Short Story: Owner of the Bank of Souls

Meg is dying–fast. There’s only one way for her boyfriend to save her. The Bank of Souls.

“Tomorrow it’ll come and tomorrow she’ll be dead!” Danner stood over my cot, all dark and shadowy, though the fireplace crackling behind him did cast light on one thing—his shining green eyes. Or I guess that’s two things technically. To the right of the fireplace, Birdie hunched, sunken and gray like the armchair he sat in.

“Well darn, Danny,” I coughed, “quite the inspiration.” 

He leaned over and softened some. “Shh, Meg, please, just rest.” 

“Well, according to you, I’m about to have plenty of that in eight hours—give or take.” 

His glistening eyes laid on me and though the darkness in my cabin’s living room obscured it, he curved his lips in a smirk—the same smirk he gave me at the prison courtyard before introducing himself as my future husband. But like my health over the last forty-eight hours, it quickly vanished. 

“All we can do is pray for dayligh’,” Birdie said, his voice hoarse.

“I’m sick of praying, Birdie!” Danner rose. “We’ve got to do something!” 

“You willin’ to go out there durin’ curfew and risk meetin’ the courier halfway?”

“I think my odds at taking a bullet are better than hers right now.”

“That so?” Now Birdie rose, wrinkled and still hunched, he managed to meet brawny Danner eye-to-one-eye. Like it did for Danner, the flames shined off Birdie’s single iris and only deepened the shadow in his crater of the other. “I know the odds, kid, and they ain’t good. You’re better off sittin’ your stubborn butt down and waitin’ for her medicine to come.”

 “Dad, please—” I shut my mouth. Birdie’s singular stare darted to me. Despite the warmth, a shiver tore through my bones. 

Birdie walked around Danner and slowly approached. “What did you call me?”

“Dad,” I said it lower, but stronger somehow. Of all the eighteen years he’d raised me, never once had I called him Dad. He never taught me to. 

A tear welled and he knelt beside me and laid his heavy, thumbless hand on my whole one—another friendly reminder from the dictatorship not to ever buy cow meat from the black market again. “Darnit, Meg. I told you what to call me.”

“God forbid, right? Even on my death bed.”

“You’re not gonna die, Meg.” 

“Just like Mom wasn’t going to?”

A tear escaped and he quickly turned away. My own eyes remained dry. I didn’t have the luxury of thirty years of memories. Not even a full twenty-four hours. I only had the reminder of the curse, the plague I was from birth. 

Danner returned to my side, soft again. “Do you want me to stay?”

Sweat dripped from my temples; heat, pain, and love will do that to you. “Kinda.”

He chuckled. “But I’ve got to do something, Meg.”

“Then kiss me.”

He grabbed my hand in his and whispered, “With this audience? I’ll really die before you do.”

“Romeo didn’t care.”

“Yeah, and look how that ended up.”

I sighed. “But unlike Juliet…I am really dying, Danner.” 

His head bowed and he kissed my hand. Hot tears landed on my skin. He peered up again. After what felt like eons, he slowly leaned in and pressed his soft lips to mine. Bitter sweet, like black coffee and milk. Another luxury we’d been deprived of for years. My aching muscles eased. My eyelids grew heavy. My breathing hastened. 

Danner recoiled. “Meg? Meg!”

“Meg!” Birdie cried out. Their loud voices drifted as my head throbbed. Burning stabs cut through my heart. I gasped and grabbed my chest. But I couldn’t feel my hand. Only my heart. The rapid slicing. From every angle. Cutting through my veins. Ripping at my arteries. My lungs squeezed in. A million pounds. I dropped back. This. Was. It. My odds. Maybe I’d meet. Mom.

 Finally. Say hi. Or sorry.

Blackness reigned.

***                                                               

“Meg!” Danner shouted, her lifeless, thin body like the weight of a child in his arms. He held her tightly. “Please, don’t do this. I need you.” Tears soaked his face. And rage consumed his heart. They did this to her. To her mother. To his grandparents. Their neighbors. Scraps and shackles. Crap hospitals. Criminalizing private anything. 

Birdie dropped to his knees and sobbed. “Meg, my Megan. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Danner shut his eyes. Meg’s face that day in the prison courtyard filled his mind. Still thin, but fuller. Her skin glowing with sweat and her dark eyes plain yet penetrating. Makeup was for rich girls. Not that she needed it. 

She sat against the iron gate, writing on a torn piece of bed sheet with a pen she’d stolen from an officer. She had wrapped the flashy pen in some bed sheet, too. Danner was the only one who saw her do it. 

The meat-head sat in his cozy desk chair, writing in the new prisoners on his clipboard with an old, red-feathered ink pen. He prided his penmanship—refusing to use the government provided tablet. Meg had been eyeing the pen the whole time she waited in line. By the time she was third, she feigned the most believable sneeze attack you’d ever seen. Everyone panicked—not wanting to catch the latest pestilence—even Meat-Head. He sprang from his comfy chair like someone jammed a dagger through his cheeks, dropping his pen and notepad. Meanwhile, Meg stumbled forward, still sneezing, and slapped her hands onto the table. As she turned around, she swiped the pen and slipped it into the back of her pants, her sneeze explosion finally ceasing. 

Meat-Head was so disturbed he’d called in backup and took an abrupt break from his post. 

And that’s when the thought hit Danner and he just knew it. He knew one day he’d marry that crazy girl. And he had to tell her. 

“I saw what you did.” Danner opened with.

She stopped writing and looked up at him with those eyes. “And?”

He smirked. “And I’m your future husband.” 

Meg huffed, but then smiled, too.

Danner opened his eyes. And gently pulled Meg away from his chest. Her mouth hung open slightly. But now she was dead.

A knock rattled the front door.

 Birdie continued sobbing as Danner carefully laid Meg on the cot and then rushed to the door. He opened it. Night masked the surrounding woods up to the porch, but a ray of moonlight snuck through the trees and onto a brown paper box on the doorstep. Danner glanced around. The courier couldn’t of disappeared that fast. Danner grabbed the box, slowly, before shutting the door and locking it.

Birdie looked up, his face wet with tears and snot. He frowned at the odd package as Danner scanned it. Not the Black Market’s usual white, imitation government box with realistic insignias and a fake return address.

“Who’s it from?” Birdie finally spoke.

“Doesn’t say.”

“Then don’t open it. Could be a bomb or something from the Regime.”

Danner clutched the box, his eyes traveling to Meg, her skin paler than ever. He strode from the room and into the half kitchen. He snatched a knife from a drawer, set the box on the counter, and then sliced the tape that sealed it. 

As Danner opened the box, Birdie stepped into the kitchen. A clipboard with a paper lay at the bottom. 

“What the hell is it?”

Danner slowly removed the clipboard and read the crimson printed words:

I, Danner Adam Mitchel, on this sixth day of September, year 2033, hereby choose to pledge that in the place of Megan Marie Blackwell, I shall offer my life in exchange for hers. 

Danner’s heart pounded. Beneath a line with an empty space, cursive writing spelled: Anticus Mordem, Owner of the Bank of Souls.

Danner looked inside the box again. A red-feathered pen lay in the center. 

Birdie rushed to his side and grabbed the clipboard. As he read it, he shook his head. “What kinda sick bast—”

Danner clasped the pen and snatched the clipboard back, then walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Meg still lay there. Her skin now yellowing. Danner approached her. He suddenly remembered what he’d stowed in his left pocket. A ring he’d traded five batteries and a week’s worth of flour for. A six month’s wage. He had the proposal all planned. 

He’d built a small table from two of his dining chairs and set it in his backyard beneath the best looking tree he could find and then sprinkled it with purple flowers—her favorite color. He was going to cook wheat pasta for her and then ask the big question. But before he could, she got food poisoning from spoiled berries and now here they were, two days later. 

Danner reached in his pocket and removed the ring. Rose gold. Plain but beautiful, like Meg. Lifting her limp hand, he slid the ring onto her ring finger. “If this works, I’ll see you on the other side, Juliet.” He gave her one more kiss before pressing the red-feathered pen on the empty line and filling it with his name. 

A pang thrust through his chest. He staggered before hitting the floor. 

“Danner!” Birdie dropped beside him and began compressing his chest. “No, you ain’t goin’, too, kid! C’mon!” He pushed down hard. Over and over.

“Dad?” Meg’s voice. 

Danner’s chest seared at the sound and he forced himself to look at her. Her skin shone its normal pale, kissed with red. Her dark eyes alive—and terrified. 

As she jumped out of the cot, Birdie stopped compressing. “Megan? But…”

Megan took over. She pumped and pumped. Pressed her lips to Danner’s. Breathed out. Pumped some more. Breathed out…

“No, no, Danner, don’t you dare!” She cried as she pressed harder. 

The pain spread until it swallowed. And Danner gave his life.

***                                                              

“No!” I cupped Danner’s cheeks. His eyes were open. But distant. I touched his neck. Nothing. I slowly scooted away. What kind of nightmare am I living? I died only to wake up to this? No. It isn’t real. I’m still dead. Maybe this is hell. My punishment for killing Mom during labor. 

“Meg.” Birdie smashed my dark hopes. He held out a clipboard, his hand trembling. 

I took it. Read the words. And Danner’s signature. 

I shook my head. “This isn’t possible.”

“You…” Birdie’s voice quaked, his blue eye wide. “You died. I—I saw it. And then Danner signed. Dropped to the ground.” His body shaking, he muttered the rest. 

My heart raced. Beside Danner lay a red-feathered pen—exactly like the one I swiped from that tool at the prison. I snatched it and then noticed a rose-gold ring on my wedding finger. Oh my God.

I clasped my mouth. My head thrashed as my mind swirled. This is hell. A living hell. 

I closed my eyes. Tried to breathe. To think. What would Mom do? Dumb question. I’d never know. Birdie forbade asking about her. And he never brought her up. She could’ve been a dream this whole time. A good dream. Not like this. I took another deep breath. And opened my eyes. 

I looked at Danner. Gone. Somewhere else. But I wasn’t ready to let him go. 

I ripped the paper from the clipboard and shoved the feathered pen in my back pocket. As I stood to my feet, Birdie did, too.

“What are you doin’?”

“I’m going to find this Anticus Mordem guy. And make him bring Danner back.”

Make Life Really Freaking Hard For Your Hero

There comes a point in your hero’s journey where stuff has got to become very, very difficult. In the beginning, we’re meeting her for the first time, and life doesn’t have to be so super duper hard right now. But something’s gotta go wrong shortly. Once we’ve got a taste of her “ordinary world” what life is like normally for her, that’s when we throw something at her: the inciting incident–and then just keep pounding her with bigger and bigger problems–consistent resistance, obstacle after obstacle, one step forward, two steps back. BUT, don’t forget that leading up to this incident and its problematic cousins there must be tension. Nope, we don’t need an action packed fight scene showing off her nifty moves. We don’t need a bunch of interior monologue info-dumping her life to the reader, but we do need that sense of tension, of something brewing, or something off, or something looming.

Then, when that inciting incident happens, life suddenly becomes harder and harder for the hero. Beat her up. Let her go through the ringer. She’s gotta feel the pain so your audience feels it with her and is itching for justice, for relief, for the answer, for things to finally work out for her.

The death alarm sounded, that phantom punch in the gut I always dreaded. I touched the metallic gateway valve embedded in my chest at the top of my sternum–warm but not yet hot. The alarm was real. Someone in my territory would die tonight, and I had to find the poor soul. -Reapers, Bryan Davis

BAM, the inciting incident hits you immediately, wonderfully, and then every sentence is dripping with tension, dread is oozing from every word. I think this is one of the best examples of a not-so-ordinary world with a very quick, in fact, and instant inciting incident that gets the story rolling and this snowball only grows larger and larger–things begin to get harder and harder soon, but first we get to know Phoenix a bit more. We see him in his dingy apartment, gathering important items for his mission; we get insight into his dystopian, supernatural Chicago life by the environment not only inside his apartment, but outside of his window where a ghost who doesn’t know it wanders by a street corner and then the interaction Phoenix has with a fellow “reaper” who lives in the apartment building directly across from his.

The next scene arrives and it’s one difficulty that leads to another and then another, and all the while the tension is like a hissing tea kettle and, in my opinion, is actually more gripping than a wild battle.

He crosses a dangerous park where baddies lurk, you sense this whole area, this whole walk to find who is dying is ominous, but then he arrives safely to find it’s a little girl on the brink, and he’s only got one pill to offer her. First, she struggles to take it. The family is dripping with desperation and the tension is rising as this little girl just can’t swallow the darn pill. But then, a DEO shows up, a death enforcement officer who isn’t here to try and save little Molly from death–she’s here to enforce it. Now Phoenix has a very difficult problem because she also isn’t just any old DEO, she’s also an Owl–she’s got supernatural abilities and a high government position. But there’s more. She finds the pill and oh snapping turtle–it’s illegal to smuggle medicine so now Phoenix’s problems are really piling up. And THEN someone–I hope by now you’ve got the point so I can stop spoiling this amazing novel for you.

In fact, reading and studying how Bryan Davis wrote Reapers would benefit you more than this blog can–and leave you flipping pages into the wee hours of the night even though you’re a sleep-deprived Momma who’s bound to be woken up early the next morning by her other kiddos.

Happy writing!

Get the New Edition of My YA Fantasy for FREE!

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My goodness, it has been quite a while. I have FOUR wee ones now–all five and under, and one is three months old, we sold our house, moved to another state, and still haven’t closed on a property–five months later. In other words, please have grace for my extended absence.

This sleep-deprived Momma had an epiphany a few days ago, a desire that I wanted to give my book away to 100 people. However, the more the merrier! So until July 4th, you can snag this new edition of my YA fantasy for FREE. If you’ve read it before, you’re in for a treat because there’s more story, more character background, more world building, just more in general! I hope to write more on here, perhaps even release sneak reads from book two: Pandemic Princess (a title hubby came up with BEFORE the Corona craze).

What’s new with you all? What are you working on or reading? How are you holding up in the 2020 chaos? Much love!

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Coryn of Bellsferry: Blood Thieves -Chapter 5: Unexpected Guests

Hunter aesthetic! 

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Coryn Aesthetic!

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Chapter 5 of Coryn of Bellsferry: Blood Thieves is here! Check it out on Wattpad!

“I shivered, despite the summer heat. What if something happened to me? What if the Blood Thieves got to me? What would that do to my daughter, losing the person closest to her? She barely knew Gunner and Dixie. She’d be devastated and scared, and the security and joy of her childhood bubble would burst and she’d be thrown into the dark, confusing maze of this dangerous world. Death was banging on all of our doors, especially mine and Krista’s, and who knew when it’d break through and seize its loot. It could happen tonight…”-from chapter 5

Chapter vibes:

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Coryn Aesthetic!

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SYNOPSIS TIME!

“With long snaking roads enshrouded by dense woodland and only smatters of clarity along the rolling hills, the beautiful countryside of Bellsferry was the perfect place for predators to stalk.” Coryn knows fate when she’s pricked by it–she thinks.

In a world where American law has been overthrown, and wanna-be supernatural, self-made vampires exist–who by the way, are really creepy and demented and have started preying on the small town of Bellsferry–there also exists Coryn, a twenty-three-year-old single mother who’s just trying to survive through life–and give her daughter a somewhat decent one. But when Coryn is taken under her gunslinging neighbors’ wings and something…otherworldly happens, forget decent; she and her daughter’s lives are now even more dangerous than before. Sigh. That’s what happens when you accidentally become the only real nemesis to the deranged psychopaths who have iron-gripped your hometown.

Since before the demolition of law, Coryn grew up surviving through life, but now she has to protect not only herself and her seven-year-old daughter, but their entire town–doesn’t she?

 

Have you been following along? If so, what are your thoughts so far? Got a WIP you’re working on? Are you on Wattpad? Let me know! Happy reading! -Natasha

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What is it about a book’s first page that keeps you reading?

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I’m curious:

What is it about a book’s first page that keeps you flipping?

Are you able to share an example of a book whose first page just grabbed you and held on until the last page? I want to know what book did that for you and why. Then I can go Amazon-“Look inside”-stalk and see if I agree with you or not. 😉 Happy discussing!

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You can read ALL of Prodigy Prince on Wattpad – Limited time only!

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That’s right, folks.

You can read all of Prodigy Prince on Wattpad for a limited time.

Check it out. And if you’re diggin’ it, don’t forget to vote (click the little star icon). And PLEASE DO divulge on me, let me have it, share those blazing thoughts of yours as I do take to heart, mind, and keyboard, what you think. Feedback has helped loads in my writing journey, and I’m excited to share this novel with all of you. Happy reading!

Killing Your Characters

So killing off characters in your story: is it fun for you, or torture?

I’ve been on both sides of this fence, and I can say that now, it’s leaning toward more fun. For me, there’s something about the shock of it, the later oh-so-hoped for justice, the real-ness it adds to the danger and the story in general, and of course, the emotions it stirs. But what say you? I wanna know your reasons as to why you enjoy killing characters in your story, or why you hate it. Let the discussion begin!

Fantasy Friday! “Welcome to Knight’s Elect Academy” – Through Elisena’s Eyes Part 2, Ch 1 (Short Story)

Click here to read Part 1 if you haven’t already!

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Chapter One

 

Just close your eyes, breathe, and shut out their hearts.

My hands trembled as I stood in the mass of prodigies walking toward the Servants’ Lodge entryway. The daystar rose above the orange forest surrounding me and Javin’s new home, exposing the happy, excited demeanors of my peers, but not their innermost feelings—fear, awe, uncertainty. Every heart’s true emotions scratched against my skin like an old rope.

I reached for the umbrella clipped to my back by my waist-belt while Javin gave me an understanding nod, a few pink feathers falling from his matted tresses. Besides his leather Servant’s tunic and pants, he appeared more like a lost nomad rather than a fellow prodigy at Knights’ Elect Academy. I smiled as I opened my umbrella. Maybe next to him I won’t look so odd. 

An elegant red-head and her identical twin sized me up before whispering to one another and laughing. Well, at least they notice me.

“Elisena!”

Oh no. Even though my umbrella’s invisible force-field blocked out all the feelings and thoughts streaming from the surrounding prodigies, it couldn’t stop my own heart from jolting, stopping, and then racing seemingly all at once.

Eldin walked toward me, a smile on his perfect lips. Nearly every girl he passed trailed him with their eyes. He stopped in front of me and then glanced at Javin. “Hi.”

Javin growled like a graether and then wrapped his arm around me.

I shrugged it off. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What are we doing here.” Javin hugged me again.

I glared at him. “If you don’t take your arm off me, I’ll tell that pretty blonde you were staring at a few minutes ago exactly what you were thinking about her.”

Now Javin glowered as he released me.

Eldin’s purple eyes widened slightly. “So that’s your prodigious gift? You can…read minds?”

I slowly twirled my umbrella. “Not minds…”

His olive skin paled. “Well, uh, I have to get going, you know, eat, figure out where my first lesson is and all of that. Fair day.” He turned around and strode toward the lodge’s crumbling steps.

My cheeks burned. I wish I didn’t have my umbrella open. As Eldin walked through the open door and disappeared, I bowed my head. Or maybe I do.

“I don’t know what you see in him.” Javin extended his arm, a mossy scent emanating from him. As a twirlwing swirled down like a green cyclone and landed atop his hand, its big eyes incongruent with its tiny beak, Javin looked at me. “Actually, what do you see in him?”

“That is none of your concern.” I marched forward, gripping my umbrella while more of my peers whispered and laughed—mostly at me, but some at Javin. I came to the academy to discover my purpose, but instead, I find my past.

“It is my concern.” Javin strode beside me. “Especially without Father around. But, I’ll let it go…for now.” He set the fluffy-feathered twirlwing atop his head, adding more colorful feathers to his messy hair, and then opened his satchel and removed a scroll. After unraveling it he said, “I have Wisdom for first lesson. Third floor, Hall of Sage. What do you have?”

“I don’t know.” I walked up the dilapidated steps to the porch and then onward through the open doorway. Prodigies stepped aside to make room for me and my umbrella. An auburn haired boy tried to poke it. Javin hissed at him, and the twirlwing spun off Javin’s head and in front of the boy’s face. He recoiled and ran off.

The wide Main Hall opened up to a commons crowded with barrels of pink water and roughly patched couches. A wall-high cobblestone and wood fireplace stood against the center wall, three gray stone platforms on either side of it. I veered to the right where all the other prodigies traversed into a circular entryway leading into a banquet hall.

As Javin followed me inside, the aroma of fresh-baked bread greeted me. Prodigies/Servants sat at multiple darkwood tables beneath the blue light of a massive chandelier. To the left, more prodigies stood in a line before floating platforms with apron-wearing women behind them, serving loaves of bread and stew. My stomach rumbled.

“I hope that stew is meatless,” Javin said. “I can eat like a vegetarian graether right now.”

“You do that.” I scurried to one of the only empty tables remaining, near a large risen platform in the back, and hurried into a chair. Mugs of water sat on the table. I grabbed one and guzzled, hoping it’d somewhat fill the void in my gut. Hopefully Javin wouldn’t hound me for skipping morning meal.

A green-haired girl carrying a tray with a bread loaf and steaming stew sat beside me. Her yellow eyes shined and she held her chest high. “Waiting on anyone?”

I shook my head, though Javin would probably pop up soon, and looked away.

“Nice umbrella. Not exactly a good choice if you’re trying to be invisible. Though I don’t think you really want to be, do you?”

My grip tightened on my umbrella’s bronze stick. Did she have a similar gift to mine, or was it just a discerning guess?

“Come on.” She smiled. “No one really wants to be alone. But I get it. You’re picky about the company you keep. That makes two of us.” She reached her hand out. “My name is Thrine.”

I shook it. “I’m—”

“Elisena.”

“So you can read minds or just know people when you see them?”

“No. Eldin Lightsmith told me about you.”

My stomach lurched. Thank Sovereignty she didn’t have a prophetic gift. “Oh. How do you know Eldin?”

“We met at the annual Royal Garden Gala two years ago. We’ve kept in touch ever since.”

“That’s a beautiful celebration.” I feigned casualty. “What did he say about me?”

“That he worked for your father.” She spooned a mouthful of stew, its savory scent making my hollow stomach ache. “And that you were the oddest person he’d ever known.”

I lifted my mug to my mouth and chugged. The oddest person he’d ever known? That explained the bewilderment ever-flowing from his heart whenever he was around me. But the last time he peered at me in Father’s barn it had changed to curiosity. Maybe he meant ‘odd’ in a good way. Unlike most people, he never avoided me. Well, not until today.

Emmer.” Eldin neared our table, carrying a tray of food. My heart hammered as he stood between me and the girl.

Thrine rose. “You mean—”

“Thrine, right. I apologize. I’m still getting used to it.”

“You will soon enough.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

I set my mug down with a trembling hand, my empty stomach twisting. Eldin glanced at me. He grasped Thrine’s wrists and removed them, breaking away from her kiss. She watched him as he set his tray down on the other side of her chair and sat. “So I see you met Elisena.”

Thrine eased into her seat. “She just so happened to sit at the table I told you to meet me at.”

“Small academy.” He bit into his bread.

Thrine scratched his back. “I’ve missed you. Can you believe it’s been eleven months since we last saw each other?”

He nodded. “It seems a lot has changed since then.”

She stopped scratching his back. Her narrowing eyes landed on me. “I hate to ask, but can you excuse us?”

“Uh, certainly.” I rushed to my feet.

“Welcome, Servants!” A silver-haired man with a protruding chin, wearing a cotton robe, stood on the risen platform beside a giant woman with black braids.

She wore a tunic dress with two calve-splits. “May everyone please take their seats.”

I looked around. Javin stood by a table near the entryway, brown liquid oozing down either side of his mouth as he waved me over. The pretty blonde occupied a seat next to him, while prodigies filled the others. Not a single seat remained. Torn between thankfulness and growing discomfort, I slowly sat beside Thrine again. She crossed her arms as the man continued. “My name is Overseer Enri, and this is the Assistant Overseer, Lady Bridie.”

The woman raised a large hand. “Fair day, prodigies.”

“Firstly, we would like to thank all of you for choosing to be apprentices here at King Nifal’s Knights’ Elect Academy. Each of you has been invited because of the prodigious gift you’ve been given by our Supreme King through your lineage.” He removed a small, silver tube from his robe pocket and spoke into it, his voice now amplified. “The foundation of knighthood is service. Throughout your first year, you will learn the principles of servanthood, along with basic combat and preservation. If you succeed, next year, you will move on to become Squires, and in your final year, you will be trained as Warriors and leave the academy as knights of the kingdom you’ve selected to serve and protect.” He handed Lady Bridie the tube.

“Now onto Ground Rules. The only time you are permitted to leave the grounds is for your end of the year three-month visit. Curfew is at the twenty-second hour. Common respect to your preceptors and peers is expected of you, and there is a guide of those expectations and the punishments for disobedience in your General Knight’s Guide found in your designated dormitory.”

I snuck a glance at Eldin. He quietly ate his meal, his stare fixed ahead on Lady Bridie. She handed the tube back to Overseer Enri.

“If you need assistance, my office is on the first floor in the Hall of Enri, and Lady Bridie’s is in the adjacent corridor, the Hall of Bridie. Again, welcome to Knights’ Elect Academy. We look forward to seeing you grow.” He slipped the tube back into his robe pocket and sped off of the platform, Lady Bridie running to keep up with him.

Thrine uncrossed her arms. “You can excuse yourself again.”

Eldin put his bread down. “You can be more respectful, Em—Thrine.”

“I apologize.” She spoke slowly and high-pitched. “Elisena, can you be so kind as to once again remove yourself from our table so that I may hold a private conversation with my suitor?”

Tears blurring my sight, I stood with my open umbrella and scurried to the circular entryway, ignoring the stares and laughs from my fellow prodigies. Eldin Lightsmith, the young man I’ve known since infancy, the one I grew to love and often prayed to someday have the honor of marrying is courting another girl.

Can this day get any more heart shattering?


Click here to read the next chapter!

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Love Triangles: Hate ’em or Love ’em?

Some love love-triangles, others despise them. For me, they sometimes work and other times they fail miserably. What I think makes them work and why is simple enough. There’s something about a challenge that ignites us, especially when it involves someone we care about–let alone two people we care about. So when a couple faces a test of their love, our interest is piqued, and what better test than the temptation to love someone else? We also like to see when love fights and doesn’t give up easily.

But it’s kinda like a double-edged sword, isn’t it? At least it can be for me. I get pretty upset when a gal has clearly proved her love through sacrifice and commitment, only to then face the threat of being dumped by her guy for some chick who likely hasn’t shown the same level of sacrificial devotion. When the temptation is superficial–enter someone really attractive and mysterious or confident–that’s a fail for me. If that person’s a threat then either it’s not very believable, or the guy is a shallow jerk who I then end up not liking anymore because he dared entertain the idea of leaving his girl for lust. That’s annoying and makes me lose respect for the guy. Or the super typical obvious bad-girl/guy whose just trying to mess things up for the characters who are in a relationship. Those are never believable because you always know the character being hit on isn’t gonna fall for it and that the villain/villainess is gonna get found-out.

But then there’s those really likable other romantic interests; someone you can maybe root for whose relationship with the main character is a lot more complex, has more depth and history; like a long-lost-love, or a close companion whose also always been there for the character; or someone who even seems like a better match for said character. *Spoiler alert for the two of you who have yet to see Star Wars: The Last Jedi* I felt that way about Rose and Finn in Star Wars: The Last Jedi. I actually really liked Rose and felt like she and Finn were a better pair than Finn and Rey (even though it’s still not that official with Rose and Finn, it’s certainly more official than him and Rey).

So, how do you feel about the infamous love-triangle? Have you read/watched one that you really enjoyed? Feel free to share your thoughts in a comment.

Happy helping!

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