#novelistnet

Crystal stands two feet away, clinging to a jagged wall of rock. She’s an unusual sight, stripped of her typical imposing, dark gothic gowns and ruby stilettos. Today, she’s barefoot, in a Grecian style sea foam dress, cordoned about the neck and waist. It’s less fabric than Marnie’s ever seen her in, so thin, the press of her breasts shows through the translucent material. Her ordinarily elaborate braids are tied loose in one long rope over one shoulder. Wisps of hair have already slipped out, to blow in the afternoon breeze about her face. She’s a siren risen from the deep, her harpy’s maw a bright salmon's coral, ready to strike.

So I’ve had this idea for a novel for a really long time...

His hair is rumpled, straw-like in texture, style, and colour, blown in every direction by the hallowed wind. Weapons hang in holsters on his belt, slung low against his faded jeans. On one hip rests a wooden stick, sharpened at the end to a deathly point. On the other, he’s secured a flask of clear liquid that appeared to Marnie’s eye to be mere water. His clunky black army boots fall to mid-shin, as war torn as the rest of him, all scuffed leather and lace ups blasted through.             He glances sidelong at her, revealing a grim face over his shoulder. His hazel eyes seek her out in appraisal. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes speak of the happier life of a carefree man who laughed liberally and loved without second thought.