingers flexed, like she wanted to curl them.

We’re entering a city of ghosts, I reminded myself, as we walked down the hill.

Everyone has a secret,

and skeletons are stacked high.

_____________________________

We stopped in front of the gates, the iron and stone a mockery of my lies. Everything was flashing in my mind, in front of my eyes.

Missing.

Alive.

But most of all,

a grave I visited, a grave I buried, near the riverside.

A stone, blank and curved marked the spot. The wind had rustled when I went to see it, the willow leaves fluttering violently, just like at her funeral. The river was a rushing torrent behind me.

“You said you’d always be there.” My voice was broken, as I looked up to see my father.

He stood in front of his grave, a soft smile on his face as his black curls fell into his eyes just like they had whenever we played tag among the fir trees back home.

He would throw his head back and laugh, a booming sound that resonated all throughout the fields. Then he would pick me up, spin me around, and call me his angel.

“Sometimes people lie, don’t they?”

He nodded sadly.

“I never meant a thing to you, did I?” My head was bowed, my voice thick, as I struggled to hold back my tears.

“I never meant a thing to you. If I had, you might have stayed.”

He shook his head, reaching towards me, arms outstretched, and with a strangled sob, I launched myself at him. But when I opened my eyes, he was gone, and all I held was a broken dream and a thousand memories, in front of a shallow grave.

“Who are you?” A man barked at us from the gate, his black hair with a streak of white gleaming in the sun like a horrid skunk creature.

“We are foreigners, good man, and we wish to enter the enlightened city.” Ishaan’s voice was cold.

“Is that you, Kaur?” A man called down, standing at the top of the gate, this one with gray hair and brown eyes.

“Good day, Robir,” He called back.

“मैं उस पास का उपयोग करता हूं जो गेट ने उनके लिए दिया है, अच्छा प्रबुद्ध शहर।” There was a pause, then,

“Let ’em in!” The guard called.

The gates creaked open, and we walked in, feeling more than a bit apprehensive as the gates clanged behind us.

“That was easier than I thought.” Damien said with a smirk even I found annoying.

“Yes. Easy.” Ishaan’s voice was clipped, and the corners of his eyes tightened.

What had he said?

Mikhail sidled up next to me.

“I wonder what the pass of the gate means.” he murmured.

“What pass?”

“You didn’t understand him?”

“No! What did he say?”

“I use the pass that the gate has given for them, good illuminated city.”

I paused, digesting that rather strange bit of information.

“I guess we have our own little mission in Hirhol now, don’t we?”

He gave me a broad smile before trotting to the front to walk with Levka.

My smile slowly faded as we made our way through the streets.

“I have a friend who can help you in there,” Ishaan nodded his head toward a building.

The Queens Inn, Best Beds in Town!

A rowdy dance, a man laughing near the fire.

Two step,

Three step,

Twirl,

Bow.

“Come on, angel!”

My father spun me around on the floor as my mother danced behind us, singing an off-key tune.

“Good night, honey,” She whispered as I fell asleep.

Waking up to her leaving.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Mama?”

“Go back to sleep.”

Her face was blurry.

“Go back to sleep.”

The streets were near empty as we walked, and the ones who were there kept there heads ducked and wore clothes that seemed to blend with the walls of stone.

I’ve been here before.

It was different, though.

“Where do you want to start looking for Maria’s father?” Ishaan asked, making me almost wince at the reminder of my lie.

“We’ll start at the palace,” Damien said confidently. Ishaan stopped abruptly, then he burst out laughing, the walls and ground seeming to absorb the beautiful sound, free and bright.

“Very few people can just waltz right in.”

“You said the same about the gates,” Alyona pointed out,

“And look how easy that was.”

His calm smile never once wavered.

__________________________________

“No.”

That was the only response we got from those guards.

No.

Ishaan gave us a small bow as he turned, his eyes dancing with amusement, as though to leave.

“Where are you going?” Maria asked.

“You wanted a guide into the city, and now I have been one. And besides, I have told you where you can find help. You will be fine. ” He gave her a faint smile as he backed away, then whirling around so as to walk forward, straight into a city of silence.

I cradled my books even more protectively, already missing the calm presence of Ishaan Kaur.

“What will we do now?” Alyona’s voice was thin, her eyes bordered with silver.

Maria’s smile was just as thin, but she pointed at a large building with faded words that I couldn’t make out.

“When in doubt, just go to the library.”

Her steps were light and quick, a hopeful glint in her eye replacing the small smile she had before. She pushed open the doors quietly, and a small woman looked up from behind a cart. It was piled with old classics from civilizations long gone.

Crime and Punishment.

Bleak House.

Great Expectations.

War and Peace.

Notes from the Underground.

Pride and Prejudice.

A hundred stories of a hundred lives.

“Hello, strangers.” She had a soft, feathery voice that seemed like it would rip or break with the softest wind. Her eyes were a pale blue, rheumy and deep.

“Welcome to my library.”

Aleksandr tensed.

“This is useless. Why are we here? We are merely following the orders of an untrained little girl! When you all come to your senses, I will be trying to find some actual information.”

With those words, he turned and stormed out, Alyona sending Maria a regretful smile as she followed him, Damien, and Levka out.

“Mikhail, you coming?” Levka called from the doorway.

“Yeah.” I turned to give Maria one last glance, and saw her staring after us, the slight wind pushing her hair across her face, her eyes flashing. And then she turned and vanished into the endless, dark stacks of the library.

___________________________________

“Wait, child!” The old woman cried, her legs creaking as she relied on a old wooden cane. I stopped, barely inclining my head so as to see her.

“Seems you can appreciate the beauty of the written word, and the wisdom of those who are now gone.”

A riddle.

“When the dead speak, I shall listen, but till then, may I stand and fight.”

“Well aren’t you a clever one. 1000 Breakable Things, by Zarai Kernati.”

I turned at that, a faint smiling pulling at my lips.

“You like to read.”

“And you like to listen.”

With a purpose in her steps, she walked over to a shelf behind me, well-organized yet dusty. She pulled out a black book, the cover laced with blue. In faded white letters, it said,

Soulseers.

I knew that title.

It was the first book banned in Jeterna since the Brother came into power.

“People are afraid of knowledge.” I said, raising my eyes to hers.

“And yet when they need it, it is always there.”

“Yeah. Frozen Dreams by Carilque Shrinkiha”

“Your friends did not seem to appreciate the value of books.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“Don’t worry, dear. Even the most stubborn souls have a way of coming to see the right way, don’t they?”

Soulseers

Looking back up, she was gone. I found my way to a moldy looking table, and pulling out a weak chair, I sat down and opened the book.

With so many mystical and magical things in this world, perhaps the rarest and most beautiful things would be the Soulseers. Capable of seeing the soul in a human body, they can predict how dark or light a soul will become and can tell every truth you tell from the lies. But darkness also controls them. To see a soul means you can steal a soul. Stealing a soul means you can take on their memories, become that person, if only in mind. But every time you steal a soul, a part of your own is permanently damage–

The words were suddenly blotted out. Blinking, I turned to the next page. It was blank. I flipped through the pages, suddenly frantic, looking, but everywhere was blank. Sighing, I closed the book and stood up. Walking back over to the cart she had been standing next to when we walked in, I pulled out Little Women.

“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents…”

_______________________
As Aleksandr trudged on, I glanced back at the library, and suddenly, I felt angry.

“Where are we going?”

He shrugged.

“So you just dragged us out here, separated us, and you have no actual plan?”

He shrugged again, and for some reason, this just made me even angrier.

“Why do you hate her? She never even did anything to you!”

“You don’t know anything, Alyona.” His voice was ice as he whirled around to face me, his eyes fire.

“Hey, guys?” Mikhail’s timid, scared voice was enough to make Aleksandr look at him. His face was worried and pale.

“Where’s Damien?”

_____________________________________________

It took me 15 years to discover I had no talent for writing, but I couldn’t give it up, because by then I was too famous.

Robert Benchley

Featured

Chapter VI- Nightmares are Dreams Too

By Sara Aziz

Hey readers, I hope you enjoy Chapter 6, and if you have any comments or critiques, please feel free! Chapter 7 is coming out on July 7th!

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Dreams are lonely.

Dreams are painful.

Dreams are memories.

She was humming a song to herself as she cooked, her apron covered in flour and sauce. She smelled like jasmine.

Mother.

“Wash your hands, dear, it’s almost time to set the table!” She beamed at me.

I didn’t move. She looked just like Mother, she smelled just like her. But something was off, something was wrong.

Her smile vanished. She gently placed down the bowl and untied her apron.

She moved like lightning.

I felt a horrible sting on my cheek as my head snapped to the side.

She slapped me.

Good to see you too, Mother.

Suddenly, her delicate pale hands morphed into black claws, her face elongated and her red eyes turned black and green.

This wasn’t her. It’s a nightmare.

This is just a nightmare.

“What should we do, sisters?” This fake version of Mother had a grating voice, like the scraping of a knife on granite.

Nightmare.

It’s just a nightmare.

“I say we kill her,” another voice chimed in, excitement clear in her voice.

“No, no, no, I want to see what happens!”

“Wh-“

Nightmare.

Nightmare.

Nightmare.

“Silence!” A new voice entered the fray.

Female.

She had quick, clicking footsteps.

“Ah, ah, ah, let’s not be naughty” Her voice was amused. I wanted to gouge her eyes out with a rusted spoon.

Suddenly, she slashed at my face with her nails.

I still couldn’t see her.

My blood dripped red.

“Find him”

Her voice was a hiss now, quiet and almost indecipherable.

“Bring me back my son”

______________________

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, time to go.” A teasing voice jarred me to wakefulness as Alyona gave me a wink from across the room. Her eyes were tired, her hands slightly trembling. I returned her exhausted smile and her eyes brightened a bit.

“The Brother wants us gone by sundown, remember?” I faintly recalled her coming in this morning with Levka, her annoyance, his abrupt departure, his gift. I almost smiled. Until I saw the blood on the dagger Damien had given me.

Pixie blood.

Please don’t look, I silently prayed.

If she knew my secrets, she would leave me too.

If she knew how wrong I was inside, what twisted daggers lay in my heart, she would never want to see me again.

I don’t care though.

If anyone tries to hurt her, I will tear them to pieces.

I lost a lot of things after I lost my freedom.

My home.

Most of my family.

But not my strength.

I will destroy their lives bit by bit, stone by stone, until nothing was left but the bitterness of death and despair.

“Why?”

“What?” She didn’t understand the question.

I’m not sure I did either. But I couldn’t dwell in my thoughts.

They would destroy me.

“Why does the Brother hate humanity, yet create an organization filled with it?” She stilled.

We both knew of the raids, of the slaughters that occurred. One species was targeted above all though.

Humans.

Worthless lives.

People protested the killings, but they were silenced too.

Fools.

They place the ethics that they have taken unto themselves upon others so as to not disturb the senses. But to do so means they will not see the immorality or the change that is happening around them. They are blinding themselves.

They blind themselves and ask why they cannot see.

“The Brother does not want to destroy humanity himself. He wants to watch humanity destroy itself. He believes that if you put the wrong people in charge, the countries will dissolve into wars that have no meaning. People will revolt. Fighting, rebellions, murders. And when the dust settles, humanity will die. And when humanity is dead, a new world will rise from the ashes.” Her voice was quiet as she fiddled with the bag’s straps. She was repeating something, I realized.

But what?

“Without us in it.” The words were a bitter tang in my mouth.

I’m not sure if I’m human or not.

Mother told me I wasn’t.

Father told me I was.

But both are liars.

He said he’d never leave.

He left me.

She promised she’d always be there.

She left me.

They always leave.

They stole my freedom and called it hope.

I can’t leave this forsaken country.

This isn’t freedom.

This is a prison.

“Yeah. We’re useful to him now. But when we lose our usefulness, we lose our protection.” Her eyes were shadowed.

“How…pragmatic” My words were careful and slightly unsure.

She blinked, then suddenly laughed, and the tension was broken. But it still floated above our heads, the horrible truth.

We were all going to die soon.

And the clock was ticking.

____________________________

As I carried my backpack down the stairs, I heard laughter resonating through the hallway. I looked over the handrail to see Alyona hugging Mikhail as he struggled to get away, a smile on his face. Levka was also grinning, but it looked hilariously forced. Damien was leaning on a pillar, completely at ease, while Aleksandr was standing tall, watching the clouds shift outside. It was a peaceful scene. As I made my way down, Damien looked up and noticed me. Flashing me a wolfish smile, he inclined his head. I bared my teeth in return.

His eyes flashed with surprise before he snorted a laugh. Alyona turned her head and gave me a huge grin.

It hurt.

She was honest.

She was good.

She would leave me too.

They always do.

“Hey!” I ran down the remaining stairs and stopped in front of Alyona, my hair now wind-blown and messy, falling in front of my eyes. She nudged me, her face mischievous, and I turned to see Damien staring at me before realizing I saw him, suddenly turning away. My cheeks flushed and Aleksandr began glaring at me, apparently bored of the clouds.

“Come on, we need to go!” Dragging me from the room, Alyona strode with a hurried pace I began to mimic. Abruptly stopping in front of the building, she climbed into a large black monstrosity of a carriage, seeming perfectly at ease, completely at odds with the nervous woman I had seen earlier. As Damien climbed in, he slid next to me as Aleksandr, Levka, and Mikhail also found their seats. The carriage jolted as it started and I suddenly realized, I had no idea where we were going.

“Where are we heading?” I directed the question toward the carriage as a whole.

Mikhail responded.

“A city south of Fjiduna called Hirhol”

Hirhol.

Why was that familiar?

We continued in silence.

_____________________________________

have you born,

the Christ’s of faith?

have you see the trees of truth?

have you broken every chain,

that forbade you from hope?

find who you are,

find in yourself,

the courage to continue,

the courage of faith,

the courage to believe.

Songs of The Believers

________________________________________

I woke up to the carriage’s abrupt halt, jolting us all awake. I opened my eyes to find I was resting on someone’s shoulder. I looked up to see Damien slowly straightening as he began to yawn. I then looked over at Alyona, who was now pretending to faint, then wake up and place her hands on her heart.

I began contemplating where to place her grave.

“What the hell is going on?” Levka’s irritated voice broke through the silence as he opened the carriage door to find heavy snow.

“Hey!” He was leaning out the door to face the driver. His sudden swear was enough to get us all on edge.

“What the-!”

“Will you just tell us what’s going on?” Alyona broke in.

He leaned back in and slumped into his seat.

“The driver’s gone, and we have a broken wheel.”

There was complete quiet.

“Don’t we have a replacement?” Mikhail sounded almost timid, obviously unsure.

“No, we don’t,” Aleksandr rumbled, his deep voice quiet.

“The driver is supposed to be skilled enough that we don’t need one.”

“So we have to walk?” I interjected, suddenly worried.

“Obviously,” he sneered.

Oh my God.

____________________________________

As we climbed out of the carriage, Alyona saw Damien get out before me. She had a strange glint in her eyes that made me wearily suspicious.

“What are you-“

Suddenly, she shoved me out of the carriage, and I was falling,

falling,

falling,

until two arms encircled me and held me up. I looked up to see the raised eyebrows and beautiful chocolate-gold eyes of Damien Gray.

Cheeks flushing, I pushed away, and he opened his arms wide to help me. I turned and gave Alyona my worst glare.

She gave me an angelic smile in return.

Shouldering my pack, I began to follow Aleksandr as the snow raged around us.

Each step was a monumental effort of the worst kind, but Mikhail had it worse. With his books piled on him, he had to be struggling.

Don’t do it.

Don’t you-

Oh, whatever.

Doubling back, I grabbed some books from Mikhail and kept walking. He gave me a grateful look as we continued forward, but neither of us wasted our breath for thanks.

__________________________________

We finally stopped when we realized the sun was setting, knowing we couldn’t continue like this for much longer, and that we needed rest. As I sat down on a frost-covered log, I shivered from the horrible cold. I felt a sudden warmth cover my shoulders and I looked down to see a large jacket covering me, and Damien sitting down next to me, his arms now bare as he stared at the sunset, resting his forearms on his knees and frowning slightly. Alyona wasn’t even doing anything I realized, but just staring in shock, before giving me two thumbs up and a wink.

Dear God, she just couldn’t be subtle, could she?

Aleksandr glanced at the jacket around my shoulders, his peaceful expression shifting to one of disgust and a slight rage. He probably wanted me to die of hypothermia. He turned back to the large pile of sticks he had gathered, and pulling out a match from his jeans pocket, struck it, and dropped it into the pile, starting a fire. I stared at the flames and remembered telling my mother of a dream I had. I was 7, and the girls in my class talked about how much fun it was, camping with your parents. You played and told stories, and ate marshmallows and candy.

To a 7-year-old, that was heaven.

I’d wanted to go camping with her and Dad, and in the dream, I’d done it. Mom was smiling and eating and she tucked me in at night after telling me a scary story beneath the stars. But when I told her about my dream, she laughed.

“I’m sure it was a beautiful dream, dear. But I think you forgot something.”

“What?” I was so confused, so stupidly naïve.

Her smile was soft with a serrated edge.

“You forgot that nightmares are dreams too”

I bit my lip, hard, as I tried to focus on where I was, where I am.

I tasted blood.

“Hey.” The voice was soft, and a hand reached over to wipe my cheek.

I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

“Hey,” Damien’s voice was quiet so that only I could hear him. He gently cupped my chin -a mockery of when he had roughly grabbed it only a few days prior- and made me look into the sky.

My breath caught.

There were millions of stars, each one sparkling in the icy beauty of the north.

They weren’t overly flashy, but their beauty was a sort of grace humanity had lost long ago. I leaned into Damien as I watched the stars till my eyes drifted shut and I prayed for a dreamless sleep.

After all, nightmares are dreams too.

_________________________________________

Despite the exposure to the cold, my arms felt warm wrapped around Maria. What was she crying about? What plagued her so much that she didn’t even realize she was crying until I wiped her tears?

Mateo would have known.

I will get him back.

But I had never felt so dirty then now, as I realized that to save him, everyone here would die.

The foul-mouthed sharpshooter.

The shy bookworm of an alchemist.

The strangely obvious healer.

And the loyal Aleksandr.

But Maria.

To save Mateo, she would have to die.

I have never felt so disgustingly dirty than now, as I stared up to the sky she had so reverently gazed at only minutes before.

I was trapped in a nightmare.

A nightmare of my own creation.

And my back bowed as I let the silent tears flow and fall to the pure snow-covered ground, each one a silent apology.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

______________________________

I woke up to find my head in Damien’s lap as he gently ran a finger through my hair, shaking it slightly, trying to wake me up. I sat up and gave him an embarrassed smile as I shrugged off his jacket and gave it back.

“Thank you,”

“No problem” He easily slung it back on as he stood up and stretched, his eyes suspiciously red, like he hadn’t been sleeping.

Did Sariati even need sleep?

“We have to keep going” Aleksandr announced, his voice efficient and as icy as the snow around us.

“Someone wake up Alyona”

I turned and stifled a laugh.

Alyona was lying face down on the ground atop a blanket she somehow had fit into her pack, and she had her arms splayed around her like she was trying to hug the world as one leg seemed to be mid-kick, the other one facing the opposite direction.

“How the hell is that comfortable?” Levka wondered out loud.

Striding over, I pulled out my notebook and rolled it up.

Placing it next to her ear, I yelled,

“WAKE! UP!!!”

Catapulting backward, Alyona somehow landed on her feet and had my arm behind my back and the other pushed upward, one shove from being dislocated. I couldn’t hold it in anymore, and I burst out laughing. She blinked and shoved me away, grumbling as she collapsed back onto her blanket.

“It’s time to go,” Aleksandr told her, his voice softer than before.

“No”

“Its morn-“

“No”

“We have to g-“

“No”

I felt like I was suffocating from the mere effort of not laughing.

Walking over, I whispered in her ear,

“If you don’t get up, I’m telling Levka about your stuffed animal, Mrs. Purrikins.”

She looked me dead in the eye.

“You wouldn’t”

“Try me”

She groaned as she sat up, her back cracking, as she began folding her blanket, sending me rebellious looks every few seconds.

I repressed a smile.

Oh yeah, this is going to be fun.

++++++++++

 “Halloween is the beginning of the holiday shopping season. That’s for women. The beginning of the holiday shopping season for men is Christmas Eve.”
—David Letterman

Featured

Chapter V- In Every Wish, A Prayer

By Sara Aziz

Hey readers, I hope you enjoy Chapter V and please like and subscribe! This chapter is a bit different, because I wrote this one with flashes from the other characters’ points of view, beginning with Annamaria and shifting to the other characters. I always welcome helpful critiques, and any constructive criticisms are also great! Enjoy!
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“Every person has a story, something that made them who they are. I am not rare, nor different, or especially unique. Rather, I am a normal girl. A girl who has two brothers. A girl who has both her parents, a girl who cares for everyone she meets. But there is a passage I will always remember, no matter where I am, and who I become.” I read aloud in the dim candlelit room, the shadows pooling and dripping gently on the books, each one seeming to bleed its hidden story.

Every hidden lie.

“To break is to shatter. To shatter is to cut. To cut is to kill. Break me, you die, heal me, love me, you create me.” My hands began to tremble.

“I will always love, and I will always wait. I will be what I wish the world was, and I will be the good I pray to see. Always.

Always.

Always.” I closed the book as I blew out the candle and fell back, into my pillow, and into the realm of sleep. But the words still echoed.

I will be what I wish I could see.

I will love.

I will pray.

I will heal.

________________

I paced the length of the room, blowing out a breath as I ran my hand through my chocolate hair. He had laughed while he called it beautiful.

Forget,

Forget,

Forget,

My back was burning, the scar he had given me old, yet flaming nonetheless.

Forget,

Forget,

Forget.

He wants me to forgive him, he wants me to come back, his pleading eyes so much like mine.

Forget,

Forget

Forget.

I was a liar. I was a liar. Alyona, Alyona, Alyona.

Lie,

Lie,

Lie.

My name is Alyona.

Liar,

Liar,

Liar.

This is all his fault.

All his fault.

Forget,

Forget,

Forget.

She had smiled, listened, hugged me, and cared when no one else had. She was hiding secrets too. Like me,

me,

me.

She had red eyes, and black hair, like

her,

her,

her.

If she knew my secret, she would never forgive me.

I never wanted this. I was a child then. I had no choice. She had to understand.

She had to.

My breath became labored.

Forgive,

Forgive,

Forgive.

____________________

I knew want they thought when they looked at me. They thought I was a traitor. Levka, the boy who had stolen food before he learned to read. The boy who joked and lied to cover every break in his façade. The boy who was too broken to ever let anyone care about him without hurting them.

He hurt her.

Because he was too broken.

She was on fire and I was a shadow. The only thing that could never touch the fire, never burn in the flames. But I was burning.

Burning every day.

I needed her fire.

I was so cold.

So cold.

I took a shuddering breath as I pushed the door open and walked into the hallway, my room looking more and more like a sanctuary the further I went. The Brother wanted me to wake Annamaria, and I gave a small smirk when I thought about how mad she would be. Making her angry was just so fun. But I stilled when I saw who was pacing in front of Annamaria’s door. She reached out a hand as though to open it before pulling it back and pacing again.

I swallowed hard.

Alyona.

Fire.

I strode forward, my steps resounding like thunder in the quiet hallway, and her head whirled, only to see me, her hard brown eyes widening a fraction before narrowing.

“Levka” She spat my name like it was a curse. To her, it probably was.

She hated me. And for good reason. She had wanted to be my friend, had treated me like an equal when no one else would, and the first chance I had, I stabbed her in the back. I was the shadow, and she was the flame. But I suffocated her.

She hates me.

And it’s all my fault.

“The Brother asked me to wake Annamaria, it’s time for us to go.” I made my voice sharp.

I saw her eyes flash again, this time with hurt, before they became emotionless, beautiful chocolate.

She hates me.

And I have to let her.

Because I never deserved her anyway.

________________

I almost flinched at the harshness of Levka’s voice, so much like his.

Forget,

Forget,

Forget.

“Well then knock on the door already” I spat back, wanting him to hurt like he hurt me.

But he didn’t even blink.

I had cared for him, loved him like a brother, and all he did was hurt,

hurt,

hurt,

just like him,

him,

him.

Forget,

Forget,

Forget.

“I thought you were.” His voice was dry and my cheeks flushed. I grabbed the doorknob and twisted, shoving open the door and storming in. She was turned on her side, a book tucked under one arm, her face peaceful. I gently shook her arm and her eyes drifted open, revealing a warm scarlet red. She gave me a sleepy smile as she sat up and stretched.

“Wuz goin’ on?” Maria yawned, her arm over her mouth.

“Conan the Barbarian is under orders to bring you to the Brother”

I heard a throat clear in the hallway.

“Fine, he’s only going to tell you to get ready, we’re leaving” I amended.

But that was as far as I was willing to go.

“Doesn’t seem like a barbarian, he’s still waiting in the hall, in case I wasn’t decent” she observed, more awake now, her eyes already scanning her surroundings.

I scowled.

“Oh, all right, you can come in now” I called. Levka came swaggering in, and he gave Annamaria a smile.

“How late do you sleep?”

“Till one, like a civilized human,” she said, smiling back. My chest tightened for some reason. Perhaps the air quality wasn’t good.

He nudged his head toward the closet.

“You better get packing. Anymore waiting and the Brother might just kick you out.”

Annamaria snorted.

“I’m not that lucky.”

Levka stared at her for a minute, and then turned and walked away, his steps echoing in the quiet of dawn.

I turned abruptly and began rifling through her closet. I felt stupid. Stupid for the green-eyed monster in me. I wished I could warn her.

Wish,

wish,

wish.

But when has wishing ever given me anything but

pain,

pain,

pain.

I pulled out the black corsets Maria had picked up and turned to find her standing right behind me, our noses nearly colliding. I reared back and Maria gave me a half smile.

“I don’t have a bag.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“I have one” I heard Levka call back from the hallway.

I pinched my lips in disgust as Maria gave me another half-smile and opened the door again for Levka, who handed her a bag that I was sure he had probably stolen from someone. She then shooed him off so she could change and I cracked a smile at that. The shocked look on his face was enough to make my day that much better.

She grabbed some clothes and ducked into the closet as I continued talking to her through the closed door.

“Remember, pack the essentials. Knives, daggers, first aid, and the like.”

I turned and walked out the door to go pack my own bag, the stairs looming.

I could hear her laughter all the way back

down,

down,

down.

___________________

I was twitching as I walked back to the library, my arms full of books. I needed to figure out which one to bring.

“Mikhail!” a booming voice behind me said, and I jumped. Mikhail. Yes. Me.

Mikhail.

Yes.

Me.

Right.

Right.

Right.

I turned and it was Levka, his broad smile, and sparkling eyes putting me at ease.

It wasn’t him.

“Levka,” I greeted my old friend as he clapped me on the back and my books nearly toppled out of my arms. He laughed again and picked up about half the books as we walked into the library together, my steps easier and lighter now.

Yes.

Friend.

Yes.

Friend.

“What are you doing with all these books anyway?” He asked, seeming to weigh the books in his arms. I grinned.

“I’m choosing which one to bring.”

He gave me a startled look, then began laughing again.

“Narrow it down, buddy,” He said.

“Wish I could help. Have to pack my own bag, and two girls just shooed me out of a room because one of them hates my guts.” He grimaced and I chuckled.

Friend.

Friend.

Friend.

“They are girls, what do you expect?” I asked, and he grinned again. He put down the books on a wooden table and I dumped mine too.

“See you Mikhail. And please, don’t bring everything, my back won’t survive.” He gave me a fake pleading look.

I smiled.

“I won’t.”

He knew I was lying.

He laughed as he left, whistling an off-key tune.

My smile faded.

Friend.

Gone.

Friend.

Gone.

Friend.

Gone.

_______________________________

I watched them move about, running like hamsters in a cage.

Levka, the broken traitor in the making.

Alyona, the fiery, shattered healer.

Mikhail, the terrified alchemist.

And Annamaria.

Who has a power that could bring the world to its knees.

I felt its claw drag down my mind and I shuddered.

“Let it burn. Break it.” It whispered.

“Build it again”

“Build it better”

I stood suddenly, my chair toppling over.

A knock at the door opened to reveal a frightened servant. He bowed and quickly handed me a message.

“For you, Brother.”

He turned and scurried away.

I rolled my neck, the cracks ominous in the quiet. I unrolled the scroll and my eyes widened. Inside of me, he laughed. I felt sick.

For her.

I do this for her.

I closed my eyes.

“I do this for you” I whispered, praying somehow she could hear me.

Somehow she would understand.

I’m going to break the world.

And she will never forgive me.

It doesn’t matter, though. No matter what, she will be mine.

I will take her delicate, free soul and trap it in a beautiful cage of gold and deception. She will not be able to tell what is real and what is not. She will never see the truth.

But this is all for her.

Always.

++++++++++++

Of course it’s happening inside your head, Harry. Why should that mean it’s not real?

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore [Deathly Hallows by J.K Rowling]

Featured

Humanity’s Poetry

By Sara Aziz

Hey readers, I hope you enjoy these poems! I’m a writer and a budding poet, so I’m still learning the ropes! This is my attempt to capture human emotion and feeling with poetry, so, hope you enjoy and please like and subscribe!

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#1- Invincible We Are

Invincible we seem,

Stranger yet is the mind,

we value success,

and hide our faults,

invincible we are.

We’re taught to hide our grief and pain,

yet show our anger and our hate,

invincible we are.

We love each other,

yet all for one is what we say,

invincible we are.

We are not special we like to say,

we are unique we like to say,

we are human,

our final truth,

invincible we are.

And when we cry,

we brush our eyes,

embarrassed of an emotion,

invincible we are.

We scream,

we hate,

we laugh,

we challenge fate,

We’re strange beings,

I know it to be true.

We’re one for all,

we’re all for one,

Invincible we are.

#2- Immortality

Life once lived,

is a beginning to the end.

Life and Death,

twin souls.

We die,

we live,

yet fear hath no place among the dead,

for only those alive may feel terror,

for only those dead can feel the threads that connect all.

Dead,

alive,

broken,

whole.

Death and Life,

twin souls,

two sides,

to one coin.

One hate,

one hope.

Death,

is never to be feared,

for death,

is not the end,

but a whole new beginning.

#3- Sunlight

The sunlight hits upon your face,

an everlasting constant.

In a world of turmoil,

the sunlight hits upon your face,

in a world created for all.

#4- To Understand Nothing, To Understand Everything

What can I understand,

that you cannot?

Is it just a matter of circumstance,

a dancing, deadly,

yet adventurous game of chance?

What can I grasp that you cannot,

what makes us so different,

yet the same?

Broken,

and whole,

all at once?

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Thanks for reading my post on my Poetry and please like and subscribe!

Featured

Chapter IV- A Demon in Human Skin

By Sara Aziz

Hey readers, please enjoy Chapter IV-Demon in Human Skin, and please like and subscribe!

________________________

I didn’t know exactly when they left. Maybe it was when the sun started to fall again, the days each passing by like a blur here. Perhaps it was when I heard a rough Jeternin voice behind me, Damien’s arms lifting from my shoulders as he walked away. Alyona stayed with me though, and when the tears finally ended, we sat down and watched the sunrise together, two sisters, about to start a brand new day.

I leaned my head on Alyona’s shoulders and she leaned her head down on mine, just like I had seen my sisters do so long ago with each other, their love evident.

But never with me.

Never me.

My throat began to burn, acid climbing up.

There was a rough cough from behind us and we jolted, turning to see who had interrupted us. My eye twitched when I saw who. Aleksandr Volkov. His face was blank when he looked at us, but there was a rage in his eyes that I didn’t understand. Nor did I care. My back still stung from his brand. The one that was never supposed to be there. I turned back towards the sunrise as Alyona stood and barked at him, her voice biting.

“What do you want, Volkov?”

He gave a long-suffering sigh, so patronizing even I bristled. Alyona stiffened like a wooden babushka doll, and her eyes became nothing but slits. I cocked my head to the side to witness this battle of wills.

“The Brother would like to see her, Alyona.”

The same summoning as before. He then added, his face turned to Alyona but the fire in his deep blue eyes obviously meant for me,

“Alone.”

____________

This time, rather than the throne room, they guided me to a chamber as opulent as the throne room but covered in maps and bookshelves stacked high with titles I knew to be banned.

Typical.

The Brother was standing in the middle of the room, Aleksandr and Damien on both of his sides and two other men I didn’t know standing on the other side of the table.

“Ms. Lopez, how kind of you to join us.” His voice was saccharin, and I itched to hit him.

“They say good things take time,” I said.

Shut up,

Shut up,

Shut up.

He raised a pencil-perfect eyebrow.

“And that matters..?’

Don’t you dare say it,

Don’t you dare say it,

Don’t you dare.

“It’s why I’m late, I’m literally perfect.”

I heard a snort at the table and Damien hurrying to cover it with a cough.

I straightened my back and walked over to the table. On it was a large map showing every country. Jeterna to the north, Enamani to the east, Rterna to the south, and Fjiduna to the west. There were many more illustrated on the map, each different country in some way connected. But these countries were highlighted, their size exaggerated.

“Ms. Lopez, do you have any knowledge of geography?”

My cheeks flushed and I gave a curt nod. My hands were linked behind my back but now they were curled into fists. He thought me an idiot. He was humiliating me by trying to degrade me, make me out as a fool.

“Whatever mapmaker you have has no knowledge of proportion. Enami, Jeterna, Rterna, and Fjiduna are not nearly so large.”

If looks could kill, Aleksandr’s eyes could have buried me six feet deep and still had time to dance on my grave. When I caught his eye, he rolled them at me.

I snapped.

“Why in the world are you rolling your eyes? Are you looking for a brain?” I sighed,

“I’m afraid it does seem rather hollow in there,” My face was sympathetic, puckering my lips and turning my head to the side in an attempt to look like I marginally cared the least about him.

Damien looked like he was trying not to laugh.

The Brothers’ eyebrow was faintly raised. I took the moment to finally examine him. His features were all hard angles and sharp edges, his eyebrows a jet black, hair still covered by his hood. His eyes were such a deep blue they looked almost black, the color blending with the pupils giving you the unsettling feeling that he could stare into your soul, see your darkest secret, and still not be impressed.

‘That’s not far off,’ I thought wryly.

“Ms. Lopez when I want your opinion, I will ask. Until then, only answer the questions I say. Understood”

My lips pressed together into a hard line and my eye twitched. He saw this and gave a small smile, yet it was gone so quickly, I wondered if I had imagined it. But Damien’s shocked expression and Aleksandr’s hard face told me I hadn’t.

Actually, only Damien’s face told me. Aleksandr always looked like that around me.

I laughed softly at my joke, too loudly. They all turned to look at me, and I flushed again when the Brother angled his head as I flusteredly sat down.

“Did you know the crown prince of Rterna has gone missing?”

I nodded. I’d heard the gossip of customers as they came in and out of the shop, speaking either of poor Prince Faraj, or cursing his name for abandoning his duties.

“Good. That saves me some time. A few days ago, I received a letter from the royal Tamil family. They need outside forces involved in retrieving their son.” His eyes burned holes in my face, my cheeks growing redder with each second of breathless silence.

“I had at first no care for helping them. After all, how would it help us at all? It would cost us resources, time, and men that I honestly have no wish to spare. Until I got another letter as of yesterday. This one offers us a reward for his capture. 190,000,000 Turninli. I have received word that the king is nearing the end of his life and he wishes to see his son one last time. They need the crown prince back, as they only have the daughter as of now, and she has no intention of marrying.”

One of the men swore, a word so foul I gave a soft wince. Aleksandr’s eyes widened slightly while Damien’s face went through five stages of shock. None of us cared about the royal family, one glance around the room told me that. It took a moment for the number to set in. That much money may have been enough to empty a smaller county’s coffers. It would be enough to shove Jeterna out of its economic fall over the past few decades. This money could literally save a country.

“The king has received our letter of acceptance and you will find the lost prince. If the king dies before we find him, it will send Rterna into turmoil and we will lose all trade negotiations within the country, as the Queen is practically useless on her own. After all, what is a queen without her king?” The Brother’s lips were curled in disgust and I smiled quietly.

There was a deafening silence.

“You will find Faraj Tamil, and you will bring him back. I don’t care whether he offers you money or prestige. If you try to save him, you will find that the Ten Skulls are not so forgiving.” The Brother’s voice was an attempt at seriousness, but when I looked up, I saw his lips twitch, and I heard the amusement in his voice.

I saw even Aleksandr frown slightly at the harshness of the wording, and if there was one thing I had learned about the dark-eyed man, it was that he was loyal to a fault.

“Damien, Aleksandr, Levka, Mikhail, and Annamaria, you will work together and you will find the lost prince.” The way he said it left no room for argument and made sure it wasn’t a question.

“You’ll leave for Fjiduna by sunrise tomorrow.”

“Annamaria, do tell Alyona she is to accompany you as your healer for this mission.”

The way he said my name… like he knew it well, had said it a hundred times in a hundred different ways… Why?

He locked eyes with all of us as he strode to open the door and unlocked it,

“I would suggest you don’t disappoint me”

____________________

Alyona was waiting outside the door, her face pinched as she paced. When she heard the doors open, her head jerked up and she gave me a broad smile. The door creaked again, and she looked up and saw Levka, her face sliding from happy to almost awestruck. Levka avoided her gaze and walked down the hallway, his cheeks slightly pink as he rushed away.

I winced at the wounded look that flashed across Alyona’s face before she was dragging me away.

I turned and caught one last look before we lost sight of them in the winding halls. Damien was leaning on a pillar near the door his eyes dark and his expression one of distaste. Aleksandr was standing ramrod straight next to him, both speaking in low tones. Mikhail left the room with the Brother, neither of their lips moving. I turned a corner, and then they were gone.

I glanced at the back of Alyona’s head.

“Where are we going?”

“Your room, obviously” Alyona looked at me again and her brown eyes were cheerful, if not a bit too bright. She was hurt, but that wasn’t what I was so surprised about. It was almost like we were…friends. I had never had one before.

Mother never let me.

I shivered as we made our way to my apparent “room” There were a lot of things Mother never let me do. And there were some things I had to do.

We stopped outside a door that was almost unnoticeable, small, and dark. We opened the door and my jaw dropped. Stacks of books, piles everywhere. There was Little Women, Dracula, and A Tale of Two Cities. I laughed as the sunlight streamed in through the two windows and I ran and threw myself on the bed, clutching all the books I could. It was a heaven. Who had chosen this room, who had filled it with books? Damien? Alyona? When I sat up, I began stacking books next to my bed while Alyona went through the closet, wincing at each unfashionably ancient dress.

“Ugh, who filled this closet, a barbarian? We’re going shopping.” The pure disgust on her face as she glared at the closet had me laughing.

“Oh you won’t be laughing in a minute” She said, grinning suddenly.

Turning, she shrieked,

“LEVKA!”

Alyona grabbed me and dragged me off the bed to the door. What’s Levka got to do with anything?

_______________________

Levka was the one who made sure no one “wandered off”, apparently. Poor guy was taking a severe tongue-lashing from Alyona.

But then I remembered her face in the hallway. The small wince of pain as he ignored her.

Suddenly, I was glad Alyona had the sharpest voice of anyone I’ve ever met.

We got into a gray carriage, Levka leaning out the window to say something to the driver. I despised these carriages, much preferring the newer invention, the motorcycle, over this old-fashioned contraption. We jolted to a start, throwing me against Levka as he climbed back in. He began to laugh and gently placed me back on my chair, my face bright red.

“I’m used to women throwing themselves at me, but never literally.”

A small smile flashed across my face. But one look at Alyona’s face had my smile dying on the spot. I looked closer at Levka. Was he really so oblivious? But he was now looking out the window and didn’t seem to notice us at all.

He finally noticed my staring, gave me a grin, and pulled a bracelet out of his weathered bag. I stared at it, confused.

I reached over and took it, my hands closing over the rough surface. I turned it inside out and froze. A name was engraved on the inside.

This was her bracelet.

This was hers.

“The Brother asked me to give it to you since I’m the one watching you.”

I scowled.

“I’m not a dog to be watched.”

“No, you’re a teenage girl with some really bad luck,” he said with a wink.

“And you’re a teenage boy with a bad sense of humor and an ugly pack,” I fired off.

He stared at me for a moment, and I had the sudden feeling no one ever actually talked back to him.

No wonder he had such a fat head.

I was not in the mood for a joker as I shoved the bracelet into my pocket, unsure whether to throw it away or slip it on my wrist and never take it off.

He finally smiled.

“Actually, I’m 20”

“And actually, I’m 18”

He chuckled before turning his head to look out the window again, his smile fading just like the sun that was fading in the constant cloudy skies of Jeterna.

____________________________________________________________

We stopped in front of a mall, our carriage looking outdated compared to the cars and motorbikes of everyone else. My face flushed pink as I rushed out, followed by Alyona and Levka. Levka seemed to silence all gossip, his joking smile gone replaced by a hard look that he seemed content at aiming at anyone stupid enough to look at us for longer than a passing glance.

When we walked inside, I was in awe of everything. There were perfumes, dresses, leggings, and trousers. Alyona grabbed my arm and dragged me inside one of the stores to the right, with mannequins dressed in black. Levka gave a small groan that made me giggle as we walked inside, Levka’s feet dragging like he wanted to be anywhere but here. A small, ferrety-looking man was standing behind the cashier, his small body hunched over. He was a very twitchy man, with oily gray hair and bony, rough-looking hands.

“Msss. Morozov! How nice to sssee you again” His voice was as oily as his hair, his tongue stretching out each s to an unnatural length. His rheumy green eyes stared at Alyona greedily. I felt rather than saw Levka move closer when the man took a step back and muttered something about checking the storeroom. He rushed into the back when Alyona whirled around to glare at Levka, her eyes shooting daggers.

“Stop trying to scare away everyone who I need to talk to you big brute!”

“Why the hell would you want to talk to him?”

I drifted away from the arguing couple as I began to look around, absentmindedly brushing my hands across all the fabrics until something made me pause. A beautiful black corset, tight and strong.

It was just like hers.

I marveled at the feel of the fabric, silky and smooth, but when I tugged at it, strong as steel. I pulled it off the rack along with a pair of tight leggings. I disappeared into the dressing room as Levka and Alyona continued to argue behind me, their voices getting louder as Levka got more irritated and Alyona more infuriated. I unlaced my dress and watched it pool at my feet. I turned to see my back in the mirror and saw the wineglass dripping venom as the snake seemed to slither across my back, almost like it was alive. I hurriedly laced the corset and shoved on the leggings. When I turned to see myself in the mirror, I stood still as I gazed at myself. I reached out tentatively and touched my hand to its reflection. I looked like her.

I looked like her.

I loved it.

I changed back quickly before rushing back to those racks and picking up different corsets, each one made with a new design that was beautiful and strong.

Alyona and Levka seemed to have finally tired of their ridiculous argument and were now looking for me. Alyona saw what I was piling up on my arms and looked from the black corsets to my white dress and gave a smile.

“I knew you were like us”

I graced her with a smile as crooked as her own as I continued to pile the clothes onto my increasingly heavy basket, which I had found lying next to a mannequin in ugly neon orange. I finally walked over to the cashier where Levka was leaning against the counter, looking supremely bored, much to Alyona’s consternation. The twitchy little man finally came back out and gave a squeal when he saw the pile of clothes I put on the counter. Levka clenched his hands into fists, I noticed, as Alyona and I paid and she smiled at the weaselly man. And when he picked up the bags, he walked stiffly, like he itched to hit someone.

My eyes gleamed.

________________________________

I couldn’t breathe. The room was closing in on me. I hated the boy looking back at me from the mirror, hated his gold eyes, hated his black hair. I hated Damien Gray. The letter was crumpled on the floor as I slid to the ground, my breath coming out in short bursts. Annamaria Lopez. I hated her. If she had never come, never shaken my world with one mischievous glance of those deep red eyes, then everything would be okay. Everything would have been okay. I couldn’t get her laughter out of my head, the strong grip of her arms on mine, the fiery warmth of her body. I couldn’t get her tears, her sobs out of my mind. I felt so helpless. Mateo would have known what to do. I put my head between my knees as I began to shake. My better half, my twin. And now he was gone and it was all my fault. Mateo would never have let me get kidnapped, get hurt, and cowered. Mateo would have felt guilt after his first kill, repulsion.

“It felt good…really good, like-“

“Meeting an old friend”

Her soft confession, the guilt in her beautiful red eyes had been my undoing. I shouldn’t have shown her the pixies, shouldn’t have let her kill one. But I needed to know if what she said was true, I needed to know if I was the only true monster. But I’m not.

Could I really destroy the only person in the world even a little bit like me?

I reeled back at my own thoughts.

No.

No.

The king wants her. The king wants Death’s messenger. And I will deliver.

I rose and reached over the broken glass that littered my floor, scraping my knees and tearing my jeans. Blood stained the floor. But it wasn’t scarlet.

It was black.

As black as death.

I was trapped. I was trapped in this cage of a murderer, a thief, a scoundrel. a man with no honor left in whatever scraps of a soul he had. I grabbed my bottle, my own poison and I began to drink as black poured from my body like the shadows I wished would pour out too. Because I knew, if I could cut my own skin, and let the shadows and memories pour out, I would.

Even if the skin I needed to cut was my own heart.

Annamaria Lopez has to die. And the bottle shattered in my hands, staining my skin the color of all the blood I’d spilled to get here, to this point. The point where everything else has led…

All the way to hell.

___________________________________________

When the carriage finally stopped, me and Alyona stepped out followed by Levka, piled high with bags upon bags of my new clothes. Alyona had offered to pay but I refused. What’s the point of having a rich family if you can’t spend all of their money any way you can?

We ran up the stairs, giggling like young girls of 13. I practically glowed as we raced to my room, Levka groaning behind us with the weight of all my new clothes. I would have felt bad for him, but I still remembered Alyona’s face when he was leaving the meeting. Then, I felt much better. We collapsed on my bed, laughing like loons, my father would say. Levka walked in, dropped the bags, and promptly walked out, grumbling about girls and clothes, and fools. Alyona and I locked eyes again and began a fresh round of giggles.

My laughter began to fade when I saw a white envelope on my dark bedside table. I sat up warily and reached for it, Alyona watching me, her eyes following the path of my hand. I grabbed the envelope and opened it carefully. I turned it upside down and out fell a small, folded letter. I opened it carefully, my hands trembling. This felt too much like… It wasn’t…

I took a deep breath and began to read.

________________

“Ms. Lopez and Ms. Morozov,

In all my years, I have yet to see someone perform a job that requires such effort out of even loyalty, much less fear. Therefore, I have taken the liberty to offer you a fraction of the money.

1,000,000 Turninli

This is a generous offer and if it is not accepted, there will be no others. There was a very famous quote, Ms. Lopez, I do hope you will remember.

“There are the people who hold, who strengthen over time, and there are those who shatter. Shatter and break apart.

Be the one who will not break”

Have a good rest of your day, Ms. Lopez, and Ms. Morozov.

Sincerely,

Nirsj Viskani “

____________

I rescanned the letter, trying to find some trick, some condition. The letter itself was written in heavy, masculine scrawl. But there was no sign of anything other than what was plainly written.

“Nirsj Viskani?” I said, taking a chance on the hope Alyona would know the name.

“The Brother.”

Alyona’s voice was quiet, her soft eyes wide.

“That’s his name. But no one is allowed to call him that. And he never signs his real name” She gave me an odd look.

“You really are special aren’t you?” Her face suddenly split into a wide grin.

The room was deafeningly silent. The message was so short but so essential. That kind of money…. with that kind of haul, I could move back to Enamani, find him, get my life back. Even just half of that money could change everything. Alyona was still smiling at me with a sly expression.

“Let’s try on some clothes”

________________

My face was sore, my lips cracking from all the smiling. I felt like I was overflowing, with yellow, and red, and gold. With ecstasy, and anger, with joy and fear.

I didn’t know why I was angry.

But I knew why I was scared.

I was always scared. I was always scared since she had burned me, burned me to try to burn it out of me, the thing everyone wanted. The more I screamed, the harder she shoved. Her hands burned too, along with me. I wonder if that’s what hurt most. Because she almost killed me… out of love.

My smile faded and my breathing became labored.

18 dresses.

3 jumpsuits.

4 walls.

Everything was swirling, everything was just like she said.

I hate you, mother.

I love you, mother.

I wish I understood you mother.

I hope I never understand you mother.

I love you,

I despise you,

I wish I could see you again,

I’m glad you died,

I miss you.

“Everything has an explanation, dear” She had whispered, tucking me in.

My skin was raw, and it was blackened. But I was alive. And that was terrifying for her.

Somehow, I was alive.

It was a miracle.

And nothing frightens people more,

than a miracle.

“You just have to find it”

__________________

Alyona looked over, her smile fading. She looked away quickly, picking up a dress and twisting it in her hands.

“You know… I’ve never seen Damien look happy before. But when he looks at you, he looks almost…content.”

I stared at her, startled for a moment, before rasping a hoarse laugh. As if. But the ludicrous statement, the ridiculousness of it, was enough to snap me back to reality.

“I haven’t known you long, but what about Levka then?”

She flinched at his name and I grinned.

Jackpot.

She tried to glare at me, but broke into giggles, and soon, I joined her. Suddenly, spontaneously, we were just laughing, about boys, about money, and about everything.

Just us.

And everything, for that minute, felt perfect.

______________________

I flexed my hand, the paleness startling next to the blackness of the cloak. It was slender and long and

not mine.

“Your name is Nirsj” I whispered, my voice echoing in the darkness. I couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now. Not when everything was so close. I will do whatever it takes to build this for her. I have journeyed through hell and suffered the fires and I would do it a thousand times over for her,

her,

her.

I felt the fire claw me on the inside, tearing me apart and burning me. I forced the pain at bay, the demon that lurked inside me. I will create a new world. One where she is safe. One where Annamaria Lopez is safe,

safe,

safe.

She can think me a monster as much as she wants, but she will be mine.

Hearing her today, seeing her raise her eyebrows and glare at me, knowing she did not even recognize me, almost broke me. She was so close, I could smell her cinnamon-pumpkin scent.

But so, so far.

I tilted the photo on my bedside table as I pulled off the cloak and fell into bed. I turned and looked at it, a woman with startling red eyes, raven black hair, and a face like an angel’s. A woman with a sarcastic, sharp tongue, and a soul full of strange and magical things. Her lips were curled into a smile, her eyes brimming and overflowing with all the secrets that hid within. I will enjoy finding out every secret in those red seas, and then, when she is finally broken, she will finally see it is only me that can heal her.

Only ever me.

“Goodnight, my love,” I murmured as I drifted into the darkness and flames.

Sleep well, my beauty.

Sleep well.

____________________

I hope you enjoyed Chapter IV- A Demon in Human Skin, and be prepared for Chapter V on May 30th! Please like and subscribe!

Some make people happy wherever they go. Others, whenever they go.

Oscar Wilde
Featured

Chapter I- Bounty Hunter

By Sara Aziz

Hey readers! Chapter One of A Tale and Murder and Lies is ready! Enjoy, and please comment if you have any helpful comments!

__________________________________________

Chapter One

The Bounty Hunter

I wandered through the fog, fear beginning to mix with my grief. What was I going to do? I was all alone. As I felt myself begin to fall into my despair, I spotted a sign with a cursive script saying,

Glass Palace

Sculptors For Hire

I stared at the sign, my mind beginning to whirl. Maybe if I saved enough money, I could…

I don’t know what I would do.

But I need to do something, anything. I have to do something before I lose control. Of my future, of my now, of…me. As I approached the shop, I saw an old man with twinkling blue eyes looking at me through the window. The minute I opened the door, he said,

“Hello miss, I’m Raphael, and welcome to my Glass Palace! What can I get you?”

I cleared my throat and thrust out a hand.

“My name’s Annamaria Lopez, and I’m here about a job” Inwardly, I cringed at the shake in my voice. I desperately hoped he hadn’t notice.

A hint of surprise flashed on his face before he covered it with a wide smile. I barely had time to think of why before he was speaking again, his voice quick and sharp.

“Well then, all the better! Do you have any sculpting experience?”

I thought back to before the diagnosis, and I remember my mother teaching me how to mold clay, how to melt sand, and how to create masterpieces.

‘Everything will someday become necessary.’ she had claimed while forcing me to sculpt and mold the glass till my hands were shaking with exhaustion, and the sculptures were perfect.

“I have experience,” I told Raphael, the words sharper than I intended.

He narrowed his eyes before they took on a sly gleam.

“Well then, do you mind making me a little something? I do love my glass swans.”

Though what he asked was normal, I felt weirdly suspicious. I didn’t know why, though.

He led me to the back where there was sand, glass, molds, an oven, and everything I could possibly need.

“Make me a glass swan and you’ve got a job.”

He turned and hurried from the back room, while I searched through the molds. I sat back on my heels as I felt a strange feeling climbing up my throat.

A laugh tumbled from my lips. Shock froze me still as I marveled at the rusty, pathetic sound. I hadn’t laughed since my mother was diagnosed. I hadn’t laughed since she lost that bright glint in her eyes and hopelessness set in. I hadn’t laughed since I saw my father crying atop her coffin. I hadn’t, I hadn’t, I hadn’t. And to think I now laughed all because there was no swan mold. It’s funny how the universe works. And suddenly, I remember a saying my mother used to have on a tapestry above her bed.

“Until you’re broken, you don’t know what you’re made of. It gives you the ability to build yourself all over again, but stronger than ever.”

I put on my metal mask, and my heavy gloves, and I got to work.

______________________

Raphael came in about an hour later to see my glass swan. With a smirk in his general direction, I put it onto the counter, peeled off my gloves, and noted his shocked and delighted expression with a grin.

“So, when’s my first shift?”

3 weeks later

It was a late day for me, around 1:00 AM. The shop closes at 12:00, but I needed to finish some glass wolves for a customer coming in today. Just as I was raising my blade to brush it to the backs of the wolves, I heard the crunch of glass breaking, a crashing sound that resonated throughout the whole of the shop.

A break-in.

Running out to the front, I barely noticed I was still holding the knife. There, a tall man stood, his hand bloody and glass-cut. I looked at the door and noticed a hole, right above the now-unlocked doorknob. He saw me and gave me a smile.

“Now, then, what do we have here?”

I clutched my knife tighter as he stepped closer.

He laughed.

I hate him,

I hate him,

I hate him.

“Oh my, we have a fighter here.” His smile turned into a sneer, his eyes to a darkened shade of twisted.

I hate you,

I hate you,

I hate you.

“Listen darlin’, All I want to know is where Raphael is. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Liar,

Liar,

Liar.

“You’ll never find him,” I hissed, despising the slight quiver in my voice.

He stopped smiling. Straightening his jacket, he sighed, as though he expected more from me. I barely had time to wonder why before his hand shot out and wrapped around my throat, lifting me above the ground as I began to choke.

“I will only ask one more time, darlin’. Where. Is. Raphael?” His eyes met mine, a beautiful dark shade of golden brown. They were so familiar…

I felt the world starting to go black. And with the last of my strength, I stabbed the knife.

Straight into his heart,

He stilled, and his grip on me became loose. With a violent kick, I shoved him away from me.

Right into a collection of glass sculptures.

I gripped my knife, nauseated by how easily the knife had slipped in. And yet… fascinated. Amazed. What’s wrong with me?

The figurines fell and shattered around him, each piercing him, tearing his skin, staining the carpet scarlet with blood. And I watched in morbid fascination as his eyes went white, and blood leaked from his mouth, then…

Death.

I heard the creak of a door, and I whirled around to find him watching me with inscrutable eyes.

“Raphael.” What was he doing here? Was he here the whole time?

Had he wanted me to die… instead of him?

I didn’t know why that hurt so much. I had known him for 3 weeks. So why did it feel like the knife was digging into my stomach, twisting with each second his hard blue eyes looked at me? He gave a long-suffering sigh.

“You stupid, stupid girl.”

He looked once again at the body, a hint of revulsion in his eyes, and for the first time, I noticed a tattoo on the inside of his left wrist.

A skull. He was a member of Десять черепов.

The Ten Skulls.

I just signed my own death sentence.

____________________________________

The first rule of the Ten Skulls is never talk about the Ten Skulls. And never make them angry.

They were legends.

They were monsters.

They were murderers.

I stumbled to the ground, the world whirling in a horrible tornado of words, colors, and terrors. Why does everything have to happen to me? Why is my luck so horrible?

‘You foolish, foolish girl. Why didn’t you look? Why didn’t you notice? Ignorant, simpleminded fool’. the coldly amused voice in my head murmured like it always did. Like it always will. It whispered, it purred, it dug its claws in deep enough to hit everywhere it hurt the most.

How could I believe that things would actually go my way, just once? How could I be dumb enough to think that for once, my life was going right? Maybe I’m cursed. Maybe I did something horrible in a past life that I’m still being punished for. Or maybe Fate is just a cruel vindictive piece of garbage who loves ruining my life like it’s her stupid entertainment.

I pressed a fist to my mouth to stifle a sob as that horrible symbol kept repeating in my head again and again, the words engraved underneath ricocheting through my mind, leaving scars that bled with memories.

Memories I wished I could forget.

“О бессмертии и кровавых клятвах. Пусть мы никогда не умрем.”

On immortality and blood vows.

May we never die.

Raphael crouched in front of me, and it was as though his face was carved in stone, unreadable, cold, and unfeeling.

“Never fear your power. But never let down your guard.

The world is covered with the bones of nations that thought they would never fall.”

I stared at the wall behind Raphael blankly. What power? This was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

He gripped my chin roughly and forced me to meet his eyes, unfocused brown to sharp blue, delirious darkness to cutting light.

“The Ten Skulls only let those who are useful live, angel”

And I watched as he pulled up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo.

A bloody skull with serpents slithering through the eyeholes, and a shattered wineglass, dripping venom, spilled atop it.

I looked at Raphael again and there was something in his eyes. Darkness. A darkness, of death.

One I recognized all too well.

I reached out and grasped his hands, his strong, wrinkled hand clinging to my shaky, scarred one. So different. And yet, the same.

His voice was quiet when he said,

“What do you know about bounty hunters?”

________________________________________________________

Hey readers, I hope you enjoyed Chapter One: Bounty Hunter, and be prepared for Chapter 2 on April 18! Please like and subscribe!

Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.

Anne Lamott (Bird by Bird)
Featured

Prologue

By Sara Aziz

Hey readers! I’ve decided to start posting the chapters of the story I’ve been writing on my blog every 2 weeks so that I can get reviews/opinions on my work! I’m posting one chapter per 2 weeks, so please enjoy! This is the prologue.

_____________________________________________________________

Prologue

I heard the nightingale singing softly in the branches that hung high above my head, the willow swaying in the softest breeze. They lifted the casket gently before reaching down to place it in the freshly dug ground that still smelled faintly of dandelions and wildflowers. I didn’t cry, I didn’t shake, I couldn’t feel anything. The sounds of the night seemed to expand, the chirping of the robin deafening, the clanging of the church bell a distant explosion. I knew that to not feel was rare, was wrong. Yet, she was always the one with the big smile, the warm hugs, the constant glow of happiness. My dad’s body convulsed and shook violently with his wails, the tears running down his face like liquid rivers of pain. Those tears seemed to carve themselves into his very being, into the depths of his soul. My mother used to tell me stories. Stories about heaven, and how the angels waited on earth and in the sky to guide you home. Now, it felt like only the demons lay on earth, waiting to steal. Steal lives that were never theirs. I felt the wind pick up as the willows-branches became whips, violent and lively. I didn’t know at the time what the future held. All I knew, was without Mom, I will never heal. She had left a scar in me, a hole that seemed to deepen and hollow with every minute she was gone. And my eyes burned with unshed tears as the nightingale’s song became louder and the wind a jagged cold blade as the earth itself seemed to punish us for putting a body in the ground when it should have been lying in the heavens.

2 weeks later

My body jerked awake as though some invisible force was tugging me to the door. The house was silent. The house was never silent. There were always the thuds from my father trying to exercise himself into exhaustion, the memories of my mother haunting him. They haunted me too. My hands glistened with blood that had poured from my cracked knuckles, my punching bag in the corner stained scarlet. What’s going on? I raced up the stairs into my father’s room, and froze, a fractured, overwhelming feeling sweeping in. The whole world seemed to slow down. There was no noise, no color, no anything. My eyes stayed focused on the white, bloody corpse that was my father. And I felt whatever remnant of a heart I had – bloody and bruised and broken – shatter. How dare he. After everything I had done, all I had suffered, he left me. Now I was here, and he was gone.

Just like her.

His body was twisted on the blanket, his eyes a cloudy white, gun in his left hand. His wrist was ravaged, scarred, and bloody. I put a trembling hand on his neck, searching almost maniacally for the remnant of a pulse.  Proof that I wasn’t all alone, proof that I’m not the only broken thing left. Anything. I sat back on my heels, my heart seeming to speed up to a bursting point, my head growing woozy. Nothing. He was gone. As that thought set in, I keeled over, my legs numb, my heart shattered, the bloody pieces staining and cutting the inside of my chest like dark little daggers. They were gone. They were gone. Everything blurred with the bitter sting of tears, and I couldn’t draw in a breath. It felt like my heart refused to beat. I looked at my father’s cold body again and saw a hint of white peeking out from his right hand, that was curled into a fist. I gently pulled his fingers away to pick up the paper. A note.

My Annamaria,

My dearest daughter. I love you, and you are my gift. But your mother is calling me. Every night, I hear her voice, a whispering echo saying my name. Every night when I hear her, I feel like I’m fading. And every morning, I wake up, just to be killed in the night again. A man can break only so many times before he shatters, my sweet Maria. I love you. But I love your mother. I hope one day, you can find it in your heart, as great and beautiful as it is, to forgive a tired, desperate old man.

Love,

Father

I crumpled to the ground, still clutching the paper, the blood stains seeming to grow larger, the world blurrier. “He doesn’t love you”, the voice in my head taunted. Jeered. No. No. I bent forward, the weight of it all seeming to crush me, force me to the ground, the pain a searing fire, burning me, branding me. He doesn’t love me. He wouldn’t have left me, abandoned me, if he truly loved me. I’m not his Annamaria. Not anymore. And for the last time, I allowed myself to cry. Cry for what could have been, cry for what should have been. Cry all the tears that lay in my soul, so that when I finally rose from the ashes, every tear that fell was a promise of revenge. Finally, my tears seemed to end, my heart seemed to wither, to die. I pulled myself to my feet and, taking one last look at my father, pulled the gun from his cold fingers and left. I paused at the doorway, the hand that was holding the doorframe trembling. Then, I pushed away as I walked away from the place where everything was taken from me. My footsteps echoed in the cold, dark chill of midnight. The fog that had rolled in earlier seemed to thicken. I allowed one last tear to roll down my cheeks before I disappeared into the icy cold shadows of night.

____________________________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed the prologue to my story “A Tale of Murder and Lies”, and please comment if you have any helpful suggestions! Be prepared for Chapter One on April 5th, and keep on reading bookworms!

“All autobiographies are alibi-ographies.” 

Clare Boothe Luce
Featured

8 Tips to Stay Motivated to Write over the Summer

By Sara Aziz

Hey writers, readers! Summer is coming up, those beautiful months of sunshine and relaxation and long trips to the beach! But wait…. what about your writing? I know its hard to stay motivated to write in those long months, and you often question why you would want to stay inside for hours just writing a story, or poem, or essay? Well, I have 8 tips to help you want to write over these long months, so enjoy!

Tip #1- Give yourself a writing goal!

If you set yourself a goal, like you want to write 30 minutes a day, you might be more motivated to complete those 30 minutes, then just relax! If 30 minutes sounds like too much, or you don’t want to set a time goal, just promise yourself that you will write 250 words that day, or 100 words! Just know that you are going to write!

Tip #2- Get Inspired!

Maybe you might want to get in your writing minutes by being outside. Just explore your surroundings! Look around and see what you can find! Maybe your neighbors have a cat that likes to sneak away all day and only returns for mealtime! What does it do all day?…. Maybe its a superhero that has to battle evil bunnies, or maybe its reporting to its bosses about the whereabouts of humans for there cat takeover! There’s always inspiration, even in things that look boring! You just have to find it!

Tip #3- Try new things!

Maybe just sitting around and writing is getting boring, and you want a change of pace! You could go sit outside in a restaurant, or just sit down at Starbucks, and write! You don’t have to write the same thing all the time. Maybe this time, you could write about the barista who keeps checking her phone. She might be a billionaire in disguise, just having some fun pretending to be a barista while she waits for her old college friends to come visit! Or you could just write about your day, and the people around you! It doesn’t have to be wacky, or crazy, you just have to write!

Tip #4- Rewrite an old story!

Maybe you don’t want to come up with brand new content, or a brand new universe. If that’s the case, rewrite an old story! Rewriting old stories not only gives them room to improve, but it gives you a freedom to change old characters, and make new ones without having to come up with a brand new world and its rules first!

Tip #5- Write other peoples stories!

No, I’m not suggesting plagiarism! I mean, write the stories other people tell you, like your grandma gossiping about the people who live 3 houses down who just got a divorce. Write that down! You can give them backstories, and reasons that may or may not be true! Just have fun, and write!

Tip #6- Travel Writing!

Say you and your family are going on a road trip, and you see the most bizarre landmark! Write that down! Or, say your just driving past the most boring landscape EVER. No way you could write anything about that, right? WRONG! You could write a story about why it became like that! Maybe aliens tried to invade and the heat from their spaceships burned the ground so that it was impossible for anything to grow. Or maybe, if your flying past some forests, write about dryads that live in the trees and dance when the sun goes down! You can find something to write about anywhere!

Tip #7- First line writing!

If your on your vacation, most writer bring some of their favorite books! So why don’t you use them? Do you love the first line of one of your books? Is it dramatic, and bold, yet beautiful? Or is it boring, and drab? Pick the first line of one of your books and write a story or poem based on that first line! There are so many choices, there’s no way you could get bored!

Tip #8- Movie writing!

Say your a writer, but reading isn’t something you enjoy that much. Take your favorite movie, and put yourself in it! Write about your experiences meeting all of these movie characters, and how do you change the plot? Did the main character meet you and fall in love with you instead of who he was supposed to fall in love with? Did the villain meet you and you decide to work for him, and you help him defeat the hero? Go crazy with it, and have fun! There is no pressure in writing! Just enjoy it.

Conclusion

Hey writers and readers! I hope you enjoyed my post “8 tips to stay motivated to write over the summer”, and please like and subscribe!

Featured

3 Poems

By Sara

#1- Little Things

A single breeze,

Can brighten,

Someones,

Day,

A bit,

Of rain,

Incites,

Your joy,

As small bits,

Of nature,

Brighten someone’s day,

Another will lie,

In wait,

For a ,

Better,

day.

#2- Innocence

A robin,

Breaks its wings,

But stands alone,

A dove,

Shall fly,

Before it shall fall,

With a sigh,

Of defeat,

For the cry of the innocent,

Is the evil,

Of earth,

If called forth,

From the hate,

That is spread,

Through you.

#3- Evil

A slash,

Of violence,

Is all that you,

See,

When you,

Look at,

Me,

But,

What you see,

Is different,

Than you,

Believe,

For evil,

Shall,

Stand alone only,

When the motivation,

Is to,

Dark,

For you,

To ever,

See.

Conclusion

Thank you for reading my post on 3 Poems, and please like and subscribe.

Featured

Top 5 Go-To Mythological Books

By Sara

#1- City of the Plague God by Sarwat Chadda

Grief is the most powerful motivator. And when a boy is faced with a challenge beyond anything he could imagine, it takes family, hope, and bravery to face not only his worst enemy, but the grief within himself.

Sikander Aziz is a normal teen in New York. He works part time at his parent’s deli, he works hard in school, and has friends. But when his brother dies, everything changes. Suddenly, he has to be someone who people can rely on, someone who his family can lean on as they face the grief together. But when a break in at the deli changes his life yet again, Sikander must once again change, and find a way to save his family, and the only world he has ever known.

A beautiful novel that shows how grief can change people, and how we can change with the grief, it gives a stunning new light to the idea of change, and how grief isn’t the end, but a new beginning.

#2- Pahua and the Soul Stealer by Lori M. Lee

Loss changes people. This is the story of a girl, who has to learn not only to become the person she was always meant to be, but accept the past she hides from.

Pahua was never normal. She can see spirits. Household spirits, harmful spirits, and spirits of the dead. But when she approaches the wrong spirit, her life gets shattered. On a mad race to find a way to recapture her brother’s soul that the spirit stole, she has to learn not only to accept people for how they are, but to accept herself as well.

A novel as clever, and deep as it is funny, it shows that acceptance and love isn’t just something you just show to others, but to yourself as well, and if Pahua wants to get her brother back, she has to accept herself and her past.

#3- The Storm Runner by J.C Cervantes

This is the story of a boy. An outcast, a freak, and a demigod. This is the story of boy who has to learn and accept that his differences are what make him special.

Zane Obispo has always loved just hanging around his volcano and being with his dog Rosie than being with actual people. Because of his deformity, kids call him Sir Limps-a-lot, Uno, McGimpster. All because of his one good leg. But a run-in with a girl named Brooks changes everything. Now, he’s on the run from demons, and this evil god Ah-Puch, just trying to stay alive. A war, hero’s, demons and giants? It takes someone who is flexible in the possible, to believe the impossible.

Beautiful, and in depth, this book shows that the circumstances you were born into don’t define you, but who you grow up to be shows who you really are.

#4- Pegasus by Kate O’Hearn

When you lose someone, you love, how does that change you? And if you find something that heals that hole in your heart, what will you do to help them?

Emily is an ordinary girl who has been through a lot. Her dad is an officer in the NYPD and her mother died a few months ago. Lonely, and quick-witted, Emily never fit in. But when Pegasus crashed down onto her apartment roof, her whole life is suddenly turned around. Caught in a world full of gods, evil creatures, and corruption, she has to delve deep into the world that has turned so murky to uncover corruption and deceit in the midst of the largest operation in the world.

Symbolic and cunning, this book forces you to look at the world around you in hopes of understanding how deep corruption is embedded into our own world and tests your own thoughts in how you see the world, and what you’re going to do about it.

#5-Lords of Night by J.C Cervantes

Have you ever felt like you don’t really belong? Like a stranger in your own skin? Then you understand how Renata Santiago feels.

Rens always been different. She has her own blog about aliens, and she wishes she could get more respect for her blog. She wishes she was ordinary. But even among the special, she is special. She has more power than all of them, and her best friend is the god of death Ah- Puch. But when a new threat rises from the darkness and threatens to consume them all, none of Rens friends can help. So, with the help of teenage demon and a monster hunter, Ren has to face this new threat that lies not only in their present, but murkily in their past.

A book that lies as much in the past as the present, it challenges classic ideas of mystery, and shows how often, we have to understand our past, to ever move into the future.

Honorable Mentions

Conclusion

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4 Poems

By Sara

#1- Sea of Eternity

A splash,

Of water,

In a great,

Sea,

Is all,

That I,

Will ever,

Be,

But if I,

changed ,

Just one,

Life,

Just one,

day

Just once,

A happy,

Droplet,

I shall be,

As I fall into,

The sea,

Of eternity

#2- Alone

I wonder,

What the,

World would look,

Like,

If all,

Just stood,

in,

Unison,

The same, 

All,

Together,

Yet alone,

Surrounded by,

Millions.

#3- Flow On

Flow on,

Through the river,

Of life,

Of faith,

Of hope.

Flow on,

Despite,

Whatever holds,

You down,

In earthly chains,

Of stone,

And pain,

Flow on,

through the river,

Of life

Of hope,

Of change,

Flow on,

Despite your earthly chains,

Flow,

Flow on.

#4- Different

Whatever chains,

Hold you down,

Whatever makes you be,

So similar,

So different,

All in the same way,

You want to be,

Different,

You want to be,

Free,

But when all,

strive ,

For the same thing,

In the same,

Desperate,

Way,

You’re no different,

Than anyone,

Can hope,

To be.

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4 Must Read Middle-Grade Fiction Novels

By Sara

1# -Keepers of the Lost Cities by Shannon Messenger

In a book series as complex, as it is funny, Shannon Messenger challenges the very idea of what we consider to be perfection.

Sophie Foster is a 12-year-old genius. Offered a full scholarship at Yale, winning spelling bees at 5, Sophie was never what you would call average. But there was also something…….. different. Special. She could hear thoughts. When she is revealed to a world full of elves, beautiful and perfect, she thinks she finally belongs. But, even among the special, she is different. She has memories of things people want. Memories they would even kill for…….

A stunning novel, it challenges the idea of a perfect society, and how even a near-perfect world can have cracks. And how it takes special people to fix what seems unfixable.

#2- The School Between Winter and Fairyland by Heather Fawcett

What makes someone special? What makes someone lesser? And what makes someone a monster? The School Between Winter and Fairyland challenges these concepts we often don’t even bother to think of.

Autumn is a Speaker. She can speak and control monsters, her best friend is a boggart, and her twin brother is dead. That’s what everyone says anyway. But Autumn refuses to believe it. She’s going to find her brother if it kills her. When Cai Morrigan, the Chosen One, seeks her help, she knows what she’s going to do. She’ll help Cai on one condition……he helps her find her brother, Winter. But when they begin to delve into Winter’s disappearance, everything becomes murky. Who can be trusted? Who is the murderer? And…..what is Cai? Human, or monster?

This book is a beautiful representation of how the circumstances of how you were raised do not always define you. Your choices do. Your actions. Not the family, or status you were born to.

#3- A Tale of Magic by Chris Colfer

We often don’t think about things that seem normal to us but might not be to another. This book challenges you to look around at the world around you and wonder.

Brystal Evergreen is the daughter of a Justice in the Southern Kingdom, one of the most oppressive kingdoms of the Land of Stories. Brystal has always been different. She doesn’t want to wear fancy dresses and go to balls. She wants to read. But in the southern kingdom, if a woman tries to read, it’s considered an act punishable by law. When Brystal is caught reading and performing the worst act a person could do – perform magic- she is arrested and thrown into a compound for magical girls. Rescued by the kind Madame Weatherberry, she is taken, along with 3 others, to learn magic. But when an evil force threatens to tear the world apart, Brystal must learn sacrifice to save the only home she ever had.

#4- Masterminds by Gordon Korman

Who is a monster? What makes someone a monster? In this stunning novel by Gordon Korman, he challenges the concept of monsters, and forces us to question, what makes someone evil?

Five children, trapped. Trapped in a web of deceit and lies. Unknowingly cloned from the worst villains alive, these kids are an experiment. But what happens when your experiments turn against you? On the run from the people who want to trap them back into their “perfect town”, Serenity may seem perfect, but underneath is an ocean of deceit, hate, and illegality. Amber, Malik, Tori, and Eli are just kids. But what will happen when they find the people they are cloned from? And what happens when their perfect town falls apart? How far will these mad scientists go to get back their experiments?

This book shows that evil is not something your born with. It forces you to question what makes a person evil, and what can we do to save people from becoming evil?

Conclusion

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Great Writing Advice from 5 Authors

By Sara

#1-Rick Riordan

#1- Dont Write the Parts Readers will Skip Anyway!

Many readers skip over the long paragraphs to get to the “good stuff”, and often don’t like long paragraphs full of description. Most beginner writers make the mistake of writing too much about things the reader will skip anyway.

#2- J.K Rowling

#1- Write with Whatever time you have!

You often like to imagine that authors spend their whole day sitting in their chairs, typing paragraph after paragraph, but most writers can’t work like that. We all have responsibilities, like work, school, or family, and often, we just have to write in whatever spare time we have.

#3- Shannon Messenger

#1- You have to be prepared for failure

It took Shannon Messenger over 15 drafts of her book and years of work before she published it, and she was constantly building on the world she created in later books, so you have to be prepared for rejection, or failure, because writing is hard and not for the easily discouraged.

#4- Neil Gaiman

#1- “This is how you do it: you sit down at the keyboard and you put one word after another until it’s done. It’s that easy, and that hard.”

Neil Gaiman’s advice for writing just goes one step in front of the other till it’s done! You have to just start and write and write and write till you reach the end, then, go back and fix what you think needs fixing till its done.

#5- John Steinbeck

#1-“If you’re using dialogue, say it aloud as you write it. Only then will it have the sound of speech.”

John Steinbeck has written various award winners, and his advice is that you write, and then later, read it aloud to make sure everything flows together, and ensure the dialogue sounds realistic.

Conclusion

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The Hypnotists

By Gordon Korman

What if you could make someone do anything without knowing how you’re doing it? What if, no matter how hard you tried to get rid of your ability, and become an average person, you couldn’t? Jackson Opus has that problem. He’s a Hypnotist.

Jax Opus was always a little different. He has these…. visions. It was as though he could see himself from another person’s eyes. And when these visions happen, Jax can make them do anything. He did not know what was wrong with him. Till a seventh-grade field trip changed everything.

Accepted into a prestigious academy of hypnosis, Jax is armed with the knowledge he is more than different, he’s special. Jax can do incredible things. But when something’s incredible, people want to use that power. Whether the cause is just is the question. Because sometimes, being special is the most dangerous thing of all.

In the thrilling first book of the Hypnotists series, Gordon Korman tries to understand the lengths some people will go to gain power, and the danger they create. A perfect 5/5 stars, I recommend this book to anyone who wants to laugh, cry and feel everything in between.

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10 Great Poetry Books and Resources for Writers and Readers

By Sara

#1- Poetry Foundation (Website)

Poetry Foundation allows you to read any poem for free, and you can always read book reviews as well! Have fun poets!

#2- Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

The poetry book for kids was a great read, and I loved laughing at Mr. Silverstein’s humourous take on poetry. I would recommend this book to anyone, and reading Mr. Silverstein’s type of poetry inspired me to write poems, and hopefully, you as well!

#3- Bennington College Young Writers Awards (Competetition)

This competition is open to teen writers from 9th grade to 12th who want to write anything from fiction, to non-fiction, to poetry! The Deadline this year is November 1st, 2022, and the top prize is $1,000. If this competition sounds fun to you, sign up, and have fun!

#4- Quotidian Writer (Youtube Channel)

A great channel for writers, they give tips and tricks on a variety of writing topics, from adding emotion to your writing, to how to get over writers block! Great for writers who need a little help in certain topics of their writing, or beginner writers who want to know where to start.

#5- The Spiritual Poems of Rumi Translated by Nader Kalili

Great for readers and writers interested in making – or reading- more philosophical works! I enjoyed reading, and trying to imitate, Rumi’s work, and hopefully you will too!

#6- Inside Out and Back Again by Thanhha Lai

A novel told in verse, it’s a beautiful story of a girl’s life that was turned upside down by the Vietnam War. Forced to leave her home, now she must travel to America, a completely new land for her family, and she must learn to harness her own inner strength to survive here.

#7- SNHU 2022 Fall Fiction Contest

A fiction writing contest for writers who want to test their skill, there is no fee for this contest and the top prize is $3,000. The deadline is October 31st, 2022. So you better get writing, writers!

#8- Kanopy (Video Service)

Kanopy is a great resource for writers. Just search up videos on writing tips, and there will be lectures and videos that really help you understand your writing. I was recently listening to a lecture on Kanopy myself, and I think you will enjoy these lectures too!

#9- 365 Creative Writing Propmts by TMedia Publishing

A great collection of writing prompts, it’s perfect for travel and writing on the go! Writing with prompts helps you work on writing ideas you might not have explored before and you might find you like writing with a new style more! Have fun with these 365 Creative Writing Prompts!

#10- So, You Want to be a Writer? By Vicki Hambleton and Cathleen Greenwood

Great for kids who want to improve and maybe even publish their writing, it’s a fun and easy to understand how-to book with tips and tricks on how to,

  • How to fight writers block
  • Exercise’s to improve storytelling
  • How to find and agent and get published
  • How to promote your unique work

And more! I would recommend this to parents everywhere who want to help their kids writing.

Conclusion

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Resources for Young Writers

By Sara

#1-The Writers Portable Mentor by Priscilla Long (Non-Fiction)

This is a great read for young writers who aren’t sure what kind of writing they want to do. Collage, Drama, or something else? It gives an overview of things you might want to do as you progress into the world of writing, along with tips and tricks of the trade you might find useful.

#2- NaNoWriMo (Website)

This is a great website for teen writers who want to see how they’re doing. You can set goals, and see how many words you’ve written, and how close to your goal you are. I found it a fun, cool website for kids that I would recommend to parents everywhere.

#3- The Elements of Style by William Strunk (Non-Fiction)

A great read for understanding the art of writing and the many styles and ways to write the same idea, and a great read for aspiring authors.

#4- How to Not Write Bad by Ben Yagoda (Non-Fiction)

While most writers don’t notice them, the readers definitely do! This book educates you on the common writing mistakes of authors, and how to avoid them! A great read for young writers who are dedicated to writing and can’t wait to get started.

#5-Keys to Great Writing by Stephen Wilbers (Non-Fiction)

Easy to understand, and fairly straightforward, they give you crucial information on writing including

  • Four Myths of Great Writing
  • The Elements of Style Checklist
  • The Elements of Composition Checklist
  • The Four-Step Writing Process
  • Five ways to Bring Music to your Writing

And more! Have fun writing in your own way, with guidance to make it great!

Conclusion

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy these resources and have fun writing! Please like and subscribe!

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5 Writing Tips

By Sara

1: Show, Don’t Tell

I know I probably sound like your writing teacher right now, Show, Don’t Tell! Show Don’t tell, but It is really important to show in your writing. Let me give two examples of sentences about a woman and her son arguing in the store.

Telling- Angela was arguing with her son over the bag of candy, and she did not look happy.

Showing: “Mom, why are you such a jerk!” The 5-year-old boy, James, hissed at his mother through tears as his mother, Angela, looked torn between saving money, which their family needed until she got her next paycheck, and making her son happy.

Do you see the difference? One sentence is so much stronger than the other because you can visualize the torn mother, whom we now know doesn’t earn a lot of money, yet also wants to make her 5-year-old son, James, happy. When you make a sentence, paragraph, or even story, easier to visualize for the reader,your hooking them onto your story.

2: Read

I know when you envision yourself writing, you imagine yourself sitting in front of that computer, maybe in a cafe, drinking coffee to stay awake because you wrote all night. It doesn’t necessarily work like that. Most writers read, not only for pleasure but to improve their writing. These are a few stanzas from a poem by Emily Dickinson “Because I could not stop for Death.”

Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves— 
And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—

Or rather—He passed us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—

Because I could not stop for death by Emily Dickinson

In her poem, Emily Dickinson used symbolism to highlight ideas of mortality, fear, and death itself. In the first stanza, when she said “Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me, the carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.” There are many ways to interpret Ms. Dickinson’s poem, but I understood it to reference fear of death, but also fear of life as well. She had no fear of death, so she did not spend all her time waiting for death to arrive, and when death finally arrived for her, she did not run or fear it, but accepted it. The reference to immortality suggests her belief that death is eternal, and as there will always be something to die for, death will always live. When you read, you can learn to imitate, or understand the concepts the author is using in their work, and apply them to your own.

3: Target Specific Writing Skills You Want to Improve

Each author has their own writing problems or something they struggle with in their writing. Maybe it’s writing realistic dialogue, or maybe it’s writing believable scenes, but each author has something in their work they need to work on. Some authors skim over their problems and never face them, making writing that has the potential to be amazing, but the writing needs work. When you’re struggling at something, don’t just sit back and work on the things you are already good at in your story, find the things in your story that seem weak and write them again and again, read books, talk with authors who are skilled in the area of your struggle. And if you really care about, work on your writing, someday, you will make the New York Times bestsellers list.

4: Don’t Give Up

You probably already know this, but when it comes to your writing, don’t give up. J.K Rowling spent years working on her first book “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” before it became one of the most popular books for kids in the world. Writing takes time and a lot of effort. It often takes years to write a book you feel you can really be proud of, and that’s okay. Writing is not for the easily discouraged though, because it takes grit and determination to succeed in writing, and that’s okay. You really need to love what you’re doing and work hard, because then, there will always be a reward.

5: Make Yourself Clear

When you write, there are always many styles to choose from. But often it’s best to make your writing clear to the reader. You don’t always want to fill your writing with fancy words that you have to get a dictionary to find, because then, it’s harder to emotionally connect yourself to what you’re reading if you can barely understand it. Reading is half putting the words on paper, and half making the reader do the rest. You put the words there, and their minds will make the connection, wonder what will happen next, and get hooked on your story. Writing a good story means also applying the reader’s emotions to the mix, trying to get their emotions and experiences involved. One word can evoke a memory in the reader that helps them empathize with the character they are reading about. So remember, try to keep your writing clear and understandable to the average reader.

Conclusion

Thanks for reading my post on 5 Writing Tips! My tips are purely optional to use or not, and there are always different styles you can use instead if they appeal to you more. Please like and follow!

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Sal and Gabi Break the Universe

By Carlos Hernandez

There are so many people out there who are treated wrong because they look or act differently. But Carlos Hernandez tackles that problem in a humorous way that keeps you laughing the entire book.

Sal is a boy who is not so average. He is a magician. A magician who can rip holes in the multiverse. When Sal moves to Miami, things are off to a bumpy start. Bullied by the school jerk, and called a brujo by almost everyone in the school, Sal’s new life in Miami is not looking so good. But along comes Gabi Re’al, a bossy smart girl with a temper and an uptight personality. The two immediately clash, but as the two fight, they come to realize they might not be so different after all.

I would recommend this book to anyone. This book shows that grief is a part of life and that you can learn to be happy, even if you have lost someone you love. Carlos Hernandez shows that we all aren’t just what we appear. you have to look past the surface to see who you are inside.

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The Smartest Kid in the Universe

by Chris Grabenstein

How many of you bookworms wished you could just always be the smartest person in the room just so people won’t accuse you of only being smart at just one thing? This book is about a boy who accidentally consumed jelly beans which made him the smartest person in the world. Oops!

Jake McQuade is a normal middle school boy. Doesn’t care one bit about school, gets average grades, and all he wants to do is play video games. He goes to the gala that his mom is organizing at the hotel his mom works at and eats these jelly beans he found backstage because he is “hungry”. But weirdly enough, eating random jellybeans from backstage was not a good idea! Who knew? When he wakes up the next morning, he is an ultra genius! With the help of the scientist who created the beans, his sort-of girlfriend Grace, and his best friend Kojo, he is ready to take on the school principal working to shut down the school. But as he tries to help out, he discovers the downsides to being ultra smart and is faced with a question he finally doesn’t know the answer to.

This book is warm and full of laughter, jokes, and bathroom humor as this teen genius figures out that maybe you don’t need to know all the answers to be happy. Maybe it’s good to have a few mysteries. They make life interesting, don’t they?

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Level Thirteen

By Gordon Korman

How many of us bookworms dream of doing reading as a job? Your passion earning you money! This is a story about a boy who realized what he loved to do and made it earn him money! But he also realized there really can be too much of a good thing.

Cameron Boxer is a dedicated slacker who discovered the crown jewel of gaming. Streaming. he is devoted to his new stream and can’t wait for it to lift off, but his annoying club keeps getting in the way with fundraisers for good causes. But when a widespread lie, a beaver, and way too many gummy worms cause Cams stream to take off, he believes it can only get better from here. But a series of unfortunate events proves Cam wrong as he learns that sometimes the real world really is better than a video game.

In this heart-warming novel about a couple of teens’ journeys into the world of profit, lies, and love, Gordon Korman shows that sometimes just being a kid is the best job in the world. So for my viewers out there who are still kids, don’t try to grow up so fast. You’re only a kid once.

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Aru Shah and the End of Time

By Roshani Chokshi

Hey, bookworms! How many of you have read or heard about this iconic book about a sassy Indian girl with a magic lightning bolt? Well, you are about to, so get ready!

Aru Shah is a normal girl. Granted she does not have a lot of money, but she is happy. Mostly. She has never even met her dad and her mom is always gone and has always been pretty distant, so she pretty much spends a lot of time alone. She goes to a fancy school for stuck-up rich kids, and in a school like that, the only way to fit in without a lot of money is to lie. So she did. Until it backfired and she accidentally set free a demon called the sleeper. ACCIDENTLY!

Now she must meet a girl named Mini who is terrified of germs, and a pigeon who can talk and is an ancient king, and basically save the entire world. No pressure! She can do it. Right? Can a rule bender, a severe germophobe, and a nutty pigeon really save the world?

I thought this book was beautifully written and spoke about what a family really is. people who are there for you and will always stand by your back. Family is people who love you no matter what. If you love books about friendships, sisters, mythology, and family this book is for you! And always remember, the pen is by far mightier than the sword.

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The Blood of Olympus

By Rick Riordan

Hey fellow book lovers! Welcome to my final installment in my Percy Jackson Book reviews! I am so excited to tell you all about this book, so buckle up, bookworms!

In the Blood of Olympus, Percy and Annabeth recently escaped Tartarus ( Greek Hell) and are scarred physically and mentally. Unsure if they will ever recover, they forge on, stronger and more battle-hardened than ever. But with this new darkness hanging a veil over them, will they ever escape the Tartarus that lives in their minds?

Nico, son of Hades, is on his quest. A fellow survivor of Tartarus, he has learned to Harness his inner demons. Though he is still weak, he agrees to help in a truly dangerous mission. Take the Athena Parthenos back to Camp Half-Blood to stop an impending war between the Greeks and the Romans as history repeats itself. With the help of a Roman Traitor Reyna Ramirez Arellano and Satyr Gleeson Hedge, he must take the Parthenos across continents in a race to stop death.

Jason grace former praetor of Rome, a traitor now is threatened by the ghosts of his past. He is torn between his Roman heritage and his love of the Greeks as he begins to understand the true meaning of love and loyalty, friendship and hate, the past, present, and future, in this final thrilling conclusion to Rick Riordan’s series Heroes of Olympus.

I loved this series and how in each book it tried to tackle problems in a humorous, and sarcastic way that keeps you hooked and laughing till the end! It has been amazing to read this series and be able to share with you all how great I believe these books are. Keep on reading on, Bookworms!

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The House of Hades

By Rick Riordan

Hey, bookworms! Welcome to book review number two in my Percy Jackson book reviews series! I chose the House of Hades because it’s an incredible book that shows grief and guilt in a genuine way children, ( and adults!) can understand.

Leo Valdez is a member of the 7 demigods who is trying to stop Gaea and save the world! But when Percy and Annabeth, two of the most valuable members of the team fall into Tartarus, the group begins dealing with a lot of issues. They have only a few days to reach the Doors of Death in time to save Annabeth and Percy and stop the monsters from coming back from the dead. As a son of Hephaestus, Leo thinks he is the most worthless of the group. He believes he is the reason Percy and Annabeth fell into Tartarus. How can he redeem himself from a mistake this big? Can this son of Hephaestus realize his true worth before they reach the doors of death? Or will his idea of his own self-worth be his downfall?

Rick Riordan tells this story from the points of view of all 7 demigods to show how each one of them reacted to this terrible event that occurred. Each one is battling their own inner battle, and each one is facing their own guilt. With all these battles occurring inside each warrior, can they truly band together to save the world?

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The Mark of Athena

By Rick Riordan

Hey, bookworms! How many of you read these books by Rick Riordan in middle school? It’s almost like a tradition for us! I have loved this book series since the day I started reading it and as a tribute to the new Percy Jackson T.V series coming out, I am going to try and write reviews on my favorite Percy Jacksons!

“Wisdoms daughter walks alone, the mark of Athena burns through Rome. Twins snuff out the angel’s breath, who holds the key to an endless death. Giants bane stands gold and pale, won through pain from a woven jail.” Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena was tasked with this quest. Collect 6 other demigods to save the world and avenge her mother. She goes out on a mission of peace to Rome but it ends in bloodshed. She tries to succeed in her quests, but the Ancient Greek gods are cruel. When the 7 demigods begin to crumble, can this daughter of Athena hold them together?

this book mainly centers around the idea that our pasts don’t define us. What we did can give us grief or guilt, but we need to learn to move on from the mistakes of our pasts. We will never forget some of the things we did, but as long as we are trying hard to fix our mistakes, we are fixing them.

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When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Peach Pie

By Erin Downing

Hey, bookworms! It’s been a while since my last post, so I’ll try to post more on my blog! So, this book really tackles issues in a family, and I hope if you read this, you will love it as much as I do!

This book is about three kids, Herb, Lucy, and Freddy Peach. Still reeling from the death of their mother, the Peach family is more fractured than ever. Their father, in an attempt to bring his family back together, buys a food truck so that he and his family can go around the states selling pies! But when their new adventure starts to go wrong, can this family pull themselves back together? Or will this trip be the final hit to shatter this already fractured family?

I think Erin Downing is trying to show us some important lessons about family. Your family will always be a part of you, despite what you may wish. And families are worth extra effort because even if you’re fighting, you’re still flesh and blood. Families are different. Some quirky, some fun, some strange, some happy! Not everyone is the same. Otherwise, we would live in a very boring world.

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War Stories

By Gordon Korman

Hey, bookworms! I know you have probably heard of the war in Ukraine and Russia. You are probably as tired of it as I am, but we need to talk about this. When wars are fought, people think surface level. Some side with Russia, others Ukraine. Yet, one thing is the same with almost all of us. We don’t understand. We are not Russians, and we are not Ukrainians. We are people from different countries siding with other countries without fully understanding. How many of you have watched the Incredibles 2? This is a quote I found especially interesting. “People don’t see the fight or what led up to it. They see what politicians tell them to see. They see destruction and they see you.”. This might be what Winston Deavor said to Mr.Incredibele, but it still has the same hold for what’s going on. People don’t see what was going on in Ukraine and Russia. They see a sudden, completely uncalled-for attack. WAR STORIES might have been written before this war, but I think it still has the same message. Gordon Korman is trying to tell us to look past perceptions and mirrors into the face of the truth.

Trevor Firestone is the average American boy. Video game obsessed. War obsessed. To him, war is a game. There are no consequences. War is just war to him. His grandfather being a war hero is of no help to his obsession. Yet, when his grandfather is invited on a tour of France before an award ceremony where he is being awarded a medal for his saving of a small French village, a group begins threatening them online and Trevor is forced to face the truth of war.

A powerful read that left me reeling by the end of it, Gordon Korman truly captured the essence of a good story. His book is trying to tell us that when we choose ignorance, we choose our paths. Trevor was forced to face the truth of war the hard way because he refused to see the truth right in front of him. This story draws you in and forces you to understand the power of perception and the strength of the truth.

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Linked

By Gordon Korman

All us bookworms were different then other people. We love to read! Yet, in this century, Phones, Movies, and TikTok are all people talk about. It is disappointing, children of this age. But the kids in this book are just, amazing. Gordon Korman forced us to open our minds and our eyes to the reality around us. Religion is a part of who a lot of people are. Christianity, Judaism, Islam, and more! Sadly, some people cannot accept that fact. Mr. Korman is trying to show us that everyone is equal. And that is what makes this book special.

Link is the popular guy. Funny, nice, and a total sports guy, he is one of the most popular guys in the school! Yet, when a Swastika is painted on the wall of their school, Link just does not know what to do. Michael is the head of the art club. He loves his art but hates how people ignore him and the club until they need them. But when Michael is the first one to see the Swastika, he is the prime suspect. How can this art guy clear his name? Dana is the only Jewish girl in their entire town. She is already the strange new girl at her school. And when the Swastika appears, it just worsens. How can this middle-school girl deal with someone publicly mocking her religion?

Everyone should have the right to worship their religion without mockery or disgust. Gordon Korman, dived deep into the topic of racial discrimination, prejudice, and hate, in his new book. In a perfect world, everyone would get along and religion and religious standing would be accepted and respected. But this is not a perfect world. This is OUR world. And we are the change. We choose how this ends. Acceptance? Or hate? What do you choose?

Featured

Millionaires for the Month

By Stacy McAnulty

When we were in school, their always was that joker who loved to tease us bookworms for our love of reading! Their always was that annoying person who almost made us blow our tops when they insult our favorite books.I have long disliked such people, but reading this book made me think maybe their was more to their story.I loved how this book made me think in more than just one perspective. It opened my eyes. I will never love these characters, but I will love this story! Stacy McAnulty is trying to show us everyone has a story. Circumstances that shaped them. Not everything is as it seems.

Benji Porter was always the popular kid. Rich, funny and daring, everyone adored him.Yet, behind that plastic smile was pain. He never seemed good enough for his father, a stubborn, rich businessmen. He always was the disappointment. Felix Rannells was the golden child. Quiet, smart,thoughtful and kind, he always had to work for what he got. He never knew his father, and his mother and sister worked very hard to support their family. Felix never knew a privileged life and never took anything for granted. But when on a field trip, the two boys least likely to get along partnered up. However, when they find a billionaires wallet, their whole lives change.When they return the money to the owner, Laura Friendly, she gives them a challenge.Sadly, when this challenge starts too feel impossible, will these two boys fall victim to their own lives?

Stacy McAnulty aspired to show how families can shape us. We are always a part of our families, no matter how far we try to get away. We will always be the same flesh and blood. But we will not always share the same heart. Families are different, but each and every one is special.

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Ahmed Aziz’s Epic Year

By Nina Hamza

Hey, bookworms! Have you ever met somebody who loves words but not books? To us, they are human paradoxes! But the more we think about it the more it makes sense. I loved this book because at first, there was no clear meaning, but the deeper you delve into it, you finally see. Nina Hamza hoped to show how fractured things can become between people who once seemed as close as family. Mrs. Hamza hoped to expose the other aspect of our perfect society, and how even the closest of places have secrets.

Ahmed is quite sure this is one of the worst years of his life so far. Not only is his dad in ICU(Intensive Care Units), he and his family are moving to Minnesota. Being forced to move from his happy home of Hawaii, he moves to Minnesota. Once there, he meets family he never knew existed and begins to feel like home- until a bully ruins everything. Jack Hanson. When Jack begins his reign of terror, Add that to having to READ in Language arts and his dad in the hospital? Does no one care?

I was a little disappointed at the beginning when Mrs. Hamza seemed to paint Jack as a heartless villain. But as you go farther through the book, you finally discover Jack. I think that Nina Hamza is trying to paint a picture. No one is one thing. we all have secrets, reasons that make us who we are. We are products of our circumstances and our choices. Everyone is more than one thing. We are multilayered. But when one seems to be dealt all the bad hands in the luck of life, it shapes you, and you become the villain of another’s story.

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Keeper of Lost Cities

By Shannon Messenger

We are all different in some way. Bookworms especially. When others chatter about the newest dance on Tik-Tok or the newest movies, we discuss our new favorite books and trade fan-fictions. This book, however, deserves recognition! I loved how this book zoned in on how even something that looks perfect, can be rotten on the inside. In this dystopian realm, those who are born with special abilities are given better chances in life than those who are not. Shannon Messenger explored the realm of injustice, strength, beauty and hate. This book is a true page-turner!

Sophie Foster is special. 12 years old, she was already offered a Yale scholarship, top in her school, and friendless. Lonely. Different. Except after a field trip gone wrong, she realizes just how different and special she is. After meeting Fitz, he shows her who she truly is. Yet when darkness threatens to destroy the new home she has created for herself, will she lose her life to the only people she has ever trusted? Or will this tween genius make it out?

Full of hope and heartwarming family mishaps, and friendship troubles, this book endeavors to expose the flaws of our society and that not everything is as it seems at first glance. People are layered. There is always something hiding beneath the surface.

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Book Trivia

By Sara Aziz

Hey book-lovers! Ready for a trivia? Test your friends and see how knowledgeable they really are with books! Have fun with this children’s trivia!

Question #1

In “The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe” Who did Edmund first see when he came to Narnia?

A: Mr. Tumnus

B: The Beavers

C: The White Witch

Question #2

In ” Esperanza Rising” Where does she move after leaving Mexico?

A: Egypt

B: Calafornia

C: Minnesota

Question #3

In ” Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone” What was Snape’s defense for the Sorcerers Stone?

A: You must make a incredibly complicated potion

B: You must solve a very complex logic puzzle

C: You must defeat a terrible curse

Question #4

In “Percy Jackson and the Olympians”, What color eyes does Annabeth have?

A: Gray eyes

B: Bright blue with flecks of silver

C: Green eyes

Question #5

Who wrote the book “Romeo and Juliet” ?

A:William Shaspeare

B: Charles Dickinson

C:Agatha Christie

If you got all five correct, you go bookworm! If you did not, keep on reading!

Answer Key

1=C

2=B

3=B

4=A

5=A

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Escape from Mr. Lemoncello’s Library

By Chris Grabentein

How many of us bookworms hate those book-haters at our school’s, and workplaces? Try to talk to them about books, and they have no clue! “Why read books when there are movies?”, they say. Well, this is a book about a boy like that, who learns the power of books!

Kyle Keeley is the average middle school boy. He dislikes reading, gets B’s and C’s and loves games! But when famous game-maker Luigi Lemoncello opens the brand new library in their town of Alexandriaville, Ohio, Kyle cannot wait! When he wins a coveted spot among the lucky twelve first allowed in the library lock in, The twelve lucky kids have a blast! But when morning comes and the doors to the library are still locked It will take all these kids wit and smarts to break out of this high-tech library!

In this favorite by Chris Grabenstein, we learn of the value of friendship, teamwork, but most of all……..BOOKS!

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Ban this Book

By Alan Gratz

How many of us bookworms are painfully shy? Walking to libraries hurriedly then breathing in the scent of books? Meet our fictional counterpart, Amy Ann Ollinger! Bookworm extraordinaire, she loves burying her nose in a good book. But when censorship shatters the small bubble of peace she had, it will take courage she never knew she possessed to go against this. Will this shy bookworm be able to do this? Or will she have to accept help from someone she never wanted to see again?

Full of laughter and heartwarming friendships, this book delves into the depths of the human mind and shows that sometimes, you can find courage in the most unexpected of places.

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Mr.Lemoncellos Very First Game!

By Chris Grabenstein

Mr. Grabenstein is publishing a prequel to “Escape from Mr. Lemoncellos Library”!

Chris Grabenstein’ s website tells us all about it!

“Go back to the START and meet thirteen-year-old, PUZZLE-obsessed Luigi Lemoncello!
     Luigi has a knack for games and puzzles. But sometimes it feels like the cards are stacked against him.  UNTIL a carnival arrives in town and Luigi gets the CHANCE OF A LIFETIME—the opportunity to work for the world famous Professor Marvelmous–a dazzling, banana-hat-wearing barker who puts the SHOW in SHOWMAN! When the carnival closes, Professor Marvelmous leaves behind a mysterious puzzle box along with a clue. A clue that will lead Luigi and his friends on a fantastical treasure hunt to a prize beyond anything they could imagine–if they can find it!
     Can Luigi crack the codes and unlock the box’s secrets? Will there be puzzles? Of course! Balloons? You bet! Will it be fun? Hello! It’s a Lemon-cello! BONUS! Can YOU crack the hidden puzzle inside?!”

Whose ready to get back to square one in the series and see where the banana wearing, head-telephone showing game maker started?I am! Get ready for some serious fun(and a hint of goofy!) in Chris Grabensteins latest edition!

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A Midsummer Night’s Dream

By William Shakespeare

In William Shakespeare classic comedy of errors, a young woman finds herself trapped in a unwanted marriage. After trying to run away with her love, they are chased after by the man her father wants her to marry and her best friend. They are chased into a beautiful forest. But the forest hides more than woodland creatures. Fairies reside in the beautiful forest. The poor lovers find themselves trapped between the King of the Fae and the Queen. But as they try to escape, mischief runs rampant. Will the humans make it out? Or will they be subjected to a comedy of errors?

The Beginning

By Sara Aziz

Shafarat Alhayaa

______________________________________________________________________

The Almuealijun- The magic-wielders who can grow plants, now usually used as royal gardeners.

The Suntshisir – The sunchasers. These magic wielders can manipulate light.

The Shadubirinjir – The shadow bringers. Can manipulate the shadows and darkness.

Rasul Alwafyat – Deaths Messenger. Only one exists every generation, as it travels in bloodlines and only one can inherit the ability. The Maksur have been trying to track the bloodline desperately, but two hundred years ago, the last female of the bloodline mysteriously vanished. No one could figure out what had become of her blood because they had already killed and hunted the Alrueb Alqirmuziu.

Almaealij – The healers, can spur your skin to heal faster and close wounds.

Mutaradat Alriyah – The wind chasers. They can manipulate the wind.

Albahithin – The time chasers. They can manipulate time. Died out three thousand years ago in the Tathir Eazim.

Almutalaeibun – Manipulators. The Illusionists. They can Change your perception of the world and can manipulate the senses into seeing what they want you to see, and feeling what they want you to feel. Were hunted down in the Tathir Eazim three thousand years ago.

Alrueb Alqirmuziu – Scarlet terrors. They are blood manipulators and can tell you who sired you, and what magic runs in your veins, by your blood. Most unnatural type of magic, they were the first to be hunted in the Tathir Eazim.

Lahab – Flame manipulators. They can summon and control fire.

Raqisi Almiah – Water dancers. They can control all water, including the water in the air we breathe. They can draw out all the water from the air we breathe and can suffocate you while they breathe comfortably and watch you die. Most modern Raqisi Almiah are assassins.

Alnufus – The soul seekers. They can see how rotten or pure your soul is. Most were used as slaves for royalty and aristocrats who wanted a pretty party trick.

Kritari – the messengers. They can send anything, anywhere, to any corner of the planet. 

Aleanasir – The name that refers to all elemental magic. [Elementals]

Magical Hierarchies [Pre-Tathir Eazim] –

Common-

  • Aleanasir
  • Almuealijun

Respected –

  • Alrueb Alqirmuziu
  • Almaealij
  • Suntshisir

Coveted–

  • Rasul Alwafyat
  • Shadubirinjir
  • Albahithin
  • Almutalaeibun
  • Alnufus

Magical Hierarchies [Post-Tathir Eazim] –

Common-

  • Aleanasir
  • Almuealijun

Respected –

  • Alrueb Alqirmuziu
  • Almaealij
  • Suntshisir

Coveted–

  • Rasul Alwafyat
  • Shadubirinjir
  • Albahithin
  • Almutalaeibun
  • Alnufus

Names– Most magic-wielders are called Sahira [Female] or Aljinu [male] meaning witch or jinn.

Change- Change is what all magic-wielders abilities are referred to as in broader terms, what they can do. They can Change the natural order.

Slavery- most magic-wielders became slaves after the Tathir Eazim, the ones who did manage to escape such a fate either became merchants in the Midnight Bazaar or joined the Devil’s Own.

Tathir Eazim – The Great Purging. Three thousand years ago, the Maksur [The Broken] rose up against the Shafarat Alhayaa [Lifes Blades/Magic Wielders] and hunted down the most “unnatural” of them. The Albahithin, the Almutalaeibun, and the Alrueb alqirmuziu all “died out.” There are theories that some still survive, but no one knows for sure.

Maksur – The Broken. The Maksur are the normal ones, the people with no real powers. Ordinary humans.

_________________________________

The most famous Shafarat Alhayaa in the world as of today [the fourteenth day of the twenty-first month, 1860] goes by the name of Ironheart. True name?

Unknown.

A Song of Crows

One for sorrow,

Two for mirth;

Three for a wedding,

Four for birth;

Five for silver,

Six for gold;

Seven for a secret,

Not to be told;

Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,

Thirteen beware it’s the devil himself.

Prologue

Sticks and stones won’t break my bones, but metal destroys us all…

I blinked as I slowly regained consciousness, the throbbing pain behind my eyes only intensifying as a strange light shone down upon me.

“Subject Four is now awake,” a brisk voice said from behind me.

Subject Four?

I started to sit up, but a foreign pressure on my chest stopped me. Looking down, I saw silver bands twining around me like ivy, pinning me to a strange metal surface.

“Who are you?” I croaked, my voice hoarse from disuse.

“Subject Four is now capable of speech,” The same voice said.

“Who are you?” I demanded, my voice getting stronger.

My eyes darted around the room before locking on a tall man standing in the shadows. His dark eyes arrested mine, cold and inscrutable. His black hair was streaked with silver, born from the moon and darkness. His face was made of sharp angles and hard lines as he watched me, a single eyebrow raised in question. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hello, khione,” he murmured, the warmth in his eyes belying the emptiness of his voice. My eyes stayed on him, my lips trembling. My beloved. He’d called me his beloved. What was going on? Panic was starting to set in, and my breaths shortened.

“Why am I here?”

“Subject Four-”

“Will you shut the hell up with your Subject Four?” I shrieked, thrashing against the silver, feeling it bend and begin to break along with my skin. Feeling my bones begin to strain and bow as strong hands began grabbing me, trying to shove me down. My skin was tearing, blood staining the silver crimson when I felt something stab against my neck. Pure pain erupted, and I screamed as my whole body went numb and still. My breathing slowed, and then it was as though I was hovering above my body, staring down at the quiet, empty form. My throat couldn’t seem to swallow, and living became a difficulty.

“Six liters of pure iron,” the voice said. “A deterrent against your kind.”

His voice wasn’t malicious or cruel. Simply cold and practical, a doctor with a patient or a scientist with an experiment.

“Don’t worry, Subject Four. This will only hurt a bit.”

I looked up with blurry eyes towards a mask being pulled down towards my face. When it connected, it was fire against my skin. Everything erupted as the skin of my face tore and strained towards this foul creation from hell.

I screamed as the iron of the mask began breaking off, burrowing into my skin, sealing itself to my face. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, it was just agony.

“Help me,” I begged the man in the corner as the iron began burrowing into my lips. “HELP ME!”

But he just stood and stared as the iron dug in again and again and again.

When they pulled the mask away, I gasped a single cool breath of air as tears ran down my face, mixing with the copper of blood. My back bowed off the metal, straining towards a reprieve that did not exist.

“Subject Four has survived part one,” the voice noted.

Survived.

Then a second mask was pulled towards my face, and I thrashed, turning my face away, doing anything to stop the oncoming torture. But nothing helped, and no one heard or cared as I screamed

and screamed

and screamed.

Part One

Scene Two

The Laws of the Hypocrites

Never keep a promise

Trust is something best played your way

Win at all costs.

Chapter One- The Stars Do Not Forget

A glint of iron was the only light that shone in the darkness as night descended, creeping upon its visitors with the cruelty and grace of a queen. I blew out a slow breath as a woman began to step out of the Aracne Tavern. Lady Starkov, his lover. Her steps were hurried, furtive. All could see the guilt hanging upon her frame, the way her shoulders curved, eyes down-turned. I was silent as I drew up from my crouch upon the roof of the opposite building, stretching the tightness of my muscles as I pressed a hand against my twin knives in support. 

Eris and Bacchus protect me, I thought, before running down the curved side and leaping to the opposite building. My steps were light, always balancing my weight once my steps had firmed. My hair- loose- fell about my face. I should have done it up in a braid or bun of some sort, but it was the holy night. Even assassins prayed to something, be it greed or guilt or gods. Still, it was a damned annoyance nonetheless. I swallowed as I leaped to the next building, Lady Starkov clear within the crowds, her black cloak clean where others were stained with age and filth. A lady playing amongst thugs and thieves. She stopped near a corner, an unmarked carriage waiting. While it said nothing of her house, the subtle lavishness spoke for itself. It was a wonder she’d survived her week of slumming it with her protector. Once she’s climbed in, I slid down from the roofs, the footman-turned driver climbing down to close the door, turning a mere moment after I slipped in. Starkov was staring out the window, unaware of her passenger as the footman closed the door, then spurring the horses to a start. 

“We need to talk,” I said quietly. Jolting, Starkov swung her head to me, but I already held my dagger, Bacchus, to her throat. “Try to scream, you lose your value. Lose your value, and I slit this pretty throat.”

Her eyes were wide, the light blue igniting a strange revulsion in me at the fear. Hypocrite. “I’d like you to take a guess at what I might be talking about, Yelena.” Yelena Starkov, third, spoilt daughter to a lord, borne and raised to think she was invincible. Married to a rich, yet aging merchant at the age of eighteen, she’d decided she still had years before she was truly required to become a mother. That was not the problem. The king had little concern for infidelity. What they cared for was who she chose. A foreign lord with dying pockets and excessive patriotism. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she whispered, vapid eyes blinking rapidly, straining to find a way out of this situation. I’d left her none. I slid Bacchus along her throat, reveling in the quick intake of breath at the thin slice it left, a deep red line that branched out in trails of blood. 

“Your husband is a rich man, Yelena, dear. A man with secrets he’s often foolish enough to speak of in front of his shallow, pretty little wife. Secrets you seem happy to whisper when only the bedsheets and your lover are privy.” She swallowed and Ieaned back. “His name’s Henrik Byrod. I have two of my Serpents tailing him as we speak. He’ll be dead by the end of this night-” I stopped at her small cry, before continuing as though I’d heard nothing. “Yet since I’m feeling merciful, I’ll give you a choice. Come with me to your trial, and you will have a chance of escaping if Daddy comes to your rescue, as I doubt your husband will care after the details are told. However, if you refuse, I’d be glad to slit your throat as we speak.”

Her eyes darted to Bacchus again, and I almost didn’t see it coming- the quick lunge for Eris. Grabbing her hand, I twisted, claiming a gloved hand over her scream. I always wore gloves, to hide the shade that made my skin so much different. Ironheart here was a legend, a woman borne of the mists and ghosts hue. Her skin was not the color of burnt caramel in sunlight, coffee in the moon’s glare. Yanking down her arm, I kicked into her stomach, slamming her against the wall. The loud thump echoed through the carriage, and the driver yelled for the horses to stop as we slowed. 

“Fine,” I growled, flipping Bacchus to aim at her throat as she cried, “Wait, please! I’ll do the trial!”

I almost felt pity. “No one threatens Ironheart, Yelena Starkov, and makes it out alive. Be sure to ask around in hell.” 

By the time the footman opened the door, I was gone, and all he saw was the slumped-over figure of Lady Starkov, her throat slit in a painless death.

Another kill for Ironheart. 

Ironheart

My new book!

Hey readers! Wow, it’s been a while since I posted anything- but I hope this is worth your while! I’ve been working on a new novel I hope to publish, Ironheart, from my series, These Deadly Games.

I’m going to be posting the first few chapters on my blog to see how readers react to my writing, and if I should go back to the drawing board with this idea. I would appreciate any comments. Thank you for reading my work!

Fourth Wing

Book Review/Rant

This had to be one of my favorite books of 2023-2024! With drama, humor, incredible world-building, and friendships you just can’t stop thinking about, the book snared me from start to finish.

Characters

  • Violet Sorrengail- Violet was the main protagonist who narrated the book, and was the most savage, fun character! Violet is the youngest daughter of the famed Lilith Sorrengail, but her father was a scribe (not so esteemed). She had two older siblings, but Brennan [Her brother] died. (DRAMATIC GASP) All she has left is Mira, her older sister who is just like her mother. Throughout the book, Violet really grows from a fragile, naive girl to a warrior.
  • Ridoc-
    Ridoc was one of my favorite characters in the whole book, and I cannot tell you how happy I was when he survived the whole book. He was the comedic timing this book sorely needed, and made me laugh, even after scenes that made me ugly cry. He was sweet, funny, cute, funny, handsome, funny, (I think you get the picture.) If it wasn’t for Xaden, Ridoc would be my favorite character! But, Xaden exists, so sorry Ridoc! If it had been any other book, you would have been WAY more appreciated!
  • Rhiannon Matthias- BESTIE #1!! From offering to kill and bury Xaden if he hurt Violet (‘Cause, you know, he kind of hates Violet’s mom), to standing by her even when she was breaking the rules, Rhiannon never wavered by Violet’s side since the beginning of the book and is now my favorite book bestie.
  • XADEN RIORSON- I JUST- WORDS- FAIL ME-
  • Liam Mairi- REBECCA YARROS, HOW DARE YOU?!?!?! WHAT GAVE YOU THE RIGHT???

Fluff
☁☁☁☁☁/5

This book killed me, and I would recommend it to anyone looking for a book that will tear their souls from their body (If they still have one… I mean your soul, not a body. If you don’t have a body, you’re not human…AI’s reading this, I swear, I’m not insane)

Have a good weekend everyone!