Bienvenindos a la Desperado, Tejas! Or so reads the rotting wooden sign on the land fringing the little Texan town of Desperado. Formed by a friar as a refuge settlement for both American and Tejano (hispanics opposed to Mexican government) families, it waited hand and foot upon the body of Christ, never turning any of the sick, dying, or desperate out of its rickety wooden gates. Advocating simple, submissive, and anonymous obedience to the doctrines taught by the Christian faith- the shining light in a world darkened by the sinister powers of Santa Ana's army.
When outlaws began to hear of the hospitable countrylife conducted in this caring way, however, they began to feign ferocious disease, limping into the town doors in their deceitful disguise. For weeks, the consumed the beds of those wasting into oblivion, coughing, sputtering, and shaking in fevered trembles, simply to awaken one day with complete "healing". Then much rejoicing would break out among the people for the miraculous revival of health. The sick one would go to the church and drop to his knees, but seldom was the either fear or thankfulness to God in his heart.
But he still feared the world. Upon asking a minister, he would remain in the town to "help". At length, mysterious thefts, deaths, and disappearances occurred. The town of Desperado had eaten the poisonous apple of sin.
Now, nearly 200 years later, it is a wasteland of atrophed morals, a dilapidated citadel, its gates now firmly closed against the truth. Criminals roam the roads, undaunted and nearly always unchecked by the police, who have their hands so full they are helpless. Danger lurks around every corner. No one is safe.
This is the home of Connor Adams, a 17-year-old student whose family scraps by through his dad's auto tinkerings, his mom's gas station job and singing gig at the local bar, and his job of washing vehicles at a used car shop. The book opens as he's bouncing down a wide, unpaved street veining through the residential area of the town, counting the old houses as he passes. He pulls into one and his secret girlfriend Amelia Williams hops into the passenger seat. As they drive, he meets one of his friends, and, on Amelia's prompting, they begin to race. Unfortunately for them, tucked into the shadows is the car of Sheriff Blunt, the head of the Desperado police force. She snags them on her radar, and, with lights whirling in the dark atmosphere, gives chase. Connor's friend quickly darts into an alleyway, but him and Amelia are forced to the side of the road, where he tries to shove her into the driver's seat, saying he doesn't have his license. Walking to the window, the Sheriff demands to see it, and when she finds he has nothing to give her, makes a thorough inspection of the car. Upon her return, she asks Connor if this is his automobile, and when he replies in the positive, handcuffs both of them on the charges of illegal driving and car robbery.
However, while sleeping behind the bars of confinement, he sees a conglomeration of shades shaped like wicked beasts crowding around the city and speaking of its demise. His eyes are opened, and a shaft of Light streams in upon the deeds practiced by him and his friends. A voice from above tells him that he is chosen to bring Desperado to her knees...but he only has five days to do it before the staying hand of God loosens the demons, and all that he's ever known is utterly destroyed.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Character Enhancements
Note- This paper was given to me as an assignment for the academic writing course I am taking. Being instructed to listen to a lecture and take notes and then turn those notes into a couple paragraphs following a specified structure, I naturally chose to listen to a speech given on the very subject I never seem to learn enough of- writing. All ideas presented here are either adapted from or extrapolated on the concepts taught by James Scott Bell at the Christian Writer's Guild Writing for the Soul Conference. To learn more about the Christian Writer's Guild, please visit www.christianwritersguild.com (I highly recommend their courses to any beginning writer. Each lesson is designed to build the knowledge of the craft as well as fuel the fire Christian writers need to feed a hungry world with the feast, love, and hope experienced by true believers. In addition- and to give you some accountability- a professional writer/teacher guides you along the way.). For a more extensive look into Bell's concepts, please check-out his marvelous book Plot & Structure (another must-have), which is sold at bookstores everywhere. For now, enjoy my very first lecture paper on one of my favorite topics- writing!
Characters are colorful beings, shaded by their pasts and brought to light by their present. Woven and spun by their backgrounds, beliefs, and region of living, they are a tapestry of complex threads- nigh on incomprehensive to all but their creator. How do writers manage it? How do they shape beings enriched with varying traits and put them in a story of cohesion? Well, in order to answer this question, I ask you to close your eyes for a moment. Imagine yourself in a room where there are lots people, all chattering amiably about the courses of life. Being with your best friend, he begins to introduce you to all of his acquaintances. During these introductions, you meet one man who particularly catches your eye- your main character. Now, the first question is, what is his dominant impression? What’s his noun of vocation and his adjective of manner? In order to distinguish clear meaning from ambiguity, let’s say that your character is a farmer. That’s what he does- his noun of vocation. What would you picture? Likely enough, it would be some combination of bib overalls, muddied boots, and straw hats. However, the impression of a farmer can be dual. Unless I told you that he is a tidy farmer, would you have any idea that he is clean-shaven and well-mannered with his shirt nicely tucked in? Maybe or maybe not. That’s just the way he is- that’s his adjective of manner. Therefore, although characters are colored by a great many different things, the very first thing we notice about them should be the very first thing the reader does- their dominant impression and adjective of manner.
Layering his noun of vocation and adjective of manner is his background. To begin, let’s start with the very basics. Where is he from? If you’re left scratching your head, allow your character to speak a bit. Interview him and write down what he says using his own voice. Carefully consider your results and examine it thoroughly for any ticks and tocks that illuminate his both his past and present. Do you hear a distinct accent- Southern or perhaps even Midwestern? Does his grammar reflect an education of repute, or do malapropisms and slang words slight his tongue? Once you have that down, delve deeper into his past to flesh out the meat and bones of his composition. Why does he act the way he does? Many individuals and ideas influenced who he is today. Which contained the most potency? Secrets are priceless bits of information to uncover at this stage. Though they are traumatic and terrible to your character, they bring punch and power to the most poignant of tales- and, when they do, they leave the audience with a huge craving for the rest of your story. Therefore, penning the tale of his past deepens this individual you wish to portray, explaining how he became who he is and flavoring him with the spices of life.
Probably most importantly, you must determine your character’s drive and yearning. What does he want (or think he wants)? Yearning shoves drive from complacency into action, so this is essential knowledge that will eventually end up affecting the course of your plot and maybe even the mood of your novel. When yearning clothes itself in the garments of a home, a family, or a job- or any other basic need- you have storyline with the potential for a book readers will pick up and not put down. You’ve begun to play upon their emotions by using a tile in the game of life that we can all relate to. Or your yearning might be something less tangible, such as safety, freedom, or even a peace of mind. Situations such as these tend to extract some of the most memorable inward battles ever to be put to pen. After you excavate yearning, drive is not much harder to discover, since now all you must ask yourself is why your character wants something. However, the two accompany each other, which produces a noisy, clashing conflict. Conflict creates problems. Without conflict, there is no plot, shading and silhouetting yearning and drive in its important shadow.
Although conflict crowns a tale with a golden shimmer, it is her cousin, inner conflict, that spotlights background in the theater of the imagination. Largely comprised of fears, it consists of a battle fought inside the soul. Using whatever the character has gleaned from his past, you must challenge the kernel of truth (which it may or may not turn out to be) he holds onto, possibly wielding what he most desires as a venerable weapon. These endless bouts of self-turmoil give the character a ready and enlivened purpose to lie upon the page, but all the while they can do much more than that. In a slow, unfolding fashion, they allow him to shake and spread his fledgling wings. They let him soar. Thus, by wrenching your character’s wants and beliefs, you weld a sword able to slice your scenes with his innermost soul.
Being the inertia that carries your character from one scene to the next, momentum must not be lacking. Let’s just face it outright- people read to escape. To enter a world free from the cares of their own into the eyes and ears of another whose life is (hopefully) much more interesting. If you’re character spends his time rotting in front of the TV or sobbing hysterically about her condition, however, it’s time for you to stop and think. Is that really interesting? Do you think people care to know another couch potato or, much less, a victim? Though there are certain exceptions, such as when one such character should be forced into a situation they wouldn’t voluntarily be in, readers almost always demand a human being able to scramble to her feet, stare down her fears, and stamp her statement into place. The world wants to see someone who is willing to stand up, make a shout, cause a commotion, and perhaps shake the way they see things. Fervently maintaining an ardor, he or she must remain in character. In order to ensure that this ardor carries through the whole story, pause and contemplate each scene. In every situation they encounter, what would be the most outrageous thing that they could do? Then take it a step further. Expound upon the outrageousness. It sounds unrealistic, right? Well, since it most likely is, try to bring back the emotion 25%. Keep doing this until you reach an intensity level that feels right and realistic for your novel without breaching your character’s personality. In this way, and all the ways listed above, you may enhance your character to the maximum peak, and thus making them more colorful and benefitting your book.
Characters are colorful beings, shaded by their pasts and brought to light by their present. Woven and spun by their backgrounds, beliefs, and region of living, they are a tapestry of complex threads- nigh on incomprehensive to all but their creator. How do writers manage it? How do they shape beings enriched with varying traits and put them in a story of cohesion? Well, in order to answer this question, I ask you to close your eyes for a moment. Imagine yourself in a room where there are lots people, all chattering amiably about the courses of life. Being with your best friend, he begins to introduce you to all of his acquaintances. During these introductions, you meet one man who particularly catches your eye- your main character. Now, the first question is, what is his dominant impression? What’s his noun of vocation and his adjective of manner? In order to distinguish clear meaning from ambiguity, let’s say that your character is a farmer. That’s what he does- his noun of vocation. What would you picture? Likely enough, it would be some combination of bib overalls, muddied boots, and straw hats. However, the impression of a farmer can be dual. Unless I told you that he is a tidy farmer, would you have any idea that he is clean-shaven and well-mannered with his shirt nicely tucked in? Maybe or maybe not. That’s just the way he is- that’s his adjective of manner. Therefore, although characters are colored by a great many different things, the very first thing we notice about them should be the very first thing the reader does- their dominant impression and adjective of manner.
Layering his noun of vocation and adjective of manner is his background. To begin, let’s start with the very basics. Where is he from? If you’re left scratching your head, allow your character to speak a bit. Interview him and write down what he says using his own voice. Carefully consider your results and examine it thoroughly for any ticks and tocks that illuminate his both his past and present. Do you hear a distinct accent- Southern or perhaps even Midwestern? Does his grammar reflect an education of repute, or do malapropisms and slang words slight his tongue? Once you have that down, delve deeper into his past to flesh out the meat and bones of his composition. Why does he act the way he does? Many individuals and ideas influenced who he is today. Which contained the most potency? Secrets are priceless bits of information to uncover at this stage. Though they are traumatic and terrible to your character, they bring punch and power to the most poignant of tales- and, when they do, they leave the audience with a huge craving for the rest of your story. Therefore, penning the tale of his past deepens this individual you wish to portray, explaining how he became who he is and flavoring him with the spices of life.
Probably most importantly, you must determine your character’s drive and yearning. What does he want (or think he wants)? Yearning shoves drive from complacency into action, so this is essential knowledge that will eventually end up affecting the course of your plot and maybe even the mood of your novel. When yearning clothes itself in the garments of a home, a family, or a job- or any other basic need- you have storyline with the potential for a book readers will pick up and not put down. You’ve begun to play upon their emotions by using a tile in the game of life that we can all relate to. Or your yearning might be something less tangible, such as safety, freedom, or even a peace of mind. Situations such as these tend to extract some of the most memorable inward battles ever to be put to pen. After you excavate yearning, drive is not much harder to discover, since now all you must ask yourself is why your character wants something. However, the two accompany each other, which produces a noisy, clashing conflict. Conflict creates problems. Without conflict, there is no plot, shading and silhouetting yearning and drive in its important shadow.
Although conflict crowns a tale with a golden shimmer, it is her cousin, inner conflict, that spotlights background in the theater of the imagination. Largely comprised of fears, it consists of a battle fought inside the soul. Using whatever the character has gleaned from his past, you must challenge the kernel of truth (which it may or may not turn out to be) he holds onto, possibly wielding what he most desires as a venerable weapon. These endless bouts of self-turmoil give the character a ready and enlivened purpose to lie upon the page, but all the while they can do much more than that. In a slow, unfolding fashion, they allow him to shake and spread his fledgling wings. They let him soar. Thus, by wrenching your character’s wants and beliefs, you weld a sword able to slice your scenes with his innermost soul.
Being the inertia that carries your character from one scene to the next, momentum must not be lacking. Let’s just face it outright- people read to escape. To enter a world free from the cares of their own into the eyes and ears of another whose life is (hopefully) much more interesting. If you’re character spends his time rotting in front of the TV or sobbing hysterically about her condition, however, it’s time for you to stop and think. Is that really interesting? Do you think people care to know another couch potato or, much less, a victim? Though there are certain exceptions, such as when one such character should be forced into a situation they wouldn’t voluntarily be in, readers almost always demand a human being able to scramble to her feet, stare down her fears, and stamp her statement into place. The world wants to see someone who is willing to stand up, make a shout, cause a commotion, and perhaps shake the way they see things. Fervently maintaining an ardor, he or she must remain in character. In order to ensure that this ardor carries through the whole story, pause and contemplate each scene. In every situation they encounter, what would be the most outrageous thing that they could do? Then take it a step further. Expound upon the outrageousness. It sounds unrealistic, right? Well, since it most likely is, try to bring back the emotion 25%. Keep doing this until you reach an intensity level that feels right and realistic for your novel without breaching your character’s personality. In this way, and all the ways listed above, you may enhance your character to the maximum peak, and thus making them more colorful and benefitting your book.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Another Excerpt
Beams of sunlight spun deceptive patterns upon the cool surface of the tile, bending its light into a thousand enticing hues. The rusted creak of huge oaken doors resonated throughout the hollow room as Arrenia pushed them aside. Allowing them to swing shut behind her, she stopped, rooted suddenly to the ground.
There, a man knelt before her stepmother and Isabel, a cloak as black as a moonless night falling from his shoulders. Stitched in fiery colors of scarlet, snakes slithered in fixed adornment about it. The crimson orbs shone forth, glowing amidst the darkness. Gulping, Arrenia forced her way forward, skimming past the mysterious being to kneel at Illana’s feet.
“You have called for me, stepmother?”
The queen’s long fingernails rattled against the armrest of her throne as she tapped it absently. “Yes, Arrenia, my dear. Please rise and meet Lucrious Orakin, Prince of Sleyvink.”
Lucrious. Every letter of the name hissed down her spine, merging into one large shudder. Whiteness hallooed her knuckles as her fingers tightened into a ball. Her legs began to shake, begging her to flee. Lucrious of Sleyvink.
“Go on, dear, say something. Offer him your hand,” Illana whispered.
Hesitancy clogged Arrenia’s throat, her fluttering stomach almost making her ill. Slowly, she extended a clammy hand forward and forced a smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Lucrious.”
With one flourishing sweep, he rose and threw back his hood, his lips brushing her fingers. “A pleasure to finally meet you as well, most beautiful maiden. I have heard many good things about you.”
He brought his gaze up to meet hers, scanning and surveying her. She recoiled, a vague sense of horrified fascination erupting within her. That scrutiny! Where had she felt it before?
Night covered the senses of her imagination. Cloaked figures. A roaring fire. Snakes. Castor pushing her down. Suddenly, she knew.
Cold sweat oozed from her flesh as she backed away
“He has come to ask for your hand in marriage, my dearest girl. Isn’t that wonderful? Think of how the alliance would heal our two nations!”
Arrenia clenched her roiling stomach as the knot within it twisted. Fear pounded upon the drum of her heart. Goosebumps pricked her arms, raising her hair until it stood on end.
Grinning crookedly, he said, “It is true. As soon as I heard of your good deeds and agreeable nature, I set off at once to find you, for I knew I loved you.”
From where she sat beside her mother, Isabel scowled down at him, a look of disapproval etched upon her face. Digging her long nails into the lion’s head carved into her small throne, she channeled all of her anger into strangling the stone creature beneath her hands.
Lucrious glanced at her momentarily as he fell to one knee. “Miss Arrenia de la Cornia, Princess of Lydacia, I offer you my heart- my very life…take it….” He looked at her. “I beg of you.”
She stood unmoved, unable to speak, unable to flee. Cunningness cutting through his gaze, it pierced right through her, the silent screams of his scheming rattling her being. Trembling until she almost couldn’t stand, her mind raced, fighting hard to break through the barrier of soundless noise ringing in her ears.
“Say yes, my dear. We don’t want to keep the Prince of Sleyvink waiting, now, do we?” Illana whispered.
Sleyvink. Castor. Tears pricked the corners of Arrenia’s eyes, pooling about them before spilling softly onto her flushed cheeks. She hung her head. Why, oh why, had she ever returned? Had she just remained with Castor, none of this would ever have happened! She might be dead by now, of that she was fairly certain. But of what purpose was living a life of pain? Even death must be preferable to this torture she now daily knew! Oh, why had she been such a coward? Why could she have not gone bravely to her death?
Oh, Ino, help me! she prayed.
“That is it. You have thought for long enough, dear!” Illana rose and, pulling Arrenia along with her, marched her way down the steps. Taking both of their hands, she joined them together, saying, “There! I give my blessing to this union and hereby announced you two betrothed!”
Arrenia felt her heart shatter into a million pieces, crushed beneath her hopeless plight. Through her blurred vision, she glared up at her stepmother. A small, faint whisper emitted from her mouth. “How could you?”
Cocking her head slightly, the woman replied. “I do this for the betterment of our people, Arrenia. Someday, you will understand.”
Opening her mouth to reply, the girl stammered out indeterminable sounds. Chest throbbing, she struggled to speak, to vent the angered heartbreak pent up inside. Her tongue tightened into a knot of pain, coiling into a knot of pain. Yanking herself free from both of their grasps, she fled across the tile floor.
Illana’s lips curved into a firm line as she watched the girl go, a hard, frigid haze glazing her gaze. The infuriated furnace of her soul flared color onto her cheeks. Muttering inaudible words in ancient Lydacian, she turned to Lucrious.
The corners of her mouth peeled back, sunlight glinting off her flawless teeth. “You must forgive my stepdaughter’s impudence, your Highness. She has endured a rather taxing past few days and is quite exasperated. I shall now depart from you to speak with her. Good evening.”
Spreading her silken skirt its full width, she executed a dainty curtsey. Then, gathering her hem from off the floor, she strode away, calling Arrenia’s name.
Isabel slid from the cushioned seat upon her throne, gliding with conniving grace towards the man. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she approached, her jaw set firm, her features encased in a shell frozen by her cold demeanor. Bending her head slightly, she dug her nails into the fleshy recesses of Lucrious’s face, glaring wickedly at him.
“How dare you?” she hissed.
Grasping her wrist, he drew her in until her breath puffed gently on his features. “Isabel. Dear, cruel Isabel. Beautiful to the eye and dark to the soul. This is part of the plan. Fret not your pretty brow over the whims of its fancy.”
The girl sighed, puckering out her lower lip in impudent detestment. Nosing her face forward, she said, “You poisonous little snake! You loved me!”
Caressing the smooth flesh of her hand, he whispered softly in her ear. “Yes, but Arrenia is now within my reach.”
She yanked away and strode across the room, her chin pointed skyward.
Beams of sunlight spilled over the folds of her flowy dress, clashing brilliantly with the darkness of her material cloud, sparkling upon the sequins sewn into it. Lucrious blinked, blinded by this light. Reeling backwards, he caught himself on his elbows and began scrambling farther away from the sight. Trembles took his body for a reason he couldn’t explain. Thoughts brimmed in his head, bubbling over in his mind. He closed his eyes and turned away, sealing them with a tight squeeze as he replaced light with darkness. He could feel it all around him, enveloping him, as if it wanted to swallow him whole. As the black abyss swam before his eyes, as single Voice rang through his head.
“Don’t,” It said. “Don’t. Let the girl go.”
Suddenly, an image of Arrenia, lying prostrate upon her bed, entered his mind. Pillow catching her tears, she wept and wailed without reserve. Screaming to Ino, she beat the mattress with a relentless fist.
Lucrious smiled. Good! Just as he wanted it.
He clenched his teeth, words forming from behind it. “Never.”
Isabel spun around on her heels. “What?!”
Lifting his lids, Lucrious allowed daylight to flood his vision once again. Isabel stood before him, feet planted firmly upon the ground. Her stare bore through him, piercing his heart and penetrating to his soul. The ferocity of her anger burned through him, leaving his tongue dry and speechless. He hung his head.
She stomped over to him and grasped his chin, forcing his vision upward. Cold and unflinching, she sneered in his face. “What did you say? Tell me.”
Gulping, he attempted to speak. “This is all necessary, my sweet.”
“Just what is necessary?...Tell me!”
Brow arching in cynicism, she peered at him, her silence spinning cords of strength about his tongue, knotting it tightly within his jaws. Triumph crawled across her countenance, lining her features in reveled victory.
Averting his gaze from hers, he began to trip over the words. “This deception…this feigned love-”
Slap!
Stinging zapped through his being, a crimson color surfacing under the powerful thrust of Isabel’s bony hand. He held his cheek, flinching as the after-effects sprawled through his nerves. Rocking slightly, he set his jaw against the throbbing pain pulsing through his body.
“Feigned love, ha!” she laughed in his face. “Don’t think I didn’t see the twinkle in your eye. Am I so hideous in spirit and soul that even your reputation pales in comparison to mine? To what avail is this scheme of yours?”
Inhaling deeply, he flipped up his chin and stared steadily into her eyes. “You wanted to rule.”
Erecting her posture, her vision traced her nose right down to him. “As did you.”
He leapt to his feet, the red hot blood of anger coursing through his veins. With it seizing him in the wild siege of his being, he wrapped solid fists around her shoulders, shaking her with the tremblings of his fierce fury. “Do you have any idea what I have done for you? What I have done for us? Do you really think there is any profit for me in marrying a fatherless Lydacian princess, unless it is to murder her in her sleep?! The medallion is the girl’s most prized possession. Without it she is worthless. I had to get it somehow. What did you expect?”
She grasped his tunic, leaning in. “I expected you to play it fair.”
Locking her gaze in his, he backed her up against a pillar. His heart beat in his chest with every step he took, pumping blood through his veins. Heat scourged his soul as he took her in, the coolness of her fiery quiet fanning the flames, thawing his icy innards. The snow-white skin, smooth and untainted by ugliness’s accursed kiss. The lips of royal ruby, echoed in the feisty fire of fury in her eyes.
Pushing aside a black strand of hair, he leaned in and whispered, “Isabel. Being of beauty untold, of such I will never find again. Did you not know it was of you of whom I spoke? The princess Arrenia means nothing to me. It is your beauty that captures my soul.”
She shoved him away. “Until I discover the true meaning behind your unjust little façade, your words are non-existent to me.”
Moving in, he wrapped his arms about her and encased her mouth in a kiss, his pulse pounding in his throat. She tensed for a moment, pulling back with all her might, battling against the emotions running through her. Second by second, strength drained from her. She fought against it, struggling for her right to stand in her own stubborn will. Parried and blocked by her inner self, her energy waned, leaving her to melt into his embrace.
Feeling her sinews slacken beneath his touch, he released her, caressing her in a cherishing cradle. Sinking deeper into his arms, she cracked her eyes slightly open.
“Fair enough?” he asked.
“I suppose,” she said.
There, a man knelt before her stepmother and Isabel, a cloak as black as a moonless night falling from his shoulders. Stitched in fiery colors of scarlet, snakes slithered in fixed adornment about it. The crimson orbs shone forth, glowing amidst the darkness. Gulping, Arrenia forced her way forward, skimming past the mysterious being to kneel at Illana’s feet.
“You have called for me, stepmother?”
The queen’s long fingernails rattled against the armrest of her throne as she tapped it absently. “Yes, Arrenia, my dear. Please rise and meet Lucrious Orakin, Prince of Sleyvink.”
Lucrious. Every letter of the name hissed down her spine, merging into one large shudder. Whiteness hallooed her knuckles as her fingers tightened into a ball. Her legs began to shake, begging her to flee. Lucrious of Sleyvink.
“Go on, dear, say something. Offer him your hand,” Illana whispered.
Hesitancy clogged Arrenia’s throat, her fluttering stomach almost making her ill. Slowly, she extended a clammy hand forward and forced a smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Lucrious.”
With one flourishing sweep, he rose and threw back his hood, his lips brushing her fingers. “A pleasure to finally meet you as well, most beautiful maiden. I have heard many good things about you.”
He brought his gaze up to meet hers, scanning and surveying her. She recoiled, a vague sense of horrified fascination erupting within her. That scrutiny! Where had she felt it before?
Night covered the senses of her imagination. Cloaked figures. A roaring fire. Snakes. Castor pushing her down. Suddenly, she knew.
Cold sweat oozed from her flesh as she backed away
“He has come to ask for your hand in marriage, my dearest girl. Isn’t that wonderful? Think of how the alliance would heal our two nations!”
Arrenia clenched her roiling stomach as the knot within it twisted. Fear pounded upon the drum of her heart. Goosebumps pricked her arms, raising her hair until it stood on end.
Grinning crookedly, he said, “It is true. As soon as I heard of your good deeds and agreeable nature, I set off at once to find you, for I knew I loved you.”
From where she sat beside her mother, Isabel scowled down at him, a look of disapproval etched upon her face. Digging her long nails into the lion’s head carved into her small throne, she channeled all of her anger into strangling the stone creature beneath her hands.
Lucrious glanced at her momentarily as he fell to one knee. “Miss Arrenia de la Cornia, Princess of Lydacia, I offer you my heart- my very life…take it….” He looked at her. “I beg of you.”
She stood unmoved, unable to speak, unable to flee. Cunningness cutting through his gaze, it pierced right through her, the silent screams of his scheming rattling her being. Trembling until she almost couldn’t stand, her mind raced, fighting hard to break through the barrier of soundless noise ringing in her ears.
“Say yes, my dear. We don’t want to keep the Prince of Sleyvink waiting, now, do we?” Illana whispered.
Sleyvink. Castor. Tears pricked the corners of Arrenia’s eyes, pooling about them before spilling softly onto her flushed cheeks. She hung her head. Why, oh why, had she ever returned? Had she just remained with Castor, none of this would ever have happened! She might be dead by now, of that she was fairly certain. But of what purpose was living a life of pain? Even death must be preferable to this torture she now daily knew! Oh, why had she been such a coward? Why could she have not gone bravely to her death?
Oh, Ino, help me! she prayed.
“That is it. You have thought for long enough, dear!” Illana rose and, pulling Arrenia along with her, marched her way down the steps. Taking both of their hands, she joined them together, saying, “There! I give my blessing to this union and hereby announced you two betrothed!”
Arrenia felt her heart shatter into a million pieces, crushed beneath her hopeless plight. Through her blurred vision, she glared up at her stepmother. A small, faint whisper emitted from her mouth. “How could you?”
Cocking her head slightly, the woman replied. “I do this for the betterment of our people, Arrenia. Someday, you will understand.”
Opening her mouth to reply, the girl stammered out indeterminable sounds. Chest throbbing, she struggled to speak, to vent the angered heartbreak pent up inside. Her tongue tightened into a knot of pain, coiling into a knot of pain. Yanking herself free from both of their grasps, she fled across the tile floor.
Illana’s lips curved into a firm line as she watched the girl go, a hard, frigid haze glazing her gaze. The infuriated furnace of her soul flared color onto her cheeks. Muttering inaudible words in ancient Lydacian, she turned to Lucrious.
The corners of her mouth peeled back, sunlight glinting off her flawless teeth. “You must forgive my stepdaughter’s impudence, your Highness. She has endured a rather taxing past few days and is quite exasperated. I shall now depart from you to speak with her. Good evening.”
Spreading her silken skirt its full width, she executed a dainty curtsey. Then, gathering her hem from off the floor, she strode away, calling Arrenia’s name.
Isabel slid from the cushioned seat upon her throne, gliding with conniving grace towards the man. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she approached, her jaw set firm, her features encased in a shell frozen by her cold demeanor. Bending her head slightly, she dug her nails into the fleshy recesses of Lucrious’s face, glaring wickedly at him.
“How dare you?” she hissed.
Grasping her wrist, he drew her in until her breath puffed gently on his features. “Isabel. Dear, cruel Isabel. Beautiful to the eye and dark to the soul. This is part of the plan. Fret not your pretty brow over the whims of its fancy.”
The girl sighed, puckering out her lower lip in impudent detestment. Nosing her face forward, she said, “You poisonous little snake! You loved me!”
Caressing the smooth flesh of her hand, he whispered softly in her ear. “Yes, but Arrenia is now within my reach.”
She yanked away and strode across the room, her chin pointed skyward.
Beams of sunlight spilled over the folds of her flowy dress, clashing brilliantly with the darkness of her material cloud, sparkling upon the sequins sewn into it. Lucrious blinked, blinded by this light. Reeling backwards, he caught himself on his elbows and began scrambling farther away from the sight. Trembles took his body for a reason he couldn’t explain. Thoughts brimmed in his head, bubbling over in his mind. He closed his eyes and turned away, sealing them with a tight squeeze as he replaced light with darkness. He could feel it all around him, enveloping him, as if it wanted to swallow him whole. As the black abyss swam before his eyes, as single Voice rang through his head.
“Don’t,” It said. “Don’t. Let the girl go.”
Suddenly, an image of Arrenia, lying prostrate upon her bed, entered his mind. Pillow catching her tears, she wept and wailed without reserve. Screaming to Ino, she beat the mattress with a relentless fist.
Lucrious smiled. Good! Just as he wanted it.
He clenched his teeth, words forming from behind it. “Never.”
Isabel spun around on her heels. “What?!”
Lifting his lids, Lucrious allowed daylight to flood his vision once again. Isabel stood before him, feet planted firmly upon the ground. Her stare bore through him, piercing his heart and penetrating to his soul. The ferocity of her anger burned through him, leaving his tongue dry and speechless. He hung his head.
She stomped over to him and grasped his chin, forcing his vision upward. Cold and unflinching, she sneered in his face. “What did you say? Tell me.”
Gulping, he attempted to speak. “This is all necessary, my sweet.”
“Just what is necessary?...Tell me!”
Brow arching in cynicism, she peered at him, her silence spinning cords of strength about his tongue, knotting it tightly within his jaws. Triumph crawled across her countenance, lining her features in reveled victory.
Averting his gaze from hers, he began to trip over the words. “This deception…this feigned love-”
Slap!
Stinging zapped through his being, a crimson color surfacing under the powerful thrust of Isabel’s bony hand. He held his cheek, flinching as the after-effects sprawled through his nerves. Rocking slightly, he set his jaw against the throbbing pain pulsing through his body.
“Feigned love, ha!” she laughed in his face. “Don’t think I didn’t see the twinkle in your eye. Am I so hideous in spirit and soul that even your reputation pales in comparison to mine? To what avail is this scheme of yours?”
Inhaling deeply, he flipped up his chin and stared steadily into her eyes. “You wanted to rule.”
Erecting her posture, her vision traced her nose right down to him. “As did you.”
He leapt to his feet, the red hot blood of anger coursing through his veins. With it seizing him in the wild siege of his being, he wrapped solid fists around her shoulders, shaking her with the tremblings of his fierce fury. “Do you have any idea what I have done for you? What I have done for us? Do you really think there is any profit for me in marrying a fatherless Lydacian princess, unless it is to murder her in her sleep?! The medallion is the girl’s most prized possession. Without it she is worthless. I had to get it somehow. What did you expect?”
She grasped his tunic, leaning in. “I expected you to play it fair.”
Locking her gaze in his, he backed her up against a pillar. His heart beat in his chest with every step he took, pumping blood through his veins. Heat scourged his soul as he took her in, the coolness of her fiery quiet fanning the flames, thawing his icy innards. The snow-white skin, smooth and untainted by ugliness’s accursed kiss. The lips of royal ruby, echoed in the feisty fire of fury in her eyes.
Pushing aside a black strand of hair, he leaned in and whispered, “Isabel. Being of beauty untold, of such I will never find again. Did you not know it was of you of whom I spoke? The princess Arrenia means nothing to me. It is your beauty that captures my soul.”
She shoved him away. “Until I discover the true meaning behind your unjust little façade, your words are non-existent to me.”
Moving in, he wrapped his arms about her and encased her mouth in a kiss, his pulse pounding in his throat. She tensed for a moment, pulling back with all her might, battling against the emotions running through her. Second by second, strength drained from her. She fought against it, struggling for her right to stand in her own stubborn will. Parried and blocked by her inner self, her energy waned, leaving her to melt into his embrace.
Feeling her sinews slacken beneath his touch, he released her, caressing her in a cherishing cradle. Sinking deeper into his arms, she cracked her eyes slightly open.
“Fair enough?” he asked.
“I suppose,” she said.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Don't Forget- Demi's Latest Smash!
Demi Lovato opened her mouth- and electrified the world. Ever since she co-starred with the Jonas Brothers in Camp Rock, this pop/rock girl has ridden the tidal wave inclining popularity. And now, with her precocious debut album, Don't Forget, she leaves us spellbound, breathless- rocking when she rocks and crying when she cries.
This album, in short, from the punky funk of La La Land all the way down to the sweet love ballads, is amazing! Demi's voice absolutely engulfs every single note, and there are very few spots where it could be said to be "weak". For those of you who loved her on Camp Rock, there will be no disappointments as she leaves her mark upon the world of teenage music.
And what a mark it is! She co-wrote most of the album with the Jonas Brothers, tainting it with a taste of the sibling trio's pop-culture pizzazz. Literally, sometimes I'll be listening to a song and be thinking, "I can so hear Joe/Nick singing this!" But for all you Jonas-haters (and I know you're out there), never fear. There's something very unique about the way Miss Lovato delivers each and every song. The girl's got talent, and I doubt her unique style will ever be repeated again.
That being said, here are my top recommendations for you to buy:
1. Get Back- Love this song! Perfect depiction of a girl wanting to renew the good times she had with her boyfriend.
2. Don't Forget- A rather sad song, faintly reminscent of Lovebug with it's slow beginning bursting into a rocky chorus. The heartbreak is so ominous in her voice that I almost cried.
3. Party- Just what it sounds like! A gotta get up and dance beat with fun lyrics. I could definitely see this becoming a dance song in the future!
4. Trainwreck- Wild and sweet- what could be better? In this crash-course song, Demi describes the wreckless and perhaps dangerous boy who holds her heart.
5. Gonna Get Caught- An honest- if brutal- display of the emotions and distrust roused by a boyfriend's cheating frivolity.
This album, in short, from the punky funk of La La Land all the way down to the sweet love ballads, is amazing! Demi's voice absolutely engulfs every single note, and there are very few spots where it could be said to be "weak". For those of you who loved her on Camp Rock, there will be no disappointments as she leaves her mark upon the world of teenage music.
And what a mark it is! She co-wrote most of the album with the Jonas Brothers, tainting it with a taste of the sibling trio's pop-culture pizzazz. Literally, sometimes I'll be listening to a song and be thinking, "I can so hear Joe/Nick singing this!" But for all you Jonas-haters (and I know you're out there), never fear. There's something very unique about the way Miss Lovato delivers each and every song. The girl's got talent, and I doubt her unique style will ever be repeated again.
That being said, here are my top recommendations for you to buy:
1. Get Back- Love this song! Perfect depiction of a girl wanting to renew the good times she had with her boyfriend.
2. Don't Forget- A rather sad song, faintly reminscent of Lovebug with it's slow beginning bursting into a rocky chorus. The heartbreak is so ominous in her voice that I almost cried.
3. Party- Just what it sounds like! A gotta get up and dance beat with fun lyrics. I could definitely see this becoming a dance song in the future!
4. Trainwreck- Wild and sweet- what could be better? In this crash-course song, Demi describes the wreckless and perhaps dangerous boy who holds her heart.
5. Gonna Get Caught- An honest- if brutal- display of the emotions and distrust roused by a boyfriend's cheating frivolity.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Hold Me Tight- My First Song
"A song?" you might be asking. "Why in the world would a book writer want to write a song?"
OK, so I do usually write books, and probably will continue to do so for a large part of my life. But lately, I've been really addicted to the songs blaring from my iPod, the big speakers in our game room- anywhere! Literally, I drive my parents nuts by playing the same songs nearly every day (just ask Mom). Point blank, I LOVE MUSIC!!!!
So, partially inspired by my friend Ellen's idea to create a band, I decided to combine my two loves into one and just see what I could come up with. To begin, I toyed around with some words that went with a theme I had come up with one day to keep me company through the toils of math. Sounds stupid, but that's just how me and songwriting go- I start singing about a random theme and either add lyrics that rhyme and go great together or throw out the ones that don't. Although I have several other ideas in the works, this is my first song (and the only one that's finished).
Now, just to clear up a few things- I write a (clean) love song because, as a teen, I love being able to (hopefully) construct brilliant phrases that expresses something that both adults and my fellow teens can relate to, even if the frivolity of the first love is fleeting. Actually, growing up SURROUNDED with country radio, watching my mom smooch on my dad everyday, and having completely boy-crazy friends (COUGH COUGH!), a cute, completely Christian love-work has become kinda my little niche. It's true that I have accumulated a lot of info of the falling in love symptoms over the years and use them frequently in my works, but I assure you that I always write with the purest intentions and to the glory of God. I write for no other reason other than that and hope that my work will never be taken as otherwise.
That being said, here's my very first song- Hold Me Tight. Enjoy!
Take my hand,
Draw me near,
I want to feel you close to me,
Right now, right here.
Clouded skies,
Starless night,
Tell me why, oh why, we keep on,
With this fight?
So pull me in,
Just hold me tight,
Whisper, tell me,
We’ll make it through tonight.
And hold me tight.
Just hold me tight, Baby.
This distance,
Keepin’ us apart,
I want you, I need you,
With every piece of my heart.
So come close, Baby,
Cause I can’t breathe, I can’t live,
Without you.
But if, only if,
You’d pull me in,
Just hold me tight,
Whisper, tell me,
We’ll make it through tonight.
And hold me tight.
Just hold me tight, Baby.
Oh, Boy,
Is this how love goes?
So broken, so shattered,
My heart just needs to know.
But if you’d just put your arms around me,
It’d be all the answer I’d need.
So pull me in,
Just hold me tight,
And maybe, just once,
Tonight will be alright.
So hold me tight.
Just hold me tight.
OK, so I do usually write books, and probably will continue to do so for a large part of my life. But lately, I've been really addicted to the songs blaring from my iPod, the big speakers in our game room- anywhere! Literally, I drive my parents nuts by playing the same songs nearly every day (just ask Mom). Point blank, I LOVE MUSIC!!!!
So, partially inspired by my friend Ellen's idea to create a band, I decided to combine my two loves into one and just see what I could come up with. To begin, I toyed around with some words that went with a theme I had come up with one day to keep me company through the toils of math. Sounds stupid, but that's just how me and songwriting go- I start singing about a random theme and either add lyrics that rhyme and go great together or throw out the ones that don't. Although I have several other ideas in the works, this is my first song (and the only one that's finished).
Now, just to clear up a few things- I write a (clean) love song because, as a teen, I love being able to (hopefully) construct brilliant phrases that expresses something that both adults and my fellow teens can relate to, even if the frivolity of the first love is fleeting. Actually, growing up SURROUNDED with country radio, watching my mom smooch on my dad everyday, and having completely boy-crazy friends (COUGH COUGH!), a cute, completely Christian love-work has become kinda my little niche. It's true that I have accumulated a lot of info of the falling in love symptoms over the years and use them frequently in my works, but I assure you that I always write with the purest intentions and to the glory of God. I write for no other reason other than that and hope that my work will never be taken as otherwise.
That being said, here's my very first song- Hold Me Tight. Enjoy!
Take my hand,
Draw me near,
I want to feel you close to me,
Right now, right here.
Clouded skies,
Starless night,
Tell me why, oh why, we keep on,
With this fight?
So pull me in,
Just hold me tight,
Whisper, tell me,
We’ll make it through tonight.
And hold me tight.
Just hold me tight, Baby.
This distance,
Keepin’ us apart,
I want you, I need you,
With every piece of my heart.
So come close, Baby,
Cause I can’t breathe, I can’t live,
Without you.
But if, only if,
You’d pull me in,
Just hold me tight,
Whisper, tell me,
We’ll make it through tonight.
And hold me tight.
Just hold me tight, Baby.
Oh, Boy,
Is this how love goes?
So broken, so shattered,
My heart just needs to know.
But if you’d just put your arms around me,
It’d be all the answer I’d need.
So pull me in,
Just hold me tight,
And maybe, just once,
Tonight will be alright.
So hold me tight.
Just hold me tight.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Blood of the Lamb Excerpts
Just some more of my book. Enjoy and feel free to critique!
Stillness stung the silence, injecting an eerie atmosphere into the inky black vault. The clouded sky stretched overhead as Lucrious stepped out into the cool night air, the lantern he carried pricking the darkness with a patch of light. Delving his hand into the inner recesses of his cloak, he produced a small sheet of paper, neatly rolled up and fastened with string. Nudging the bird along his arm, he secured it to its leg, mentally rehearsing his carefully crafted plan. A cold smile crossed his face as he released the bird into the air, whispering, “Fly, friend, fly with the speed of the wind!
He remained on the balcony, watching until the darkness absorbed the little black speck flying in its midst….
Isabel stirred the fire in the hearth, the sight of it surging forward and lapping the stone walls delighting her. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the smoke to rage through her nostrils, burning them with the ferocity of the stench. Reaching up, she felt along the upper shelf, probing into its contents until she struck a single bottle. Bringing it down, she gazed at it steadily, studying how it bubbled and churned, listing crazily from one side to the next. She nodded, the cork coming off as she twisted it about.
The liquid drained slowly from the bottle, hissing hideously as it entered the kettle over the flames, the scandalous scent of scourging chemicals permeating the air. Speckling some spices into the white palm of her hand, she tossed them into her creation.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
She sighed, striding over to the window to face the intruder. Thrusting back the windowpanes, she opened her mouth to unleash a hail of curses in ancient Lydacian. But the words clogged in her throat, and she immediately forced them down when she saw who it was.
“Liarino macia keria, my little one,” she whispered. “Yes, you must keep more quiet.”
The bird hopped into her outstretched hand, extending to her the leg burdened with the message. Firelight dancing of the glazed surface of its dark eyes, it cocked its head, staring at her with intimate expectancy.
Loosening the knotted string, Isabel separated the paper from the limb, cradling the precious object in her fingers. Setting the bird in its cage, she locked it behind bars, allowing it to peck at the feed filling its bowl.
Trepidation sending trembles through her being, she fingered the rolled message, unwinding it with slow uncertainty. Quivers traversed her body as the fire’s flames glanced off the letters scripted in bold, scarlet ink:
“YIN NIKAN LEIN MWOK. REWT NITI TA YIN.”
“I can get the medallion,” she repeated aloud. “Leave it to me.”
Chapter #12
Arrenia stabbed her sampler, thankful for the quiet company of her faithful friends. The incessant sound of the clock reverberated through her, ticking off time with maddening monotony. A tear slipping from her eye, she brought the needle up and delved it deep into the stitchery once more.
She sniffed. How many times had she cried now? Countless it must be, by her reckoning. How many droplets from her bleeding eyes had dribbled down her cheeks unnoticed? Too many, she was sure.
Oh, how lonely could the world become before the sheer absence of consulate care broke her heart? Those closest to her she now barely knew, so grave and withdrawn they had become in these bleak hours. Silence seemed her only companion- and one for which she was partially grateful.
A knock came on the door, interrupting the constant flow of her thoughts. Smothering the tear with the back of her hand, she whimpered, “Come in.”
A slave girl opened the door and peeped timidly in. Striding to the center of the room, she clasped her hands together, wringing them gently in self-conscious sympathy. “My lady, the queen requests your presence in the throne room immediately.”
Arrenia sighed. “Please, Seraiah, tell her I am under no presentable state of mind.”
The girl’s gaze refused to meet her own. “My sincere sympathies, Miss, but Mistress said it was impertinent to your future.”
Hanging her head, Arrenia sighed. The heartache weighted her being with its leaden burden, dragging her spirits to the ground. Trembling with every move she made, her body atrophized beneath the heftiness of it, fading with every fleeting second into sheer collapse. She massaged her brow with thin fingers, trying with all her strength to beat back the waves of tumultuous thoughts crashing in on her.
Her future! What more was life than a series of inevitable pain? Of storms hailing curses, and rain spilling from the sky? All life had ever done to her was take away. Why should she give back to it?
“Everything I ever lived for is gone. Whatever happens to me now is of little matter.”
Callused hands enveloped hers as Seraiah knelt at her feet. “Oh, my Lady, don’t say that! Your life matters very, very much!”
“In what way? Tell me…I would like very much to hear.”
Exhaling, she stroked the skin of her mistress’s white hand. “I know you miss your father, Arrenia. We all do.” Her hand stopped as her fingers wrapped securely about the girl’s knuckles. “Without him many of us wouldn’t be here. Without him Lydacia wouldn’t be where she is today. He was kind. Generous. But, above all, he fought fearlessly for justice and what is right…not unlike you, Arrenia. The people need you. They need you more than you know.”
Arrenia bit her lip, attempting to force down the tears now pouring across her face. Someone saw her pain! Somebody cared!
She wanted laugh. To shout her emotional joy to all who might be around. Tossing her arms around Seraiah’s neck, she wept upon her shoulder, whispering, “Thank you.”
“Will you come?”
Arrenia let go and straightened her back. Smiling slightly, she said, “Tell my stepmother as shall come as soon as I am able.”
Standing, Seraiah smoothed her simple frock. “I will do that, my Lady.”
When the girl left, Arrenia rose to her feet, slipped on her courtroom gown, and glided over to the door. Pulling it aside, she stepped out into the hall, the first warm rays of hope shining in her soul.
Stillness stung the silence, injecting an eerie atmosphere into the inky black vault. The clouded sky stretched overhead as Lucrious stepped out into the cool night air, the lantern he carried pricking the darkness with a patch of light. Delving his hand into the inner recesses of his cloak, he produced a small sheet of paper, neatly rolled up and fastened with string. Nudging the bird along his arm, he secured it to its leg, mentally rehearsing his carefully crafted plan. A cold smile crossed his face as he released the bird into the air, whispering, “Fly, friend, fly with the speed of the wind!
He remained on the balcony, watching until the darkness absorbed the little black speck flying in its midst….
Isabel stirred the fire in the hearth, the sight of it surging forward and lapping the stone walls delighting her. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the smoke to rage through her nostrils, burning them with the ferocity of the stench. Reaching up, she felt along the upper shelf, probing into its contents until she struck a single bottle. Bringing it down, she gazed at it steadily, studying how it bubbled and churned, listing crazily from one side to the next. She nodded, the cork coming off as she twisted it about.
The liquid drained slowly from the bottle, hissing hideously as it entered the kettle over the flames, the scandalous scent of scourging chemicals permeating the air. Speckling some spices into the white palm of her hand, she tossed them into her creation.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
She sighed, striding over to the window to face the intruder. Thrusting back the windowpanes, she opened her mouth to unleash a hail of curses in ancient Lydacian. But the words clogged in her throat, and she immediately forced them down when she saw who it was.
“Liarino macia keria, my little one,” she whispered. “Yes, you must keep more quiet.”
The bird hopped into her outstretched hand, extending to her the leg burdened with the message. Firelight dancing of the glazed surface of its dark eyes, it cocked its head, staring at her with intimate expectancy.
Loosening the knotted string, Isabel separated the paper from the limb, cradling the precious object in her fingers. Setting the bird in its cage, she locked it behind bars, allowing it to peck at the feed filling its bowl.
Trepidation sending trembles through her being, she fingered the rolled message, unwinding it with slow uncertainty. Quivers traversed her body as the fire’s flames glanced off the letters scripted in bold, scarlet ink:
“YIN NIKAN LEIN MWOK. REWT NITI TA YIN.”
“I can get the medallion,” she repeated aloud. “Leave it to me.”
Chapter #12
Arrenia stabbed her sampler, thankful for the quiet company of her faithful friends. The incessant sound of the clock reverberated through her, ticking off time with maddening monotony. A tear slipping from her eye, she brought the needle up and delved it deep into the stitchery once more.
She sniffed. How many times had she cried now? Countless it must be, by her reckoning. How many droplets from her bleeding eyes had dribbled down her cheeks unnoticed? Too many, she was sure.
Oh, how lonely could the world become before the sheer absence of consulate care broke her heart? Those closest to her she now barely knew, so grave and withdrawn they had become in these bleak hours. Silence seemed her only companion- and one for which she was partially grateful.
A knock came on the door, interrupting the constant flow of her thoughts. Smothering the tear with the back of her hand, she whimpered, “Come in.”
A slave girl opened the door and peeped timidly in. Striding to the center of the room, she clasped her hands together, wringing them gently in self-conscious sympathy. “My lady, the queen requests your presence in the throne room immediately.”
Arrenia sighed. “Please, Seraiah, tell her I am under no presentable state of mind.”
The girl’s gaze refused to meet her own. “My sincere sympathies, Miss, but Mistress said it was impertinent to your future.”
Hanging her head, Arrenia sighed. The heartache weighted her being with its leaden burden, dragging her spirits to the ground. Trembling with every move she made, her body atrophized beneath the heftiness of it, fading with every fleeting second into sheer collapse. She massaged her brow with thin fingers, trying with all her strength to beat back the waves of tumultuous thoughts crashing in on her.
Her future! What more was life than a series of inevitable pain? Of storms hailing curses, and rain spilling from the sky? All life had ever done to her was take away. Why should she give back to it?
“Everything I ever lived for is gone. Whatever happens to me now is of little matter.”
Callused hands enveloped hers as Seraiah knelt at her feet. “Oh, my Lady, don’t say that! Your life matters very, very much!”
“In what way? Tell me…I would like very much to hear.”
Exhaling, she stroked the skin of her mistress’s white hand. “I know you miss your father, Arrenia. We all do.” Her hand stopped as her fingers wrapped securely about the girl’s knuckles. “Without him many of us wouldn’t be here. Without him Lydacia wouldn’t be where she is today. He was kind. Generous. But, above all, he fought fearlessly for justice and what is right…not unlike you, Arrenia. The people need you. They need you more than you know.”
Arrenia bit her lip, attempting to force down the tears now pouring across her face. Someone saw her pain! Somebody cared!
She wanted laugh. To shout her emotional joy to all who might be around. Tossing her arms around Seraiah’s neck, she wept upon her shoulder, whispering, “Thank you.”
“Will you come?”
Arrenia let go and straightened her back. Smiling slightly, she said, “Tell my stepmother as shall come as soon as I am able.”
Standing, Seraiah smoothed her simple frock. “I will do that, my Lady.”
When the girl left, Arrenia rose to her feet, slipped on her courtroom gown, and glided over to the door. Pulling it aside, she stepped out into the hall, the first warm rays of hope shining in her soul.
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