Writing Prompt
Writings
Writings
STORY STARTER
Without planning or drafting, write the opening page of your story.
We will revisit this prompt at the end of the month to see how your ideas and skills have developed!
Writings
“I’m leaving.”
The words of the Chosen One rang out across every station in the city. Every radio, every television, every cell phone. The entire country tuned in to the heartbreaking words of their Savior.
“I won’t be returning home again until one of two things happen. Either you turn against your neighbors, plunging yourselves into a civil war, and destroy yourselves in the process, or you all sit down and realize what I’ve been preaching to you for the last decade.”
“But what if the prophecy?” A worried voice rang out from the crowd before him, voicing what everyone must’ve been thinking. Their hero laughed, his shoulders tensing and betraying his anger.
“The one that says your Angel will return and bring forth an era of peace and prosperity? There is no room for your hatred and prejudice here. I’ll fulfill that prophecy still, even if it means destroying the planet and rebuilding it from the rubble to do so.”
Nothing in the history of Safton had ever bathed its people in the icy blue panic his words brought, as he turned and walked away from the podium and his people. Not one person moved to stop him or uttered a word to make him stay. The broadcast cut, and with it started the chaos. Why would he abandon them so suddenly? What was he thinking? And most importantly, who would save them now?
_Devil _ _Bang. _The sound echoed off the abandoned walls. A sound that can be heard to anyone listening close enough. The only problem, no one is close enough to hear. _Bang. _I watched as the trigger was pulled. I watched as the bullet found its way out of the barrel. It is like time slowed down and this moment was the only moment that mattered. Bang. I smiled, almost laughing as I watched the moment the bullet found its mark. And then everything went dark for that poor unfortunate soul. Well, that seems to kind to say. That bitch excuse of a human. And they say I’m mad? That I’m the devil? HA… They got what they deserved. On to the next. It’s a shame really but that’s the way things are. Don’t mess with the devil and expect to come out alive. I will hunt every last one of them and remind them they made me this way. Its their fucking fault and now they get to simply die. _Demon _ The shot rang off the walls, loud and unyielding. No one around to hear, or so they thought. But here I am staring and watching. Crouched down like some creep. Not so far off the mark, but I prefer admirer. It has a better ring to it, rolls off the tongue quite nicely. But I’m getting off topic now. This person before me, so intriguing. So captivating. So stunning. I step forward entranced in who, or what, I see. I want to see more, I need more, I have to – “Who the fuck are you?” Deep green raged filled eyes stare me down, while the barrel of the gun is situated between my brows. Beautiful. Is this love? I think I’m in love. I smile up at this creature before me. “Well, I am—.” There was a loud crash in the back, probably some rodent. The green eyes turn from me and disappears. Wow, I didn’t even get to finish. I guess me smiling up at them with a gun to my head spooked them, so they ran off. Or maybe the rodent did. A shame. I really wanted to introduce myself. Even so, that was unexpected. And even more unexpected was that green eyed devil waslaughing… interesting. Looks like I have some hunting to do. Run all you want little devil, your demon is coming to play
I no longer live in saccharine summers but the winters and pestilence of my past. I crave the cold like a blood hound just to relinquish it by the heat of a fireplace. I plague my soul with frostbite yet it will not shatter. I yearn for the serenity of snow of feeling numb between the dirt and fresh snowfall. But perhaps even more I long for the feeling of my hands scorching in the dull heat when i come back home. Feeling my skin set ablaze against the light of a candle. It is what makes me feel alive, like I am not dying. I can not sustain what it is to be satisfied anymore with or without the feeling on my skin. It’s like I’m shedding what has been cultivated in my bones and becoming lighter. It stems from a memory, deeply entangled within the roots of my mind, of drowning. You do not know how lonely it is to die until the last breath escapes your lungs and everything is cold. I felt the hand of god drag me toward the light, but it had just been a mortal, selfless savior who I once knew. Their hands were warm, and the light of the moon was just as warm and forgiving as a sunrise. I am trying to relive the moment when I was suddenly alive again, the gut wrenching admonition that I kept breathing. I have never wanted to die, but when the embrace of death was more of a kiss than a bleeding wound, how could I have not become infatuated with such a terminal glory. So this is where I have found myself once more, a late night bath. I have not even bothered to take my clothes off which only makes the freezing water a small bit better. I do not care how long I will be chasing after my breath because I know I will be warm soon enough.
“Our brain is like a cold, dark attic. Spiderwebs in the corners ready to lunge. Shadows moving swiftly, giving only a glimpse of the truth. A darkness lingers, waiting for the moment to strike. A silence that echoes through what once was full of fairy tales now feels like a never-ending nightmare. You can hear the beatles climbing the walls of what once was our safe place. You remember the times when you came here to escape the chaos that lay outside. A place with no screaming or fast-moving men with a deadly purpose you can only imagine. This place was a sanctuary of tranquility and peace; it was your home. It is now a cold, damp place with unsettling whispers. A place where one door leads to the next, keeping you eternally lost in its suffocating grip.” I turn to look around the room, settling my eyes on Dr.Brown. “Are you basing this off just feelings?Feelings are good, but let’s think about our surrounding environment instead. How about we consider it’s just a now feeling, not a forever one,” the doctor pronounced as she wrote in her notepad. The room is filled with light from the giant windows. We can tell she tries to make it look more bright to make it seem less of a, ‘if you say the wrong thing I have to send you off’ type deal. There’s only a few pillows on each side of the long brown couch. I know she watches to see if we take the pillows or leave them. If we leave it we’re more concerned with others' comfort. If we move them, then we’re comfortable making ourselves comfortable. Then there’s where we put the pillow. Did we toss it over to Amber, or did we place it down in front of ourselves or beside us. In front of us would be like a shield compared to neatly next to us. And if we threw it to Amber, it would seem as if we are too comfortable. We switch up on what we do to our pillow each session which could mean many things but we want to know what she thinks it means. The room is covered with drawings from past and present patients. The age range has to be from 6-18 due to the various drawing styles. Her desk is facing behind her brown chair that has a coffee stain on the side. On it she has two pictures. Our guess is her family with her two little boys 8 and 12 and her husband who works as a professor for the university of Kentucky. She has colorful pens arranged in a circle. Her desk is neatly laid out which we appreciate because our last therapist was quite messy and incomplete with her evaluations. We feel the air thicken and we look over to Amber. She’s staring daggers at Dr.Brown, who seems to be more interested In her shoes than anything. We can tell Amber’s about to say something, and before we have a chance to stop her, she goes on to say, “And you're a fraud who claims she has her shit together. Your leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since we started the session and you’re eyeing your phone every minute. For someone who says Gabby just bases her conclusions on just her feelings, you’re one to talk. You’re messing with your wedding band which some may consider as a nervous tick but due to past sessions and understanding you play with your hair when nervous; you’re thinking your husband found out you cheated on him. I knew you were a cheat from Gabbys third session when you were wearing a lace bra. You might have thought that others didn’t see you change your whole downstairs wardrobe but I did. I overheard a conversation before I walked in on the third session, one I’m glad Gabby didn’t hear because she really likes you. You sounded scared of a little secret coming out and ruining your home. So the next time you have something hypocritical to say think about who the fuck your talking to,” Amber went on to say all in one breath. We turn to look at Dr. Brown; concerned with what she’ll say to Amber and me. Amber is a good friend, she just forgets that we can stand up for ourselves in a respectful way. She’s not violent, she's just always in survival mode. We see as Dr. Brown looks at us with a stern look and glimpse of pity. We know that look anywhere. I want to say that we have a voice and we can use it but we choose to have a fucking filter. I don’t know why she’s looking at me with pity? Me? We’re the ones who should be pitying her. For fuck sake she’s the one who’s worlds falling apart because she has commitment issues that she never got over. You’re 30, married for six years, get it together! We could say that but we don’t. We look away, eyeing the two pictures of a family who’s going to no longer be a family much longer and turn to look back. We give her a smile. “I’m very sorry for Amber's words.” We can feel Amber eyeing us down like she’s a cat and we’re a rat but I go on. “We think your input was questionable but yet so are your life choices but we’ll see you next month, on the 10th?” We really don’t want to see her but it’s either her or a mental institution. Remember when we almost went to one because… well we don’t want to remember the bad. We’ve changed for the better. “Um, yes the 10th. That sounds great, Gabby and…Amber,” She says with questionable uncertainty in her voice. We get up to leave only for Amber to rush in front of us. We know she’s mad at us but that will be a later problem.
Rowan’s fingers skimmed the stem of her wine glass, her grip so light it might have slipped from her hand if she let her mind drift any further. The clink of silverware against porcelain filled the room, mingling with the steady hum of conversation, but it all felt muffled, distant. The dining room glowed with warm light, the golden hues bouncing off the polished wood of the table. Despite the warmth of the setting, Rowan felt a chill she couldn’t shake.
Her family filled the space effortlessly, as they always did. Voices rose and fell in laughter, the occasional burst of teasing punctuating the meal. Aunt Caroline, ever the matriarch of the moment, presided over the table with her usual sharp wit. Rowan tried to let it all wash over her, focusing on the candle at the center of the table. Its flame wavered and stretched as if caught in a draft, but the air around her was still.
She brought her glass to her lips, the sharp tang of wine cutting through the fog in her mind. She would have preferred silence, but in this family, silence was never an option.
“So, Rowan,” Aunt Caroline began, her voice slicing through the hum of conversation with precision. Rowan’s stomach tightened as her aunt’s gaze settled on her. “What happened with you and Ellis?”
The room didn’t go silent—not quite—but the shift was palpable. The laughter tapered off, and the sound of utensils on plates grew more deliberate, less natural. Rowan felt every pair of eyes dart toward her, some with feigned disinterest, others with the sharp curiosity her family never bothered to mask.
She didn’t look up, instead fixing her gaze on the swirling red liquid in her glass. “It just didn’t work out,” she said evenly, the rehearsed line slipping from her lips like a reflex.
But Aunt Caroline wasn’t one to let a thread unravel without pulling it further. “Didn’t work out?” she repeated, her voice dripping with mock incredulity. “That’s all you’re going to say? The two of you were so—” She paused, waving her fork as if searching for the right word. “—solid. What happened?”
Rowan’s jaw tightened, her fingers pressing into the stem of her glass. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across the table, and for a moment, she felt as though she were the only one sitting in darkness.
“We wanted different things,” Rowan said, her voice quieter now, but no less firm. She forced herself to meet her aunt’s gaze, hoping the weight of it would end the conversation.
It didn’t.
“That’s a shame,” Aunt Caroline said, her tone heavy with disappointment. “Ellis was such a good man. Everyone thought you two were perfect together.”
Everyone but me, Rowan thought bitterly, though she didn’t dare say it aloud. She kept her face neutral, nodding faintly as her aunt turned her attention to Uncle Martin, who had begun recounting a story about his latest golf game.
The candle’s flame blurred as Rowan’s vision unfocused, the room fading around her as memories clawed their way to the surface.
Ellis had always been the golden boy. Handsome, charming, the kind of man who lit up a room just by walking into it. He was a hothouse flower—cultivated, careful, thriving in controlled environments. Rowan had fallen for that warmth once, drawn to the safety he seemed to embody.
She could still picture the way he used to look at her, his hazel eyes soft and full of something she had mistaken for understanding. He had a way of making her feel like the center of the universe, but only when it suited him.
The last time they’d sat together at this table, the atmosphere had been entirely different. Ellis had charmed her family with his easy smile and quick wit, his stories flowing effortlessly as he played the role of the perfect partner. Her mother had beamed at him, and her father had clapped him on the back, as if silently giving his approval.
“You’ve got a good one,” her mother had said later that night, her voice low as they washed dishes together in the kitchen. “He’s steady. That’s what you need, Rowan. Someone who can ground you.”
At the time, Rowan had nodded, biting back the words that hovered on her tongue. She wanted to say that steadiness wasn’t the same as connection, that grounding could feel like being anchored in place, unable to move. But she hadn’t said anything. She’d smiled, dried her hands, and let the moment pass.
Her memories shifted, unbidden, to the argument that had finally broken them. It had been raining that day, the kind of relentless downpour that blurred the edges of the world. Rowan had been writing, or trying to, her frustration mounting with each word that refused to come.
Ellis had walked into the room, oblivious to the storm brewing inside her. “You’re too hard on yourself,” he’d said, his tone light, as if it were the easiest thing in the world to let go of self-doubt.
The words had been the spark that lit the fire. “You don’t get it,” she’d snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut.
Ellis had raised his hands in mock surrender, his smile faltering. “I’m just trying to help.”
“But you’re not helping,” Rowan had said, her voice breaking on the last word. “You’re making it worse. You always make it worse.”
The argument had spiraled from there, years of resentment spilling out in words they couldn’t take back. By the end of it, they had stood on opposite sides of the room, the space between them feeling insurmountable.
Rowan’s chest ached as she pulled herself back to the present. The memories felt like ghosts, their presence heavy and unrelenting. She glanced around the table, at the faces of her family, so full of life and warmth, and felt the absence of Ellis in a way she hadn’t expected.
The day my father passed was the worst moment of my life. Not just because he’s gone, oh no I could heal that scar just like anyone else.
No, it’s because I just don’t remember how. You see, when he passed on, I was young, I think four years old. But past that I can recall only sounds. A deafening scream, the blow of someone’s breath, the cries of so many others. Now I know what you will say. The most obvious solution. “Ask your mother.” Right?
That would be great advice, really it would, but she doesn’t remember either! So I lay in my bed…I’m seven now and I just realized I never told you my name.
I’m so sorry, it’s Damian. Damian Locke. Nice to meet you.
Anyways, I hope I can figure this conundrum out soon because I’m going mad with grief. Shouldn’t you know how someone close to you passed away? Especially a parent?
“Damian! Breakfast!” My mom calls. I forgot about that. I got school today. Great. Just great.
The air was thick with anticipation as the sun dipped below the horizon, surrendering the world to the shadows that awaited. Nightshade Academy loomed before me, a twisted masterpiece of gothic architecture etched against the deepening twilight, its spires clawing at the sky like the fingers of restless spirits. I, Aurelia Ravenshade, stood at the threshold, feeling the weight of the night settle upon my shoulders, heavy with the secrets it contained.
In this hallowed place, where arcane knowledge intertwined with ancient traditions, my fate had already been sealed. betrothed to Arcadiuo, the embodiment of darkness and charm, our union was a woven tapestry of power and legacy, a crucial step in the unyielding game played by our kin. As I approached the academy's grand entrance, my heart beat a furious rhythm, echoing the clash of desperation and resolve swirling within me.
Arcadiuo was more than just my promised suitor; he was an enigma wrapped in the allure of danger. His raven-black hair fell in luxurious waves, framing a face that had the kind of beauty that belonged to the darkest legends. Those glimmering obsidian eyes seemed to hold the secrets of the ages, a captivating abyss that could draw anyone into its depths. We had been raised within the same circles, intertwined in the same history, yet the truth of who he was remained tantalizingly out of reach. Could I trust this man who had been molded by shadows and ambition?
As I stepped into the academy hall, candle flames flickered in anticipation, illuminating the faces around me. A gathering of our kind—vampires, each with their own motives, each cloaked in veils of silence. They watched with intrigue, eyes gleaming like predatory animals sizing up their next meal. And there, standing amidst them, Arcadiuo shone like a distant star, an intoxicating force that set my heart aflame and dampened my resolve.
“Tonight, we stand at the threshold of our futures,” Arcadiuo proclaimed, his voice a low rumble that sent ripples of anticipation through the assembly. He stepped forward, embodying the duality of darkness and light, a harbinger of both fate and choice. In that moment, I felt the magnetic pull between us, a thread connecting our souls even as it stretched to contain the weight of our destinies.
But my heart was tumultuous, torn between the duty of our bond and the desperation for my own identity. Within the sacred walls of Nightshade Academy, I craved more than an alliance forged by obligation; I sought understanding, connection, a love untainted by the ambitions that loomed on the horizon.
The Elders had decreed this union, a merging of bloodlines to strengthen our families and assert dominance over adversaries lurking in the shadows. Yet, as I stood beside Arcadiuo, I felt the clash within us—his own thirst for power competing with the budding awareness of who we might become if we dared to break free from the shackles of expectation.
As the ceremony unfolded, I closed my eyes for a fleeting moment, drowning out the murmurs and watching shadows dance against the stone walls. What lay ahead: passion or peril? Was this boundless creature before me capable of understanding the fire that fueled my very being, or would he be just another piece on the chessboard of our lives?
With renewed determination, I opened my eyes, fixing my gaze on Arcadiuo. Beneath the air of grandeur, I sensed vulnerability, a yearning to break free from the very fabric that bound us. In that fleeting second, I knew we could either become legends or let our destinies fade into nothingness.
“Together,” he whispered, his voice an incantation woven with promise. The word echoed within the chamber, a vow stitched into the fabric of the night. Would I be brave enough to honor this bond while forging my own path, to blend ambition with love?
As the ceremonial blade flashed in the flickering candlelight, everything hung in the balance. Here, at the Convent of the Dark, where history whispered through the corridors, I would weave my own fate alongside Arcadiuo. Together, we would define what it truly meant to embrace our darkness—whether as allies, rivals, or something extraordinary in between.
Tonight would not merely mark the start of our union, but the unfolding of a tale woven in passion, secrets, and a hunger for freedom. The darkness awaited us, and with it, our story was poised to begin.
She froze as the crimson liquid streamed wildly over her white knuckles and dripped down her clenched fists onto the ground. The stark contrast of the dark red against her pale skin was a fervent reminder of the desperation and fury she was holding inside, each drop falling like a silent display to the conflict waged within. It was too late now to change anything, she knew that much. There he lay, eyes bulging; still with that stupid, confused look on his face. Her eyes narrowed as she stood over his cold body. With a deep sigh she considered the energy and effort it would take to clean up all the mess. It reminded her of a well-intentioned date night with Jeremy. He had suggested they try a ‘Couple’s Canvas Paint’ night. An unexpected snort of laughter escaped from her as she recalled how they playfully flicked and splashed paint onto the massive blank canvas before them. That day the room was filled with the sounds of their shared giggles among the clicking of paint cans and splatter of paint. It would take hours to get this room back in order. Her gaze was drawn to the photos on the wall, each slightly askew. The occupants’ smiles crooked, like an invisible wire was silently tugging at the corners of their mouths. A sudden, icy shiver crept up her spine, sending a wave of goosebumps across her skin and leaving her with a sense of unease. Well, she supposed, it was someone else’s problem now. With cat-like reflexes, she spun quickly on her tiptoes, her thick heels snapping loudly on the stone floor as she unforgivingly rushed away.
The city of Demoran sits centered on the wall of Harondo, northern most line to the Starspire. The city expands out from the center most tower of the wall, a former turret turned residence for the Steard of Demoran. From this perch more than two hundred feet about the River Harondo and adjoining valley, the steward keeps a keen eye on the lands to the south.
“There are far worse things to the north.” A husky voice emerges moments before a portly dwarf. His belly enters the circular throne room. His meaty hands brush through his thick salt and pepper beard, his lips curling in a sarcastic grin.
The recipient , the lithe elven steward, snarls at the appearance of the dwarf, his thin lip curling up into his nose like a dog waiting to snap. “Some might argue greater threats linger here in Demoran.” His voice is even, but sharp. Melodic tones filling the hall but not stopping the advance of the dwarf.
“Is that so? And might you be one of those ‘some’ of which you speak?” The dwarf’s rebuttal is almost a whisper as he rests a hand on the steward’s throne. “The Arvalia I know isn’t so foolish as to make such …. Accusations.”
Arvalia clears his throat and leans his thin frame away from the dwarf “Of course not Grimmock. What is it that brings you to visit this beautiful day?”
(Warning: domestic violence and gore, also it is very long)
_“This can’t be happening, not today anyway._” Dom thinks as she walks into the city square. She tightly grips her younger brother's hand, as they walk into the town square. The town square isn’t normal, one with markets, where festivals take place, it is a place of death; it is where witches get burned.
The square stings of smoke, even if it has been months since the last burning. Smoke has stained the brink pathway, and the stage where the burnings happen looks like it is about to collapse—the square wrecks of death, with the scent of burned hair and flesh.
Dom can sense who will be burned, it is her mother. Her mind is fogged with all the memories of her mother, all of which only feel like a dream now. She has never thought of her mom as a witch, as she walks up to the stake, she doesn’t even think of the implications. This is her mom, and her mom is going to die.
Her younger brother, Unis, will never remember this, nor does he know who the woman, who stands tied to a stake is, She was taken away from him when he was a toddler, he is now nine years old. Only Dom lives with the burden of remembering the day, their mother was taken from them.
_Dom was only fourteen, hiding in her bedroom with Unis. She held onto Unis as she heard the clashing of glasses, screams, and yells from her father. Her father finally learned the truth about her mother. _
_ She was a witch, a true witch, not the made-up kind._
_ Dom had always thought witches were fake, but finally, it all made sense. The way flowers, which were practically extinct in the kingdom of Avalon, grew only on our land. The way they had been rich from it. This was when Dom was introduced to the real world. This was the moment she became an adult._
_ She had tried not to listen to the words her father was spewing, but it was hard to ignore your father disowning you, all because you're a witch's child. At that moment, she put her crying brother back into the crib and opened the door. _
_She was so confident in protecting her mother, thinking that maybe she could talk sense into her father even if it was only for a second, but when, she looked out into the hallway where her father and mother stood, her father suddenly wasn’t her father, he was just a person, an awful person. It was the way he stood with a tall and powerful stance. A broken bottle held in his hand with blood dripping from it._
_Her father was once a kind and loving man, she loved him, and he loved her, but her view of the man who played with her, read her stories, and took her places had changed. He was now just a man who was hurting her mother, a man with hot, angry tears running down his face._
_“Stop!” Dom heard from the entrance of her house. The sound of the door being knocked down echoed through the house. It was her neighbor, who luckily heard the commotion and alerted the guards. Now the guards were restraining the man as he yelled, “She’s a witch, she is a witch, she is evil, and her children are evil as well! Kill her!” The guards didn’t react to his words. They probably didn’t hear him over the guards yelling._
_Dom gently closed the door and ran back into her room, she pulled Unis out of his crib and hid in the closet, convinced that guards would kill her because she was a witch's child. Her brother cried loudly._
_“Shhh, Unis, Shhh, I love you unis, shhh.” She panicked as the crying continued. “Be quiet, just shut up!” she whispered and yelled. She was immediately filled with regret, how could she be mad at the little tiny child when there was a man who beat her mother within an inch of her life? _
_She cries into her little brother, using him to cover the sound of her tears. He finally went quiet. At the perfect time too, when their bedroom door started to open, the sounds from outside her room stopped, “It’s okay to come out,” Her mother called. Dom emerged from the closet and she examined her mother, who had blood flowing from her temple and nose. _
_Her mother kisses little Unis on the cheek and leans into Dom’s ear, “I’m being taken away, please take care of Unis.” _
_“Mum please-” tears stream down Dom’s face, unable to believe what she is hearing. _
_“I have to go, just please take care of Unis. I love you.” She hugs Dom, silently crying into her, trying to be strong for her last moment with her kids. A guard enters the room and pulls Dom’s mother away from her. Dom stares blankly as her mom is ripped away from her. Her heart racing but her body still. _
_Through the window, she can hear the man, who she once called her father, yelling again. Dom stood crying Unis in her arms, still, her mother was gone. Her father was gone. All in one day. The whole event repeated in her mind. The bloody bottle in her father’s hand, her mom with the blood dripping from her face. All of it repeated and repeated, spinning in her mind like a carousel._
Dom's mother stands tied to the burning stake, Dom stands close, thinking that she would want to see her mom up close for one last time. If only she knew how wrong she would be. She didn’t even think about how six years in prison had treated her mom. Her cheeks look sunken in, and her ribs and spine are shown even with the ratty clothing covering them. Her eyes were closed as if she was dead already.
Her vision of her Mom crumbled, when she had last seen her she had a full figure, not a ghost of one. But she could still tell who she was by the distinct light patches over her dark skin, just like Dom had. She thinks of her light patches as what she has left of her mom.
A big lump in her throat has formed, this is the last day her mom has in this world, and she wouldn’t even get a goodbye from her daughter. Only one thing remains in her mind, the betrayal her mother must be feeling, not even a goodbye, maybe she thinks Dom forgot about her. And how does she believe Unis is doing, what if she feels that she gave Unis away? A few tears stream down her face.
She steps closer to the stage, tempted to say one last thing. “Mom..” she whimpered quietly, her hand covering her mouth, “I-”
“What’s going on?” Dom feels a small tug on her shirt. Unis stood tears streaming down his face.
A major rule of the burning was to stay still and quiet. People have been beaten for crying. Dom can imagine herself being one of those people. As her mom is burned she is sure to shed a few tears. She is more scared for Unis than she is herself. Would he be able to handle being beaten by a guard? He’s so young and sensitive, that even without the knowledge that this woman is his mom, he is sure to be choking on tears by the end, especially if he’s already upset.
She kneels to his level, “ I need you to be quiet, don’t cry, just hold my hand, or hug me, just stay quiet okay.”
“Okay.” He pauses, “Why?”
“You’ll be in trouble, big trouble.” Dom realizes that her brother's definition of trouble is much different from the guard's version. “The guards aren’t as nice as me.”
“Why?” He looks up at Dom, his childish eyes staring up at her, she can’t possibly tell the truth to him;
Dom purses her lips, “Some people just aren’t nice,”
“I’m nice,” He smiles, so proud of himself.
“Ya, you're _really _nice.” A secret fear she had was him becoming like everyone else: bitter, cruel, and hopeless. She wished for him always to have the same childhood innocence that would shelter him.
“We gather here today to celebrate, relieving the world of evil!” Lord Avalon, the emperor of Avalonia, yelled into the crowd. He stood on the stage inches away from Dom’s face. Unis leans closer to Dom and clutches her hand tighter. His eyes are closed,
Lord Avalon stands in a powerful stance, His head hangs high, looking straight into the crowd. He wears a mask over his face, that only shows his mouth to be seen. The mask was giant with horns that points towards the sky. And his smile, made Dom’s skin crawl, same with the way he acted like it was a celebration to kill a person.
He backs up, showing Dom’s mother he holds a lit torch in his hand. Dom covers Unis’ already closed eyes.
When her other goes up in flames, she looks down at her brother, trying to stay strong for him. He should learn from her to be strong, he _has_ to learn that to survive. But even so, Dom hates the idea of her brother learning how the world works; her brother is the embodiment of innocence she wished she didn’t have to give up so early.
“Please!” She hears her mother cry from within the flames. Dom looks up, it has been so long since she had heard her mother’s voice. She chokes back tears.
“_Don’t cry, Don’t cry,” _She pleas to herself.
“Mom…?” She pats Unis’ head trying to signal for him to be quiet, “Mom, I want to go home.” She broke down hearing Unis call her Mom, when his real Mom stood at the burning stake. Dom had almost forgotten about the lie she had kept up for years, she was to him, his mom. She wants to keep it that way.
“Shh Unis, Shh, “ She pulls him into a hug, as tears ran down her cheeks, mixed with guilt and sadness. Then nothing, it’s like the world slowed down, the tears stopped pouring, and her heart stopped racing. She stared at the fire, her mother has been engulfed and couldn’t be seen. In other words, she is finally dead, no longer feeling the burning pain. Dom knew her mom was dead, somehow. She could just feel it.
Once the fire calms down, Lord Avalon stands before the flames. “Use this witch as a lesson, to avoid the evils in this world. For if you choose evil this shall be your fate, a fire, with you in the center, where you get stared at as the flames engulf you.”
“Magic destroys families, relationships, everything, you wouldn’t want that to happen to you, would you? This witch, _it_ had a family, two kids, and a good home, all of which were lost.”
Dom tries to hide herself, even if no one knows she is the witch’s family. But maybe Lord Avalon knows she is here. Dom starts to spiral going through all the possibilities, she had never heard Lord Avalon describe the witch before they were arrested, so there must be a reason, doesn’t there?
“Those two kids are orphans now, do you want that for your kids?” “Maybe this is just a way to guilt people,” Dom thinks. “Or it’s a warning.” “Imagine the kids, parents ripped away from them, while they are only young, forced to grow up too fast.” Dom felt her ears and cheeks turning red. Lord Avalon was wrong about one thing, Unis wasn’t forced to grow up. Dom was, he wasn’t. How could he? He is only nine, and in his world, he has a Mom, a home, and friends. But Dom is twenty and has lied about her age since she was sixteen. It worked because she looked older from the stress. She used to consider it a compliment, but now it feels awful. She is older than her years, much older. “Leave this place, and remember the dangers, magic holds.” How could she forget the dangers magic holds, when magic killed her mom? Liar
Similar writing prompts
STORY STARTER
Write a descriptive narrative about the world your novel is set in.
Step away from your main plot and consider how the world shapes your story. If your story takes place somewhere familiar (like the world today), focus on which elements of it will play into your story.
STORY STARTER
Create your novel writing schedule today. List it here so we can all keep you accountable!
You most likely won't be able to write every day. Look at your plans, and make a rough schedule of when you can realistically tackle different parts of your novel.