Writing Prompt

Nearly three hours ago, I met him. His cold eyes stared blankly into the distance. He didn't notice me yet; his mind was preoccupied with the downtown streets one hundred feet below. I could sense his longing, his desire to finally start living, though there was little I could do. I walked over to the edge of the roof, the wind nudging me forward, encouraging me to help. I was scared—terrified of another failed attempt, another one lost. He turned around, mere feet away, and I could see his pain, feel it. I wanted him to live, to not end up like me. I approached him and pushed him off. In a quick motion, he grabbed my leg, pulling me along with him. The skyscrapers sped past as we descended. My eyes shut, ready for it all to finally end. But it didn't. I opened my eyes and saw that the world below remained... below. I felt lightheaded, excited that it had finally happened—I had finally become normal. I turned to my right to thank him, but he was already hundreds of feet away, his wings flapping freely in the air, his pain gone.

Coming down my letterbox, a shiver down my spine I rush outside to find the streets deserted. A humble knock is all it takes for me to look inside, And I see a small envelope inserted.

I gently take it out, and rest it on the stove, I singe it with a flame and it opens. A postcard is at view, with small letters backside, My luck is getting better, I hopens.

"Dear who it may concern, a story is to turn, I know you in certain. We've plenty adventured, oh, the places we've entered I'm write behind your curtain."

I look at the bottom, for there is written: "From you."

What he brought her was sweet stems of honeysuckle and thorny roses wrapped partially in a wide satin ribbon. It was so out of the blue.

She’d just come from the shower, her hair all turbaned up, a thick terry robe wrapped around her body when she heard the doorbell ring. No one good rings the doorbell at 7 a.m. Her chest clinched. Who? Wha?.

She cracked open the front door—as far as the security chain would allow—and let out a sigh of relief. It was just a kid from the neighborhood—15? 18? He was tall, full bodied but in that loose way of children. He had soft brown eyes draped in thick black lashes. His eyes were cast down, a bashful blush swimming across his face. Without looking up he extended the bundle of flowers towards her.

For her? What the heck? Why was her bringing her flowers?

He cocked his head a bit, like a puppyy with a question and thrust the bundle forward again, urging her to take it.

When she didn’t slip the chain from the door, and step out to take them. He took a step forward and laid the bundle on the step, looked up briefly at her, and then turned and ran in a gangly lope, looking over his shoulder and grinning.

She watched until he turned at the corner and was out of sight.Then she slipped the chain, opened the door and picked up the bundle.

Honeysuckle and roses. Such a delightful comingling of beauty. Such an aromatic blend. Who could have thought of such a combination. Yet he had. It felt intimate.

She brought them into the kitchen and prepared a vase, gently unwrapping the ribbon. She saw that he had clipped the thorns from the lower stems. These were not hot house roses. They were someone’s, his perhaps, tended beauties.

She sat them on a low table in the living room where the beauty and fragrance could fully embrace her.

It was crowded at Ketchums. She and her friend, Freya had meant to get out early for lunch but Edgar, the new manager, had droned on so long at the team meeting that here they were waiting for a lunch table at Ketchums. They’d be late getting back and Edgar was sure to make a big deal about it.

Ordering something quick seemed prudent. So both she and Freya ordered a cold sandwich and the soup of the day: Squash Blossom Soup. What ever that was—they both laughed. They often had a glass of wine with lunch, but not today. No need to give Edgar more fuel. While they waited for their food, she told Freya about the flowers.

“So this dude, that you don’t even know rings your doorbell at 7 a.m. Doesn’t say a bloody word and pushes backyard flowers at you?” Freya said in disbelief. Her extra large earrings boobed frantically beneath her dark brown boycut. Freya was more exotic than pretty. Her intensity was electric. “Creepy…. Dang girl, that’s just flat out creepy? Do you have outside cameras?”

“It wasn’t creepy , exactly,” she said, dipping the corner of her paper napkin into the water glass and dapping the soup stain from her cardigan. “It was weird. For sure. But I didn’t get a creepy vibe, and besides he didn’t hang around.’

“Trust me,” Freya said, her mouth full of food. She swallowed and then gestured with her sandwich. “How does this random dude know about your connection to honeysuckle and roses? Tell me again that that isn’t creepy.”

“Wait,” she said stiffening, leaning forward and slapping the table with her hand, “how do you know about honeysuckle and roses?” Her heart was pounding in her ears. That was her secret. Nobody knows. Nobody could know. The kid wasn’t random, not really. He was a neighborhood kid. She’d seen him around. The flowers, just somethings he cut from his yard. A beautiful coincidence from the Universe. That’s what she’d thought. Until now. Until Freya.

“You told me once. That time we went to see Maroon Five and got wasted in a motel room.” The air around Freya prickled. Dishes clanked from nearby tables. The riot of surrounding conversations circled and hovered.

“I don’t remember that.” She said and felt deflated, diminished. “The concert, yeah. But after…I don’t…”

The world stood still. it felt as though a boulder had landed smack in the middle of their table. They could no longer see each other. What words were said bounced back unacknowledged.

She was uneasy in her bed that night. She felt vulnerable and exposed. The darkness that she had always trusted seemed risky and devious. He knows. It whispered. Pinned as she was to the bed and the night, she could not argue. He knew and would always know. Freya knew.

She would never be safe again. She had tilted out of favor.

_Keely looked at the note and wondered who it could be from. She had once been very wealthy and had been generous and kind to many with less, but she could not put her finger on who it could be. Life had been hard after her divorce. As her life and money began to fade, she held her head high to make her way through the rubble and forge a new path. She had used her life’s savings to take care of herself and her children. Now, with nothing left, she was in debt and had no help in sight. Until now. **** _****When she opened the envelope and saw the amount, she could not believe her eyes. Was this a joke? If so, a very cruel one. Then, she noticed a small note at the bottom. It was signed by her ex-husband, someone who had always kept his distance. Though she had let the past hurt go and focused on the good moments they had as a family, she had never expected him to reach out in this way. Keely stared at the note, tears welling up in her eyes. Maybe God really was listening.

My seventeenth birthday is today. I know it's going to be a huge affair, being the only daughter of the queen, and becoming an adult is a big deal. I step out of my bed, stretching while looking at the view. I loved that view so much, it was of the teal ocean, the palm trees, and the sand. "Happy birthday Augustina!!" My ladies in waiting all ran into my room, each hugging me. "Thank you all so much!!" We sat and talked about the coming plans for the day, and I was informed that my mother was throwing a party, I had a dress being tailored, and she wanted to meet me for breakfast in 30 minutes. I went into the bathroom, and decided I would take a bath after I swam and ate. Looking into the mirror, I started brushing out my long, caramel hair. My skin was tan and clear, and I thanked the stars that I had no acne on my birthday. I went into my room, and pulled a pink tied top out from my dresser. I called Elenor in to help me tie the knot in the back and paired it with a long pink skirt with a slit.

Going down into the dining hall, I saw my mother sitting regally in the head chair. She looked almost as young as I am, with her dark skin glowing, and her hair pulled up into a regal bun, highlighting her crown. "Happy birthday dear." "Thank you!" I sat down in the chair next to her, excited for the day ahead. "I see you haven't bathed yet." I rolled my eyes. She always brought this up. "No, not yet. I'm planning on going swimming first. I know I have the tutoring lesson, but can I skip it because it's my birthday?" She sighed. "Oh, Augustina, you only ever want to do the fun things. But life is not always fun, you have to work and do things you don't want to do." I rolled my eyes again, bored with the lecture. "Fine, I'll have my lesson. But I'm still swimming, what's the point of living on a secret island if I can't go in the water?" She smiled. "Fine." She handed me a small box, inside was a pair of pearl earrings, harvested from the oysters in the ocean. "Oh, thank you so much mother! These are beautiful!" "I knew you would like them; they will go with your dress for tonight."

We talked for a bit, until I was done with breakfast, and she had a meeting to go to. I took off my skirt, wearing my swim shorts, and went into the water with Elenor. We swam and splashed, until she pointed out my tutor standing on the beach. Sadly, I realized it was time for my lessons. I crawled out of the teal waters dramatically, and sighing, said, "Hello Ms. Caol." She stood on the beach, looking as out of place as possible. Her tiny glasses glinted in the sun, and despite the island heat, she was wearing a cardigan over her flowy dress. Her tight gray bun looked painful, and contrasted my free, voluminous hair in a slightly ridiculous way. "Hello Princess. I see you have forgotten about our lesson." "Just lost track of time is all." She checked her watch. "Let's not waste any more of my time." We walked into the castle in silence, me still wearing the tied top and swim shorts, dripping all over the pavement, and her giving me disapproving glances.

Studying went the way it always did, her correcting everything I did, me getting frustrated, and it ending with me running out the second the clock struck four. My party began in two hours, and I had not showered, dressed, or done anything to get ready. I ran up into my room, went into my bathroom, bathed at an incredibly speed, and went back into my room wearing a towel to find Elenor and Lyn holding up my dress for the night. It was beautiful, a shade between lavender and purple, with gold filigree chains that would drape around my torso, given that the dress was in two pieces, a top and a skirt, connected by the chains. The sleeves fell off my shoulders and were longer than my arms, with slits for my hands. I loved it on sight.

They helped me into the dress, and I adored it. It was by far my favorite clothing item. I wore the pearls my mother had gotten me, and decided to leave my hair down, with little pearls strewn in it. After doing a light makeup look on me, it was time for me to go to the party, which was being held in the courtyard.

I walked in, smiling as people turned to look at me. The courtyard had been transformed, little pink lights seemed to float in the air, a quartet played softly, and there were tables with beautiful bouquets set out.

I greeted my mother, thanking her for the lavish party, and went to say hello to the guests. The majority of them were relatives from my mother's side, and a few family friends. Only people from the island, only my mother knew anyone from anywhere else. I was eating when my mother sat down next to me, looking nervous. "Augustina, I have some news for you. You have received a.... gift." I didn't understand why she was acting so strangely. "Well, it's my birthday, why wouldn't I receive gifts?" She sighed. "It's from your father." I sat up, shocked. "My father?!" She looked pained. "Yes."

I had never even met the man. My father was as distant to me as a character in a book. All I knew was that when my mother was my age, she went off of the island to study. She came back pregnant with me. My father did not know she was royalty, and when finding out he disappeared. I didn't know how to feel about him. I knew nothing, except that he had left me before even meeting me. He was the reason I was not allowed off of the island, the reason that my mother never let me interact with any boys my age. I knew only three men, my favorite tutor, my bodyguard for when I went out of castle bounds, and my mother's advisor. All of which were at least 15 years older than me, and all played a father role in my life.

I took the small box from my father, intrigued. There was a note. "Dear Augustina, As you are now an adult, I thought you should have this. Happy birthday.

-Love, Dad." I opened the box, almost in a trance. I had dreamed about the day my father acknowledged my existence for years, but it actually happening was shocking. There was a necklace inside of the box. It was pretty, with a periwinkle pendant and a gold chain. My mother looked at it, and a strange expression came over her face. "It's beautiful." We looked at each other, no words needed to express the question we both wanted to ask. Why was he doing this?

Baron Cumberlyn was perched upon the high-backed chair he sat in at every moment from once he seized it to the very day in which he stared upon fresh feast set in front of him. There were meats, breads, pastries, pies, and more to the content of any man’s heart. He had stacked his plate heavily with a bit of everything there could be adorning the table.

All the while his council sat abound, only taking what was nearest to themselves. Good Merrilyn was allergic to the pine-nut tarts and yet they were but plated nearest to her. Yet she was not bothering to move so Cumberlyn made no affair in rearranging the seating. Not that it would be much longer that they were to sit about the table.

“Baron Cumberlyn, we’ve little of note this eve.” Ser Corrant raised a finger. “But there is the matter of a delivery that is to be made in the courtyard before the day’s end.”

“Is this some missive brought to me?” The lord raised a brow. He cared not for the coming news of the ever ebbing and flowing struggles along the Basin, nor that of the rest of the Valley. All that was of his to care were his peoples, his family, and his ever growing belly. And he was certain to keep them all well and happy for the past 15 years and, stars willing, would go on for another 15 more!

“Not a missive, Sir, but a gift, chatles that came by cart early this day.”

“How much earlier, Corrant?”

“The hour before this fine feast, Sir.”

“And do any know of what manner this gift is?” He twirled his hand about to stir better words from his council.

“We but know that it has arrived, not even a name nor title had been given to it.” Madam Brinnel, clutching to her husband’s arm, lifted her chin to speak proud. Not that it would extinguish any ire he would have in her lack of truths. “The man of the cart simply insists it be delivered to you, Baron, up your behest.”

“And no guard has inspected it so?”

“Not with the recent scuffle of ruffians that scourged the southern alehouse.” Corrant bit his lip.

“That upon the docks?” Cumberlyn furrowed his brow.

“Aye, we have had one such report that it was a brutal and messy affair. The guard will be there in their time of need to persecute the ruffians, clean the blood staining the streets, and aid those of the less fortunate in this debacle.”

“My stars! Why has this not been mentioned at the table until now?” He smacked a meaty palm against his forehead. “Tharold and Desmond, figure out why this cart has been brought to me and of what matter this supposed gift is.”

Both of his servants nodded before they rushed out the door. Cumberlyn then placed the edge of his fist on his mouth. It was rarity to be delivered a any succor when asked of by the Baronies, but to be unknowing bestowed a gift was beyond legend and myth. Not that any hated one another, but as each their own sovereign state, it was strange to hear of any word other than the anual summit or news of a coming tournament.

“Good council…” He harrumphed and took his fist away from his mouth. “…is there not another baron, noble, king that is well and fond of me? I myself cannot conjure a name.”

“Sir Aston, perhaps.” Corrant raised a finger. “He was privy to your daughter was he not? This mayhaps be another attempt in so too winning your heart as well.”

“Hmm, perhaps.” He stroked his chin. “Madam Brinnel? You are knowing of many lives in and out of my lands.”

“Of all my gossips, Sir Cumberlyn, I am unaware of any that have mentioned you in great renown recently enough to warrant an unsolicited present.” Brinnel no longer clung to her husband, but her brow was not as level as was usual of her often cold demeanor.

“Might it be worthy of checking the recent missives, perhaps?” The ever quiet Maestro Frederiek shrugged as he took a casual draugh from his mug. “Would there not be of some hint to a fondness or interest in this package?”

“Of whom, some secret admirer?” Madam Brinnel scoffed before stuffing her face with the rim of her wine glass that her husband had placed in her hand.

“Very wise words Maestro.” Cumberlyn nodded to the armorer’s guild alderman. Then he gave a sharp eye to the madam. “And rather untowards of you, Madam Brinnel…

“I will be up to my audience chamber, were any of you to need me. That is, as we come to learn of this supposed gift and its origins. During such time, all present are to stay within these manor walls. Leave and I’ll see you to the stockades myself upon the hour.” The baron stood from his high-backed chair and lumbered up the nearest stairs.

Once to the audience chamber, Cumberlyn shuffled through all of the missives and other letters he had received in the most recent year. It was not many and there were few that spoke any more than meager news. There was one from Baron Averston who cared not to include any pleasantries, a few from Sir Aston who only pleaded for true love in return for nothing, and another from the Tailoring Guild of Rosendale that wanted to establish a seafront trading post, which he never responded to. In all the letter nothing had stuck out to him being worthy of sending some unnamed gift. So he cleared the desk, all the pages flittering onto the floor.

However, tucked beneath one of the piles of melted candles was a corner of one last page. The wax snapped and crackled as it was pulled up, the letter still stuck to the bottom of the candle pile. Careful to not tear any of the page, Cumberlyn removed it and looked over the elegantly scrawled words.

To the Baron of Cradbury, __ __ __ I, Count Jeanoun d’Roue, demand an audience upon the docks of Por’Duexrrou the seventh moon, third day. The harassing ships of your pitiful Westernly navy only provokes the might of Ruetounant’s own! __ __ If it is the power of our ships that dares not to move your heart then it must come to a greater agreement. Unless your pride sinks so low in your heart that my nation must bring you upon your knees! Tarry not long in your decision, Baron, lest the blades come at night. __ Ambassador, Count Jeanoun d’Roue

A greater agreement? Blades come at night? He had first passed the message off as senseless Rueschan ramblings to scare him into submission. Yet he was not part in the naval assaults, so what reason was there to take heed in any of such words. That was until such a “gift” landed upon the very gates of his manor.

Cumberlyn dashed down the stairs, belly jiggling and flopping along the way. It was not until he reached the main hall that he stooped and knew it was all too late. Four armored men in livery he had never seen before in his life had slit the throats of each council men. At the doors laid the slain Tharold and Desmond.

“In Jeanoun‘s name…” The mustachioed man of the soldiers, rushed forth with a sword in hand. “For Ruetounant!”

Wrapped in a golden ribbon, Della furrowed her brow, questioning who could’ve sent her this gift. Hastily, yet gentle, Della opened the gift. A blue velvet gown of soft beauty and elegance met her eyes, evoking surprise and a stir of questions. Who sent this fine gown? And what is that letter sticking from the corner. The letter was written in fine script:

_Dear Della Rosette, _ __ _Please make your attendance at the Rufence Ball this Friday night at dusk. _ I hope to see you there. ~J

Who was J? And a ball, how wonderous!

That evening of the ball, Della admired herself with the blue velvet gown on. She looked every bit beautiful and lovely.

“Now I hope to find J,” she said to herself as she entered the grand ballroom. Glancing, Della made eye contact with Jaren, a handsome, yet ruthless man. Jaren. _Jaren sent her the dress. _

“You look every the bit lovely, Della,” he said walking towards her. She narrowed her eyes. “Come, let’s have a dance.”

“Brave of you to send a letter,” I muttered as I tore open the envelope. But I couldn’t help the curiosity that had sparked.

Dear Queen Reyna,

I know you don’t want to hear from me. But if you’re reading this letter it means you didn’t tear it into peices when you saw it. From our time spent together I know that you probably didn’t find that funny. I would apologize but we both know you don’t want to hear it. I’m sorry times infinity. The real reason I wrote to you is I need help. I can’t say with what or your new body guard would be barreling after me. I hope her loyalty is stronger than mine was. Anyway, if you choose to help me in the Aisla Jungles. You know where. Please don’t bring back up. You don’t need it and I don’t want it. Again sorry for betraying you.

Sincerely, Your ex best friend, Alex

Some nerve he had, writing letter saying he needed help. And to say we were best friends. Gosh I hated him. But curiosity still seemed to get the better of me. I wanted to find out what he was doing and why he needed my help. A different emotion surged through my body though, and it seemed to over take my mind. I had been feeding it for months and couldn’t wait to unleash it: vengeance.

She hadn’t spoken to her in years. She didn’t even realize she knew where she had moved to, even though she’d been here for over 10 years To say she was shocked when she opened the mailbox to find a package with her mothers return address on it was an understament. Along with the bills that seemed to pile up this time of the month, was a tiny padded envelope with the address 2322 whispering pines. The address of the house of horrors and traumas that she grew up in.

Her palms were sweaty as she wringed her hands anxiously before reaching for the package, rushing upstairs to her apartment and tossing it on the coffee table in disbelief,

Her townhome was what her mother would call a mess, however she simply calls well lived in. Clothes are in a pile against the chair in the living room, waiting to be laundered as she just got home from a long business trip where she had just closed a 7 figure deal.

not sure of what to do, she went into the kitchen to make herself a gin and tonic

She hadn’t thought about her mother in years. She had worked hard to put the trauma of her upbringing behind her and has done a pretty good job at it - running a successful business, building a chosen family of people who truly cared for her. She was living everyone’s idea of a charmed life.

Yet here she is, terrified of an bright orange padded envelope with the distinct handwriting of a bitter woman sitting on her coffee table.

Shocked and amazed Dazed And hazed What’s this for Even the score?

No thanks It’s a prank Take it back I’ll pass