Terribly Executed WIP Word Game
✑ Rules: You get a word and share a sentence/excerpt from your WIP(s) that starts with each letter of your word. Thank you @silly-little-diary and @umbracirrus for the tags!! I tried to do THIEF, but found it too difficult and tackled DAWN instead. Not sure who has or hasn't been tagged so, uh . . . if you want to try this with the word VEIL you certainly can take a stab at it! And so without further ado . . . .
Breathless, Chapter XVI: Apricity
...Drops of rain tapped against the canvas of the tent, mingled in the symphony of their shallow pants. A dark rosy hue painted Vigdis’ cheeks, the red ichor from her wound smeared all over her thin, pouty pink lips. Thousands upon thousands of freckles were splattered across her shoulders and chest like stars, broken only by the glints of scars that littered her skin. Entranced, Serana lightly grazed her fingertips over every faint line that she had merely traced with her persimmon gaze before from afar. How many nights had she spent longing just for this—just to touch her? She didn’t know; she didn’t care. The mortal warmth bloomed—almost burned—beneath her cold immortal touch, the sensation as addictive as the blood that coursed beneath the blemished planes.
Carrion Bones; Rayyfa'szah
...A frail old woman in torn, withered robes stood at the entryway. Thin, silky white hair draped from her head beneath her hood, the ends split, tangled, frayed. Her hands were folded, her knuckles gnarled and knobby, her nails caked with dirt. Her papery, wrinkled skin was pulled taut over her bones, riddled with sunspots, vitiligo, eczema, psoriasis. Empty eyes bore into voided ones, and crooked teeth split her dry lips into a smile. Mistress of Decay. Goddess of the Dark. Daedric Prince of Hunger. “Lady Namira,” the hag uttered, her head bowed in respect.
Softly, Nightshade; Valerica
...Words glared at her, the rest of its contents summoning an endless cacophony of unanswered questions. How frustrating it was, to be unable to argue or reason with her incorrigible daughter! What was she thinking, making such a foolish decision—and such a delusional request? A deep sigh flowed from her lavender lips for what must have been the thousandth time in the past hour alone. Alas, all of her irritated pondering and pouting had gotten her nowhere, helplessly trapped in the same infinite loop of thought. The familiar scent of cardamom, cinnamon, and orchid wafted to her nostrils. It was a gentle but welcome tug out of her thoughts, grounded once more in the reality around her. The corner of her lavender lip twitched. “You always seem to know where to find me.”
Heart of Gold; Rulve
...Nothing answered. Robes swished uncertainly. Something dripped onto the floor. “Come out!” Silence. Then— A scream rang out, followed by a dull thud. Incoherent whines rasped out of the body, a knife glinting from its side. The hall tilted up; rivers of blood swelled from the corpse and flowed down, down, down— -[<>]- Rulve jolted awake with a gasp. Papers and books were haphazardly spread across her desk, one tome in particular—Dwarves, The Lost Race of Tamriel, Volume I: Architecture and Designs by Calcelmo—splayed open before her. A tired groan rumbled from her throat as she rubbed at her sleep-crusted eyes. “Book must be pretty boring if it made you fall asleep.”
