I’ve been getting more and more into my original fiction again but it’s hard because it’s been so long since I’ve touched a lot of my stories, and as such characters (Months for some, years for another) and so I’ve been writing more drabbles and snippets by finding some prompts.
Anyway, some more of Pasha and co.
Also let me know if my theme makes it too hard to read my fiction for anybody. I really don’t want that.
Another snippet about Ariel and Pasha. Pasha’s POV. Not really the beginning of the story, but the beginning of their relationship. Again a mention of Ariel’s sister being a tit because she is.
Nobody from Winterdome ever left because nowhere else would provide such challenge for the natives and nobody ever wanted to go to Winterdome because that was a stupid idea.
Which was why Pasha was more than shocked to find the man in front of him asking if he knew the way.
Another small snippet exploring my OCs, Ariel and Pasha. I have to say this might be one of my favorite things I’ve written in awhile.
So more of Pasha. Third time I’ve posted with him and Ariel now (this one even as Sinclair, Ariel’s sister). Had fun with this- Sinclair is enjoyable in a horrible sort of way.
Pasha is forced to be a guest in Sinclair’s home. As such, he’s forced to have a little chat with the demonic woman.
Either an OC or something based from the word: Lily
OC and Lily? Anon, you are a mind reader. This is the easiest thing yet to write. And a joy, as well! The (rewritten) beginning of an original story ahead.
It was in the grand fairy tale castle that Lillian grew up. Confined to the walls as the only heir to the king. The only failure of the great King. A daughter and not a son. A stain that was not her fault. But she was brought up knowing and believing that it was a simple fact.
But that would not stop her, slow her, hinder her. For she was the Princess and heir to the throne. She was the only child to the beautiful Queen and great King. So she was to be perfect in all other manners. She was named after the flower of their God, named for the humility of men and the Lady’s Tears that she cried for the loss of her children. She was brought up under the greatest minds and excelled at all her studies.
She grew into the molds made for her. A beautiful princess with long hair always braided and twisted in the latest fashion. Her cheek bones sharp and lips red. She was praised for her looks, for the parital heterochromia. She was doted on for her small frame and thick lashes. What she wore became the fashion for the nobles. What she said became excited gossip among the kingdom. Her coming marriage to Prince Phoebus was filling everybody’s minds, the romance catching all the young maidens attention.
Lillian was the most beloved of everybody. Or,most everybody. Her mother was always depressed, sad, defeated, and locked away in her quarters with but her hand maidens. Her father, she thought, had loved her. Doted on her, was proud of her. She surrounded herself with only those that loved her and only participated in activities that she knew she was good at.
Perhaps, then, that was her downfall. She, however, thought that it was simply unfair how difficult it was to get out of the castle without attracting attention. She had attempted to escape twice now from her home since she had overheard her father speaking to Duilio. Petulant and tired of all the running, she all but stomped towards the library, having it in her mind to demand that Michele, the only tutor she still had, help her escape to freedom.
"You’re a far kinder beauty than I ever deserved." Original Prose
This is something that has gone over and over in my mind and I feel like I need to write it now. So yeah, under the cut is a romantic short story. I think it’s romantic anyway… I don’t know… maybe it’s just another piece of the human experience.
First off, this is well written and people should read it. It’s in first person. But if I can work passed that so can you.
It’s odd in some places. But it’s a short story so it’s to be expected. Short stories always make me ask questions.
Of course, that somebody else can write short stories makes me cry jealous tears because I just can’t. Everything I write is either a drabble or it goes on forever and ever. Still, guys, give it a read. And then tell her that it’s a beautiful piece of literature.