#rodentwrites

It was boiling hot, hotter than any mortal could survive. The ground under her was red dirt, rough, cracked, and dry as a bone. Grunting, the young woman sat up, head pounding and ears ringing. She finally opened her eyes fully, and the environment around her came into focus.

Overhead, dark red stalactites took the space where the sky should’ve been. Orange and yellow light, like fire, came from somewhere to her right. Dead trees and plants surrounded her, their dry, lifeless limbs reaching out to grab her. The air was hot and suffocating, and everything smelled like smoke and something rotten burning. She was standing on the edge of a slope- at the bottom of which was more dead things and cracked red ground. To her right, she could see the dark shadow of a castle- with high walls, sharp and thin towers, and a menacing glow.

The young woman slowly got up, and brushed herself off. She noticed that her dress, a pink one made of silk with gold embroidery, once elegantly simple- was now tattered and tarnished. Her long red hair was falling out of a braid, a thin leather strip just barely hanging on to keep her hair together. There were brown leather boots on her feet, old and worn but sturdy. Her hands were smudged with dirt, and on the tip of her index finger, she could see a tiny white dot, the size of a needle point.

It was all overwhelming and honestly terrifying.

The young woman took a cautious step towards the edge, trying to get a better look at the ground below.

One of the tree branches, it looked like a crooked and gnarled hand, darted out and grabbed her arm in an iron grip.

The young woman yelled, snapping the branch off its tree and backing away as the branch gripped her arm tighter. She grabbed it, pulling and tearing, causing the branch to snap off with a shower of splinters.

Then another branch grabbed her shoulder. Another her ankle. Another her other arm. A horrified cry escaped her as she backed away, trying to escape the trees and get the branches off.

With a little force, all of the branches snapped off and shattered into dozens of splinters. She had finally gotten the last one off when she collided with a huge something behind her. The collision sent her face first into the dirt.

Growling with frustration, the young woman rolled over onto her back and shouted, “Hey watch it you-” Her anger quickly disappeared as she stared into the face of a demon.

She’d heard of demons before, sure. They were kids stories that parents told their children to make them behave and go to sleep at night. Otherwise, people talked of them with fear because everyone knew that the Under was terrifying and horrid.

The demon was just as described in the stories however. Skin red as blood, dark curved horns protruding out of his head, black armor with spikes, a tall sword so sharp it could cut a solid rock, and dark eyes that showed no mercy.

“Get in line, mortal,” the demon hissed, grabbing her arm and yanking her to her feet. Behind him, a line of people was slowly moving, all of them looking similar to the young woman- torn clothes, covered in dirt, and with confused and or terrified looks on their faces. Evenly spaced out to the side of the demon, more of them stood guard, leading mortal souls into line.

The Under. That’s where she was.

Dead trees and the cave-like ceiling should’ve given that away, but she was so disoriented she hadn’t fully realized until now.

The young woman hesitantly got into line, playing with her loose braid to help her mind process. The line ahead of her looked like it went on for miles until it was too small to see anymore. All along the way demons stood guard to keep people in line and direct them to the start, evenly spaced out with their weapons half drawn.

The line was painstakingly slow, and a lot of dull, hot hours in the red and orange light. It didn’t take long for her feet to start hurting and everything else dully ached. 

She was thirsty too, so thirsty. According to the stories, the thirst couldn’t kill her- she was already dead- but she would feel the effects and it would likely slow her down.

That was the entire point of the underworld- you can’t die but you’ll wish that you could again just to stop the pain.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before she finally reached the end of the line, but it felt like days. The line split into five others before five desks. At each desk, a feminine demon sat with a long and wide scroll, a feather, and a pot of ink.

“State your full name please,” the demon said, her voice completely monotone and she sounded slightly annoyed.

The young woman blinked, trying to recall. What was her name? Her mind just drew a blank no matter what she did. “Um… I- I don’t-” She pressed her temple in an attempt to get rid of the pounding headache. It felt like a blacksmith was pounding her head with their hammer, and her head was going to split in two. “I- I don’t-.... I can’t-” Her mouth was dry and her throat was thick with the hot, muggy air. 

“I can’t remember…” She finally got out.

The demon called to her friend, “Babes, I got another one!” She turned back to the young woman, “The mortal world fog must not have lifted quite yet, it happens. If you can’t remember your full name, just give me part of it and I should be able to find it on my list here.”

The young woman closed her eyes, trying to remember even just a name. The only thing that came to mind was images- Hands, the brown skin calloused and rough, but the hands themselves gentle. Hair, dark as a raven’s feathers, but soft and wavy. And a rare and small, but gentle smile.

One name did come to mind- Raven.

But she knew that wasn’t her name, no, that name belonged to the gentle hands, wavy dark hair, and oh so rare smile.

Her name was…. She could remember him- Raven- calling her name, but it was foggy.

Finally, a name that she recognized as her own came to her.

“Sapphire. My name is Sapphire.”

The demon looked at her scroll, which was filled with names down one side and cause of death filled out for some of the names on the other. “Princess Sapphire Rose? The first of House Hendrix?”

Sapphire let out a small sigh of relief, the name she recognized as hers. “Yes. That’s me.”

The demon used her quill to check off the name, and asked, “And how did you die?”

Again, Sapphire’s mind drew a blank. It was so hot she couldn’t even focus on trying to remember. “I-... I can’t-....”

“If you can’t remember just give it a minute, it’ll come to you. Takes a while for that fog from the mortal world to wear off sometimes,” the demon told her, leaning back in her chair. “What’s the last thing you remember? That usually tips off how it happened.”

Sapphire closed her eyes, trying to recall the last thing that had happened. The only thing she could recall before ending up here was Raven holding her, calling her name, and desperately trying to shake her awake-

Awake. She’d been asleep, she was-

Sleeping curse.

She wasn’t dead.

Or wasn’t supposed to be anyway.

*

The door creaked open and a young man entered, carrying two steaming mugs. Kristopher looked at him closely. He was attractive, certainly. But that wasn't why they'd wound up here.

Crossing the room, the man took a seat on the bed, holding out a mug. Kristopher took it, letting the warmth ease into his fingers. It was only the first of March, and Westcliff remained bitterly cold well into spring. Even the castle was cold and drafty, and this was no castle.

Slowly he took a drink, eyeing the other man over the top of his cup. What was his name? Had he ever asked? The warm liquid rushed down his throat, the steam helping to clear his head. "Thank you," he said, than paused. He'd never quite figured out what to say now, when they would remember it.

"Dorian. My name is Dorian." The man smiled. "I don't think you ever asked." Kristopher nodded. He needed to go, leave the handsome boy and his warm drinks behind. But he dreaded going back to the castle, seeing the scorn on his parents' faces. If they even looked at him.

Handing the mug back, he got to his feet, searching the room for his shirt. "I have to go," he said. The words sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

"Is there any chance I'll see you again?" Kristopher froze, fingers hovering over the last button of his shirt. He hated this part.

"No, I don't think so." Not if I have a choice, he thought.

It wasn't just that he didn't want to see Dorian again, it was that he couldn't. For both their sakes.

"I'm sorry," he said, a moment too late. He wasn't sure what made him say it, if it was the look in Dorian's eyes, or the leftover alcohol in his veins. But he regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. Don't ever let them see you have a heart.

"Me too," Dorian said, words barely above a whisper. Neither of them said anything while the Prince slid on his boots and put on his belt. Kristopher caught the young man staring at him more than once, but he always looked away.

So, in 7th grade, the entire class had to read the book The False Prince by Jennifer Nielson (spelling??). At the end, we were charged with one of two tasks. To either A) draw a family crest for our own family, or B) write an epilogue for the book. I was the only kid in the entire class who chose B. Now, there are a few things you should know about that book, if you've never read it (which I didn't like it much, if that tells you anything). First off, it's book one in a trilogy. Two, it's ridiculously predictable. Which, yeah, okay, picking up on hints for plot twists means the author did their job. But this was me guessing the ending by the end of chapter 2 level of predictable. And super-duper cliche. Three, there are multiple references throughout the book to the enemy kingdom, and the threat of a war. The books ends with the "lost" prince being found. So, I decided to write my epilogue be the coronation party or like, a "hey, look, we got him back!" party. So, this kid (cause he is a kid), is sitting at the table, and all the most delicious food in the world is piled in front of him. Since he had been living as a thief for a while, this is great news to him. I was originally planning to poison the poor kid in the middle of the feast, but decided that would take too long. So instead, right as the biggest, most appetizing slice of chocolate cake you have ever seen is placed in front of him, the enemy army attacks. The epilogue ends with the (idiot) prince running towards the battle, rather than away from it, even though he's like, 12. But even as he runs, all he can think about is the chocolate cake he left behind. So why am I telling you all this in a question about feedback? We're getting there. A cliffhanger. A good marketing tactic, and a very common way to end the first book in a series. And since there had been non-stop hints throught the book about this enemy kingdom, this all seemed very plausible to me. I print out the epilogue and turn it in. A few days later, I get my paper back, with a rubric attached. My score? 28/30. Not bad! But the reason I was docked two points? For "not solving all the problems I created". Um? Excuse me??? This is the epilogue of a first book in a series. If I solved all the problems, there wouldn't be a next book. ALSO, it's a fucking epilogue. I really shouldn't be creating problems in an epilogue in the first place, unless it's specifically to set up a cliffhanger. Has this woman ever read a book? So there you have it. The worst piece of feedback I have ever gotten, given to me over 5 years ago, and I am still very angry about it.