Oxyura follows her, struggling to keep up with her wide and swift strides, to the back of the monastery, a space where only Nakkamo resides. She leads him softly as her bare feet glide across the stone, snowflakes whishing about in fluttery sweeps. He hesitates to speak a word. Anxiety brushes his stomach. The white, granite walls conduct them down long chambers full of tapestries, engravings, and pottery made by the Tankamo. Generations have served the fey lord and many more will. As the silence builds thick through doors deeper than any he has ever seen before, Oxyura follows Nakkamo, suppressing jitters from within. Several inlaid entryways are carved into the opaque, white ice, and in the middle of the room, a large spiral staircase consumes the floor Nakkamo hands Oxyura a blazing blue torch. They descend. The stairs are slippery, tempting Oxyura to slip on several of the glassy steps. In the presence of Nakkamo, He manages to compose himself enough to not skid. Neither of them speak. He attempts to quell the uncertainty. A quickly passed minute down, Oxyura asks, “Am I in trouble?” He tries to end the quiet, still environment. After offering silence, she exhales, “No.” A violently dark ravine lies in front of them, the opening guarded by threatening icicles that dangle down into the cave. As they approach the fault, Nakkamo waves her hands, summoning a path of ice that had not been there before. She steps across. “Hurry along, darling,” Nakkamo urges. He follows, trying to stay away from the elaborate spirals and braided poles of the railing on the sides. While covering an obsidian slab behind a curtain across from the entrance of the room, Nakkamo brings him inside a library, and she settles him into a chair in front of a dark, spruce desk. Flush with the walls, the bookcases hold mysterious tomes never seen by Oxyura. Spell components and brewing supplies clutter the other desks in the room. He attempts to identify them. Nakkamo places the torch on a silver sconce, under the wintery blue vines on the ceiling, and pours two glasses of wine. Oxyura’s breath visibility dissipates into the air with each exhale. In. Out. In. Out. he clutches his forearms, shivering. “Sweety,” she softly guesses, “are you cold?” “Yes, Nakkamo.” She lays a dense fleece, after carrying it from a lower cabinet, over him and gives him a warm smile as she tucks it in. “There you are, my darling.” “Thank you, your grace.” Sitting on the opposite side of him, she elegantly reassures him, “In here, you can refer to me Nakkamo, though I do cherish how you strive to nourish my formalities.” “Of course,” he pauses, “Nakkamo.” “Care for a taste of Bloodberry Wine?” She pushes one of the glasses towards him. He hesitates. “Uhm, I’m okay.” “I insist,” she says while leaning over the table and directing his gaze to the violet liquid. He holds the glass and takes a sip. It’s bitter and seems to burn in his throat, leaving a warm sensation. His face shrivels. Attempting another sip, he puts it down quickly. “Now, Oxyura, I have brought you here to discuss that book. I would like to have it,” she gingerly demands. Still holding it with an arm, he looks at it and places it on the table. A few grains of sand come loose from its pages. “But Nakkamo, I believe it's a spellbook. Don’t all great wizards get a spellbook?” he reasons, “And this particular one, it calls to me.” Oxyura reads the judging expression on Nakkamo’s face. “Do you know where we obtain spellbooks, Oxyura?” “Yes,” he begins, “we make them with the leather from rock goats and paper from balsam trees. It is labor intensive, but it results in a tome that a belongs to the wizard.” She challenges, “So..?” “The… the book does not belong to me.” He looks at the cover, it seemingly beaconing him. He continues, “But! I can gain its knowledge. I can help our village!” Quickly, she responds, “No you will not. It will only harm us.” “But Willonave said I have the potential to be a great wizard,” he insists, “I can tame whatever magics this tome contains!” “You’re delusional!”—she slams her fists on the table—“You will never have enough practice to tempt the darkness in tomes.” She restates, “You will never be enough.” His eyes question her under quivering eyebrows. “It is shameful to defy me, Oxyura. You should feel guilty for even challenging my word. It was an ignorant decision. I know you show promising progress under Willonave, but I refuse to let you practice the text from a foreign book.” She eyes him with a petrifying stare. She reiterates, “It is astonishing that you would entertain an idea so stupid and irresponsible.” His stomach twists into knots. Oxyura mumbles, “I’m sorry.” “I should have spoken to Willonave; she does not teach Tankamos to disobey me. She will not.” Nakkamo closes her eyes as she gracefully places her lips to the glass and sips. Oxyura feels a sense of agency from a disparity in her demeanor. He looks at Nakkamo with a fearful expression and swallows. He grabs the tome. “Oxyura,” she says sternly as opens an eye and places her glass down. “Your grace, I believe this tome can aid my people. We may find magics that we have never known. Magics that may save our sick. Our dying. We-” Nakkamo drags her glass to the side. “Darling, I do not know why you cast me into a malicious role,” she begs. Her fingers lace together. “What..?” “Do you sincerely believe I do not wish to assist the sick? The dying? You are accusing me of acting immoral, Oxyura. I am no villian.” He catches his racing heart and pleads, “No, I meant no such thing. I just think-” “But you do,” she says persuasively. Her eyebrows drag down, making Oxyura feel stuck to the chair. Holding the fleece around him tightly, he claims, “I want to practice this magic.” “My darling, please,” she attempts. “No,” he insists, “I will practice this magic, Nakkamo.” She considers options. “I am afraid you are not welcome here then,” she says coldly while tapping her fingers on the table. “Not welcome in the Court of Ice,” she clarifies. “No, wait!” he pleads, “don’t exile me, please.” He begins to regret his decision, fearful he has lost his family and his home already. The beating of his heart pounds in his chest. He fights to slow his breath. “Perhaps I may spare you,” she says, his anxiety reducing immediately. “But,” she continues, “I will erase your recollection of this evening.” She adds, “And any other unnecessary memories.” Oxyura blinks. He glances at the book. A whirl of light entices him. Nakkamo casts an unknown spell, within her palm, by muttering an untold language, small lights wavering in her grasp. Finally, he examines her venomous intent. “And if I don’t?” he manages to ask. “You will leave immediately, past the Eternal Blizzard.” She threatens, “You won’t return. Like the ones banished before. You will never return. Never.” Nakkamo’s left hand grips the table, freezing it in a thin sheet of ice at the edge. "But you will not exile yourself, Oxyura. You are too intellegent to consider such a crooked option." He grabs the spellbook. While rising from her chair, she explodes, "OXYURA!" His ears lower. She grits her teeth as Oxyura backs away, clutching the tome to his chest. Rage manifests in her wild eyes. “The village will reject you!” He edges backwards. “You will never see your family again!” He begins to stumble back towards the bridge, faintly slipping with each stride. “Get out of here! Never return!” she screams from the study. A waiver heard in her voice. A glass shatters. He races up the stairwell. A great raucous reverberates behind him, items hurled to the ground and bookshelves ripped from the very walls that held them. He races to the top. Echoing from deep within the chambers, Nakkamo roars, “If you return, I’ll kill you!” His eyes wide, he does not stop. "I'll kill you!" He quickly descends down the mountain, only a spellbook to his side, and passes the Eternal Blizzard; it's cold presence scraping and choking him. Guided by only the light of the moon from the now cloudless sky, he escapes the Court of Ice, fleeing to the mysterious lands below.

Cult of the cosmos The insane leading the blind An assassinated innocent

Let’s just say the church bathroom is still a holy place And key smiths are still upstanding citizens

And you are still a delusion And I’m still an orphan

I hallucinate blood on my knees every time I skate The zipper on my black skirt is breaking

Milk leaks between my teeth Instead of pomegranate juice And the only fucking hands I hold are my own

I am no thief I am no revolutionary

My ribs are a puzzle Einstein wouldn’t attempt

I love the taste of the scale dropping Tastes dirty, sinful Im killing myself slowly and nobody notices

I still fall asleep nine years old And I still talk to brick walls in my spare time

In the idyllic town of Willowbrook, nestled among rolling hills and surrounded by lush forests, life flowed at a leisurely pace. The community was small but tight-knit, and everyone knew each other's names and stories.

For generations, Willowbrook had been built upon a tragic secret, one that had been buried deep in its history. A hidden cemetery, tucked away in the woods, bore the graves of children—dozens of them, all with the same birthdate. It was a chilling reminder of a dark chapter the town had vowed never to speak of.

Emma, a young woman with a thirst for uncovering the truth, had stumbled upon this eerie burial ground while researching the town's history. Shocked and horrified, she decided that it was time to reveal the tragic secret that had haunted Willowbrook for far too long.

Emma gathered the town's residents in the cozy community center one evening, the flickering candles casting long shadows across their faces. As she stood before them, she could feel their apprehension and curiosity in equal measure.

"My fellow Willowbrookians," she began, her voice trembling with emotion, "we have lived in the shadow of a terrible secret for far too long. There is a hidden cemetery in our midst, one that bears the graves of many children. They all share the same birthdate—April 17th." T A gasp rippled through the crowd as the weight of her words sank in. Faces turned pale, and whispered conversations filled the room.

Emma continued, "I have researched this extensively, and the records show that these children were victims of a devastating fire that swept through our town over a century ago. Their deaths were a tragedy, but the truth has remained buried for generations."

Tears welled up in Emma's eyes as she recounted the heartbreaking stories of these forgotten children. She implored the community to come together, not to hide from the past any longer, but to honor the memory of those lost souls.

Slowly, the residents of Willowbrook began to embrace the truth. They organized a memorial service for the children and erected a plaque at the hidden cemetery, vowing never to forget the innocent lives lost.

As the years passed, Willowbrook transformed into a town marked by resilience and unity, no longer burdened by a tragic secret. Emma became a hero in the eyes of her community, the one who had revealed the darkness that had haunted them for generations, and in doing so, had brought healing and closure to their small, tight-knit town.

One year later:

Marina patiently sat at the small restaurant table. Her eyes kept flickering to the clock.

A waiter soon walked up to her table. “What can I get for you today?” He asked in a strangely familiar voice.

Marina didn’t turn her head to him. “Just a muffin please.”

“Blueberry or chocolate?”

“Chocolate please.” Marina replied, glancing at the clock again.

“Are you waiting for someone? You keep looking at the clock.” The waiter asked, placing his pen and pad of paper into his pocket.

“Yeah, actually.” Marina sighed. “My date was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.”

“Does this date of yours happen to look something like me?” The waiter asked.

Marina glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She recognized him instantly.

Turning her face toward him and standing up, she almost screamed.

“Jack! You’re a waiter here?”

“I wanted to surprise you.” He gently kissed Marina’s cheek.

They sat down together.

“What a pleasant surprise!” Marina whispered.

Jack smiled. “I know!”

The door bell rang and the pair looked to see who was coming inside.

Riley stepped in first, then Damon came in.

They immediately saw their two friends and Riley almost screamed.

“Finally!” She whispered in relief. “You guys are together!”

Damon shushed her and walked her over to a table at the other side of the restaurant.

Marina and Jack looked back at each other and started laughing.

Then Marina stopped. “Jack!” She complained. “You forgot about my muffin!”

Jack quickly ran over to the kitchen and grabbed a fresh muffin from cooling. He carefully placed it in the middle of the plate and carried the plate back out to Marina.

“Here.” He said in his most professional voice, placing the plate in front of her. “The perfect muffin for the perfect girl.”

——————

Jack ended up walking Marina home.

They had a peaceful walk. Luckily, Riley had gotten Damon and her lost so they couldn’t follow them.

Once they had reached Marina’s home, Jack had lovingly kissed Marina in a goodbye and watched her safely walk inside before going back to his own home.

Marina calmly walked up the stairs to her room. Calypso and Aristeo were sitting on her bed.

“Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?”

“We have a gift for you we’ve been wanting to give you for a while.”

Calypso points to Marina’s closet and Marina opens the door. Inside is a huge box.

Marina tears the tape off and opens the flaps on the box.

Inside the box was a beautiful white dress.

“This was my wedding dress.” Calypso explained. “And now its yours.”

Marina couldn’t stop looking at it. Eventually she managed to tear her eyes away.

“Thank you, mom.”

——————

Riley, Damon, Marina, and Jack sat on Marina’s room floor.

“What do you guys want to talk about?” Riley asked all of them.

Marina and Jack glanced at each other. Riley caught it.

“What was that glance for?” She questioned them.

“Nothing.” They both immediately replied together.

Riley got a little suspicious, but let it go.

“Why don’t I show all of you the wedding dress my mom gave me?”

Marina stood up and reopened the box. Riley and Damon got up and stood beside her.

“It’s so pretty!” Riley squealed.

“It is nice.” Damon agreed.

Riley turned away from the dress to stare right at Jack. “Come over here and look at this dress, Jack! Besides, might as well see what it looks like before you see Marina in it one day.”

Marina rolled her eyes, but saw that Jack and gotten up and was now looking at the dress.

“It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.” He turned to look at Marina.

“Thanks all of you.” Marina whispered without removing her eyes from Jack’s.

One year later:

Marina yelped as a voice sounded behind her.

When she turned around in her chair, her parents were standing right inside her door.

“Someone at the door has a surprise for you.” They squealed excitedly in unison.

Marina had a confused look on her face as she walked out of her room, down the stairs, and to the door.

Jack stood outside. He was wearing a slick black suit and a small red flower.

Marina still looked confused as she opened the door.

“Hi, Jack. What are you doing here?”

Jack somewhat confidently handed Marina the red flower. Marina took it, but she didn’t know how to feel anymore.

“Hi, Marina!” Jack said confidently. “I came here to ask you to prom in a few days.” Jack’s voice trailed off a little at the end.

Marina’s face turned a really deep red. “Yes!” She exclaimed happily.

Jack quickly snapped his head up to stare right into her eyes. “You really mean it?”

“Yes, Jack. I mean it.” Marina’s face returned to the normal rosy pink.

——————

Marina froze at the doors. Riley and Damon stopped next to her.

“What are you stopping for?” Riley asked.

“I’m nervous.” She replied.

“There’s no reason to be nervous. You’ve waiting for this day for a while now!” Damon retorted.

Marina sighed. “You’re right.”

She pushed open the doors and stepped inside the huge dance room.

There were people everywhere. Luckily, Jack was standing right by the entrance.

He slipped his hand into Marina’s and led her away from Riley and Damon.

They arrived in a quiet corner and stood there for a while, awkwardly staring at each other.

“I need to tell you something, Marina.” Jack whispered.

Marina perked her ears. “Yes?”

“I really like you Marina. I have for a while. Whenever I see you, I feel like I’m sinking.”

Marina blushed a little. “Ever since we met, I’ve liked you.” She replied.

They stared deep into each other’s eyes. Marina soon couldn’t help herself and she kissed him.

The feeling was the best she had ever had in her entire life and she didn’t want it to end.

I’m trying to write my own book and I made a cover for it so I’m just trying to see if I can put photos on the writings and get professional feedback

https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/y2Y1ZP6ynXSEqm9UP7_-9azADR-oMlZ5WQuhbiIOIEGSJvBwLFprs_4eEGDiKz-0TJPCNX-_-nvyFMI1ti7wRiZalAolSbe0bF0zCV54hbP1z0_qSY_78RgN47nwWSQAb2kLrTOZeELCRxd-sIjyTnE

Tell me is you can see the picture. And if you can whether or not I should remove the castle.

I am so excited!!!

Gwen Halen is here!!!

Wish I could put pictures!!!

I’m getting a puppy FOUR days from now!!!! I am so excited!!!

So far we have three names suggestions:

• Wheezy
• Halen
• Gwen Halen

We’re leaning more towards Gwen Halen right now, but if any of you want put the one you like in the comments.

Anyway, we’ve had dogs before, but we’ve spayed them.

For this one we may NOT spay it! Me, myself I am SO excited for that.

Then we’ll let it grow up, then let it find a doggy husband and have puppies!!!!

This community has been hit by a tragedy, it was deemed to be revealed sooner or later. Every member of this tight knit community has been affected one way or the other. It all started on a beautiful summer day. Perfect with the sun shining, cool breeze, and the smell of fresh grass been cut early in the morning. The community were tight and looked out for one another. They were almost care free because f the peace and harmony. The people in this community did not believe in any pain or suffering amoungst them. Mayor Breedley was extemely proud of his community he served. He also was such a down to earth man that lived and led a simple life. People loved him. He was not only well admired leader, there was many more admiral leaders part of this beautiful community.

This beautiful day would turn to be the worst day of this town. People were going about there day as normal until a stranger came into town. He was not actually a stranger to the town. Mr Dupil had left the town when he was very young, he was 13 when he left with his parents and siblings. At 45, Mr Dupil decided to return to his home town. He was bearing a secret of this town that would affect almost everyones heart. I owned a small bed and breakfast. I have seen many people pass by this beautiful town. Then i met Mr Dupil, full of character. Extrovert with lots of wisdom. He loved to talk and had many stories. He had been siting in the library of the bed and breakfast where he stopped me and started chatting with me. He then started telling me that he resided in the town years ago. I then took a seat and was fasinated to hear more. He said there was one thing he needed to do before leaving the town the next day. It expressed that it was important to his legacy and would never return again. I asked him why wouldn’t he return and he said that he was terminally ill. My heart was sadden by this news. Mr Dupil had been holding an envelope he said it had alot of vital information on the towns history and secret that was handed down to him from his parents. Mr Dupil’s parents passed away months apart 5 years ago. This secret drove there family out of the town.

Mr Dupil told me that there is lots of things that people dont understand in the town. He began by telling me that the documents that he has was evidence of some type of corruption that had been going on as well as a unsolved murder of not just on but 5 people. He believed he knew who was the killer and wanted justice to be served. I asked him about the murders and he told me the story. So after all these years this killer has been amoungst this community. Mr Dupil explained that the truth needed to be told. As we knew everyone in this community trusted everyone and everyone were like family. It was hard to believe that murderer could be free as a bird. After telling me on how the murders took place i then asked him who did he believe was the killer, and how sure was he that it was the killer. He said that he was a witness to one of the murders but didn’t come forward as one. I asked who the killer was and he told me it was Mr Kalien. Mr Kalien was a pharmamist and the owner of the only pharmacy in the town.

It was about 4pm and was getting late. I insisted that this should be reported immidiately. No one knew that Mr Dupil was back in town and said he did not want anyone to know . He then made me promise not to let anyone know that he was back and i agreed. He handed me the envelope and said that i should hand it over to the police. I told him that i will do so immediately. I headed straight to the police station and gave the envelope to the sheriff. He then enquired where did i get the envelope from and i told him exactly where it came from.

The sheriff followed me back to the bed and breakfast but it was too late because Mr Dupil instinctively left town. The next stop was too the pharmacy. When the sheriff got to the pharamcy it was rush hour and busy. This was when all hell broke loose. The sheriff arrested Mr Kalien infront of the customers. Questions were raised and the truth was revealed. This news spread like wild fire throughout the community. Many hearts broken ecspecially the families of the deseased. It had truly been a sad day for the community.

Mr. And Mrs. Moore locked themselves away from the rest of us. The little Miller boys ran away. Mrs. Gilmore ate her husbands ashes, bless her soul. Hillary and Gregory folded themselves over, probably gone off to God. Me you ask? Well I’ve been harassed. Abused. Yelled at. Called names. They don’t believe me and it’s killing me. I feel my anger roar like a raging fire, clawing at my skin. I had no choice. I had to tell them. History was written wrong and nobody knew. Nobody but me.

Forty four years ago, a strange man came to the village. He was obviously foreign, his dark skin and hair was unusual in our small village. Everyone knew everything about everyone else and we never had new people. We grew up with the same people, and we never left. This man asked for hospitality, and he said in return he would give them something magical. This scared everyone. Magic? Everyone would say. No, we follow God only. Rumors spread that the man was dangerous. Said that he was sent by the devil to harm our village. When you grow up in a small village like ours, you will most likely end up as closed minded as they treated this man. The foreign man only wanted to give us a rare plant that only grew in other parts of world. We was going to show us how to germinate it’s seeds. But they didn’t know that. They saw them as a threat. There was this woman who was the wife of the current Guild Leader of their town. She was 18 and very well respected. The night that the foreign man stayed in their town she went to his room at the inn. The woman took a rock she got from outside, and hit him. Over and over again. The first hit, she was aiming for his face. The rock was heavy and she hadn’t expected the effort that it took to swing it. Because if this, the rock hit his chest instead. The man woke in a shock and wheezed from the pressure. He had startled the woman and she jumped back. The woman looked down at the rock and knew she had to finish this. She shoved the rock with all her might towards his face. He was knocked out. The woman searched the room in hopes to find whatever magic he had been referring to. All she found, were fruits. She knew this was a foreign plant and she found out that this was the magic he was preaching to. She cried until she couldn’t anymore, for her worries were correct. She killed a man for no apparent reason. She destroyed the fruits and hid the rock. The next day, when the man was found, everyone assumed it was the work of God and decided not to question it further. At least that’s what everyone said they did. It still became the biggest mystery in the history of their little village.

It turns out, the woman was three months pregnant. She gave birth to a beautiful healthy baby girl six months later. Eighteen years later, that girl gave birth to baby boy. Sixteen years later, the old woman was 68 and on her deathbed. The woman was never close to her only daughter-she only had boys after her first child-but was very close with her grandson, having to appreciate him being a boy. In which this case, she asked to see her grandson alone before passing. He sat down next to her laying in her straw bedding and prayed while she slept. Once she woke, she spoke to him in a low crisp voice. Not exactly hoarse, just slow and tired. She held his hand tight and tried her best to prepare him for what she was to tell. She told him to wait until she passed to share this Pandora’s box she was soon to tell him. When he promised to wait, she confessed to him. The murder. The foreign fruit. The rumors. The lies. The town would be crushed, she had told him. But she knew they must know. By the end of it, the boy was astonished. He sobbed. He was only 16 and he held the immense weight of the biggest mystery of their little town. His whole body felt weak. He crumbled to the floor, staying for hours. Just sobbing next to his dying grandmother. Once he left, his mother asked him if he was alright, and why he had been crying. He just told her that it was obvious how fast his grandmother was slipping from reality.

The day his grandmother slipped to God, the boy went to call an emergency town meeting. He told everyone how his grandmother had passed. How she had a big secret she held to her death bed. How she killed a foreign man whom was asleep. How he had no magic, just fruit. The town went chaotic. They threw things at him. Attacked him. Shouted things at him. Eventually he was thrown out. He was told that it was for his own safety, but he knew better.

The more time went on, the more people were able to think about it. This is how it became more believed. People began to except the fact that this might be true. That is when the things like suicides and runaways happened. The amount of people that went missing, turned up dead, or went crazy was more people then in the past decade. Oh and that boy? He was me. I had a spirit. I had a heart. I had feelings. I had freedom. I had SANITY. I was later arrested for evidence withholding. Some people protested, saying that I was lying, so there was no evidence to withhold. They argued that if I was lying then it was misinformation and still deserved to be locked upped.

That’s how my stupid narrow minded grandmother ruined MY life.