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 Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises

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Casey Jewels


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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Sun Jul 19, 2009 9:25 pm


And yeah... I miss writing with Connor and Siv. Though, you're a little off. She was actually seeing her older brother, not Connor. She hasn't met Connor yet in this, but her subconscious was bringing her brother's face to the surface.

Hehe. And yeah... I had to fit in a third quote somehow...


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Sat Aug 01, 2009 4:08 pm

This piece was and is my last entry in the Drabble Contest, as I finally was eliminated. The theme was Love and we had to include the phrase 'I love you', as well as pick an emotion from a list to use.

The character in this drabble is Ken Levot, who appeared in The Will RP, and is also the big bad villian in my Angel of Darkness RP.

Name: So Cold
Summary: A villain finds himself confronted by a woman who thinks that she loves him.
Rating: T
Fanfiction/Original: Original
Word Count: 498

“I love you,” she murmured, her fingers intertwined in his dark hair. She then moved to kiss him, but he was quicker, placing a finger on her lips.

“You love me?” he said with a dangerous smile. He propped himself up on his elbow, watching as her blissful expression slowly faded away under his dark gaze, becoming more and more unsure.

“You love me?” he repeated again, this time with a wild laugh. In one fluid motion he was on his feet, leaving her confused on the hammock.

“Ken…?” she whispered as she reached out an arm to him. “I thought…”

“You thought what?” he said, his voice dark and as charming as ever. “That I loved you?”

She stared at him, tears forming in her eyes. Her hand had fallen back into her lap long ago.

“You’re a fool, just like the rest of your race. Ruled by your emotions; always looking to have a good time.” He turned away from her, his black cloak swishing at the sudden movement. “You say you love me, but I know you humans better than that.”

He felt her hand on his shoulder and her face next to his. Suddenly she was kissing him, holding him close. He placed a hand on her chest and shoved her back. She gasped as she found herself falling backwards, but he simply advanced, forcing her flailing body back even further. More tears fell from her eyes as she watched his calm expression twist into that of something much darker.

“You know nothing about me, child. What you love is a false image, a pretense. The gentleman you know doesn’t exist.” She hit the wall but still he advanced. “I love you,” he whispered to her in a mocking tone, his lips inches from hers.

She let out a sob and collapsed to her knees, begging him to stop. Still he continued on, belittling her and her tender emotions. She was nothing to him, nothing but an ignorant little girl who had uttered three little words that she didn’t understand the meaning of. Finally, when she could stand no more, she lurched towards the door, but he simply grabbed a hold of her arm and yanked her back towards him.

“I loved once,” he whispered into her ear as his nails dug into her skin. “With a love so passionate that a lady of the night like you could never know.”

She trembled, putty in his hands. “Stop…” she moaned.

“Stop?” He spun her around, pressing her body against his. His finger brushed against her cheek, catching a tear before it could fall. “Stop? I thought you loved me. Or are you so quick to take your love back?”

She lunged forward and he let her go. Free of his grasp, she kept on running with her head down low. He simply stood there, watching with his dark eyes as she fled the room.

“Lust... Is that what she calls love?

“What a fool.”


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Sun Sep 13, 2009 10:44 pm

I rewrote the ending of Theme 6, to make it more realisitc. Here is the new version:


“Obsession is dangerous. It’s like a knife in the mind. In some cases… the knife can turn savagely upon the person wielding it… You use the knife carefully, because you know it doesn’t care who it cuts.”
- Stephen King

The rebel leader stared out across the foggy field, calmly watching as the Queen’s soldiers marched towards her and her small group. She then turned, her sea blue eyes flickering over her rebels. They were all young like her, but yet they were different. They had something that she would never have… Magic. Not that that would change the outcome of the battle.

“We all know how this is going to end,” their leader said as she turned back to face the advancing soldiers, her voice sounding silently muffled in the fog. “Though I have to admit, I never thought that things were going to end like this.”

Silence descended upon the small group then, as each rebel pondered their fate and what had led them to it. This silence was broken a few moments later, by one of the younger rebels.

“We’ll give them heck,” he said, voicing the thoughts of the ragtag army.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” the rebel leader said with a nod and a grim smile.

In the silence that followed, the sound of the soldiers’ footsteps grew louder, striking the earth again and again, like the death toll of a bell. The rebels never shifted position, never looked away. This was it, and they all knew it.

The soldiers seemed to pause for a moment, as if expecting their commander to call a halt, but the command never came. There would be no mercy given to magic users.

The rebel leader placed a hand on the hilt of her katana, and let out the breath she hadn’t known she had been holding. She then drew her sword, and held it up into the air. “Kikiki!” she cried, shouting out the rebel war cry. She then rushed forward with narrowed eyes, determined to not go down without a fight. Her rebellion sounded out the war cry as well, rushing after her with grim smiles on their faces. They were rushing to their death.

The soldiers quickened their pace, letting out yells of their own.

Time seemed to slow then, as the two opposing forces rushed towards one another. Nothing separated them, except for a foggy meadow of wildflowers. The noise was so deafening that there seemed to be nothing but silence. Each movement that was made seemed to be exaggerated. But then the first blow was made, and time sped back up.

Twenty feet away from the soldiers, the magic users made their stand. A bolt of lightning sped across the gap, striking a column of soldiers. A miniature tornado appeared in the center, striking down all of those near it. The ground exploded underneath a column, sending soldiers flying in all directions. Cries of pain filled the air, and bodies tumbled to the ground.

The two armies met then, and all Heck broke lose. The rebel leader jumped into the fray without a moment’s thought for her own safety. Her sword flashed in the dim light as she swung to the right and the left, fending off all attacks that came her way. Like a hurricane, she left nothing but total destruction in her wake.

The air was thick with the sounds of battle, and the field was slick with blood. This was the dance of death, where only the best survived. Both sides knew this, so neither faltered. A body fell here, and a body fell there. The plunging of a sword, the crackling of lightning, the thunking of an arrow, the thundering of shifting earth… With each move the players made, a life was lost and a life was saved. But numbers were against the small force of magic users—a fact made obvious the longer the battle raged.

The rebel leader continued to fend off foes with her katana, even as her arms grew numb from the constant clashing of weapons. To stop was to die. But then she found a lull in the battle around her, giving her a chance to get a breather.

Her sword dug into the soft earth below as she leaned against it, breathing heavily. Her sea blue eyes then flickered all around her, searching for her troops. Seven were all she could see, out of the forty that had charged out into battle with her. Seven… Her eyes watered at this realization, but she fought her tears back. This wasn’t a moment to show weakness; this was a moment to go out in a blaze of glory.

She drew in a deep breath, even as the commander of the soldiers started towards her, intent on asking her for surrender. Silence fell upon the stained battlefield, as all eyes turned towards the two leaders.

“For us all,” the rebel leader breathed as she turned to face the approaching general, using her katana much like one would use a cane.

With a grin, she took a weary step towards the General, and then came to a halt, as if unable to go any further. Only fifteen feet separated the two of them now, and the commander was still coming. Thirteen feet now… Twelve… Ten… Eight… That was enough.

Just as the General came to a halt, the rebel leader rushed forward with a yell, her sword held back behind her, much like a bat just before the ball is thrown. No one expected the move, but the reaction was immediate. Soldiers rushed to their leader’s rescue, but there just wasn’t time. Realizing this, the General lifted up his sword to block her move. Still she rushed forward, screaming out her battle cry. Spurned into action by her bold move, her rebels turned to attack the enemy soldiers, but two were no match against hundreds. Within moments, their bodies hit the ground, leaving just the rebel leader to carry on the attack. This was it.

The General swung at her, but she ducked underneath his sword and rolled past him. In a flash, she was back up on her fee, and her sword was slicing through the air, towards the General’s unprotected back. He started to turn, with eyes wild in fear, but it was too late. His head rolled across the ground, coming to a rest beside one of his soldiers. His body then fell, hitting the ground while his soldiers stared on in shock.

“It is… done,” the rebel leader whispered, as her bloodstained sword was lowered to the ground. Blood dripped down her cheek—not her own, but the General’s. She had done it; it was over.

The rebel leader turned then and walked away, with her sword dragging along the ground. Soldiers moved to stop her, their movements slow with the shock that raced through their systems. The man that had seemed so invincible to them was gone, killed by someone half his age.

The rebel leader raised up her sword as the soldiers quickened their pace, charging at her. Steel clashed as she fended off their attacks. Pressed in from all sides, she fought like a madman, twirling her blade this way and that. A soldier crumpled to the ground, giving her an opening. She reacted instantly, breaking out of the circle. Her feet slapped the ground as she ran, barreling past anyone who stood in her way. Arrows flew at her, but never once did they hit their mark; the heavy fog was on her side.

It was that fog she disappeared into, running faster than she ever could have thought possible. Her running was mindless, mechanical. She had nothing left to live for.

Finally, long after she had left the soldiers behind, she slowed her merciless pace.

She walked in a stupor, her mind still reeling from the battle, and what had taken place. Her first real battle had been a massacre.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to no one in particular. “I’m so sorry…”

Was freedom from tyranny worth this much?

They had been forty against hundreds…

And now only one remained.


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Sun Sep 13, 2009 10:47 pm

Here's my rewrite of Theme 7. I didn't like my first version. I'm just not very good at reflective pieces.


“Life has no meaning the moment you lose the illusion of being eternal.”
- Jenn-Paul Sartre

Crimson eyes watched the sky long after the spaceship had vanished. Their owner stood still as a statue, not even so much as blinking. A dark green liquid oozed from his body and his torn clothing swirled about him in the light breeze, but still he remained motionless.


His name came from a human’s lips—Will’s. He didn’t acknowledge the boy’s existence, but instead reached up a hand and slid his sunglasses down over his eyes. One lens was cracked, while the other was gone completely, giving him nothing to hide his crimson eye behind.

“Le’voc,” Will said again, placing a hand on the Hunter’s shoulder.

This time Le’voc reacted. He knocked the hand from his shoulder and spun around to face the human. “What do you want, boy?” His voice was dangerously low, like a general’s voice after losing a battle, when searching for somebody to blame.

The human didn’t back down, but instead stared up at the Hunter with a tired face. “If we don’t find a way off-planet in the next twelve hours, then we are dead, along with the last traces of life on this planet.”

“I am well aware of the problem, cop. Unfortunately, you crashed your ship, leaving us no way off of this forsaken heap of trash.” Le’voc stared down at Will for a moment longer and then abruptly turned and walked away. He didn’t have time to mess with the boy.

Kami had been the one that had brought him here. One lone werewolf should have been nothing for his squad to take down, but then she had found others here; she had found Kal.

Le’voc paused as he heard Will take a step towards him, but then the human paused as well. The Hunter glanced back at the human to see that he was biting his lip, fighting back a retort. Le’voc knew what the cop wanted to say, but the Hunter simply remained silent about it and started forward once more, leaving the human behind.

Hunters 3, 5, 7, 8, 10, and 11 had all been killed—over half of his squad. His spaceship had been stolen by the very creatures he had come here to kill. A comet was going to strike this city in twelve hours, killing them all.

Any one of those things would be reason enough for Will to retort, but still the human held his tongue. Fear still ruled the cop, keeping him in his place.

But Le’voc didn’t care. Nothing mattered to the Hunter anymore. Everything he had worked for, all those weeks of chasing Kami across space, the fights against the Pack here on this trash heap of a planet… It all was for nothing; it all meant nothing.

In twelve hours, they would all be dead.

The Hunter stopped in his tracks, standing still for a full minute before he turned to face the human, staring at Will with his crimson gaze. “Where is your ship, William Dawn?”

“I crashed,” the cop replied as he pressed a hand against his bleeding arm. “You know that.”

“I didn’t ask what happened to your ship,” Le’voc replied as he started back towards the human. “I asked where it is.”

“On the planet’s surface,” he responded while giving the Hunter a quizzical look.

Le’voc halted just before Will, staring down at the young human. He leaned down, his mouth next to the human’s ear. “Then let us go.”

The Hunter straightened up and, without another word, strode away. Will followed after him like a weak little puppy, his hand still pressed against his wound.

Kami and her Pack may have won this round, but Le’voc would not die so easily.

This Hunt was not over.


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Wed Sep 23, 2009 12:29 am

Here is Theme 9. Martina is the character I chose to use for this piece. This is the Martina from the Titan City RP, only twisted to fit into the setting of a collab that Ghostmaker and I have been writing. This version of Gilgamesh is his character.


It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses.
– Colette

Martina drummed her fingers against the countertop and then glanced over at the clock. Ten thirty-three. Tick. The secondhand moved, sounding quite loud in the silence of the apartment. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time was passing, counting down to the exact hour that… She tore her gaze from the clock, only to have her icy blue eyes fall onto the calendar below. Today was the day.

The young woman swallowed and stared down at her hands, which were still drumming against the counter. “Where are you?” she muttered, stealing a glance in the direction of the door.

The entire apartment was so still, so silent. She didn’t like it.

Martina ran a hand through her dark hair and let out a frustrated sigh. He had said when he left that he wouldn’t be long, but it felt like an eternity had passed since then. Did he not understand that today was the worst day for him to leave her alone, trapped here?

She abruptly climbed to her feet and left the kitchen, heading into the nearly bare living room. She has lived in this place for years, but nobody could know by looking at it. This place was like her life—empty.

“Who am I kidding?” she said to herself as she plopped down onto the single couch. Yes, who was she kidding? She couldn’t cover things up, not today. Still, she grabbed the remote off of the small table next to the couch and turned on the TV with a touch of a button.

“…at 7:23 this morning. It is believed that this is the work of the serial killer who calls himself Slayer. The victim was…”

Martina growled and threw the remote at the reporter. The TV screen crackled as the remote made contact and the glass cracked, but did not break. “I should be there!” she yelled. The image on the screen wavered, but still the reporter continued to talk. “Just shut up!”

“You and I both know that Slayer is a vampyre, and that he is doing this to draw you out. I cannot allow you to go play cop today. This is for your own safety, Martina.”

His words echoed in her mind. Her body trembled in response. It was all her fault. The stupid bloodsuckers all wanted her dead, because she had dared to challenge their race. Now Gilgamesh insisted on protecting her. Even now, when he was away shopping for her food, he had left ancient ‘spells’ or whatever he called them to guard her.

Martina turned away from the TV and started pacing around the living room, her eyes staring down at the brown carpet. She was always on duty during this time of the year, staying active the whole day long, but she couldn’t this time around.

“I won’t,” she growled as she came to a halt. She would not break down. Her fingers curled into fists and she left the living room as abruptly as she had entered it. She walked down the long hallway that led to her bedroom, slipping inside when she reached it.

Immediately her icy blue eyes landed on the police uniform that lay out on her bed, just where she had left it this morning, after the fight with Gilgamesh.

Martina stepped further into the room, her gaze never leaving the uniform. She stroked the familiar blue cloth, her eyes watering as she did so. This was the color her father’s uniform had been.

The memories came rushing back to her, so fast and furious that she was powerless against them. Her trembling legs collapsed out from underneath her, unable to hold up her thin frame any longer. She landed on the bed with nary a sound.

Why now?

Her breath quickened, becoming short, sharp gasps. A sob worked itself out of her throat and the tears slowly began to fall out of her wide, pain-filled eyes.

Why today?

She clutched at her chest, at her heart, with trembling hands—as if that could ease the pain she felt.


For so long she had tried to hold the memories and emotions back, but they would not be held at bay any longer. She hated herself for it, for how weak she was. Somebody stronger could deal with these emotions, but they crippled her to her very core.

She had been so young…

Another sob worked its way out of her throat and she had to fight hard to gulp in some fresh air. Her entire world was spinning wildly out of control, all of the emotions and memories spinning around and around in a downward spiral.

He had abandoned them.

Her head tipped down lower and her entire body swayed, as if threatening to collapse at any moment.

The screams were still fresh in her mind, after all those years.

Her eyes slid shut and she sobbed all the harder, each one shaking her body with its force.

They had come to destroy her, only to take her mother’s life instead.

Blood dripped from Martina’s lip as she bit down on it, trying to fight back the pain. She couldn’t break down like this…

This was all her father’s fault. If it hadn’t been for him, none of this would have ever happened.

None of it!

But it had…

Another shudder ran through her body, even as she tried to reign in her emotions. What if Gilgamesh came back, and saw her like this? But she couldn’t stop this release of emotions, anymore than she could forgive her father.

He had vanished, just days before the attack. He knew that they were coming, and he had run away.

“He should have been there…” she choked out. Her palms hit the bed and she leaned forward, the tears still running down her face. “He should have…”

She slammed a fist onto the uniform and then collapsed there, sobbing like a little child. In a way, she was one, wanting nothing more than to bury herself in her mother’s arms.

But her mother was never coming back.

And it was all because of a uniform very similar to her own.


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Tue Sep 29, 2009 8:28 pm

For the sixth round of the drabble contest. Kal belongs to Ghostmaker.

Title: Here
Summary: When the werewolf Kami returns to the planet where she lost her best friend, she finds herself plagued by emotions too strong for her to handle.
Rating: T
Fiction used/Original: Original
Song Choice: How To Save A Life – The Fray
Ch. 6/CB Ch.: CB Ch.
Word Count: 750
Part Used:
Step one, you say we need to talk.

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

“We need to talk.”

Kami scrubbed at her red and teary eyes as she fought back another sob. She didn’t answer Kal, but simply sat in silence on the hotel bed.

He pushed himself away from the door frame and strode over to her, quickly making his way to her side.


“Leave me alone,” she whispered, her voice hoarse after the hours spent crying her heart out and screaming into the pillow. “I…”

Her unfinished sentence hung in the air, adding to the tension between them. So many walls lay between them, so many secrets she couldn’t share.

“Why do you keep beating yourself up like this?” he asked her, his voice breaking the icy silence between them.

Warm brown eyes stared back at her through a memory and she cringed, more tears trickling down her cheeks.

“It’s not your fault he’s dead,” Kal whispered to her as he sat down on the bed, careful not to touch her. “Blaming yourself for it isn’t going to change anything that happened.”

“Where did I go wrong?” she whispered, lost in the painful memories of the past.

“You’re not even listening to me,” he growled as he moved his face closer to hers. She flinched back, hating herself for it as she did so. She could see in his eyes that he hated it to, the way he always had to walk on eggshells with her.

She turned her head away from him, just wishing that he would leave her alone.

“Kami…” He placed his hand on her shoulder, causing her to flinch. “Please… This isn’t healthy, the way you can’t let go of him.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she said, keeping her voice to a low murmur.

“Keeping it bottled inside isn’t doing anything but hurting you,” he responded back as he scooted closer. “And hurting me.”

She shuddered, but didn’t respond. He just didn’t understand… Her fingers curled into fists around the bed sheets, and she drew in a ragged breath. He could never understand what Javy had meant to her, what he meant to her now. It was impossible to explain…

He placed an arm around her and drew her closer to him. She let him, too lost in her pain to push him away. She buried her head in his clothing as more tears threatened to fall and her tight grip on the bed sheets changed to a tight grip on him and his clothing. She cried then, unable to hold the second wave of tears back. He let her cry without saying a word, without interference, for which she was glad of.

Her heart was so heavy; her burden was so hard to bear. She wanted to throw it all away and had tried again and again, but something always stopped her. She just couldn’t let go, especially now. She had thought that it would be easier, if she had a chance to say goodbye, but it wasn’t better, only worse.

“Kal,” she whispered as her sobs abated. “Kal.”

“Shh,” he told her as he moved a strand of hair out of her face. “I’m here. I’m here.”

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

He stared down at her for a moment, as if trying to puzzle out her words, but she continued without waiting for him to respond, her words spilling out of her mouth.

“I thought that if I came back here and said goodbye, that it would make a difference, that it would heal me. I thought that it would make everything better, good again. I didn’t know that it would… would do this to me, make me fall apart. I’m scared, Kal. So scared…”

He held her even tighter in his arms at her words. “I’m here,” he repeated as he dropped his head down close to hers. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

“But I am. Of myself.” She drew in a ragged breath and held on all the tighter to his clothing. “I... I tried to kill myself, earlier today. I found the cliff, and… and…”

She burst into a fresh round of tears as Kal pulled her closer to him, rocking her back and forth in an effort to comfort her.

“Taking your life isn’t going to make things better,” he whispered in her ear, his own tears dripping down onto her face. “I’m here for you, Kami. I’ll always be here for you. Do the same for me. Please.”

Through her sobs, she whispered a single word.



"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Wed Sep 30, 2009 10:38 pm

I debated where to place this story, but finally decided here, as Martina's actual story is not set in the modern day, which makes this story from either the Titan City RP setting or the collab setting with Ghost. Either works.

There's a writing workshop that I've been attending. They meet every Wednesday and we always have a free write activity of sorts. This piece is from my first free write, last week. The underlined words are those that had to be in the piece. We had ten minutes. Absolutely no editing has been done to this piece.


"You're under arrest, Princess. That is what you're calling yourself these days, isn't it?"

The young woman in question giggled and took several steps back, her diamond earrings swaying from side-to-side from the movement. "You have no proof," Princess cried out and pointed her finger at the cop.

"You do not know what I do and do not have," the cop answered as she stepped closer. She reached into her pocket and produced a baseball, which she then proceeded to toss up and down. "Give it up, little girl."

Instead of doing as told, Princess swiveled around and ran for it. Instantly the cop gave chase. The bottom of her shirt flapped awkwardly, as a button was missing from it. She ignored it and instead threw the baseball towards the girl.

Princess cried out as she was struck and tumbled to the ground. Instantly the cop was on top of her, clamping handcuffs onto her wrists.

(Yes, the cop is Martina.)


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Wed Sep 30, 2009 10:42 pm

Here's my piece from today's meeting. Unlike the other story, I had no idea what I was doing with this story before I started--hence my beginning sentence.


Thomas ducked as a hard brick flew at him. The object sailed over his head and landed in the bushes behind him. The young child straightened up, staring into the eyes of the older boys that surrounded him.

"Please," he squeaked out, holding up his hands to show that he meant them no harm.

The ignored his cry and advanced on him. He stumbled back, but didn't run. He had learned long ago that running only made things worse.

"Somebody's out past their bedtime," the leader of the thugs growled as he reached out a hand and placed it securely on Thomas's shoulder.

The child flinched at the touch.


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Tue Oct 13, 2009 12:48 am

This wrote itself when I was working on my English essay. It's based on the Secrets RP from ASN and deals with the characters Michael, Javy, and Kami (who wasn't in the actual RP). This takes place... *does math in head* at least eight years after the RP. By this time Javy is dead. If you want to know why he's dead or more on Kami, read Theme 5 (Unbreakable).

This story is the tale of what could happen if Michael stumbles across the werewolf Kami. Michael is Fire Lord's and is being used with permission. And I know that the ending is cliff hangerish, but I didn't want to turn this into a big long story.

Death's Hand

Sleep was warmth, and Kami didn’t want it to leave. Still, she couldn’t ignore the burning scent before her, no matter how much she wanted too. When it first intruded into her mind, she had thought that it was no more than a dream, or a snippet of memory. But the scent didn’t leave, instead becoming stronger. Flesh. It was bitter, stinging her nose. Fire consumed it, sickening her stomach. The scent consumed her, leaving room for nothing else.

Her silver eyes flickered open and then widened in surprise. A bandaged hand was before her, reaching for her throat. The figure attached to the other end of this hand paused as he realized she was awake, but then started for her throat once more.

Kami let out a snarl as she knocked the hand away and sat up, the thin blanket she had been using falling from her body to reveal the sleeveless gray shirt and the blue pants—made out of some foreign material—she wore.

“You are a monster,” the young man said, staring down at her through a mask. “A dog maybe, just like him.”

She let out a low growl, even as she fought back the impulse to attack. “I’m not a monster!” Her fingers curled into fists. “I’m not!” But she knew that she was and that was what hurt so bad.

“You can’t deny it.” He punched his bandaged fist at her, to which she responded by yelping and ducking down low. She then rolled to the side and climbed to her feet. However, she stood crouched over, her hands nearly touching the ground as she slowly began to circle around. She didn’t know what was wrong with this man before her, but she did know that it was best to run. She didn’t want another’s blood on her—not ever again.

He took a step back and then moved before her, blocking her escape route out of the alley. “Fight me, monster. You hunger for my flesh—I know it.”

“I don’t… I don’t want too,” she said to him, speaking slowly, hesitantly. What was he trying to do? Get himself killed? She wrinkled her nose at the burning smell that was slowly started to seep into the alley.

“And why’s that? You full from last night’s meal?” He advanced on her, forcing her back, until she had hit the wall.

“Javy said not to…” She stared at him with her wide silver eyes, not liking how this was going. She wasn’t afraid for her life, but rather afraid of what she might do.

He paused again, this time as if in surprise. “So the infection has spread…”

This time it was her turn to be surprised. “You… knew him?”

He didn’t answer, but simply stepped forward to press the attack.


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Sun Oct 18, 2009 2:58 am

I said that I was going to continue to do the drabble contest and I meant it. Yes, I know that this is from the last round and that I even participated in that round, but I didn’t get to take part in the Do You Really Want to Stay In? challenge. Between listening to the White Houses song and reading Toko’s character theme post, there was no way that I couldn’t write this.

White Houses
Summary: Thomas arrives at Sylan, only to find himself plagued by strange emotions.
Rating: K+
Fiction Used/Original: Unwanted Reversed universe
Song Choice: White Houses by Vanessa Carlton
Ch. 6/CB Ch.: Ch. 6 (even though I wasn’t in it.)
Word Count: 503

Thomas stared through the window at the large building of Sylan. The place was different from any other school that he had seen. Instead of looking as if it was a prison, it looked safe—a place to escape. Surely he could fit in here. This place was for kids that were different, troubled. This place was for kids like him.

As the worn car pulled into the small parking area, however, a twinge of unease knotted in his stomach. He brushed the feeling aside, just thinking it to be nothing more than nervousness. He drew in a deep breath and then climbed out of the car, ignoring the words of his caretaker as she spoke about how this new experience was going to be good for him. He had learned long ago that she only said what she thought would comfort him, instead of speaking the truth.

The young teen turned fully to face the school, his mismatched eyes blinking once, twice, and then no more. For a moment, he simply stood frozen in time. A cool breeze brushed over him and he suddenly found tears forming in his eyes. “Maybe you’ll remember me,” he whispered. He didn’t know why he said the words, but only that it felt right.

Before he could dwell on this strange feeling any longer, his caretaker gently pushed him forward. “You can look around later, Thomas,” she said to him as they walked forward, towards his new life. “Maybe you’ll even make some new friends. For now, we need to take care of the paperwork.”

He gave a nod to show that he had heard her, but he felt detached from everything around him. They entered the school and this feeling of detachment only grew. Everything looked so familiar but yet alien to him. The world around him was swaying, pressing down on him. It felt right to be here, like this was his home. But he had promised that he wouldn’t come back.

The bell rang and students rushed out of the classrooms, hurrying for the lunchroom. The action was so normal and familiar that Thomas found himself moving to join them. A flash of long brown hair stopped him. The fleeing figure was beautiful, completely mesmerizing him. He could feel something igniting in his veins, an emotion that he was unfamiliar with.

He heard his name being called by his caretaker but it was as if it came from far away. He knew the girl, but he couldn’t explain from where or why. “Who is she?” he whispered as she disappeared from view.

“Thomas.” His caretaker placed a hand on his shoulder and then forced his body to turn, so that he was facing in the direction of the office. “You can look around after the paperwork.”

She led him away from the other children, but he simply turned his head, straining to see the girl that was long gone.

Her disappearance didn’t matter. He knew that he would see her again.

In Sylan.


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Sun Oct 18, 2009 2:26 pm

Aww that was good. Too bad you didn't get to submit it. XD
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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Sun Oct 18, 2009 5:52 pm

Thanks! And I don't mind. Writing it is the fun part, which might explain why I was up until two last night writing this...

I think that I'm also going to do one to the Anything But Ordinary song. I already have an idea for it.


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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Thu Dec 24, 2009 2:43 pm

I haven't had the time to write a Christmas story for this year, so instead I'm posting up the Christmas story I wrote last year, for ASN

Christmas Story
Part 1
Christmas Eve

(These are characters from The City in the Skies RP. Kami is mine, Kal is Ghostmaker’s and Kaine is Plaguewalker’s. And, to clear things up because it’s too hard to work age into every story, Kami, Kal, and Kaine are all older teens, young adults.)

Kami knew that something was wrong the instant she spotted the mistletoe. She didn’t know what the little green plant meant, but she knew that it belonged anywhere except for right above her doorway. Her silver eyes squinted up at the plant, and her feet slowed to a halt.

“Kaine,” she breathed, and took a quick step back. That would be just like the former werewolf hunter, to put something poisonous to her kind right above where she walked everyday. The young she-wolf quickly turned on her heels and headed back the way she had come, determined to seek out the one responsible for the strange plant.

“Kaine!” she shouted as she rushed cockpit of the ship.

The cowboy looked up from the map that he and Kal were arguing over, and glanced back at Kami with a surprised expression on his face. She came to a halt, with her hands on her hips, and glared at him, wanting nothing better than to go over to him and tear off his precious cowboy hat.

“Kami…,” Kal, her Alpha and lover, growled in warning. His yellow eyes flickered over onto her angry face, and he let out a soft sigh. “Don’t do anything that you’re going to regret later on.”

“Then tell him to leave my room alone!” She watched the two werecreatures as they glanced over at one another in surprise.

“Kami, Kaine’s been with me all morning. He couldn’t have done anything to your room,” Kal said as he climbed to his feet and studied her with worried eyes. “Why? What’s happened?”

Suddenly Kami felt extremely foolish, and her cheeks flushed a bright red. Her eyes fell to the ground, and she half-turned away from them. “Never mind,” she mumbled. How could she explain it to them in a way that wouldn’t make her look like a total fool? Everyone knew that she didn’t trust Kaine, but still… She had to admit, even to herself, that it all seemed so foolish now. So what if there was a strange plant hanging over her door? It wasn’t wolfsbane.

“We all know that you don’t like me, Kami,” Kaine said as he turned back to face the map. “But don’t go around trying to accuse me of things that I didn’t do. I haven’t touched your room since you stole my hat.”

Kami opened her mouth to respond back, but then caught sight of Kal’s shaking head. She bit her lip, and her fingers curled into fists. Kal was right; anything she said would just make things worse.

“Let’s just all try to get along, for once. After all, tonight’s a special night.”

She stared blankly up at Kal, wondering if she should know what he was talking about.

“Hmph,” Kaine grunted. “We can worry about that later. First, let’s figure out where the heck we are.” He stabbed the map with a finger for emphasis.

Kal waved a hand at Kami, in an obvious dismissal. He then turned his attention back to the map, and starting speaking softly with Kaine.

“I swear,” she muttered as she turned away from the two of them and headed out of the room. “Doesn’t anyone around here know how to use the technology aboard this ship besides me?” But she didn’t bother to help them out. She knew from experience that they didn’t like her telling them how to run a spaceship. Her guess was that it was because she was a girl, and they were boys. But none of that mattered at the moment. What mattered was the strange plant, and solving the mystery behind it.


(This one has characters from A Pirate’s Life For Me RP. Siv is mine, Captain Luther is Fire Lord’s, and Tacider is SeaFooAllySon's. This story takes place about a year before the RP started.)

Siv hummed softly to herself as she first scrubbed her face clean, and then her hands. Tonight was a special night. Even she, a lowly pirate slave, knew that. Some of the crew were excited as well, even though they never officially celebrated the holiday.

The slave couldn’t recall the name of this particular holiday, and she didn’t know why it was celebrated, but that didn’t stop her from being excited about it. She twirled about as she dried her hands on a clean rag.

“Today’s gonna be a beautiful day,” she whispered in delight, even as she started on the mundane task of cooking breakfast for the crew. Aside from Tacider and Master Luther, the pirates wouldn’t be awake for at least another hour. Tacider was always one of the first up, since he was in charge of steering the ship, and Master Luther… She never knew when the Captain was going to make an appearance. But the rest of the crew wouldn’t be awake for at least another hour, which meant that she could take things slow.

Maybe she would even try a new recipe today. After all, every day wasn’t the eve of a holiday. Surely Master Luther wouldn’t mind if she experimented, just this once. Besides, everyone else liked her experiments more than the other food. So why not?

“Maybe I could even…” Her face lit up at the thought, and she twirled around once more. All thoughts of breakfast left her then, as she danced around and around, her bare feet making no sound as she gracefully moved about. It had been so long since she had last danced, and even longer still since she had had an audience. The crew would surely love it, if she danced for them that night. After all, she had been born to dance. Her skill at cooking had only come because of necessity.

“I come in here to grab a quick bite before going out to make sure that we’re still on course, and I find you jumping around like a fool, instead of doing your work.”

Siv came to an abrupt halt at the sound of the harsh voice, and turned slowly around to spot Tacider. “Sorry, sir,” she whispered, even as guilt welled up inside of her. Born to dance she might have been, but that was no longer her purpose in life, not since Luther had become her master.

“Breakfast should be almost done by now, and you haven’t even started. I won’t report you to Captain Luther this time around, but he may just get after you anyways, if you don’t hurry it up.”

Siv gave a small nod, and then turned to start on breakfast with a flushed face. She had completely lost track of time, and now it seemed as if she was running behind schedule, instead of ahead. Maybe there wouldn’t be a special holiday breakfast after all.


(This deals with character’s from Hell Angels. Tahira and her father are both mine. This story deals with Tahira’s life on Earth, when she was about seven.)

Tahira’s steps were slow as she stepped down off of the bus—slow and measured. She paused as she heard the bus door closing, and turned back just in time to see the yellow bus driving away, leaving her all alone for the holidays.

“No leave me,” she whispered as she took a slow step towards the bus, and stretched out her hand towards it. But it was too late; the bus was already disappearing from view.

Her hand fell back down to her side, and a tear trickled down her cheek. She was all alone, so alone… Would she survive, until school started back up again? The young girl placed a hand on her arm, as if that could somehow stop more bruises from forming there.


She started at the angry shout, and slowly turned to see her father standing there on their doorstep, watching her with angry eyes. Her own eyes stung with tears, and she slowly made her way across the sidewalk, through the gate, and then across their snow-covered lawn. She came to a halt before her father, with her head bowed, and her eyes fixed on the ground.

“Get inside,” he growled, and held the door open for her. She slipped inside, biting her lip as he kicked her legs when she didn’t move fast enough. The door swung shut behind the two of them, sounding much like the thunder of a storm that was just beginning—at least to the young girl.

“What is that?” he asked as he spotted the green piece of paper in her hand, which was shaped like a Christmas tree, and had also been decorated as one.

“Uh…” She bit down harder on her lip as she looked down at the paper, which had been slightly mangled by her fierce grip on it. “Card,” she whispered softly. “For… for you.” Tahira turned ever-so-slightly, and cautiously held it out to him.

He ripped it out of her hands and opened it up, skimming the short message that was inside. “’Merry Christmas,’” he muttered darkly, and then looked up into her semi-hopeful face.

“Hmph.” He tore up the card into many different pieces, letting them fall to the ground. “We don’t celebrate Christmas here.”


(This is from The Unwanted RP. Thomas is my character, and is a young adult in this story. Alice is TokoToTheEnd’s.)

Christmas was here once again. Thomas could not only sense the excitement in the air, but he could smell it as well. The scent wasn’t as easy to pick up as fear or as any of the other negative emotions, but he still could smell it with ease.

The half-dragon smiled to himself as he rang the doorbell to the orphanage. He adjusted the large box of presents in his hand, and then looked up as the orphanage caretaker opened up the door.

“Hello, Miss Florensten,” he said to her, his voice so soft it could have been mistaken for the wind.

“The kids have been expecting you for quite some time, Mr. Chrusto,” she said as she stepped aside, gesturing at him to enter. But Thomas only shook his head.

“I’m not here to see them,” he said and then nodded at the box in his arms. “I’m just here to make sure that Santa hasn’t forgotten these fine kids.”

“Oh!” Miss Florensten’s eyes widened, and then a smile lit up her face. She took the box from him with tears in her eyes. “Whatever can we do to repay you?” she whispered to the strange adult standing on the orphanage doorstep.

He gave her a smile, and then turned away. “I never got Christmas as an orphan,” he said to her as he began to walk away. “So the least I can do is make sure that they get one of their own. That’s all that matters.”

“God bless you!”

He smiled at her shout, and gave a wave in her direction to show that he had heard. The orphanage door then shut, and he was all alone once more.

Thomas didn’t mind being alone, though. He had been alone for nearly all of his life. But Christmas was the one holiday he never spent all alone, not really. This was one of the few times that he allowed himself to think about his past, and the love that he had lost.

He knew that this time of the year was supposed to be happy, though, so he tried not to dwell on her death and the events that lead up to it. Instead, he tried to focus on how grateful he was that he had been able to spend time with Alice, and the hope that he would be able to be with her again, once he had lived his life.

The young adult stepped into an abandoned alley, his feet crunching softly in the inch-deep snow. He pulled off the thick blue jacket and shook out his draconic wings. Their deep blue scales glinted in the little light there was, shining as if they were gems.

Thomas grinned at the prospect of a flight, and then pumped his wings. He rose higher and higher, the cool wind and snow not bothering him in the slightest. Then, once the large town looked like nothing more than little toys, he leveled out and flew to the east.

Alice was not going to spend Christmas alone.


(Martina is from the Titan City: Return of the Blight RP, and she is mine. This takes place when she is still a young child, a couple of months after her father is killed.)

Martina stared up at the green pine tree with wide blue eyes. She then spun around to face her mother, her light purple hair swaying with the movement. “You got us a real live tree!” the young girl squealed in delight.

Her mother smiled over at her daughter, but the smile didn’t reach her hazel eyes. “Yeah… Mr. Tebato down at the convenience store managed to pull some strings. He knows how hard things have been for us since…”

“Since Daddy left?” Her voice, while spoken in a whisper, seemed quite loud in the silent house.

Her mother let out a soft sigh, and then opened up their lone box of ornaments. “It’s Christmas Eve, Marty. Help me decorate.”

Martina turned away from the tree, and scurried over to the small table that her mother had placed the box on. She then began the processing of hanging up the ornaments that her mother handed her. But as the young girl worked, she couldn’t help but think about things.

“Mommy?” she said as she hung up the last ornament. “How can we have Christmas here?”

“What do you mean?” her mother replied as she turned to face her daughter.

Martina walked over to her mother, and then pointed a finger at the window, where the sun was low on the horizon. “We live in a desert. Santa and his reindeer will get sick if they come here, because of the heat.”

Her mother laughed, and picked up the young girl. “That’s why he comes during the night, Marty. You know how cold the desert gets at night.”

She nodded in understanding as her mother carried her into the kitchen, where their Christmas dinner was waiting for them.

“Mommy, do you think that daddy is with us right now?”

“Yes,” she whispered as she set the young girl down in her chair. She then gave Martina a kiss on the forehead. “And I’m sure that he’s wishing us a Merry Christmas.”

“Then I hope that he has a Merry Christmas as well.”

“A Merry Christmas to all on this night, regardless of where, or who, they are.”

Martina stared up into her mother’s eyes, both her expression and her voice serious. “Even the men who killed Daddy?”

Her mother nodded. “Yes, even them. A Merry Christmas to all.”


(Flynn is my character from the Hell Angels RP. This is, like Tahira’s story, also before he died.)

“Christmas,” the blue-eyed man muttered to himself as he stared out of the window. He wiped away some of the fog with the sleeve of his dark brown sweater, so that he could see the snow falling silently down to the ground with ease. His eyes then made his way up to the dark sky.

With a sigh, he turned away from the window and made his way back over to the warm fire, which he had lit just moments before. Tonight was Christmas Eve, but he felt none of the joy that the holiday usually brought with it. This was his first Christmas in Germany, and he felt as if it wouldn’t be his last.

World War Two had started in September of 1939, and the United States had become involved after the attack on Pearl Harbor in December of 1941. Since then, Flynn’s life had been nothing but chaos. As a German American pilot, he had faced nothing but distrust and loneliness. Even here, as a spy among the Germans, he still wasn’t trusted. In America, it was because he was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed German. In Germany, it was because he was an American.

Flynn pushed those thoughts aside, and instead slipped a threadbare jacket over his clothing, and knelt down beside the small fire. He glanced towards the doorway of his humble home (which had once belonged to a Jewish family), and then out of the dark windows. Nobody could be seen or heard. This was, indeed, a silent night.

The American spy slipped a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. He stared down at it for a moment, and then glanced at the windows and door once more. Satisfied that there was nobody there, he unfolded the worn paper and held it up, above the fire. Words in a hasty script appeared, giving him his next orders.

Christmas Eve it may have been, but Flynn had a job to do.


Christmas Story
Part 2
Christmas Day

Flynn slipped off the threadbare jacket as he returned “home” early Christmas morning, and then hung it on the hook next to the door. The spy then headed towards the empty fireplace, his shivering body demanding warmth.

“Stupid snow,” he grumbled as he pulled out flint and steel. “Stupid war.” He neatly constructed a log cabin out of some small twigs, and then placed crumpled paper inside. After several tries with his flint and steel, a spark landed and grew.

Flynn sat down next to the growing fire, and swiftly stared removing his wet layers of clothing. But then there was a knock on the door, and he paused, a hand on the laces of his boots. Who could that be, at this hour?

He sprung up to his feet, and headed towards the door with misgivings. The knock came again, this time more urgent than before. Flynn placed a hand on the handle, and then eased the door open a crack. What met him were a pair of hazel eyes, and the sound of someone breathy heavily, as if he had run a great distance.

“Flynn,” the man asked, though from the way he said it, it sounded more like a question than a greeting.

Flynn nodded, but didn’t open the door any wider. In times like these, no one could be trusted. “Yes?” he asked, his tone emotionless, but somehow polite as well.

“It is Christmas…”

But the messenger got no farther than that, for Flynn interrupted.

“Hmph. I don’t celebrate Christmas. Not anymore.” He moved to close the door, but the messenger was quicker. Flynn grunted in irritation at finding a foot in the way, and then glared down at the older man before him, whose eyes now had a dangerous glint in them.

“Nobody turns down an invitation from a general,” he whispered softly, and then turned to leave.

Flynn let him walk away, his mind brooding with dark thoughts. Christmas and its merriness didn’t belong here. There was a war going on, and thousands of people getting killed—both innocent and soldier. And it was all because of these Germans. But he was German as well…

The American spy gave a shake of his head and shoved the door shut. He then headed for the fire, and the clothing that he had just recently shed. No matter how much he hated Christmas and all its false promises about peace and joy, he couldn’t refuse an invitation from a general. Besides, people sometimes gained loose tongues at parties. Who knew what he could learn by attending?

So, with a heavy heart, the American left the Jewish house and headed for a German Christmas party. This would definitely be a Christmas that he would remember for the rest of his life—however short or long that would be.


(Unlike all of the other stories, the Christmas day story for Martina happens at a later time, when she is 23.)

Martina shuffled into the kitchen, feeling more asleep than awake. Not that she didn’t have a reason for feeling that way, of course. Four-thirty in the morning was not a time that she liked to be up, but she did have a job to do. As was the usual case every Christmas, somebody had decided to go play a twisted game of “Santa”, where they took presents instead of giving them. And she had been one of the lucky ones to go and deal with it this Christmas.

The cop poured herself a cup of coffee, and then set it on the counter. She stared at the steam rising from its dark surface, and then shivered. Titan City was so dang cold compared to the desert she had grown up in.

“I hate snow,” she grumbled and took a sip of her coffee. She made a face at its taste, but knew that she needed it if she was to stay awake and focused when on the job. “I hate winter.”

She left the coffee on the counter then, and went to go finish getting ready.

A few minutes later found her in her unmarked cop car, fully dressed in uniform. She reversed out of the driveway, and then headed for the station, cursing the snow once again for making the road slick.

Everyone at the station knew that she hated Christmas. They had all been calling her Scrooge for the entire month. So why then, had she been called in on this assignment? She had checked to make sure that she didn’t have just yesterday, but yet…

Martina shook her head, reminding herself that she needed to concentrate on the icy roads, and not on pointless thoughts. She had gotten the call at four-twenty, and that was that. It would do her and the police no good if she killed herself on the way to work because of her lack of paying attention.

But as she pulled into the station, her mind began to wander back. Christmas hadn’t always been a holiday that she hated. Long ago, it had brought her great joy and happiness. But everything had changed after her father’s death. That first Christmas had been hard, but it had been okay. She had been too little at the time to really be affected by the fact that her father was dead and wasn’t coming back. But then she had become older.

Martina was greeted by a ‘Merry Christmas’ as she stepped inside, but she was too tired to do more than grunt in response.

“You okay, Miss Martina?” the cop, Simon Hyde, asked.

“I’m fine,” she said and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “I take it that it’s you and me?”

The blonde-haired man nodded. “Yep. And we’re taking my squad car. I’ll brief you on the way.”

They headed out of the door, and back into the freezing night air. Martina hurried into Simon’s car, wishing desperately for the heat of the desert as she did so. Simon climbed into the driver’s seat, and then they were off.

After Martina was briefed on the crime, silence descended upon the occupants of the car. This silence didn’t last very long, though.

“Why don’t you like Christmas?”

Martina stared at this, and her blue eyes flickered over to her companion. “Why does it matter to you?”

He shrugged, but his eyes remained on the road. “I reread Scrooge’s story yesterday. It reminded me that he had a reason for hating Christmas.” This time he did glance over at Martina, to gage her reaction.

Her face remained void of all emotion, but inside she was starting to panic. She really didn’t want to talk about her past with a man she didn’t know very well—not that she was close to anybody anymore.

“You want to know if there’s something in my past, something that would make me hate Christmas?” Her voice was cool and collected, something that surprised her. It was times like this that made her realize how well her emotionless mask was in place.

“Well…, yes.”

She smiled inside at this, pleased at being able to guess where this conversation was going. She usually wasn’t this coherent when running on so little sleep. But that happiness quickly faded away, as she thought about the answer to Simon’s question.

It wasn’t just her dad’s death that had changed her opinion of the holiday—that had just been the beginning. After the money had gone tight, she had gotten involved with gangs. After that…, she had just gone numb. She had just stopped caring, stopped feeling. After awhile, even the hurt of his death and the hurt of watching her mother suffer had gone away.

But then she had entered the Force here in Titan City. Her numbness was fading away. Some of the hurt was back, but so was some of the joy that life had once given her.


Her eyes flickered over to Simon Hyde, and then back out of her window. They were nearing their destination.

“I’m healing,” she said softly as the car slid to a stop. “Not everyone can heal as fast as Scrooge, you know. And maybe, someday… Christmas won’t be so bad anymore. Maybe.”


Thomas yawned softly and curled into an even tighter ball, not wanting any of his body heat to escape. The movement, though, caused his wing to bump against a hard surface. The half-dragon jolted awake at that, and his mismatched eyes snapped open.

“Alice…,” he breathed and rolled over to face her with a smile on his face.

And there she was, just as perfect as he remembered. She hadn’t aged at all, even though close to ten years had passed. Of course, that was exactly how things were supposed to be.

Thomas sat up and placed a hand on the sapphire coffin that the fairy was enclosed in. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered to her, and then leaned his head against the hard surface. “I would have brought you a present, but…, well…”

He drifted off and bit his lip, determined not to cry. He had told himself that he wouldn’t think of the circumstances of her death, but now here he was, doing just that. It was just so hard, knowing that she could still be alive if he hadn’t been so afraid to act.

“I already explained that to you last year,” he said, trying to get his emotions under control. “And the year before that.” He grinned at that, finding it amusing.

“Anyways…” His mismatched eyes flickered over to her face, which looked peaceful in death. “Even though you’re gone, I didn’t want you to spend Christmas alone.” He laughed softly, and rubbed his hand up and down the sapphire coffin, right above her hand. “I’ve explained this to you every year, haven’t I? Maybe what I’m really doing is just trying to make up excuses that I’m not crazy.”

He laughed again and climbed to his feet. “But of course I’m crazy, no matter how I try to appear otherwise. I can’t seem to let go of you, Alice. I don’t know if you ever had any feelings for me, but I know that I won’t be whole again until I’m united with you once more.”

Thomas pulled out a small book from his pocket, and opened it up to a page where a pressed flower lay. He carefully picked up the light blue flower, and set it down by the hand that he had been trying to stroke earlier. He then closed the book, and let his hands fall to his side. His eyes filled with tears as he surveyed the scene before him—a transparent sapphire coffin with the love of his life enclosed in it, resting in a crystal cavern behind a waterfall.

“I love you, Alice,” he whispered as he ran a hand along the hard surface, as if he could reach through and stroke her hair. Then he turned away, knowing that it wasn’t safe to stay any longer. The memories were more powerful than he had remembered, and they threatened to tear down his wall at any moment.

“Merry Christmas,” he called back to her, as he walked away. The journey through the tunnel didn’t take long, and soon he stood at the entrance of it, watching the mist of the waterfall spiraling around. His wings snapped open, and then he took off, shooting through the waterfall at an upwards slant. Pain flared through his wings, as it did every time he passed through the thundering falls, but he paid it no mind.

Today was Christmas Day—a day of miracles, and a day of happiness. He wouldn’t spoil it by focusing on the bad things in life. Maybe he would go visit the orphanage, and see how the children there were doing…


The half-dragon came to an abrupt halt at the voice, thinking for a moment that he had imagined it, for it sounded like an echo of the past.

“Merry Christmas…”

His heart exploded with joy at those two words, and he turned back to face the falls, half-expecting Alice to be there. But she wasn’t. That didn’t diminish his happiness at all, though. After all of these years, she hadn’t forgotten him.

He turned back to the way he was headed, and started on his journey once more. But this time, his heart was full—full of both joy and the Christmas Spirit.


Tahira stared down at her cold bowl of oatmeal, absentmindedly stirring the contents with her spoon. Her father was in the other room, watching football and drinking beer—the same thing that he had been doing for the past two hours, which is why she felt safe to be here in the kitchen. Though, she was sitting underneath the counter, for safety measures.

“Merry Christmas to me,” she whispered, and her blue eyes flickered up towards the ceiling. She then looked back down at her food, and scrubbed away a tear. The tear wasn’t for herself, though—not really. She was lonely, yes, but at least her life wasn’t a total wreck.

She flinched as she heard her father yell, and then start cussing out the players. The young girl then carefully crawled out from under the counter, and placed her half-eaten bowl in the sink. Half-time was almost here, and she didn’t want to be caught in the kitchen when her dad came in. That was really the only thing that kept her alive during these breaks from school, the hiding away.

Tahira hurried to her room in the attic, being careful to duck down low as she hurried behind the back of the couch her father was sitting on. Once safely upstairs, she hurried to her mat in the corner and curled into a ball on top of it. Her blue eyes then strayed to the clock, as if she could somehow will time to speed up. But half-time passed without incident.

The young girl let out a soft sigh of relief, and then hurried over to the only corner in the attic, dodging boxes and other various items along the way. A small grin lit up her face as she carefully yanked the dirty blanket off of her collection of items. She then hurried to set the items up, decorating the entire corner with them. When it was all complete, she pulled the curtains shut on the window. With the attic light already turned off, the room was cast into darkness.

For once, fear didn’t fall over the child as she stood there in the dark, remaining both silent and motionless. True, her breath was coming out rather quickly, but it was out of excitement, rather than fear. Finally her breathing slowed, and she spoke.

“Command went out in the land, that everyone pay money to the king,” she said with great concentration, speaking slowly and in a reverent tone. “Mary was almost due, but she an’ Joseph… they traveled anyways, to Bethehem. No room at the inn. Stable instead.” She was beginning to rush the story, so she slowed back down.

“New star rose that night, when Jesus born. Sheep people came to wor… to see him, with their animals. Three wise men came too, bringing gifts. Gold, and fra… They brought gifts. And all these people founded him, in a manger.”

She paused for a moment, deep in thought. Then she smiled and knelt down, her hand searching for the cord that she knew was there. Finding it, she plugged it into the outlet. Immediately, light filled that corner of the attic. Her grin widened as she straightened back up and stared at the fake Christmas tree that was strewn with colorful lights, and even an ornament or two.

Her eyes then dropped to the scene right in front of the tree—the scene of the stable and Christ’s birth. With a shy smile, she reached out a hand and stroked Jesus’ head.

“I glad that you were born,” she whispered to him. “Sometimes… I fweel… safer, even when he beats on me. I do deserve that, though. If I no where being bad all the time… But you still love me, no matter what I do.”

Tears came to her eyes then, as she felt all warm and tingly inside. She dropped to her bottom then, and pulled the figurine of the baby Jesus close to her chest.

“Merry Christmas, God…”

A tear trickled down her cheek and splashed on the wooden floor beneath her, but this tear was a joyous one. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad Christmas after all.


Siv paced back and forth in the kitchen, a single question lingering on her mind. The yearning to know the answer to that question wouldn’t let her stay still, but her fear of the person she had to ask kept her from heading out and actually asking.

She had prepared a special dinner for last night, and in the process had learned the name of the holiday being celebrated—Christmas. But nothing had gone on after that, or before that, even. But she wanted to dance! She wanted to dance so much that it hurt. Dancing was a part of who she was, no matter how much she tried to hide that fact while here under Master Luther’s ownership.

“Would he care?” she whispered to herself as she paced about. Surely her master wouldn’t care if she entertained the crew, right? But there was never any telling what would make him angry.

She turned around then, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw someone in the doorway—someone whom she had just been thinking about.

“Would I care about what, Siv?” he asked. His voice was calm and collected, but yet it sent shivers down her spine. It was when he spoke like this that she was really scared. One wrong word and he could suddenly become a serpent, striking out at his helpless prey. At least when he acted angry, she knew that there was danger coming.

“Master Luther…,” she breathed, and immediately dropped her eyes to the ground, even as her face flushed a dark shade of red. “I…” She then hung her head and bit down hard on her lip. “It’s… It’s not important, Master.”

He regarded her in silence for a moment, and then gave grunt of satisfaction. “Today’s Christmas Day. We need some entertainment after dinner.” He then turned and left, before the slave could even begin to recover.

Siv’s breathing increased as her violet eyes stared at the place that Master Luther had just vacated. He had… He had just…

She smiled, with tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, even while knowing that he couldn’t hear her.

“Thank you…”


“Get your butt up, Kami, or I’ll go in and drag you out here myself!”

Kami groaned and rolled over, shoving her pillow over her head in an attempt to drown out the banging. “Go away,” she mumbled, still half-asleep.


When she didn’t respond, the door flew open and Kal stomped into the room. Against her will, he yanked the blanket off of her. She instantly shivered, and pulled her legs up closer to the rest of her body.

“Get up!”

“Go away…”

He then grabbed onto her pillow and tried to yank it away, but she had tightened her grip on it. When he couldn’t get it away from her, he instead yanked both the pillow and her off of the bed. Kami let out a screech of surprise as she suddenly found herself on the floor.

“Kal,” she grumbled as she stared up at him with her silver eyes, which were now alert. They then flickered over to her alarm clock, and then narrowed into tiny slits. “Somebody better have died. Preferably Kaine,” she added, as an afterthought.

Her Alpha laughed, and then helped pull her up onto her feet. “No, nobody died, but—”

“Then why the crap are you getting me up at 4:45 in the morning?!” she shouted, interrupting him. There had better be a darn good reason, for she had gotten very little sleep last night due to the mystery of the plant above her door.

Kal’s smile disappeared, and he placed a finger on her lip, stopping any other rude comments she had before they could come out. “Patience, puppy. And please, don’t screech in my ear. It kind of hurts.”

His smile was back now, but it looked a little more forced than before. As much as she loved him, she could never seem to actually get along with him for more than five minutes at a time. Of course, it was mostly her fault, and not his. She just couldn’t put her past behind her… Like now, for instance. She was dwelling on her past once more, instead of paying attention to the present.

Kal had removed his hand from her lips, and now had it wrapped securely in her own hand. He had taken a step forward and was now staring back at her, waiting to see if she would follow. With a sigh, she decided to follow along with his silly game for now, and so followed after him.

“Kami,” he whispered as they reached her doorway, “I’m about to teach you a few of the traditions of an Earth holiday called Christmas…”

Before she could ask what he meant, he had closed his eyes and leaned towards her. For a moment, she contemplated playing some kind of trick on him, but that idea was gone just as fast as it had come. She wanted to kiss him.

The young she-wolf leaned forward as well, meeting his lips halfway. They kissed. Kami moved to take the simple kiss a bit farther, but then Kal pulled away. Her eyes flickered open in puzzlement, to see him staring at her with uncertainty. What was the matter? Usually she was the cautious one.

“Tradition number one,” he breathed as he came to the conclusion that she wasn’t mad at him. “Mistletoe.” When her look became more puzzled than before, he pointed upwards.

Kami leaned back her head to see the strange plant she had been worrying about. “You put it…” She whipped her head around to face him, unsure of whether or not to be angry at him. But then he took over, as if sensing that she was about to get violent on him.

“It’s used to get kisses. When a boy and girl are underneath one, they’re supposed to kiss. Like so.”

The two of them moved closer, and kissed for a second time. Once again, it was Kal that pulled away. When she started to object, he grinned at her and placed a finger on her lips once more.

“There’s more.”

He led her forward again, with his hand in hers. Kami couldn’t help but smile at the warmth his body offered, even though she was slightly irritated at him for all of these surprises—something that she didn’t particularly like.

“Are the lights broke or something?” Kami remarked as they turned onto a new hallway. None of the ceiling panels were lighting up like they were supposed to, and like they had in the hall.

Kal didn’t answer, but just continued to lead her forward.

A few minutes later, Kal slowed his pace, until he was at a complete stop. She stopped beside him, throwing him a questioning glance.

“Close your eyes.”

“I already can’t see as it is,” she remarked, her stubborn streak coming through.

“Kami… Please don’t ruin the moment.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, and did as instructed.

“Got them closed?”


He gently guided her forward, into one of the larger rooms of the ship. She knew this because she had been keeping track of where they were going, in an attempt to at least guess what he was up to. Not that it had helped at all…

“Now, open them.”

Kami’s eyes slowly opened up, and she gasped in utter amazement. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, memorized by the colorful lights that covered the fake pine tree. An angel rested at the top, with a remarkable resemblance to the she-wolf.

“It’s called a Christmas tree, another tradition of Christmas. I don’t remember everything that it’s supposed to symbolize, but, well…” He shrugged.

She turned to face him, a question in her eyes. “What is Christmas?”

Instead of answering, he pulled out a small package from his pocket, and handed it to her. “Go ahead,” he said when she hesitated. “Open it.”

She did as instructed, gasping in shock and delight to see two golden earrings laying inside of the bright red wrapping paper. She reverently touched one of them, tracing the ‘K’ it made. “It’s perfect…”

He grinned at her, and stepped closer, so that their lips were nearly touching. “Another tradition, the giving of gifts.”

“Oh.” Her face fell then, and she felt ready to cry. The giving of gifts? Why hadn’t he told her?! “But Kal, I don’t…”

He smiled and cupped her face in his hands. “You are all I ever will need.”

With that, the two of them kissed once more. This time, neither of them held back. And in that instance, Kami no longer cared that she didn’t know the anything about Christmas, or that she was still clad in her pajamas, or that her present had fallen down to the ground.

She had Kal, and that was enough.

Merry Christmas, everyone!


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Thu Dec 24, 2009 4:57 pm

Aww. Those were good Casey, especially the Thomas/Alice one. Still making me feel guilty for killing her off.
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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Thu Dec 24, 2009 5:32 pm


And yeah... I can't help but write sad Thomas/Alice stuff... Thomas is one of my characters that refuses to ever leave me alone. It it helps at all, it was Alice's death that made him grow into a fine young man. I haven't really written much with him older, so you haven't seen much of that side of him.


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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Fri Dec 25, 2009 2:51 pm

XD Well at least she helped him grow. I don't regret killing her off too much. Alice was a character that I felt needed to die. Maybe I'll write something about her past.
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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Mon Jan 11, 2010 11:39 pm

Here is Theme 11. You might have noticed the sudden boost in my short stories I’m posting. I’m trying to get all of the ones I’m partway through finished, so that I can focus entirely on Midnight. I have four more to go, one of which will be on this thread, while the other three will be going in my original works thread. Anyways…

This Theme deals with the RP The Watchers, and has my characters Rain Vandom and Samuel (though he was not an official character) in it. Alexander Core is mentioned, and he is a character of Fire Lord’s. This takes place soon after Core starts coming into power. Enjoy!


“If I’m gonna go down, I’m gonna do it with style. You won’t hear me surrender, you won’t hear me confess cause you’ve left me with nothing, but I have worked with less.”
- Ani DiFranco

Rain thundered down onto the mangled town. Lightning flashed, illuminating the hasty construction that had been done to the place to turn it into a base of sorts, and then the light faded away and thunder rumbled. A strong wind blew from all directions, carrying away anything that wasn’t nailed down. An old newspaper blew by, slamming into buildings as it went. The headlines spoke of a man by the name of Alexander Core. And the world was dark, promising destruction.

A crouched figure scurried through the streets, several papers clutched in his shaking hands. He was soaked clear to the bone and mud covered much of the lower half of his body. The figure paused as he came to an entrance and then gave a shake of his head and slipped inside. A cold gust of wind entered the building with him, though the door was open no longer than a second.

The gust flew through the building, swirling around those making their way through the halls and those working in the open rooms. It didn’t stop or even slow, as if it knew exactly where it was headed. Finally the cool wind reached the very end of the base, pushing the door there wider open and then traveling inside. It whirled around the lone figure that sat there.

The woman growled in annoyance as she slammed her papers to the desk before they could blow away. Her brown eyes flickered up to the open door and she let out another growl.

“Samuel!” she called out and lurched to her booted feet. Her wheeled chair flew backwards and hit the far wall, but she didn’t notice it. “Samuel!” Her brown hair, which fell to just below her shoulders at its longest, bobbed back and forth at the movement.

“She’s calling for you,” the guard outside her room said—as if she need one. Still, it was easier to just keep the guard instead of trying to talk Samuel out of it.

Rain heard no response, but didn’t let it bother her as she stepped back and hauled her chair over to her desk. She then sat down and intertwined her fingers together as she rested them on the desk. Almost sweetly she looked towards the door.

A young man entered the room a few moments later. He was soaking wet, but that didn’t diminish the aura of respect that surrounded him. Samuel was a year younger than her, but she always turned to him before making any major decisions. She was rash and passionate, while he was cool and collected. Together, the two of them were an unstoppable force.

“Well?” she asked, catching sight of the soaked papers in his hands.

“Hello, Samuel. How are you doing on this fine day? Can I offer you anything? That’s the way that you greet someone, Rain.” He plopped the wet papers down in front of her hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered as she grabbed the papers and slid them closer to her, frowning at the pool of water that they left behind. “They’re sopping wet. How am I supposed to read them?” He didn’t answer her, but she hadn’t expected him to. Already had she pried loose the top sheet and was scanning through it. Her brown eyes moved rapidly across the page, occasionally going back and rereading a line before moving on to the next. It didn’t take her long to disgust the information there and she nearly swore when she realized what was being said.

“That… that…” She growled and slammed a fist onto the desk, too angry to form a complete sentence.

“We both knew that Marshall was a long shot,” Samuel calmly replied. “He’s too much of a coward to openly oppose Core, so that’s that.”

Rain grunted in response and crumbled up the wet paper. She stared at it for a moment, wondering. The mayor Marshall was a coward, yes, but would he actually surrender to Alexander Core—a madman on a quest for total power and domination? She threw the paper into the wastebasket in the corner, not bothering to watch as it landed inside with all of the other garbage. Yes, it appeared that he would.

“Without him, we only have the support of two other cities. Everyone we ask just turns us down.” She let out a sigh and rubbed her forehead, trying not to let her stress show to Samuel. He had always stood by her, but he also tried to play doctor at times, and that was the last thing she needed at the moment.

“Core’s threat is still young and weak,” Samuel said to her. He was still standing, but Rain didn’t bother to offer him a chair. She knew that he would just decline. “And most don’t even see him as a threat. Even so, those that don’t trust him think that he’ll just quietly go away. They don’t want to get involved and risk innocent lives—not if they don’t have to. Just give them a little more time and some of them might change their minds.”

“But time isn’t on our side. He’s growing too powerful too fast. They better hurry and make up their minds, or we’re all doomed.”

Silence filled the room then, as the mayor of Torem turned her attention to the other papers Samuel had brought her. None of it was good news, as she had been afraid of. The entire rest of the small stack was on Core’s growing powers and his push for the rest of the Northern lands. The details were sketchy on most of the information, but that just made her even more worried. It was hard to fight an enemy they knew nothing about.

“This isn’t good…,” she whispered after scanning through the last page. “He’s closer than I thought. Why haven’t we received any word until now?” She wasn’t speaking to Samuel, but to herself, trying to figure this out. “He’s getting better at covering up, so as to not alarm those that are to be his next victims.”

“But they aren’t his victims,” Samuel reminded her. “If you paid any attention to the news reports at all, you would know that we are the odd ones out. Anyone he comes into contact with seems to suddenly throw their support behind him. Look what happened to Tiersen.”

Rain’s face darkened and she muttered a single word. “Traitor.”

Samuel sighed heavily. “All I’m saying is that he has the ability to charm people. We don’t know how or why, but he does. The majority of people in the Northern Lands support him. Don’t ever forget that we are in the minority, Rain, or you’re going to end up getting us killed.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes wide in surprise with how sharp his voice had become. He was staring at her with stern eyes, waiting for a response. For a moment longer, she said nothing, but then she turned her head away and mumbled a sullen, “I know.”

“I don’t mean to be a downer. I know how hard this is on you.” He took a step towards her, but she didn’t move. “We’ll get through this, even if it’s just by sheer willpower.” He smiled at her. “And you have enough of that to survive several shots through the heart.”

Even she couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“It can’t rain every day, right?” she asked him as she turned back to look at him.

He didn’t answer her right away. His boots clomped softly as he turned his back on her and walked towards the door, leaving a mud trail behind (not that he hadn’t left one coming in). He paused then, standing in the doorway, and glanced back. “Today there was a thirty-three percent chance that it would be sunny.” The rain thundered down on the rooftop, the background noise now sounding quite loud as it was brought to Rain’s attention. “But even though it’s been raining all day, the sun is still there, behind the clouds, and it will rise again tomorrow.”

Without another word, without waiting for a response from her, he was gone. Rain stared at the empty space for a moment longer and then glanced down at the wet papers before her.

“Thirty-three percent chance,” she whispered. A smile worked its way across her face.

She had worked with less.


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Tue Jan 26, 2010 8:18 pm

This is the longest short story that I have ever written… This is about a tragic event that happened to Martina Hamper when she was four. This is set in the collab of Ghostmaker and I and expands on what Theme 9 was about. Enjoy!

Phantom Agony


The cry came from the lips of a young child. She was sitting upright, in a bed resting against the far wall. Her small hands were closed tightly around her worn blanket and her entire body was shaking, trembling, quaking. Tears filled her wide blue eyes fast as the darkness pressed down on her from all sides.

“Mommy!” she cried out, much more desperate than before.

The cry was answered not by her mother, but by the sound of shattering glass. She whipped her head towards her bedroom door, eyes much wider than they had been before.

A shout reached her ears—that of a man’s. But there had been no men here since… Pain flared up in her heart and she could not continue the thought. Mommy’s scream filled the air then and she forgot all about Christmas Eve as her blood ran cold. Had she not awakened from her nightmares, like she had thought?

Harsh laughter rang out through the house and she scrunched her eyes tightly shut, willing it all away. The tears were coming faster now, as was her breath. Her fingers were clenched so tightly that her nails were cutting into her flesh through the thin blanket.

She let out a harsh breath of courage and then threw the blanket from her body at the sound of another shout, this one from someone else. The four-year-old’s bare feet hit the cool wooden floor and she paused for a moment more before racing to her door. Her shaking hand reached for the handle, but she froze up. Tears splashed down onto the ground and she trembled, her eyes tightly squeezed shut once more. What was going on? What was happening to Mommy?

She wanted to run, to cower back underneath the covers, but… there was something, something keeping her there, something…

She turned the handle of the door, cracking it open. There was another scream, but only darkness greeted her. Her body flinched back, but her feet didn’t move, as if they were buried in concrete.

“Where is it?” The voice rang out through the house, sounding harsh and demanding. The young child whimpered and clutched tighter to the door’s handle. She wanted Mommy. There was a crash and she flinched, this time her feet moving with her.

“Mommy,” she choked out. “M-mommy…”

“Where is it?” The question was thundered, the man obviously not getting the answered he wanted.

She didn’t know who they were or what they wanted, but she did know that she needed Mommy. Finding her was all that mattered; finding her would make this nightmare go away.

Her bare feet hit the hallway floor as she first took a wary step forward and then increased her pace to a run, pure terror gripping her in the darkness of the place.

She came to a halt at her mommy’s room. The door was ajar, hanging awkwardly off its hinges. Her frightened gaze stared into the darkness of the room, picking out three figures in the gloom and destruction. One she knew, her mommy, who was on the floor. Two were strangers, men, standing over her with pale skins. Her own skin tingled, but she scarcely noticed as she stared at the scene before her.

They had not noticed her yet, but instead their attention was focused solely on her mommy. The older woman was gasping for breath, her body stained in a dark liquid that could only be blood.

“I don’t…” The words were weak, spoken from Mommy’s lips.

The taller of the two men lifted his leg to stomp down on her arm, but then he paused and cocked his head to the side.

“Look Pierre, it has come straight to us,” the other said. His ragged blue and red coat swished slightly as he turned and a smile split across his young face. She took in his old uniform as she stared at him, and then found herself unable to look away as she met his red eyes.

“Martina,” her mommy wheezed as she turned her head to the side. The sound of her name was enough to free the young child from the spell she had been under and she jerked to life, jumping back and then looking towards her mommy.

“Ru…” The older woman’s words were cut off as the one called Pierre stomped down hard on her leg. The cracking of a bone rang out through the room and she let out a gasp, her face contorted in pain.

Martina simply stood frozen in place, her blue eyes flickering between Mommy and the two figures. Her body trembled as her blood ran cold. Something about these two creatures before her was familiar, though she knew that she had never seen them before. Her blood hummed, sang, telling her that something was different, that something was wrong.

The second figure, the shorter one, stepped towards the young girl, fangs glinting at her.

Her mommy was shouting at the two creatures, telling them to leave Martina alone, to take her instead, but both were deaf to her pleas. They were focused solely on the young child.

She stared at them, feeling strangely exhilarated.

“Why don’t you run?” the unnamed figure said, stopping just a foot away. She looked up at him with wide eyes, realizing for the first time that she was supposed to be afraid.

That realization seemed to open up the floodgate. Suddenly her legs were trembling and she was stumbling backwards, her eyes flickering every which way. Finally they landed on Mommy. Sheer panic could be seen in those brown eyes—so much that it was overwhelming. The young child took one last step back and then found herself on the ground as her legs gave out. Her head cracked against the wall, but she didn’t feel the pain. No, she was too busy staring up into the creature’s red gaze, her mother’s panic now reflected in her own eyes.

“Kill it, Amias,” the other growled. “Tear out its heart and let’s be done with it.”

For a moment, as Amias reached his claws towards her tender flesh, the young child’s panic overwhelmed her. She couldn’t move, except to cower back and hold her arms before her face, as if that could make him disappear, as well as his companion. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and her breath stopped.

For an instant, all was silent, all was still.

Dun. Dun.

Dun. Dun.

Her heart was the boom of thunder, ringing in her ears with power. Electricity raced through every drop of blood in her body. She was alive, aware, and buzzing with a new energy.

Without willing it upon her, Martina could feel her body disappear from view. It felt natural and easy, unlike the times that she was actually calling upon her power, and it felt more complete. Still, with it came a pang of sorrow. The man that had pushed her so hard to learn how to control her power was gone.


The voice, Amias’, startled her and tore her from the past. Slowly, she lifted up her arms, biting her lip as she did so. Amias was standing there, his claws only an inch from her body, but it was as if his red gaze was staring straight through her.

Her hands slowly fell to her sides and she slumped down lower. Her wide eyes were fixed on the creature’s claws, unable to look away. Amias growled and his hand turned into a fist as he punched the wall, denting the area where her head had been just seconds before. She flinched down lower, but didn’t make a sound as bits of debris showered down on her.

“She’s gone,” Amias grunted. He straightened up, his red eyes now scanning the hallway and the room in an almost frantic fashion.

“She can’t be gone,” Pierre growled, but his red eyes, too, stared straight through the young child. He looked as if he wanted to step forward, to check things out himself, but it was his foot that kept the panic-stricken woman from moving too far, and so he remained where he was.

The young child pushed herself up onto her feet. With narrowed eyes she stared at the creatures before her. She didn’t understand what was going on, just that she didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

Her excitement was short-lived, however, as the two creatures turned to her mommy. The young child stepped forward, her arm reaching out towards the woman, but something stopped her from so much as gasping in alarm. Her hand fell back to her side and she watched the scene before her with wide blue eyes.

Amias walked up to her mommy and grabbed the older woman by the throat, hauling her up into the air as if she weighed nothing at all. He slammed her into the wall, his eyes cold and unforgiving.

“Where is it?” he hissed, his fangs right next to Mommy’s ear.

She stared at him, uncomprehending, but too weak to speak.

Martina took a step forward and then another, until she stood in the doorway of the room. She didn’t move inside, didn’t say a word, but simply watched. They were talking about her; they were hurting Mommy because of her. That realization was enough to make her stay, when she wanted nothing more but to run.

“We know that you are harboring the little experiment,” Pierre said. He hadn’t moved from his position, but instead was staring at the doorway—and straight through Martina. She shivered at the hatred in his gaze and had to place a hand on the doorframe in order to steady herself. “And she has powers that we were not aware of. We were told that she could disappear from sight—not… this.”

A whimper slipped from the young child’s lips at the ferocity of his gaze. In return, his lips turned up in a sick smile.

“I don’t…,” Mommy gasped out, but then could say no more as she broke into a coughing fit. Blood hit the ground.

Pierre didn’t acknowledge her words, but instead held up his right hand and flicked it backwards. The other creature glanced curiously at his partner’s back, but dropped his hostage without question. The older woman didn’t move from where she lay, but simply doubled over, still coughing.

The young child wanted to run to Mommy, to have her hold her in her arms, but she couldn’t move. Pierre’s gaze held her, even if he did not know it.

“Burn this place to the ground,” the taller figure murmured. He stared through Martina for a moment longer, and then turned his back on her as he looked at his partner. “It is young, and will perish in the flames.”

Martina’s mother tried to sit up, tried to speak, but she could not even force out the ‘no’ that was on her lips. Amias kicked her in the stomach once and she doubled back over, her eyes closed. She was still coughing and breathing heavy, but no longer was she struggling to get up.

In the blink of an eye, the two vampires were gone. They brushed by Martina so closely that she could feel the coldness emitting from their pale skins. Pierre looked back once, just before disappearing from sight. His red eyes were hard and filled with enough venom to best even the most poisonous of creatures.

Martina didn’t move, immobilized by the spell the creature had cast with his bright red eyes.

They had been looking for her; they had found her. She didn’t understand what had happened after that. All she knew was that she was scared, and that she wanted Mommy. The surge of energy and strength she had felt earlier was gone now, leaving her feeling almost dizzy with weakness.

“My baby…”

The young girl turned at the wheezing voice of Mommy. She took a step towards the older woman, whimpering softly as she did so. She didn’t like the hurt look in her mommy’s eyes, or the scared way at which Mommy was looking at her, like the older woman couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“What has he done to you?”

Instinctively she knew who Mommy spoke of—the man that had walked out on them only a few days prior, the man who had pushed her and pushed her to explore her power of invisibility, the man that had only treated her like a daughter when her mommy was around.

Martina didn’t say a word, but instead slowly approached Mommy. She placed a small hand on the woman’s cheek and the blood that oozed from there. Her blue eyes filled up with tears, and then those tears spilled down onto the ground.

“I’m scared,” the young child whispered.

“Martina…” With great effort, the woman forced herself up into a sitting position and then reached out, stroking her daughter’s cheek with a bloody hand. “I need you to be brave for me, okay? Can you do that?”

The young child nodded, though she felt anything but brave. She just felt scared and terrified and worried and… and… She wanted her mommy to comfort her, to protect her, to just be there, but something told her that she was all alone.

Her mother smiled at the nod and brushed a loose strand of Martina’s black hair back behind her ear. “Run, Martina. Don’t look back.” She leaned forward, the movement a great strain on her body, and then she kissed her young child once on the forehead. “Go.”

She shoved her child then, and Martina stumbled backwards, arms flailing. Her tears fell even faster as hurt replaced her confusion and fear.


The young child turned, but then couldn’t help but glance back at Mommy.

“Go! Scram! Get out of here!”

The child choked back a sob and then fled from the room, noticing for the first time that there was smoke in the air. She ran, coughing as the filthy air filled her lungs. She ran, as suddenly fire surrounded her from all sides. She ran and ran, with tears in her eyes and fear in her heart.

There was a loud crackle above and she looked up to see a portion of the roof falling towards her. A scream tore itself from her lips and she stumbled back, her hands held up before her. The huge section hit the ground before her, showering her with bits of burning debris. She screamed again, as her bare flesh burned with pain and her tears came even faster.

Frantically, she looked this way and that, but saw no way out. Flames surrounded her at all sides, leaping at her, eager for her flesh. She flinched back, sobbing quite loudly now. She felt none of the bravado she had felt earlier. She just wanted out, wanted her mommy—but she had been told to run.

A beam fell, landing right beside her and jutting out into the fire before her. She cowered back, but then it hit her that this was her only chance to get out. Terror filled her, but still she rushed forward, jumping onto the beam. She didn’t pause for a second, but kept right on running. All she could feel was heat—inside her body and out. Her body was slowing; the world was becoming blurry.

The next thing she knew, the beam had disappeared out from under her feet and she was falling. She screamed, her arms flailing as she tumbled to the wooden floor. She rolled over onto her back and pushed herself up into a sitting position, her hands holding her up from behind. Wide blue eyes stared at the fallen beam, watching in horror as flames consumed the dry wood.

A few more chunks of the roof landed beside her and she cowered back, the fire reflected in her eyes. She was… She was going to die. The young child climbed to her feet and then ran blindly down the hall, crying as she went. This time she held an arm over her mouth and nose, in a weak effort to ward off the smoke.

The house was collapsing all around her and she couldn’t find a way out. She was coughing wildly now, unable to stop. Her throat was raw from all of the smoke and her eyes were filled with tears. She was scared, so scared. Everywhere she turned, there was nothing but fire.

A large crack from above caused her to snap her head upwards. The entire roof was shaking, engulfed in flames, threatening to fall.

“Mommy!” she screamed, the sound coming from deep within her throat, but the only answer she received was that of the sound of the roof coming down completely. It collapsed down all around her frozen form, knocking her down as if she was nothing more than a rag doll.

Her body exploded with pain. She screamed as she curled into as much of a ball as she could, her hands over her head. The debris continued to fall. Two flat chunks landed over her, they stopping one another from crushing her. Smaller pieces rained down on her, burying her. She didn’t move, but simply stayed in her little ball, coughing and crying and coughing. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t concentrate. Then the pain was gone and there was nothing.

The ruins of the two buildings smoldered into the next day and then the day after. Nobody from the nearby town ventured near, as the rumors flew like crazy about what had started the blazes and why. Nobody wanted anything to do with the Hamper home, or the lab that the father had worked at. Something strange had been going on with that family—something that they didn’t want to be involved with.

So nobody was there, on the eve of the second day, when the rubble of the Hamper home began to shift. Ashes swirled around the place of the movement and a child’s cough rang out through the still desert.

The coughs faded away and then the child gave the rubble a shove once more, trying to force her way to the surface. Things shifted above her and another layer of ashes drifted down to her, causing her coughing to start back up.

Her throat was raw, making it difficult to breathe, and her body was weak, but still she fought to rise to the surface, knowing that she would otherwise die.

After resting for a moment, the young child tried again, pushing with all her might against the smaller of the debris. She worked slower than her frantic movements just moments before. As young as she was, she knew that she would crush herself if she wasn’t careful.

Finally she shoved the last piece of rubble aside and poked her head up into the fresh air. She breathed in deeply, only to trigger another coughing fit. When it subsided, she pulled her worn body completely free of the hole she had been in and climbed to her feet.

For the first time, she saw the damage that had been done to her home. Tears filled her eyes, as she realized that everything she had once known and loved was gone.

Snippets of the attack surfaced in her mind, but she shut them out. It was bad to remember.

The tears trickled down her cheeks and splashed down onto the warm ashes—the desert would keep them warm for a good while. A tremor ran through the child’s body and she bowed her head.

The ashes would remain here, but she could not.

Martina stumbled through the ruins of her home, her mind as blank as a slate. All she knew was that she had to get away—from here, from the memories, from the pain.

Never again would she come back.

Never again would she remember.



"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Mon May 10, 2010 12:45 am

She Never Told Him

She never told him that she loved him.

She saw him every day—his muscled body performing the necessary labors of his job.

She heard him every day—his chatter keeping her company as she prepared the meals.

She smelled him every day—his comforting scent filling her nose as he sat beside her.

She felt him every day—his hand accidently brushing hers when he helped to clean the kitchen.

But their lips never met.

He never saw her light blush for what it was when he looked her way.

He never heard the slight longing in her soft voice when she answered him back.

He never smelled her true scent, not drawing close enough to smell it underneath the food she cooked.

He never felt the tingling his touch created on her skin.

She never told him that she loved him.

And he never told her that he loved her.

Yet each day they danced their little dance, both hoping that the other would see, but afraid of what would happen if that day came.

He knew just how to make her laugh,

And she knew just how to make him smile.

He would talk of the sea, of freedom,

And she would long for something she could never have.

He had no fears but one,

And she had many but his rejection was the most.

He never told her that he loved her,

And she never told him that she loved him.

Not sure what brought this on. It's not my usual style, but I kind of like it.

The 'she' is my slave character, Siv. The 'he' is Plaguewalker's pirate, Connor.

Not sure of exactly when this is set, but I get the feeling that it's before the RP started that they were in. Siv's been a slave on the pirate ship for quite a few years, long enough for a silent love to blossum.


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Fri Jun 11, 2010 8:35 pm

Another Siv and Connor story. This one comes from something Plague and I wrote together. That scene didn't go very well for Siv or Connor... This is in Siv's POV.

You didn't say anything. You just let me walk away. It was your words that caused this, and it was your silence that made it stay.

Did you know I cried that night?

No, how could you? You left me alone. You didn't come, when I needed you most.

Everybody heard. Everybody knows. They all saw what happened, what you said and what you didn't say. You made me look the fool.

Did you think I wouldn't care, because I'm a slave? But I do.

The words you didn't say hurt more than the words you said.

The actions you didn't do hurt more than the actions you did.

You just let me walk away, and that hurt more than anything else in the world.


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Sun Jun 13, 2010 8:42 pm

Some stories I'm not sure whether to stick them in this thread or my original works... This is another Siv piece, when she was a young child, still learning the art of dance under her cruel master, Zaroff. And Zaroff must have landed a show for richer people, to be preparing for an indoor show... (Btw, Zaroff is 'Master').

The music ended, and the dancer froze, with her body arched forward, her arms arched up and back, and her head tilted towards the sky. After the last echoes of the music had faded away, she curtsied and then dutifully stepped back, her head bowed and her violet eyes focused on the ground.

"That was pathetic," the man in blue said as he stepped towards her, his boots sounding quite loud in the silence of the empty theatre. He circled her, but she didn't let her heaving body so much as flinch. "You watched me more than you paid attention to the dance, the beat. Your movements were abrupt. You weren't feeling the music, weren't letting it course through your veins. A simple breeze could have pushed you over at your finish."

Tears welled in the young child's eyes, but her will alone kept them from falling.

He walked away from her and signaled to the musicians. "Again."

She stepped back, stumbling in her haste to comply. The music started as she was still trying to find her footing, and it screeched to a sudden halt as Master walked towards her. She cowered back as he stood before her, fear causing her stomach to churn.


She flinched at the sound of her name and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

He knelt down beside her and grabbed the leather collar around her neck, dragging her closer to him. His lips brushed against her ear. "We perform tonight. Don't disappoint me. A young mutt like you wouldn't last long on the streets."

He released her trembling form and walked away, not even sparing her a backwards glance. She watched him signal to the musicians, and the music started once more.

This time, no faults could be found in the young child's dance, except for the tears that fell from her violet eyes and splattered onto the stage below.


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Wed Jun 23, 2010 2:22 pm

Another theme! This one deals with Morgan Raye, from a collaboration between me, Shadow Moonseye, and Plague. I'm actually working on turning it into an RP. Morgan and Tadi are mine, Sydney belongs to Shadow, and Seraph is Plague's.

Dead Wrong

"You said it for my sake
That I would not lose my way
When I was astray..."

- The Fray

“Can’t catch me!”

That was all she said before she turned and ran. Her bare feet slapped down onto the green lawn, and her short brown hair thumped against the back of her neck. She smiled, elated, as she glanced back. The young boy was simply standing there, staring at her in shock. He hadn’t done anything to make her run off like this, but that was what made it so fun. He was the new kid on the block, and didn’t know yet not to play with her.

She turned back to watch where she was going, giggling and laughing as she increased her pace. She could beat him; she prided herself on being the fastest kid on the block.

“Tag!” A hand tapped her back and she stumbled forward, her mind blank except for one thought and one thought only—he had beat her.

She turned to face him, to find him smiling and laughing. He held out a hand for her to shake, and she scowled. He wasn’t even breathing hard, like she was. How had he caught up to her so easily?

“Tadi,” he said, his green eyes whirling as they studied her. “Why’d you run? I haven’t committed any offence towards you, have I?”

Her frown deepened at his speech. He used big words, like a grown-up, though he looked to be the same age as her—six. What a show-off. “I don’t like you. Now leave me alone.” With those words, she turned her back to him and held her nose up in the air. She folded her arms as well and tapped her foot against the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to leave,” she responded snidely. She didn’t move from her position, but continued to hold her head high. She wished that he would hurry up and leave, though, because she was getting tired of standing in this position.

“Oh.” There was a moment of silence and then he poked his head over her shoulder. The sudden sight of him startled her and she stumbled back, knocking both of them to the ground. He laughed, but her response was a low growl as she untangled herself from him. Could he not understand that she didn’t like him?

After glancing at her glowering expression, he sobered up and there was another silence, this one slightly more awkward than the last. After dusting off his black shirt, he looked over at her. “I think that you’re lonely. You could use a friend.”

“I don’t need friends. I can handle my life by myself.”

“I don’t doubt that you can,” he said back, his voice quiet. “You seem strong, independent. I think that you can handle whatever life throws at you.” He smiled his irritating little smile at her. “But it helps to have friends.”

She pushed herself up onto her feet and then brushed her clothing off in a haughty fashion. She turned her back on him and walked away. Her head was held high, but she was nearly growling with her anger towards the boy. Nobody beat her—nobody. And what was all that talk about friends? At least he understood that she could handle things on her own.

Morgan scratched another notch in the wall and then stepped back to admire her handiwork. Her brown eyes scanned over them all, counting them though she knew the number by heart. Nine—she had been here nine long days.

The teen’s eyes closed and she let her head fall against the wall, her forehead resting on those notches. For a moment, she thought that she was going to cry like a pansy, but the tears never came. She was sure that Seraph had this whole place monitored with cameras, and she wasn’t going to let them see her cry.

The soldiers were out, which just added to Morgan’s boredom. At least when she was yelling at their leader, Sydney, she could feel her blood pumping and it seemed like life had some kind of purpose. Now though, the house was empty aside from her and Seraph, but she didn’t want to bother the intel. She would never admit it to anyone, but Seraph scared her.

She pushed herself away from the wall and plopped herself down onto the simple bed. The butter knife landed beside her. She placed her elbows onto her legs and then let her chin rest in her hands. Her eyes stared at the muted blue carpet, but she didn’t really see it. No, her mind was far away from the house that was her prison.

For the first time in a long time, she wondered how Tadi was doing. She had never really thought about it before, but he’d be the only one who would know she was in trouble. She ran away from home on a frequent basis, and those higher up had bigger problems to worry about than a teenage girl on the run. Her father was probably just coming to the realization that she was gone, but he wouldn’t care. In fact, he had probably had a celebration drink at the realization.

Abruptly she left the bare bedroom. Her brown boots made no sound on the carpet; she had been practicing her stealth when alone, so as to be ready if a chance every presented itself for escape. Seraph had made sure that there wasn’t much of a chance for that, but still there was some part of her that couldn’t help but hope.

She wandered through the long hallway, past all of the bedrooms, past the living room, through the dining room, and finally into the kitchen. The entire house was as bare as her room, having just enough furnishings and food for a living, but leaving nothing for entertainment. Of course, this house hadn’t been furnished with a teenage girl in mind, but for soldiers on a mission.

She stepped inside the kitchen, and her head snapped up. Her eyes stared at the stove, where she could have sworn that she had seen movement just seconds before. She could practically see it now—Tadi making a comment on how late she had dragged her butt out of bed, and then flipping a pancake up into the air, just to show-off. Normally she would have made some grumpy response, but the mere thought of how things used to be caused her lips to turn up in the slightest smile.

Once she realized what she was doing, the smile turned into a frown and she gave a shake of her head. “I don’t need anyone,” she growled as she strode forward. “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

She pulled the silverware door open with such force that it threw the right side off of its wheeled track, and then she dropped the butter knife inside. She attempted to shove the drawer back, but when it wouldn’t go, she simply left it and slid down to the cool floor, her back pressed against the cupboards.

The teen pulled her knees up close to her body and wrapped her arms around them. “What went wrong?”

She had thought that she could handle anything and everything, that her Natural could keep anything bad from happening to her. But Fay couldn’t stop her from doing stupid things, and that had been exactly what had landed her here, a prisoner of an advance team of soldiers.

At that thought she lifted her left arm and her eyes made their way to the nearly invisible wristlet that could be found there. She touched the thing and bit her lip. It was the wristlet that kept her here, even when the house was as empty as it was now.

The teen let her arm fall back down to her side and then she turned around, leaning back against the counter. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes as she rocked back and forth. Nine days was a long time to be trapped here, a long time to go without Fay.

Fay was magic, and hers had been nullified. Deep down she knew that it was through her own stupidity, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear, only worse.

She let out the breath and abruptly pushed herself back to her feet. Her head was bowed and her entire body was trembling. “Why?” she whispered, a wave of helplessness washing over her. Against her will, tears trickled down her cheeks and then hit the tiled floor below. “I don’t… understand.” She drew in another deep breath and then turned and slammed a fist against the counter. “You’re supposed to protect your own, Fay!” she shouted, too angry to care that she was yelling at a Great Spirit she didn’t even believe in, and who was thought to be dead by those that did.

She turned around, but, after a moment, turned back towards the counter once again. She held up a fist and opened her mouth to yell some more, but then bit her lip and let the fist fall slowly to the countertop. What was the point of yelling, when there was nobody around to yell at?

She pulled a stool over and sat down, slouched over and with her elbows on the counter. She sat still for a minute, which was a long time for her, and then she let her head fall down onto the counter’s surface. Her left hand drummed along the countertop and her right leg swung back and forth.

There was silence, except for the ticking of the clock up above. The minute hand moved slowly, until it had made nearly a full circle. Still, Morgan sat there, her leg swinging back and forth. It was another hour before her legs stopped their swinging, and another before she buried her head in her hands.

What was the point in being strong, when there was nobody around and her world was falling apart?

“You lied to me,” she whispered, though Tadi was nowhere near. “You lied to me…”

The tears came then, and this time she didn’t fight them off.

She was lost.


"Every sinner has a future; every saint has a past." - Jayy Von Monroe

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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Sat Jul 10, 2010 2:30 pm

This takes place in the Skies universe, in the sequel we talked about but never got to. Reba McEntire's song, One Promise Too Late, came on the radio while I was working on homework, and this just came out. It's told in the POV of Jolene, a girl who falls for the werewolf Kal (Ghostmaker's), but he's already in love with the werewolf Kami.

One Promise Too Late

The first time she saw him was when he fearlessly threw himself into the fray to save her life.

He was younger than those that attacked her, but yet he bashed first one than the other like it was a game, until they all had fallen.

He paused for only a moment, to wipe the sweat from his brow, then turned to face her, questioning if she was alright.

It wasn’t until afterwards, when she had followed him back to his group, that she realized he already had a girl.

She was a wild thing, always throwing fits and having to have everything her way. She cried a lot, yelled a lot, and pushed away everyone around her. But she wasn’t ugly, fair instead, and she had known the man for much longer than she.

The new girl knew she could never have the man of her dreams. She was beautiful, kind, and talented, but he had already given his heart to the other.

She had never loved someone so passionately before, but never once did she make a move towards him. It would do no good.

She had come along one promise too late.


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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Mon Jul 12, 2010 8:35 pm

Another Jolene story from the sequel Skies universe that we never got to. I wrote this one shortly after the other, when Reba McEntire's 'And Still' song came on the radio. Kal belongs to Ghostmaker.

And Still

She drew up her knees close to her, and leaned her head against the cold window. Her brown eyes stared out at the rain slipping down the glass, at the blurry city landscape past the drops, but she saw none of it.

There was a knock on the door, but it fell on deaf ears. She had tuned the whole world out, but the hurt would not go away. No tears fell, but they didn’t need to for her to know how a broken heart felt.


Her body stiffened at his voice, and she bit down on her lip.

“Jolene? What’s the matter?”

Everything was the matter, but she couldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t tell him anything, no matter how much it was tearing her up inside. She didn’t want to trouble him; she couldn’t add more worry to his life.

“Jolene, don’t make me break down the door.”

Her heart leapt in her chest, but still she didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. He cared for her.

“Just leave the spoiled brat to sulk.”

At the sound of the female voice, her heart sunk back down. But not in the same way she cared for him.

“Kami…” His voice was lower, a warning growl at the other girl. Still, a tear trickled down her cheek, at the sound of her name from his lips. “Don’t.”

Was he still so clueless? Didn’t he understand why the werewolf girl hated her?

Another tear trickled down her cheek before splashing onto the window pane. She could still hear them, talking, though their voices were lower. The rain masked their words, but not the sounds of their voices, mingling together until they had become one.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head, her loose black hair falling before her face.

“I love you.”



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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   Thu Jul 22, 2010 12:12 am

A Fay piece. I wrote this when I was working on turning the story into an RP. This is of Morgan, when she was a young child, and of how invisible she was to her father.

His pen paused, and the man chewed his lip thoughtfully as he stared down at the half-completed sentence. It sounded too… complacent. Displeased with it, he waved his hand and muttered some unintelligible sound under his breath. The words faded away, as if they had never been there in the first place. In his small neat handwriting, he started the sentence anew.

There was nothing in the small office to mark the passage of time. A burning candle sat on the desk, but it didn’t drip flicker, didn’t drip wax. His pen scratched against the paper, the only sound in the room, but it was silent at times, and at others it flew across the page. Many hours may have flown by, or as little as thirty minutes. Time held no meaning in the room.

He scrawled his signature across the bottom—not his real name, of course; never his real name. The letter finished, he let the pen fall to the desk before leaning back in his chair, lost in thought.

The letter was harsh, but he didn’t care. The operation would take years at best, and he couldn’t afford any blunders. When this was all over, if things went according to plan, he would be in a most favorable position.

The man gave an abrupt shake of his head and pushed the chair back. He drew his tired frame upright, stretched, and ran a hand through his short brown hair, feeling the strain he was putting on his body as he did so. How long had he been sitting there, sorting through paperwork?

That was all the thought he gave his work as he turned and made his way up the stairs. He was careful to place the trapdoor back into place, and to lock his closet door as he stepped out. The key was slipped into his shoes as he made his way to the kitchen.

The room was spacious, and clean. An island counter sat in the middle, with three stools surround it. Straight behind the counter was the sink straight, with a large refrigerator to the right, and a pantry to the left. The floor was tiled and a soft brown in color, almost flesh tone.

It was to the silver refrigerator he moved first, pulling from it a bottle of jelly. From the pantry came the peanut butter. He set them both on the island counter, and then took two slices from the open bag of bread. His mouth curved into a frown at that, but he said nothing and simply twisted the bag shut.

The white bread was still soft, and so he spread the peanut butter and jelly over the slices. He said nothing as he placed the two slices together. The actions were automatic, and his mind was far away from such a simple task.

The sandwich made, he nibbled at it as he wandered back to his hidden office.

And the little girl eating her own sandwich at the island counter could only watch in silence.


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PostSubject: Re: Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises   

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Lair of Stories and Jewels - Writing Exercises
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