#excerp

Project: Sunward Daily word count: 3,032 Total word count: 18,040 Notes: Ooof! Orlando sucker punched me today with a bunch of background information. Holy mother... 

I hope today’s excerpt isn’t too spoilerish, but it seemed only right that it’s what’s to be shared. And I’d love to hear input on whether or not this is a good way to get it out there that a character is trans? Constructive criticism is definitely appreciated on this one. Thanks! 

Excerpt:

Orlando had been different. 

She can almost hear Albus voice at the back of her mind, cautioning her, telling her to not get swept up in the sphere surrounding Tom Riddle. But it’s pushed back as the hush falls as the Dark Lord steps past the curtains held open by a young Lucius Malfoy, her red eyes sweeping almost absently over them. 

Tall and elegant, her hair dark and short, styled back to give an excellent view of her neck – robes hanging almost carelessly off her shoulders, her feet bare.

She would be in her fifties now, Harry knows, but age hadn’t carved lines into her face – if anything she looked untouched by it, a sort of eerie displacement that made her look young and old at the same time.

Around her people were kneeling but Harry remained standing – mouth curling up as red eyes found her with a brief flash of annoyance.

For @yourocsbackstory

It started right after Rhys's magic resonance turned out to be fire.

People started to avoid him where they could. No one was outright insulting him at first, but only because they were too scared for that.

Mothers led they children away. The seniors that used to greet us when they were walking by averted their eyes.

As the word spread, people fled like Rhys would set fire to them on the spot anywhere he went. Then salesmen started to send him away. Refusing to sell him anything. He was banned from restaurants. No service would be done for him.

Scribbles appeared on our house. Threatening my brother, the villagers and neighbours knew all their lives, to get out and take his fire magic with him.

Rhys bore it calmly, too shocked by this behaviour. He just couldn't believe all what it took were few little sparks around him when he was fighting with a pocket thief to help someone else.

I don't know what the last drop was, just that Rhys got up one morning to go on a ride on his motorcycle and didn't come back that evening.

Marcus and I sat in the dark kitchen, waiting. My hands were shaking more and more as the time passed.

"We should go look for him," I suggested into the silence.

"Leave your brother be, Oliver. Let him have his space." Marcus's voice was like sigh.

"But what if he does something stupid? You know how emotional he is. He could drive off a cliff in his rage and we wouldn't even know!" My voice grew louder in agitation so I bit my lip to stop that panicked tone. I couldn't stand hearing it.

"It's not fair," I continued after a pause, "it's not his fault."

The older men breathed out deeply before sitting down on the chair beside me. The kitchen light reflected in his unusually fair hair.

"It isn't his fault Oli, but it changes everyhting. When people see fire they see the war. The war that ruined this world to this state, the war that killed so many of their own. The war fire mages led and lightning mages won." His tone was solemn, making my skin crawl.

"But he would never hurt anybody," I protested feebly.

"But he commands fire. The most hurtful element of them all."

-

You’ve been condemned from one prison to another. Expected to save the world that can’t even be bothered to stop and ask if you’re okay because they can’t see past the sunburst mark on your forehead.

Evelyn turns her gaze to the spiral of green death above, the mark on her wrist crackling with pain that sets her nerves on fire, fingers twitching in response even as she keeps her face carefully blank, distant.

Introductions are made.

She’s not part of them

Are you afraid? Her mind wonders as she takes a step forward, followed by another, snow crunching beneath her boots, magic ghosting at her neck and flaring up around her in a protective barrier when demons explode out of thick green and black ooze in a warbled cry that makes the hair on her arms rise in response. How long has it been since you felt anything at all? Ten years? Eleven? Do you even understand what you’re feeling?

Evelyn watches the way Solas twirls his staff with an eerie sort of grace, bare feet against the ice as more crackles and explodes out in jagged death.