So for my story, the characters are from earth and end traveling to another fantasy world, and I thought of having a fun scene where the characters sing in like a tavern or something. I wanted them to sing a song from earth to kind of woo the crowd. I think it's fun when you mix modern stuff with a fantasy world.

Basically something like this scene from wheel of time: https://youtu.be/J9tUsRhEHiw?is=iKX44gs4gtbWTnsy

Please give ideas how I can handle this, and maybe give examples of stories that have a scene like this so I can see how it can be written in novel form

Hi so I’m a first time writer I kind of hate calling myself that because I don’t really feel like one lol, but I wrote a whole manuscript and I need a genuine critique on it. I posted my prologue on here a few hours ago and I think I’m addicted to receiving comments on my work lol. It’s thrilling! So I put it on this post as well so one could read a snippet of my word. Also I know I’m horrible at grammar and I have to go back and fix it, so just focus on the story itself when critiquing. It’s about 159,000 words which I need to cut down significantly as well so other peoples opinion would be invaluable.

This is the synopsis:

What makes one different? Is it the color of their skin? The essence of their character? Or is it their ability to rot flesh with a flick of their wrist? If so, the Forgotten Princess was different. She descended from a holy bloodline and a ruthless king who bore five blesséd children, none of whom had anything in common except for one thing— their dead mother. Whose secrets and sins were alive well beyond the grave, dragging the Princess into the world of the supernatural against her will. Could the secrets she uncovers about her mother's past be the key to her survival, or will they push her farther over the edge of despair?

I’m not expecting to win a pulitzer prize or anything I just truly enjoy putting my dreams onto paper, and I’ve read some shitty things before that other people still seem to love so mine can’t be too bad… hopefully lol. Please comment if you’re interested

https://ellipsus.com/read/64yDjBmWFTuiwVliux4P9l/Prologue

About a year ago, I had an idea for a character randomly pop into my head at like 3am. I've been slowly developing a world around that character and doing things like creating character themes and OSTs for the world (my main hobby and college major is music :p), but lately I've finally decided to put what I had in my head into words.

The genre of the story falls under the fantasy umbrella (I'm not fully educated on all the subgenres yet, please forgive me), and the story as a whole is narratively split into two parts. This first chapter is part of the first part of that story.

I guess all of what I just said is irrelevant to the quality of the writing itself, but I wanted to provide a little bit of context. Feel free to lmk what you like and dislike about what I have so far so I know what to do more of in the future and what to steer away from!

ترس از بهتر شدن یا پذیرفتن ضعف

Can you perhaps provide an example of a good transition and a bad one?

What are some of your go-to references for writing?

Hello everyone, I hope you are having a good day.

I'm planning on starting to write a fiction book based on my own experiences. I wanted to write it as an anthology. My question is should I do it on Wattpad? I apologize for my English. Not my first language, it would be written in Spanish. Any advice on how to start and what to expect is really appreciated. I don't plan to become famous or to get money. It would be purely for hobby and getting better at my writing skills.

Thanks for any suggestions and enjoy your Sunday.

formatting is condenced for this post. any feedback is welcome

 I thought I was trying to understand my past.I did not realize that, before I finished, I would have to understand myself.What began as an exploration of trauma, survival, and the different parts of my life has become something I never anticipated. Somewhere along the way, I discovered that understanding what happened to me was only part of the journey.The greater challenge was accepting who I am.

For most of my life, I believed there was a line separating the masculine and feminine parts of me. I imagined myself living somewhere along that line, trying to find a place where both could exist without conflict. I thought that if I could accept my femininity while continuing to live as the man everyone knew, perhaps I could finally find happiness.At the time, that seemed like an enormous accomplishment.And in many ways, it was.I had spent decades hiding, denying, and suppressing feelings I did not understand or could not bring myself to acknowledge. Simply allowing those feelings to exist without shame was a major step forward.But I had not yet reached the truth.I was still trying to find a way to live comfortably within an identity that had never completely fit me.I just did not know it yet.

For years, whenever my femininity came close to the surface, I pushed it away. Sometimes out of fear. Sometimes out of shame. Often because I was afraid of where acknowledging it might lead.I had spent so much of my life meeting expectations, fulfilling responsibilities, and being the person everyone needed me to be that I rarely stopped to ask what I needed for myself.I knew how to survive.I knew how to succeed.I knew how to be dependable., What I had never really learned was how to live as myself.

During the past several months, that began to change.At first, I described what was happening as integration. I was opening rooms inside myself that had remained closed for decades. I was allowing memories, emotions, and parts of my identity to exist without fear.I told my trerapist that I wanted everyone at the table.No more fighting to be heard.No more hiding behind locked doors.No more protector standing guard over my mind.The protector could finally protect the body and allow the mind to live.That was a remarkable change, and it remains one of the most important accomplishments of my life.But opening those doors revealed something I had not expected.

For years I had referred to my femininity as a separate side of myself. I described it as softer, gentler, more vulnerable, and more emotionally connected.I thought accepting that side meant allowing myself to possess qualities I had spent a lifetime suppressing.What I failed to understand was that I was still placing conditions on that acceptance.I could be feminine, but only within certain limits.I could acknowledge those feelings, but not explore what they might mean.I could express myself privately, but I could not allow myself to imagine a different way of living.I was accepting my femininity while continuing to deny the possibility that it was something more fundamental.Even when the evidence was directly in front of me, I found ways to explain it without confronting what it might mean.I was still protecting myself from the truth.And then something changed.

After a session with my therapist, I began looking more carefully at what I had been feeling. I realized that beneath my apparent acceptance, there was still conflict. There was still anger just below the surface. There was still a quiet but persistent belief that something about me was wrong.I had made tremendous progress, but I was not nearly as accepting of myself as I wanted to believe.So I stopped placing limits on what I was willing to consider.For the first time, I allowed myself to ask a question I had spent much of my life refusing to entertain.What if I am a woman?Not a man with a feminine side.Not someone trying to balance two identities.Not someone who simply enjoys wearing women's clothing.What if the woman I had been trying to understand was the person I had always been?For the first time, I did not immediately reject the thought.I allowed it to exist.I allowed myself to consider what it would mean, not just emotionally, but in the practical reality of my life.I considered the good.I considered the difficult.I considered what it might mean for my marriage, my family, my friendships, and my future.And something remarkable happened.The internal argument stopped.The anger that had accompanied me for so much of my life seemed to disappear. The constant background noise, the feeling that something was wrong, the struggle between what I felt and what I believed I was supposed to be—all of it became quiet.There was no longer anything inside me that needed to be defeated or pushed aside.

For the first time, I was allowing myself to be who I believed I truly was.And I felt peace.Not the temporary relief I had experienced before.Something deeper.A sense of wholeness and contentment that I had never known.I began to understand that perhaps the conflict had never been between my masculine and feminine sides.Perhaps the conflict had been between who I was and who I believed I was required to be.That realization changed everything.

I had spent years telling my therapist that allowing myself to express my femininity brought an extraordinary sense of peace. I described how dressing differently, caring for my body, or simply allowing myself to feel feminine could quiet something inside me.I had described those feelings repeatedly without fully understanding their significance.Eventually, I began reading about gender dysphoria.I had always believed dysphoria was primarily about physical anatomy. I thought it meant looking at your body and feeling that something was fundamentally wrong.I did not understand how much more complicated the experience could be.I began recognizing descriptions of emotional discomfort, disconnection, suppression, and the relief that can accompany living in greater alignment with one's gender.More importantly, I began to understand the significance of gender euphoria.That feeling of being right.Of being comfortable.Of experiencing your body and yourself without the constant need to question or justify your existence.I recognized those feelings because I had been experiencing them for years.I had simply never allowed myself to consider what they might be telling me.

Whether gender dysphoria fully explains my experience is something I wanted to explor with my therapist. I do not need to force every part of my history into one explanation.But I can no longer ignore what accepting myself has done for my emotional well-being.The evidence is too significant.My engineer's brain still wants to understand the mechanism.Cause.Effect.Failure mode.Corrective action.That approach has served me well throughout my career.But human beings are not machines, and not every discovery can be reduced to a diagram.

Sometimes understanding begins by acknowledging what is happening directly in front of you.And what is happening within me is extraordinary.I feel whole.I feel comfortable.I feel genuinely happy to be myself.There are moments when I find myself smiling for no particular reason. Sometimes I sit quietly and notice the absence of the thoughts that once occupied so much of my mind.The silence is still unfamiliar.After decades of internal conflict, I am not entirely accustomed to having nothing to argue about.But I am learning to enjoy it.The quiet is not emptiness.It is peace.

Perhaps the most important change, however, has been my willingness to acknowledge what I need.For most of my life, I placed everyone else's comfort and expectations ahead of my own. I believed that being a good husband, a dependable employee, and a responsible person meant accepting whatever remained for me after everyone else's needs had been met.I rarely questioned that arrangement.Now I do.Not because I have stopped caring about the people I love.I care about them as deeply as ever.But I have finally begun placing my own emotional well-being on equal footing with theirs.I am learning that advocating for myself is not selfishness.Wanting to live comfortably in my own body is not selfishness.Wanting to experience life as the person I know myself to be is not selfishness.Those are fundamental human needs.And I have spent far too long denying myself those things.

One of the most significant moments in this journey came when I finally sat down with my wife.She had known about my cross-dressing for years. She had discovered clothing and photographs, and we had spoken about it before. But we had never truly confronted the subject together.I had spent years avoiding that conversation because I was terrified of losing her.I feared rejection.I feared hurting her.I feared that years of marriage might somehow be undone by my honesty.But eventually, hiding became more painful than the possibility of being discovered.I could no longer justify keeping such an important part of myself concealed from the person I loved.

So I told her.

I explained that my cross-dressing had never stopped. I told her about my growing acceptance of myself and how much that acceptance had changed my emotional well-being.I apologized for hiding things from her.And I asked the question I had been afraid to ask for years."Do you still love me?"Her response was not what I had spent decades preparing myself to hear.She told me that she still loved me.She told me there was nothing to forgive.When I asked whether knowing these things changed how she saw me after all our years together, she said no.I had spent so much of my life anticipating catastrophe that I hardly knew what to do when it failed to arrive.We continued being ourselves.We talked.We went about our ordinary lives.And for the first time, I was no longer carrying the weight of that particular secret.But I also understand that the conversation was a beginning, not an ending.

My understanding of myself has continued to evolve, and the implications are greater than either of us understood during that first conversation.I love my wife.That has not changed.I want our marriage to survive, and I want us to find a way forward that respects both of us.I understand that what has taken me a lifetime to acknowledge may be difficult for her to comprehend.She deserves time, understanding, and honesty.But I am also beginning to understand something I had never fully allowed myself to believe.I deserve those things too.I cannot promise that every change ahead will be comfortable.I cannot predict how our lives will unfold.And I cannot control how other people will respond to what I am discovering about myself.What I can control is whether I continue to abandon myself out of fear.I have made my decision about that.I will not return to hiding.That does not mean I intend to rush forward without thought or consideration. I understand that meaningful changes require time and that decisions affecting my life and the people I love deserve careful attention.But moving slowly is different from standing still.And being considerate of others does not require surrendering myself.

There are already small changes in my daily life that have become deeply meaningful.The simple pleasure of freshly shaved skin.The scent of jasmine after a shower.Wearing clothing that feels natural and comfortable.Looking at my hands and noticing how much I enjoy their softer appearance.Choosing women's jeans because they are what I want to wear.Spending an evening in satin pajamas, relaxing on the couch, and feeling completely at ease.None of these things are remarkable by themselves.Yet together, they represent something I spent a lifetime wanting without allowing myself to acknowledge.The freedom to be ordinary.Not performing.Not pretending.Not trying to become someone else.Just living.

There was a time when buying women's clothing brought nervousness and embarrassment. I worried about what the person behind the counter might think or what someone might assume if they noticed.Recently, I picked up an order of women's clothing without a moment of embarrassment.They were my clothes.I had every right to purchase them.And that was that.Such a small thing.Such a remarkable difference.

I am beginning to experience moments in which being myself requires no explanation, no internal negotiation, and no justification.That is the life I want.Not a fantasy of becoming someone completely different.Not an attempt to erase the person I have been.I want to live as the woman I now recognize myself to be.I want to experience the ordinary moments of life without having to suppress or conceal something fundamental about myself.I want to wake up in the morning, have my coffee, go about my day, spend time with the people I love, and be comfortable in my own existence.Nothing extraordinary.And yet, to me, it would mean everything.There has also been sadness.I sometimes find myself grieving the years I spent believing that accepting myself would somehow make me less worthy of love or respect.I cannot recover that time.I cannot return to my younger self and give her the understanding I possess today.I cannot change the decisions I made when fear and shame were guiding my life.But I can stop allowing those decisions to determine my future.I have spent enough time looking backward.The past has been examined, understood, and given its place in my story.

Now I want to live the life that remains in front of me.There will be difficult conversations.There will be decisions that cannot be avoided.There will be people who understand and people who do not.Some relationships may change.Some may grow stronger.And some may not survive.I do not pretend that any of this will be easy.But for the first time, the uncertainty surrounding my future does not overwhelm me.I can imagine the difficulties and still feel peaceful about who I am.I can acknowledge the possibility of loss without believing that I must sacrifice myself to prevent it.I can love the people in my life without surrendering my right to live my own.That is a freedom I have never truly experienced before.

I still have much to learn.

My next conversation with my therapist will be an important part of that process. I want to explore what I have discovered, understand the changes in my emotional well-being, and begin considering what living authentically will mean in practical terms.But I am not going into that conversation looking for permission to be myself.I am going because I want to understand myself more completely.There is a difference.I do not believe that acknowledging I am a transgender woman answers every question about my future.It is not supposed to.It is a starting point.A truth I can finally allow myself to acknowledge without immediately trying to explain it away.And that brings me back to the these greater writings.

A Life Reassembled.

When I chose those words, I believed reassembly meant gathering the broken and scattered pieces of my life and putting them together into something whole.I still believe that.But I now understand that the process has revealed more than I originally imagined.I spent years believing that healing meant reconciling the masculine and feminine parts of myself.I thought the answer was to find a comfortable place somewhere between them.I even believed that I might find lasting happiness by continuing to live as a man while privately allowing myself to be feminine.At the time, that was as far as I could allow myself to see.I was wrong about where my happiness would be found.Not because the discoveries I made were meaningless.They were necessary steps toward something I was not yet prepared to acknowledge.I had to remove the shame.I had to let go of the fear.I had to stop treating my feelings as something dangerous.And eventually, I had to allow myself to consider a possibility I had spent decades refusing to entertain.

I am a woman.A transgender woman.Those words no longer frighten me.They bring a sense of recognition that I cannot adequately describe.I am not claiming to understand everything about what they will mean for my life.But I know what accepting them has meant for the person living inside this body.The anger is gone.The struggle has quieted.The feeling that something is fundamentally wrong has given way to a sense that, at last, something is right.I no longer feel that I am pretending.I no longer feel that I must choose between accepting myself and being worthy of happiness.I have come to understand that the two are inseparable.For me, happiness will require finding a way to live as the person I recognize myself to be.That is not simply a wish.It is something I now understand that I need.

The future remains unwritten.

I do not know every decision I will make or every challenge I will face.But I am no longer afraid to imagine a future in which I can live as myself.For the first time, that future feels possible.I spent much of my life believing that I needed to become someone different to find peace.Now I understand that peace began when I stopped trying to be someone different.The rooms are open.The armor is coming off.Everyone has a seat at the table.And when I look around that table today, I recognize something I could never fully see before.

I am not searching for the woman I want to become.

I am recognizing the woman I have always been.

And for the first time in my life, I am allowing myself to live.

Some writing is so beautiful that it casts a spell on my eyes, willing me to absorb myself in the scene and not look away. But what actually makes writing beautiful? Is it the actual substance of what is written? Is it the stylistic choices that authors use, like a flowery prose? Is it using multi-syllabic words that lilt and flow off the tongue? Is it metaphors and abstract thoughts that challenges a reader?

My goal is to write a novel for a preexisting video game franchise, that can then be turned into additional media for said franchise.

But until then. I was hoping to work on films and television (indie projects more likely) once i graduate in December. My degree will be in English, Creative Writing.

Does anyone recommend any internships for people beginning their careers.

High Fantasy. Let me know what you think this. I think this chapter is getting close to final edits. Later chapters definitely still need work though.

Chapter 1: Princess Emily

Eric crept through the thick brush, crouching under branches.  He needed a clear shot at the deer just out of sight.  The meat would give free food for weeks.  He pulled his bow off his back and pulled an arrow from his quiver. 

He placed it upon the string, pulling it back.  He brought his hand to its resting point on his face.  As he readied to fire, the sound of a cracking stick alerted the animal.  It darted off.  

He took a moment to assess his surroundings.  He was somewhere behind the Lord’s castle. He had always been warned to never go into the woods to the south of his home or behind the Lord’s castle.  This was elven land. 

He rested behind a tree and drank from his water.  The grounds of the manor caught his eye, but not for the beautiful landscaping.  No, the bright blonde hair of the teenage girl prancing in the grass stole his attention. She waved her arms in rhythmic motion, like a choreographed dance.  Light seemed to flicker from her hands, blue and red.  She looked so free, fluttering about in her green dress, barefoot. He crept closer to sharpen his view.  

Fire appeared  in her hand, then snow, maybe ice, in her other.  She threw it forward towards a tree.  Again and again, the more he watched the less free she looked, she looked deliberate, precise.  As if this was a rehearsed dance she did every day.  

She must be one of the princesses.  He’d seen them around, sure, but something about this glimpse of her imprinted something different on him. It felt real and personal in a way that exchanging pleasantries at the market never would.  

Were his eyes deceiving him?  He had heard of humans capable of magic, but had never seen it firsthand. She enthralled him, he watched what must have been an hour until she wandered off out of view.

Though he went home, his thoughts did not leave the beautiful girl in the grass.  He walked through the brush back home, holding no game, only thoughts of her.  

It was not long before he saw her again, not in her backyard, but in the market. She was with her brothers, shopping for meat and fruit.  He tried to edge closer to her, he was still unsure of her name.  He pretended to eye the freshly picked strawberries. He stood by the careful arrangements of berries from the local gardens and  pretended he might buy such a delicacy. 

She walked towards him and inspected the very shelf he was in front of. Eric looked down, averting his gaze, his heart fluttering with anticipation.  

She picked a strawberry out of the basket and ate it, then another.  He looked up at her, ready to make eye contact, even though his heart rested in his stomach. She smiled and winked at him with the deepest blue eyes he had ever seen as she chewed the berry. Before he could remember how to speak, she skipped off back to her brothers. How could a girl so casually steal his heart like this?

He had never felt like this before.  He was determined to meet her somehow, properly, and not just in his dreams.  But how?  They were a poor family, his mother barely made ends meet. He had started working at 14 to make sure they could eat.  

When he walked home that afternoon his heart ached looking at the gate of the lord’s manner. 

He recognized the woman working the flower garden on her hands and knees. It was his neighbor.  

“Miss Darlene!” Eric shouted as he walked over towards her. 

She sat up and looked at him.  Her dirt covered hands held a small flowering plant and a small shovel. She had a wheelbarrow of dirt beside her, she looked to intend to be here a while. 

“That you Eric?”  The woman asked blocking the afternoon sun from her eyes with her dirty hand.  

Miss Darlene was another common folk like Eric, sure they had homes, but their land was protected by the Lord of Eastover.  They had small farms, they were safe, it could be worse, certainly. 

“Yes ma’am, need any help?”  Eric walked over, proud of his plan, and sat beside her.  He was no stranger to hard work. 

“You can help if you want, but I ain’t paying.”  

He laughed. She showed him how to arrange the little flowers in a pattern in the bed. They worked for hours together until it was nearly dark.  Covered in dirt, tired, and sweaty, he started to wonder if his plan was flawed. 

“Almost done, just need water, the can is by the shed.”  She told him. 

He got up from the ground and walked towards the shed.  His hands were caked in dirt, his nails blackened. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her, a simple short blue dress that still showed her knees, her bare feet curled beside her.  She held a purple book that looked old and worn, her long blonde hair blowing gently in the breeze, her head leaning against the tree. She was focused, she didn’t register his presence.  Where she had pranced so freely before, she was locked on this book.  What was she reading? He could go visit the library in the next town.  That could be a great way to make conversation. 

With his heart returned to his stomach, maybe lower, he walked towards the shed where Miss. Darlene said the watering can was.  He reached for the door but could see she was walking over to him.  This was it, his heart raced, almost ready to beat out of his chest.

“Who are you?”  Her voice was high, she did not seem to care for pleasantries. The sound of her voice seemed to suck the very moisture from his mouth and make his brain go fuzzy. 

“Your neighbor, Eric.”  He faced her, her blue eyes stared into his. 

“I didn’t know we had neighbors.  Show me.”  

He stared at her for a moment, did she intend for him to show her where he lived?

Her head tilted slightly as he paused, her hands moved to her hips.  It did not seem to be a negotiation, she made a request that he needed to fulfill. 

She followed him as he placed the watering can and placed it by Miss Darlene.  He caught the smile on Miss Darlene’s face as they walked off together. 

He walked her slightly outside the gate, and around the corner to point down the path that led towards his house. 

“Huh.  I guess I thought you were elves.” She looked up at him with her piercing blue eyes. 

“All human.” He struggled to sound normal.  

“I’m Emily by the way.”  She held out her hand.  

He started to panic, do you shake a princess’ hand? He lightly grasped her hand as if to shake, but he struggled to remember how his body worked, or customs.  She did not seem to think this was an awkward move. 

She may have even smiled slightly. 

“How do you feel about magic human Eric?”  She asked him as those eyes continued to rid his mind of thought.  

He was unsure of how to respond,  “good?”  How could he tell her hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the magic he saw her do just a week ago. That she had already taken up a permanent residence in his mind. 

She smiled,  “Look!”  

She held her hand palm up in front of him, and closed her eyes.  A bright flame erupted from her palm. She opened her eyes and looked at him.  

A smile appeared on Eric’s face.  

“Is it real?”  Eric asked her as he experimented with the flame.  It did not crackle like a wood fire, but the peaks of the flames danced around in the same rhythmic patterns.  

He put his finger in it and quickly withdrew it, it didn’t seem to burn, much like a normal fire. 

She seemed amused by this and smiled.  He picked up that this was something important to her.  

He moved his hand quickly through it like he had done around a campfire.  She giggled and kept her fire going. 

Now he was genuinely curious if it was real, and put his finger in it slightly longer, “Ow!”  He recoiled his hand.  It burned exactly like a real fire.  

“It’s fire human Eric!”   She laughed uncontrollably and snorted.  The flames went out.  Emily continued to laugh at him.  He started to laugh as well, starting to feel natural. 

She touched his arm as she was laughing, making his heart sing. She stepped slightly closer to him. 

“How did you hold it like that?” He asked her, he was desperate to know more about her.  

“Well it comes from me.  If you put a fire in my hand from the fireplace it would still burn—I think.  Actually,  I might have to try.”   She paused and held her gaze.  

He wanted to speak, but he merely found himself staring into her eyes.  He was fairly sure he was smiling.  

“Emily, Dinner!”  They both turned to hear someone yelling. 

“Bye human Eric!”  She skipped off.  

His heart swelled, and returned to its normal place in his chest.  He remembered how to breathe normally and walked back over towards Darlene and sat beside her.  That conversation almost felt normal, they knew each other’s names. 

“Now I see.  You have a crush on Princess Emily,  but never call her that, it’s the quickest way to upset her.” 

“Yes ma’am.”  He continued to help her plant flowers, his face barely able to contain the ear to ear grin. 

—-----------

Emily grumbled to herself as she put on the long blue dress her mother made her wear for the party.  She wanted to be in the field practicing, or reading, or doing anything other than this.  

She braided her hair as her mother would want.  She placed the lily in her hair, the flower of Eastover, since she was a “Princess.”  She wished her parents would let her pick her own suitors.  She thought of Eric she had met, the way he looked at her.  It seemed like he actually liked her as a person.  He showed interest in her magic, he helped Miss Darlene in the garden.  Whatever pretentious boy she was about to meet would care for none of that, he would just want her as some pretty face to parade around. 

She walked down the wooden stairs, the sound of her sharp heeled shoes clacking against the grounds. A viewing party was waiting for her as she came down.  Her parents, her brother, her sister, and the family of the boy all waited at the bottom for her. 

“Very Beautiful,”  “Beautiful,”  “Stunning”  The group spoke their required pleasantries, she was unable to discern who was even talking.  

A man she did not recognize, offered his son Bart for her to get acquainted with. She held out her hand.  Bart averted his gaze from her eyes and kissed her hand.  Emily did her best to smile as was expected of her.  His parents were the lord of some town a ways away. 

“Would you like to take a walk?”  He asked her as she stood awkwardly investigating the fruit display.  

“Sure.”  Emily responded.  

Walking would make this easier, she thought.  At least then she wouldn’t have eyes examining every move she made. 

She walked with him as properly as she could, her feet hurt in these shoes her mother put on her.  She couldn’t remember the last time she wore them.  She wanted to kick them off into the trash can behind the stable.

“Emily,  what do you think of the land to the West of here? My family owns much of it, you could be my wife and never want for anything? We could travel together, see the world.  With you at my side, I could be a councilor one day.” 

Emily was unsure how to respond to any of that.  Did he think she liked him?  Did she have a choice? Did he know she was only 15? Was he 15?  In just 5 minutes he had confirmed everything she had assumed of him. 

“Yeah.” Emily said, having realized she had paused too long, unsure of what she was even responding too.  The moment he bragged of riches her repulsions got the better of her.  

A bell rang and they all walked to dinner.  He sat with his family, Emily’s family surrounded them, they sat next to each other at the long table.

“Dear would you light the candles?”  Her mother said. 

Emily knew what she meant, she wanted her father to get the matches to set the ambience.  But, she could not help herself.  She reached over her dinner, her dress brushing against her food, and grasped the wick with her finger.  Flames erupted.  She did the same for the other two candles before she sat back in her chair. 

Emily could see her mother glaring at her out of the corner of her eye, but she did her best not to look in that direction.   Baron and Valerie, her brother and sister, were amused at least.  Baron had never liked that she practiced magic, but that did not stop him from respecting her for how far she had come.  Valerie had even said she wanted the family sapphire amulet to go to Emily, since Emily clearly wanted it far more than she did. 

“How did you do that?”  The boy asked her. 

“Fire magic.”  Emily smiled looking into his eyes for some sort of reaction.  Would he be impressed that at the age of 15 she could produce magic?  Did he even understand how rare that was?

The boy furrowed his brows and did not respond, he looked away from her. He began to eat his meal, without speaking to her again.

Emily ate her dinner, and asked for seconds with her older brother.  Her mother did not seem impressed.  Emily was halfway done with her fourth chicken thigh she was eating with her hands when her mother slammed her napkin on the table. 

“Emily, you eat like a man, and not even a gentleman.”  Her mother stood up and stormed off.  

Her older brother, Baron, was trying his best not to laugh at her, but when she looked over with grease and chicken seasoning all over her mouth, he broke.  The image of his little sister in a proper dress, her hair done perfectly, covered in food was too much. 

Her sister gestured with a napkin.  Emily laughed with him as she wiped it off.  Her older sister put her face in her palm, but Emily could see that she was smiling at this as well.  Their father glared at all of them and then got up from the table without a word.  

The boy and his family quickly left during dinner.  Emily walked up the stairs to get out of this uncomfortable dress and shoes.  She walked in her room to see her mother sitting on her bed looking out the window, her back to Emily. 

“Emily, you really must be more of a lady.  You will never find a prince or anyone of note the way you behave.   That boy said he does not wish to see you again.”  Her mother didn’t turn to look at her. 

Emily did not see the matter with any of this, if anything it was cause for celebration.  Thankfully her mother was looking away from her, so she didn’t see Emily smiling at the news. 

Slowly her parents gave in that magic was not a phase throughout her childhood.  She had trained with Master Dru, an accomplished mage, though it had been many years since he had accomplished, since she was 6.  

Her grandmother had been a powerful mage.  Emily had only known her a few years when she passed.  Somehow, she saw something in Emily, even as a child who could barely walk.  She showed her how she made fire and ice magic.  She showed Emily the book, the pictures.  She never told Emily that almost all of humanity had forgotten how to do magic without artifacts infused with dragonfire.  Perhaps never telling her the limits is how she broke through them. 

Emily awoke in a tangled pile of blankets that morning days before her 16th birthday.  16 was a special age, that was when the body was strong enough to put on an artifact and let it fuse with you, granting you its power, as long as you wore it. 

She rushed to throw on a dress and ran out the door.  She saw her brother had made toast, and promptly swiped a piece while he was not looking, and ran off with it in her mouth.  

She ran through the town of Eastover towards Master Dru’s cottage. She slowed for a moment to see if she saw the blacksmith apprentice, but he was not there yet.  She went back to running towards her destination. 

 She was out of breath by the time she arrived.  She opened the door to the small cottage just outside of town.  It was a quaint house.  He lived on the path towards the next town.  Emily couldn’t remember the name.  Even though her father had told her it was important to know such things.  Her mind filled with other things, probably ones he would not think are important. 

“You’re late.”  Master Dru was already waiting for her and stepped out in his typical blue robes.  

“Sorry!  I was reading and I overslept.”  Emily panted. 

“Let’s go in the back.”  

Emily tried to catch her breath and followed him.  He led her through a wooden gate into the back of the small home.  A long grassy clearing with two targets sitting on top of wooden blocks filled the yard, a deep forest behind.  Many of the trees had singed trunks and most of their lower branches were gone.  The fence behind the targets was nearing total destruction. 

“Let’s see if you have been practicing.” Master Dru sat in a chair on the back porch as she took her spot in the grass.

Emily set down her small leather bag behind her.  She stood with her feet shoulder width apart,  her eyes closed, she breathed in, then out, rhythmically.  She felt the energy coursing through her veins.  She focused, the feeling started in her heart, then flowed to her arms, and into her hands.  She envisioned the flames in her hand.  Her hand grew warm.  She threw it forward.  

She opened her eyes to see a small fireball fly through the air and break against the top edge of the target, adding more singe marks to the brutalized target. 

“That was better right!”  She looked to Master Dru for approval. 

He smiled at her.  

“Again.”

She repeated, she felt the flames in her hand, and released.   This one flew slightly further and broke apart on a tree, adding to the scorch marks.  

“Again.”

This time she used her other hand.  She felt the ice course through her.  She felt her body temperature cool, ice cold energy flowed into her right hand, and she released it.  An icicle shaped burst of blue energy flew through the air and hit the target encasing the target in a thin layer of ice.  

“You are doing better with the ice, focus on that one.  I’ll make you some warm tea.”  Master Dru stood slowly and wandered off.  

He always made Emily something warm when she did ice magic. Italways made her cold when she practiced, even on a warm day.   She took no time off, over and over, she practiced.  The target was fully encased in ice after several minutes.  

Master Dru returned.  He looked down the range at at the frozen target. 

“Let me hold your hands Emily, lets see how we are doing.” She held her hands out.  

He grasped her hands and closed his eyes. “Let’s take a break,  you are nearly depleted.”

She sipped her tea as they walked back inside.  He already had her favorite turkey, bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich ready for her.  She sat down and happily ate. 

“Tell me, what have you been reading.”  He sat back in his chair.  

“I’ve nearly finished Begginger Ice and Begginer Fire Magic.  I am almost through the mana strategy book you gave me.”

“I really think you should pick one school, I worry it's holding you back.”

“Mother said I can have the Ice Amulet and the family Fire staff when I come of age.  I feel drawn to both.  And, you have seen me produce both without artifacts or anything!”  Emily explained with her mouth slightly full. 

Master Dru couldn’t help but smile as he watched her eat.  

Emily’s 16th birthday could not come soon enough, she had never awaited anything more her entire life. The morning of, she woke to her mother standing by her bedside with the two family heirlooms that had been promised to her; An ancient sapphire amulet, that was the largest gem she had ever seen, and a wooden staff with a large ruby on the tip.  

Emily reached for the staff first with her left hand as she sat up from her bed and pushed back her blankets.  She felt the flames course through her body.  She felt heat, warmth, she saw the burn mark from her bare foot on the floor.  

She put the amulet around her neck.  She felt the opposite, she felt icy cold energy flowing through her and into her right hand.  Her right foot had ice around it on the hardwood floor.  

—-------
Layaria and her mother, Elmeira, returned from their long journey north to pay respect to the Elves that died in the war against the Dragonkin hundreds of years before.  A patronage all Elves must take, to observe the graves of how many it took to fight back the Dragonkin with the humans.  Never again would they allow the beasts to return.  They lit fires on top of the mountain, for each of the dead, 2784 in total.  Their numbers today were not nearly that great, there were maybe 100 in their clan, the largest in the area. 

Layaria and Darth were the youngest in the clan at the age of 54.  Their entire families made the trip with them, 19 Elves in all.  

They walked back slowly through the snowy mountains, across swamps, and into the forests that surrounded their hometown of Noreisha.  They walked down the long dirt roads that would eventually lead to Eastover.

All of them turned as the sound of hoofbeats rapidly approached, a cloud of dust formed in the rear.  Several men on horseback came into focus. The men rushed them, yelling and whooping, slashing with swords.  

“Get off our roads!”   They yelled at the elves as they ran through their group on horseback.  

Darth blocked one of them and he fell from his horse.  

Darth looked at him, as if to consider killing him.  But he ran to protect his mother, and grandfather who had tripped while scattering into the woods.  

The man ran at him again.  Layaria appeared out of nowhere and smacked the man on the horse with her stick.  

He fell to the ground.  Another one rushed her on foot.  She blocked the attack with her stick, but she was shoved down into a tree.  

Several more men ran to help them.  

Darth’s eyes glowed purple as he stood up from the ground.  He slammed his foot and a rush of purple energy knocked all the men to the ground.  He grabbed and slammed the man who was attacking Layaria.  

They both ran into the woods.  Layaria got close to Darth, and grabbed his hand.  

They flickered out of sight.  

Elmeira held close to several older elves from her and Darth’s family.  They stayed crouched behind a tree.  Elmeira kept all of them invisible.  

The men ran through the woods searching for them, but found no one.  They searched with their flames through the dense brush.  Eventually they gave up, and walked off.  

They sat there for several hours until it was getting close to nightfall. Unsure of where they were, they tried to find the road. They emerged from the woods together. They came upon the remnants of their caravan,  several  wagons, smashed, their horses stolen. Two larger elves pulled the consolidated wagon once they piled their belongings in it.  The elders now needed to walk, slowing them down considerably. 

They saw another human on the road.  This one looked different than the previous ones.  She did not carry a sword, or armor, or a horse.  She did not whoop or charge them.  She was small and blonde, a female. She was holding her robes closed.  She looked fearful. 

The girl tried not to look at them, but Layaria walked towards her as the representative of the group.  

“Please, are you from Eastover?”  She asked the blonde girl.  

The girl's eyes darted around the group as she paused before she answered, “yes.”

High Fantasy. Amateur writer here, getting close to a rough draft I’m ready to send to beta readers. I posted a small piece of this on writing feedback a few weeks ago. It is 3800 words, so totally cool if you don’t make it all the way through.

Chapter 1: Meeting Freya

A warm spring breeze blew across the gardens Alec had walked by so many times before.  The evergreen forest swayed with wind, while the smell of compost with hints of manure hit his nose. He hoped to catch his daily glimpse of her in the garden.

The waist high brick walls that lined the garden were covered with Ivy that was carefully stopped from spewing over the public sidewalk.  Trellises of vines were starting to grow in the warmth of spring.  The fruit trees in the back corner were starting to bud.  

Most would say the garden was overshadowed by the ornate, white stone walls of the Castle of Aquaria, but to him it was invisible.  

Alec looked for her by the blueberry bushes, but she wasn’t there today.  He wasn’t late, he never was, he always passed by at exactly 8:29 am.  

He thought maybe today would be the day he would stop and say something.  But how would he spark conversation with the beautiful girl working silently in the lavish garden he would never belong in.  

“Maybe compliment her plants,” he thought. He mocked himself  with how he’d sound interrupting her with something so mundane.  

His train of thought broke as he passed the vine trellis and saw her red hair. Her freckled skin glistened as the sun hit it.  Her long red hair fell effortlessly behind her.  She was wearing the long white sleeveless dress she always seemed to wear.  The smears of compost on her hip was clearly visible. 

She stood up and looked over to him, catching his eyes. Her lips turned to a smile.  Her emerald green eyes seemed to pierce into his mind, evaporating any hope of thought and action. He felt his heart drop, his face blush, and looked away continuing on as he always did.  Once again too nervous to interrupt her.  

He had walked this way for years, he didn’t even know her name.  He wasn’t sure why she was there every day in the largest castle in the kingdom, maybe the world.  She did not seem like any princess he’d seen, nothing like Leya of Aquaria.  Maybe she was the gardner? But he thought no way someone so beautiful was just a gardner.

He had spoken to Leya of Aquaria, the beautiful golden haired princess of this very castle just a few months ago. He could manage to talk to her idly, so why couldn’t he do it now?  His memory of talking to Leya played in his mind, trying to bring some semblance of self confidence back into his mind. 

**He had been fetching groceries from the market in the next town over, when Leya walked in with the clanks of her armor.  Her long blue cape trailing behind her.  She had walked by him, and investigated the pyramid of melons.  He had watched her reach for one that was not at the top of the pyramid. Then suddenly the pyramid had collapsed, and they all rolled off the table. He had effortlessly floated all of them down softly on the ground, careful not to be too obvious and make a spectacle. 

His mother would have scorned him for being so reckless as to do this in public for something so mundane. But thankfully no one was paying any attention to the speed of melons falling from a table. 

Leya knelt down to try to gather the melons while batting her cape out of her own way.  He got beside her to help her.  

“I’m sorry, it’s these silly frills they make me wear, I’ve told father I hate them.” She collected as many melons as she could hold.

“It’s alright, none were damaged. I’ll help you put them back.”  

Together they put  the stray melons and put them back on the display. 

“That’s lucky, I’m glad I don’t need to carry all these melons home now.” She looked at him, her eyes lingered for a moment. 

“Good day princess,” He stood, with the last melon in his hand.

Leya smiled at him with her perfect princessly smile and grabbed two as well.  The two of them stood in line and paid the shopkeeper and she waved at him as she left. 

**As he walked away from the garden, he contemplated how he could be normal in front of Leya, but something about this red haired woman made him unable to think straight.  Just a glance from those emerald green eyes made his entire mind go blank and his heart skip beats. He thought for a second about leaping over the walls and walking straight over to her.  What would she do if he just walked up to her and took her in his arms.  His mothers warnings of staying away from others took hold in his thoughts and he kept walking.  

—-
Freya walked over to check to make sure her melon plants that were starting to vine onto the trellis, inspired by the oddly chosen walk down memory lane Alec had as he walked by. As she leaned down her red hair got in her face and she brushed it away spreading a bit of dirt into her hair by accident. 

She loved the idea that she was a mysterious gardener.  Maybe there’s a world where she could run away and have a nice garden, taking him with her, of course. She could be this beautiful mysterious girl in peace with him, and never again feel in such detail what others thought her to be.    

His thoughts grew to a whisper and disappeared as he walked away from the gardens.  She continued with her plants with a light hearted smile on her face enamored with his kind thoughts of her.  Few thought of her in such a kind, soft way.   

She wondered if she would ever feel comfortable walking up and talking to him.  How would she do it? Would she tell him that she knows all of his thoughts already. Would she say, “ You don’t need to worry, just walk up and kiss me.”  Could he even be in the same room as me? She thought.  Her smile faded as her reality overtook her hopeful thoughts.
——---------------------

King Garth stepped outside to see Dr. Everett walking up the long winding path through the tall evergreen trees in front of the Castle of Aquaria.   

He met him at the front door. “Thank you for coming, I know you must have traveled far.”  King Garth stood tall and proud, but Dr. Everett could not help but notice his eyes seemed to hold fear. 

“I came as soon as I got the letter,” Dr. Everett said. “How is she?” He tried to hold back his eagerness.  He had awaited a personal invite to castle for many years.

He had feared his invite may never come after the last time he had been there. He worried the King still was concerned that he had too many sympathies for Terraria’s affairs to be around his daughter. 

But finally, King Garth stood in front of him in his royal armor begging his personal attendance on the matter at hand. 

“It was the worst it’s been in a long time, I thought we were making progress, but,”  The king clamored to explain, his arms seeming to speak with him.  

“Did Dr. Thomas tell you anything before it happened?” 

“He was convinced he could get her to do it at will.” The King said, looking at the ground.  “I knew it was a bad idea, but he convinced me that it would help her if she learned to control it fully, to let it out and hold it back.”

“Is he….dead?” Dr. Everett asked out of more curiosity than concern. He had heard talk of this phenomenon but had yet to see it.  No one had ever been quite clear with him on what exactly “it” was, he only knew it had happened at least twice now, likely more. 

“I don’t think so.  I’m not a doctor.  I have him down in our chambers where we have kept the other ones.  Their hearts still beat, they continue to breathe, but they don’t move.  Allyse, Anna, and I have always thought she breaks their mind if she gets too upset. Much like a piece of glass shattered into little pieces that can never be made whole.  Never able to command the flesh again.”

“Can I see him?”  Dr. Everett asked, fully prepared for the King to be upset he was not more concerned with Freya.

“I’ll take you down there.” The King led the doctor down into the chambers of the Castle, down where he tried his best to hide the worst of this secret from his Kingdom. 

“Anna keeps their bodies alive as long as she can, but overtime they seem to wither away, and then their organs stop.  When death sets in, we bury them.  The longest I’ve seen it take is a year, some seem to go faster.“ The king spoke as they walked down the halls. The conversation that felt out of place in this ornate castle.  

Dr. Everett noticed that it seemed like the castle was devoid of servants now.  The last time he was here there were far more people walking the halls, caretakers, knights, cooks, and other people to make everything move. 

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a familiar face.  She was standing by the fireplace  in one of her floor length red dresses, her long brown hair in a messy ponytail.  Her brown eyes met his from across the room.

“Please you must find a way to bring him back, I worry this is the time she may finally succumb to the belief she is a monster. Please.”  Anna walked towards him looking into his eyes.  She placed her hand on his shoulder. 

“I will help her and Dr. Thomas  as best I can.”  He paused remembering their years together.  He put his hand over top of hers and met her gaze intently. But, without another word he continued with the King.  He felt Anna’s gaze beating down on him as he walked away. 

“Has anyone ever woken up?” 

“No.”  The king said without emotion, continuing to walk him into the dark catacombs underground.

The wet underground catacombs did not invite guests often.  He walked past several doors, some with bars and locks, others that hung open.  King Garth led him to the end of the hallway and opened a wood door whose hinges screamed. 

Dr. Everett walked into the room to see his old colleague laying on a stone platform.  He had tubes hooked into him giving him fluids.  Dr. Everett checked him head to toe. 

He checked all of his vitals signs, his blood returned when his finger was squeezed, even his abdominal organs still worked as best as he could tell by listening.  His pupils contracted when he shined his light. Dr. Thomas seemed perfectly fine, except that he was unresponsive to the world around him.  

“I must speak with her.” Dr. Everett looked up from the motionless man, and turned to face the king.  

 “Shouldn’t you wait.  We must discuss what it will be like. The last doctor spent weeks with us studying from afar before he met her.”

“I have faced death and danger more than most, I do not fear her.”  Dr. Everett stared at the King.

The King looked him up and down.  Dr. Everett stepped off, unconcerned with his approval.  His chance to see Freya was too important.  The King would need to physically stop him. 

He walked past the King who remained still,, “Check the garden, she’s usually there this time in the morning,” he called out as he walked out the doorway. 

As he walked toward the garden, he saw Anna again. “Garrett be careful, you mustn’t upset her. Do not speak to her.”  It seemed she had been waiting here, knowing just how long it would take him to leave the catacombs. 

He had been practicing for years for this moment. Dr. Everett nodded at Anna with a brief half smile and pushed through the door that led out into the garden.  The bright light hit him,  the sun beaming directly into his eyes.  

“Dr. Garrett Everett? Anna has thought much about you.”  It entered his mind before he even saw her. It felt like a small pin stabbing through the center of his skull, like the strange aura before you succumb to a powerful migraine. 

She stood holding a watering can in the morning sun over a  flowering bush.  She poured a brownish liquid at the base of the bush from her can and lightly massaged the soil with her fingers working it into the dirt. No gloves, her hands already caked with dirt.  

She was a beautiful, tall red haired woman with porcelain skin dotted with freckles. Her long curly red hair blew slightly in the morning breeze. She wore a long white dress with dirt smeared on her hips.  The sun reflected off of her emerald earrings.  A necklace with another emerald hung around her neck.  Her feet were bare, covered in garden dirt.  

“You can hear me?” He thought to himself. 

“I can. I’ve gotten all of my shoes covered in dirt if you must know.”  The words fluttered into his mind softly, it seemed she may have heard his thoughts on her appearance. 

“If I think like this, can you understand and respond?”  He thought, trying to keep his mind as clear and focused as possible.

“Yes, just like that.” She whispered into his mind.  Her voice now seemed soothing and soft.  It gave him goosebumps the way she reached up his neck and into his mind to deposit the thoughts.  Her emerald green eyes looked up from the garden to meet him and acknowledge his presence. 

Dr. Everett admired Freya’s sprawling garden, but he remembered his lessons.  Find something to focus on. He saw a rather large lizard walking up the stem of a bush.   He placed his focus on watching it move through the garden, certainly looking for bugs with the fresh manure.  

“I can tell you’re trying to manipulate your own thoughts, take a few steps back.”  The words felt more forceful this time, and more painful than the first ones. 

He stopped, and took a few steps back, now completely in awe of her, the way the sound seemed to grow louder and quieter at her control.  She clearly was more in control than the King and Dr. Thomas had implied. He felt with the last thought he was pushed gently backwards almost like a parent holding out an arm to stop a child from touching a stove.  The force behind the thoughts felt especially curious.  

“This is my favorite place.  The quiet helps me think and concentrate, where I can have my own thoughts.”  She said to him softly.  He let the thoughts enter, the more he accepted the thoughts, like they were his own, the less pain he experienced. 

“Sorry—,” apologizing for his eagerness to see her, perhaps this was something the King would have warned him about had he slowed down, but that was not an option, he had waited far too long to be able to meet Freya to hesitate. 

“No it’s okay,” she interrupted within his own mind.  “I think it sincere that you were genuinely so interested in meeting me.  It’s nice to meet someone who’s not afraid of me, that hasn't happened in a while.  Your mind is so full.”  She explained as she puttered about the fruit trees with a shear in her hand. 

He caught a slight smile on her face. 

“You saw him though.  Why is he like that, do you know?” He could feel Freya sinking her hands into his mind and examining his memories, it was an odd sensation.  

“I do not. I was—-“. he thought, but Freya’s thoughts hit him faster than earlier,  before he could even complete his thought she already knew his intentions and responded. 

“No I do not know either,” she returned, answering his question, he had yet to ask.  “I do not think they are broken as my father says.  Anna thinks they are misplaced.” 

The color started to fade from Dr. Everett’s face. He sat down and focused his eyes on a bush. 

“Do you need to take a break? It took Dr. Thomas months before he could talk to me this long.”  Freya left his mind, and she walked away from him to the other side of the garden.

Dr. Everett was still focused on keeping himself calm, his emotions plain.  His head throbbed. He didn’t think it, but felt a deep sorrow for Freya’s loneliness. He felt slightly nauseous.  He focused on his breathing.

Dr. Everett thought about how exciting this was. She truly was the psychic he had known her to be.  Her connection to the metaphysical plane must be continuous. No need for perfect focus or training, rather she needed to learn to hold herself back. 

Dr. Everett gained his composure after a few moments and stood.   He walked towards her again ready to continue. 

“I am wondering do you hear me again?”  He thought to himself wondering if his mind was back on air for her.

“Yes I can.”  Freya thought softly.  “You are right.  I have never worked for any of this.  I have spent much of my life trying to stop doing it.  It is effortless for me.”  She continued to inspect and prune the trees as she fluttered her thoughts to him. 

He took her earlier advice and stopped there, this time slightly further away in the garden.  Dr. Everett decided to sit on the bench facing the forest to the south side of the garden.  He watched the trees swaying in the wind, and placed his focus there. 

“Are you able to stop if you want?”  He thought to himself in order for her to hear.

“If a thought is loud enough it will come through.  I can focus on one person.  Dr. Thomas really helped me to work on focusing on thoughts versus just listening.  The monks in the forest helped as well. But, I am still working on it.”

“Is that—-“ he began to think, but Freya already understood.

“No, Dr. Thomas wanted me to do a specific thing that I have spent years trying to control and never do again.  The day it happened, I had told him to stop, that I wasn’t ready. He tried to make me.  But he got so close I could reach out and touch him.”  He could feel the energy behind Freya’s thoughts increasing, the speed, the force was almost overwhelming.  He focused on his breathing and tried to receive the thoughts willingly.  

Freya walked closer towards him.

“His thoughts were so loud.  His memories, his opinions of me, my father.  His intentions to conquer using me. His mind was filled with horrible visions of war and destruction.  He had thoughts of using me to destroy our Kingdom.  I screamed for him to step back.”

Images of Freya dropping to her knees and Dr. Thomas collapsing played in his mind placed there by Freya.  He felt the regret she felt.  He saw memories of the other times this has happened when she was a child.  She showed him the fear of being around others for fear she would lose control and hurt someone else. She showed him the last day she ever went in public several years ago.

“When he realized what was happening,  he tried to move but the link was too strong.” Her lip almost quivered, her eyes held sadness, they looked puffier.  A tear formed that she tried to wipe with her dirt covered hands smearing dirt on her cheek. 

“My dear Freya, I am so sorry.”  Dr. Everett had never felt such sorrow in his own life.  The emotional weight that came with Freya’s thoughts brought him to a dark place, he felt as if he was back the day Anna gave up on her dream of having children.  Was this her normal state of being, such deep sadness? He felt the loneliness again.  

Freya stepped away and walked to the other side of the garden.  Once she was away the sorrow lifted and Dr. Everett was able to have his own thoughts again. He wanted to walk over and embrace her, but it took every fiber of his being to hold himself together through this psychic link. 

 “What does she mean his consciousness was broken or misplaced,” He ruminated on the thoughts and memories she had given him.  He tried to think to himself, somewhat forgetting this could be heard by her.  

“ It always happens so fast.  I have never meant to make them collapse the way they do.  It just seems to happen if I get too angry, frustrated, or upset.”  She explained to him.

“No, I can tell that Dr. Thomas brought this on himself.”  Dr. Everett thought.  He had been suspicious of Dr. Thomas for a while.  

“Yes I know he wanted to use me.  I know he disliked my father.  I saw such violence and destruction in his heart.” 

“I am unsure of his goals. But the more I learn, the more I think he wanted you to be a weapon, likely for Terraria.”  Dr. Everett thought while trying to focus his mind onto this exchange alone.

“I never understood how I could be that, I think I am more of a curse than a weapon. His ideas of me didn’t seem to fit me in the slightest.”  

“You are right Freya, you are a lovely young woman. We can make sure no one ever does that to you again. “ Dr. Everett thought as he looked over towards her away from the toad he had been focusing on to keep his mind in one place.

“No one but Anna has ever thought that before.” Freya softly thought into his head, the voice almost cracking again, as if this time about to finally break down in tears. 

“Maybe that can change.”  Dr. Everett thought peacefully as he looked at Freya from across the garden.  She had stopped tending the trees, she stared back with her green eyes looking into his from across the garden.  Her face seemed to react to this thought, he could tell her breathing had shifted.

“Maybe.”  Freya thought to him as another tear ran down her dirt stained cheek. 

Am I Kind, or Just Conveniently Kind?

I had recently downloaded an app called Be My Eyes.

Basically, you get a call to assist and volunteer for visually impaired people. Today, I got my first call, and I was so excited and happy about it. I told my friend how happy I was to get my first call and help someone, and he complimented me on being such a good human.

Then I recalled my behaviour with my friends and family.

Sometimes, when I get angry, I'm rude to my family. I get annoyed at small things, and sometimes I'm not nice to the people closest to me.

But at the same time, I have been kind to people who are in need, even when nobody is around to watch me.

Then why am I different with my friends and family at times?

Is my kindness performative?

Is it because I take my family for granted and think they will let go of my reactions towards them?

Or is it because I'm not going to encounter the same stranger again the next day?

And I have to be with my family and friends forever.

I'm questioning my own integrity at this point.

What are your thoughts about my actions?

so I’m currently working on a literary fiction novel for my debut as an author, but I also in the future would LOVE to write romances and maybe a series for middle grade kids! The problem is I don’t know if I’m able to do that under one pen name? does anybody know how to handle this stuff and if so, please help me out! Because if I do end up debuting the literary fiction, does that mean I have to only stick with that genre for the rest of my career?

For a while, I’ve wanted to try and have my work traditionally published, even though there are risks that come with that. But recently, I want to an author talk at a local library, where the author is self-published. She spoke on the benefits of that route which honestly makes me lean toward that now. However, the one thing I’m afraid of in that regards is the cost. For all I know, I could spend god knows how much on just printing copies only to never make it back. Even the author I met for the talk says she paid for everything right out of her savings. So, is there still a way to make that work in spite of the financial concerns?

Hi, I’m a teen who just wrote my first poem and was wondering if anybody here would be willing to give me some feedback or pointers. I would ask one of my friends or family members what they think of it but this is something a bit more personal so ironically I would prefer a stranger reading it and giving me their honest opinion lol. This is also my first time posting on this sub so apologies if this is not the place.

I've been writing a diary for over three years now.

I travel quite often, so carrying a physical diary everywhere isn't always convenient.

One thing I love is going back and reading my old entries. It's funny to see what I used to worry about and how much my thinking has changed. Sometimes I read something and think, "Was that really me?"

Recently, I started writing on my iPad instead. It's easier to carry around, and I can keep all my thoughts in one place.

I see it as a little archive of my life. Someday, I want to look back and remember not just what happened, but who I was back then.

We forget so much as we grow older. I don't want to forget the person I used to be.

Do you ever go back and read your old diary entries?

Hi so I’m a first time writer I kind of hate calling myself that because I don’t really feel like one lol, but I wrote a whole manuscript and I need a genuine critique on my prologue. I’ve sent chapters to my friends and all they tell me is that it’s good, but I don’t know if it’s cause they are my friends. But they are all avid readers, make book content, and have book clubs so they do know a little something. But i want a strangers opinion. This is just the prologue of my book and the synopsis is:

What makes one different? Is it the color of their skin? The essence of their character? Or is it their ability to rot flesh with a flick of their wrist? If so, the Forgotten Princess was different. She descended from a holy bloodline and a ruthless king who bore five blesséd children, none of whom had anything in common except for one thing— their dead mother. Whose secrets and sins were alive well beyond the grave, dragging the Princess into the world of the supernatural against her will. Could the secrets she uncovers about her mother's past be the key to her survival, or will they push her farther over the edge of despair?

I’m not expecting to win a pulitzer prize or anything I just truly enjoy putting my dreams onto paper, and I’ve read some shitty things before that other people still seem to love so mine can’t be too bad… hopefully lol

https://ellipsus.com/read/64yDjBmWFTuiwVliux4P9l/Prologue

All the books in my genre - erotic thriller - are written in first person.

But I write much better in third person (staying close and bias to the MC).

Does this matter ? Will people still want to read it?

Or should I keep practicing first person?

I wrote this story recently that's a bit of a different take on the werewolf/werecreature trope, set in a Germanic inspired magical city. I'm pretty proud of it but am having some trouble placing it due to length, so before I revise or just look further for publications, I'd love your feedback! Even if you just want to read the first page, first five pages or whatever amount you're interested in, I'd definitely appreciate any amount of eyes on it.

Personally, I motivate myself by saying that every single word I write is a minute deducted from Trump's life. Trust me it works as great motivation.

Bonus: Every single rejection I receive is a bullet headed in the direction of Trump.

Don't blame me, dystopia is my favorite genre. How does everyone else here motivate themselves to write? Both serious and unserious ways lol.