#quest's dragon keep

I am the type of person to take random things as green lights for the universe. And tonight, I'm choosing to take @canonkiller 's very lovely post about actually making and posting original stories to heart.

Approximately 100 days ago, I challenged myself to start writing a tiny bit every day. Even if it was just one word. I made a small playlist of songs, came up with a loose plot concept and MC, and just went for it.

The world is so scary and stressful right now. But I love storytelling. I love creating and I know that if I wanna do that to the degree I truly want to, I have to put myself out there. I need to be bolder and unapologetic and take up the space as much as I want. So some way, somehow, I'm gonna start using this account to shine a light on that story I've been working on and will continue working on.

For now, I've nicknamed it "Wavering Bliss", so that's what the tag will be. It features a character by the name of Bliss as the protagonist and another by the name of Nehemiah as the deuteragonist (is that the correct term??? /lh). Their story is a patchwork mess of love, filled with feelings and thoughts on religion, culture, identity, autonomy, sexuality, and more. To those already familiar with it, I'd appreciate you spreading the word. And for those who step into this story, thanks for however long you're here.

For now, I offer their playlist to you. See you again soon.

///

[Day 4 / Aug. 27]

I stood alone in the sanctuary, the barren pews yawning at me. The steps echoed as they approached from behind. And then, the hand on my shoulder.

"Come along, child. There is work to do."

I shrugged off his hand. "Not a child."

///

[Day 5 / Aug. 29] (CW: Graphic Description of Violence)

My hands connected with something firm when my eyes shot open. Reverend loomed over me, arms locked as his hands tightened around my throat. I tried to force my legs to move, but the bone in his knees dug into my thighs.

"Let this wretched mockery of your divine creation be expelled from this plane," he muttered to himself, eyes locked on my face. "Release this childish vessel and allow its true soul to know peace." My eyes started to burn as my airways strained to open. "Your will is my own. Grant me the strength and guide my hands." Black spotted my vision, and I felt something wet slide down my cheek as strangled whines took place of verbal pleas.

Reverend told me we would celebrate the day he found me come morning. It was okay I didn't have a birthday like the other kids in the town. Ten years of life was something to be marveled at. We would make it special.

My fingertips stung as my claws extended further. Without a second thought, I shoved my hand into Reverend's side. His flesh made a wet, squelching noise as my fingers dug inside. He cursed with a yell, hands releasing my throat finally before he backhanded me. It stung, but my hands found his arm before I could think. He made the mistake of rolling up his sleeves before he'd come to my room, and the blood against my palm did nothing to weaken my grip.

I attacked whatever I could get hold of. When I finally fell out of my bed, scrambling onto all fours as I ran down the hall, I had blood, hair, spit, and more in my grasp or against my skin.

I only dared stop once I made it to the church's basement. My chest heaved, some of the breaths triggering coughing fits as my throat recovered from the abuse it had just survived. I kept my hands clamped over my mouth where I could, terrified anything more than the tears flowing down my face would give away my hiding spot.

I didn't come out for 3 days.

Until I was sure my birthday couldn't be a tool of damnation and that the blood under my nails and in my teeth would be a reminder that I hadn't died in my bed.

///

[Day 6 / Aug. 29]

I didn't think the Reverend's god loved me. But I'd be lying if I said the reality of that never made me weep.

///

[Day 27 / Sept. 19]

The trees kept calling to me. I could still hear their screams in my dreams.

///

[Day 28 / Sept. 20] (CW: Vague Description Of Injury/Implied Violence)

The baker forced her legs forward, fractured bone numb with adrenaline as she limped along the dirt path. She coughed, the smoke that rose behind her still trapped in her chest. She couldn't hear the screams anymore. In that moment, she understood she was the last of them still alive.

The branch caught against foot, forcing her to the ground. She cried out, the bundle in her arms rolling several feet away. She winced as she lifted herself back up, blood dripping onto the ground from her wounds.

The blanket had come undone, the tongue hanging slack out of her husband's head. She gingerly wrapped him back up, pressing a kiss against the top of his head before clutching it to her chest. Every step was more agonizing than the last, but she willed her body onward until she could no more.

Her legs buckled as she stepped into a ring of trees, a few flower buds scattered across the ground. This spot would have to do.

She fished into pocket, pulling free the knife he'd thrust into her hand before locking her away from the danger. It was still clean. The sight of it forced tears into her eyes again.

She forced it into the ground, dragging it across the earth again and again until the soil gave way to something looser. She dropped it to her side, grabbing fistfuls of dirt as sweat slid down her temple. Her breathing had gone ragged now, but she never stopped. At last, there it was. A shallow hole, just barely deep enough.

She whispered to the head before placing it into the ground, blanket and all. Then came the bones, cleaned despite their size. The small animal that had passed would serve its purpose in due time. She dropped them into the hole, coughing into her hand and wiping the blood onto her shirt. She had to focus while she could.

She pulled the dirt back over the hole, covering the items until only a small sliver of the fabric showed. Then, she took hold of the blade once more and plunged it into her wounds. She sobbed in pain through gritted teeth, reaching into her abdomen and tearing whatever flesh she could free from their confines. Her hand was slick with blood as she placed the piece of herself against that fabric, covering it with dirt as her vision swam.

The baker fell onto the ground, breath but a wheeze as she bled out onto the ground. Even as each of her senses screamed in agony, she smiled as a tear slid out her eye.

She was gone before the animal came to feed off of her remaining body.

///

[Day 29 / Sept. 21]

I woke up with the claws again. I didn't know why it kept happening.

///

[Day 10 / Sept. 2]

I clamped my hands tight over my ears. The dirt couldn't have me again. Not yet.

///

[Day 11 / Sept. 3]

I wanted to be someone's lover. I didn't think it would make me human. But it felt like it would weaken their misplaced superiority towards me.

///

[Day 12 / Sept. 4]

I saw them again today. The "changeling", my father called them. Though I wasn't sure if that was the term gifted to them by folklore, or if it was a cruel turn of phrase I'd later beg forgiveness for ever uttering.

They didn't see me. Or if they did, they made no note of acknowledgement. It was rare that they left the church and ventured into town. The reverend was at their side, as he usually was. But I'd seen them once before on their own. In an odd way, I got the impression that having the reverend close at hand made them feel better. Or perhaps that was simply my naivety shining through.

I had work to tend to in the archives. But I found myself rooted in place, mesmerized as though they were a siren rather than another being altogether. My colleagues and siblings alike always warned me whenever I brought them up. There was something wrong with them— the changeling— and I was better off staying as far as I could. They weren't human, and the only reason they had lived this long was thanks to the reverend's blessing.

But I never believed that. And stood across the town square, watching the way they carried themself as they walked supplies home with the man who has raised them, I knew I had to get closer. I was never as religious as my other family members, and I was reminded of why in that moment. For if our god was so cruel as to deem a person as mesmerizing as them to damnation, perhaps I could see things that It could not. And if it was my undoing, what a blessing it would be.

///

[Day 21 / Sept. 13]

I had the nightmare again. The one where a woman screamed as she cradled my battered child body against her chest. Her face still remained a mystery to me, no matter how many times I tried to stare directly at it.

///

[Day 22 / Sept. 14]

"Bliss."

I didn't look up at the Reverend, continuing to write my notes until his hand slammed down on the page. I pursed my lips, narrowing my gaze as I glanced through my lashes.

"You're going to help me repaint the fence. Come along." He moved his hand off, steps echoing as he walked to the door.

"Your god would ask for a 'please'..." I muttered, setting my pencil down as I stood to follow.

///

[Day 23 / Sept. 15]

I woke up weeping in bed again.

[Wavering Bliss Semi-Daily Writing Update]

///

[Day 16 / Sept. 8]

I couldn't sleep. The tears wouldn't stop flowing.

///

[Day 17 / Sept. 9]

I still got the nightmares. The ones where my flesh was wrenched from between my bones and torn to shreds by uncaring human teeth. No one had been dumb enough to try and reenact it. Yet.

///

[Day 18 / Sept. 10]

The man's lips against my own didn't feel like much. He must be drunk, I thought to myself. But I pulled him closer when he asked if he could kiss me. The detour took all of two minutes on my way back to the church. I scrubbed my mouth with the back of my hand as I left. It wasn't his fault. I just didn't feel anything.

///

[Day 19 / Sept. 11]

The attic was cold. But anywhere was better than where the Reverend could see me for now.

///

[Day 20 / Sept. 12]

The reverend's eyes had barely opened before he jolted in his bed, scooting back in a drowsy frenzy. It stood at the end of his bed, eyes wide and unblinking. In the darkness, It's irises glinted as if the moonlight had been caught and shone back at his face.

"Can I eat it?"

Despite its estimated age— no more than 6 years old, the reverend mused— its words still possessed an air of knowledge. It had nothing to do with vocabulary used and everything to do with the cadence that hugged every word that left its lips.

He cleared his throat, "Eat what, Child?"

It thrust its hands closer towards him, crumbs and bits of berries hitting the floor with a soft thud. It held what appeared to be half of a muffin and an assortment of fruit, somewhat squished within a clumsy, yet firm grip.

He had been saving it for his breakfast. With a grimace, he waved It away. "You may eat it. But stay out of my quarters and the kitchen when I'm not there to supervise you."

It nodded, unblinking gaze drifting down to its hands before it walked back out without a word. He pinched the bridge of his nose, lying back as he closed his eyes.

"Strange devil..."

///

[Day 13 / Sept. 5]

I didn't like the way the hunter boy looked at me. I felt his eyes bore into me from where I stood next to the reverend. Everyone in town toted him as a scholar first, but the way he carried himself spoke to other instincts.

///

[Day 14 / Sept. 6]

I watched the first girl I fell in love with get married today. Most of the faces I didn't recognize— family from out of town, I presumed. I shouldn't have been surprised that it was held in the church. But the blood that stained my fingertips as my nails dug into flesh, my eyes fixated on her shining smile beneath that veil as I sat in the rafters, said otherwise.

///

[Day 15 / Sept. 7]

The dirt still felt packed in my lungs. There wasn't any point trying to claw it out now.

///

[Day 1 / Aug. 24]

I stared at my reflection in the basin. Darkness clung to me, a wet, heavy presence in the silence. And still, my eyes caught the fleeting moonlight in them.

I looked like a beast caught in a hunter's path. Did that make the thoughts in my mind indicative of premeditated homicide? Or with the dagger extending from my nail beds, drawing blood with even the most gentle of touches, were my fantasies mere visions of an eventual suicide?

I dipped my hands into the water, the reflection fracturing as I rubbed them clean in the silence of my home.

///

[Day 2 / Aug. 25] (CW: Vague Descriptions Of Body Horror)

"Over here!" The Reverend shouted over the storm, the sea of people following the line his arm directed. The bodies clambered over one another as they rushed towards the noises that had roused them from their slumber. A child's cries were capable of moving any soul.

"Reverend, this ravine is too step to go down. How will we manage to reach the child— Reverend!"

"Just stay back, Ms. Daniels!" The man tossed his umbrella aside, flashlight clutched in his hand as he scaled the side of the ravine towards the river. Shouts of protest and concern echoed behind him, but no one dared to follow. If their reverend thought he could manage it, they'd trust him to do so.

Another wave of cries drew his attention, the reverend's head snapping in the direction of the clearing of trees towards the end of the river. He stepped into the water— any hopes of his shoes being anything other than soaked had been dashed long before their party made it out this far.

"Hold on! I'm coming to help, child!" he called out, illuminating the path before him as he stepped back out of the water onto solid ground. The trees thinned in this part of the woods, usually surrounding a few sparse flower beds when wind and rain wasn't tearing into it.

Only it wasn't the elements that disrupted those flowers. The beam of light cut through the night and shone on a patch of grass that broke apart as a small hand forced its way through the ground.

The man watched, lips barely parted in morbid curiosity and restrained horror as those tiny fingers clawed the ground. Another hand emerged, digging up the earth until a small body began to surface. And still, those pained, almost infantile cries echoed in his ears, as clear as ever.

The child pulled itself free from the confines of the dirt, arms giving out beneath them for a moment. He took a step towards them, but jerked back as the body spasmed and forced itself on all fours once more. The child coughed violently, clumps of dirt falling from their mouth. Then the blood, dripping down their chin and onto the now fallen flower petals.

They lifted their head, wide eyes staring intently but without any spirit or soul behind them. They— No. It studied the man's expression as much as he studied its form. A flash lightning caught in its eyes, and the reverend watched the reflective highlight bounce within them. Only then did he realize the crying was gone, as if the exhumation had halted an audio track that had been looping. He clenched his jaw, feet firm where he stood.

"What are you?"

The chimes of a distant clock forced my eyes open. I stared at the ceiling, ignoring the drying blood against my nails from my healing palms. I rolled over, turning my attention to the sunlight streaming into the window.

"They can't put you back...." I murmured to myself. "Not ever again..."

///

[Day 3 / Aug. 26]

I wanted to be loved. But the Reverend said things like me don't love as humans do. I didn't tell him I still dreamt in secret.