I've been busy, doing the last minute preparations for a 'Snow White' themed party I am planning for my friend, Elizabeth. We are going to find out if we lost or won 'The Five Poisoned Apples Contest' over fake champagne and candy apples.
It's been a nice distraction for me. Something to put all my nervous energy into. I can't wait to show you guys after it's done.
I was trying to be hopeful, hope is a good thing to have. It's a hard thing to keep a hold of. I'm convinced my story strayed too far from the source material. Or just wasn't what they were looking for. If that does end up being the case I want to be okay with that. I want to still be proud of my story.
It turned out better than I expected. I got amazing feedback, I got some helpful critiques, and another world that I can easily expanded. It wasn't a waste of time either way. I also got my boys! Two irritating fae princes who are polar opposites in every way. Chayse is a shape shifting cat fae, Cynfael is a rich, ego maniac. All of the late nights were worth it simply for them.
I've been writing Cynfael's story lately. I haven't gotten that far in it but I thought I would share what I have. This is unedited, first draft stuff, go easy.
Smoke filled the air, and my lungs. A slow poison I chose to indulge, among a few other vices. I blew it out, watching it fill the small space between my father and I. He waved a hand through it, irritation spreading across his face.
I kept smoking, making direct eye contact as I did, to show
I cared as little about his comfort as he cared about mine. His eyes steeled.
He said nothing, turning his attention instead to the moving landscape outside
the car window. There wasn’t much to see, just shadow coated fields, and red
light from the fire in the distance.
Chayse was burning his prison down. I envied him, the fact
that he could simply burn away his mother’s entanglements, reducing an empire
to ashes as if it had been built of paper. If only mine were as easy to burn. I
could feel the necklace hidden away in my coat pocket. The blood coated pearls
could buy my freedom. I couldn’t run, I would have to settle for retribution.
“She is dead then.” Father’s words were cold and
calculating. Free from the slur he had, when he was playing the drunken fool.
I nodded; the blazing fire was confirmation enough.
He poured himself some scotch, “That bodes well for our
business.”
Which just meant more money in his overflowing coffers; I
took a long drag, and flicked ash to the ground.
He stared at the ash.
“Whatever will you buy? A small country perhaps,” I crushed
out my cigarette, “Oh wait…”
He took a slow sip of the amber liquid. “Don’t be short-sighted; I’m not looking for
more money for your mother and Isabelle to fetter away.” He looked at his cup,
“I plan to fund a war.” He slid a round cube of ice into his cup.
I blew more smoke, “A war with whom?” This was the first I
heard of it.
“If your Mother has her way, the bloody world,” A thick
cough punctuated his words.
