#spirrum writes things

Tagged by hornkerling, to write the first line from my last 20 stories and look for patterns. 

1. He doesn’t have a mind for parties, and for fairy parties even less so, but as King there are certain expectations to be met – traditions to be upheld, and so on.

2. It’s a mistake to think her kingdom is in any way safer than his.

3. Blood is on her breath, cold and white before her face where she crouches on the roof’s edge, a silent gargoyle with the moon at her back.

4. She’s running, breath in her throat and copper on her tongue and the muscles in her legs straining beneath her, pushing her forward through the underbrush.

5. She’s singing when it happens.

6. Going to London was, in hindsight, perhaps not one of her most thought-out ideas.

7. He wakes to pain.

8. “Oh, would you sit down?”

9.  There’s a knot in her back, digging like a thorn just between her shoulder blades with every breath, and every restless twitch of her wings.

10. The last time she wore a crown on her head she was getting married, her heart light as a feather and her worries simple, petty things, well suited for a simple, petty girl.

11. After Adamant, Hawke disappears.

12. They think her innocent – sweet and entirely too impressionable, but the truth of the matter is that Merrill lets them.

13.  Hawke is a good liar, quick on her feet and her tongue quicker still, spinning fanciful tales to redirect and confuse with an ease born in a young heart, a malleable metal for an unseen blade, silver-tipped between her grinning lips.

14. There’s some kind of irony in it – him falling for a mage.

15. He is the one who teaches her to read, the one who traces the writing with a fingertip, watching wide eyes follow its path across the page with reverence, and in his ears is her soft voice, tongue clumsily wrapping around the words he reads aloud, one letter at a time.

16.  When the sight of Denerim greets her beyond the rise, exhaustion is already tugging at her limbs, heavy and stiff from hours on horseback.

17. “Do it,” she says, and there's an elbow in his side – or, well, more like his shoulder.

18. She aches – that’s the word for it, Hawke decides.

19. The day they are to marry, Hawke is the one who frets.

20. She’s an early riser, and it doesn’t matter if they’re at Skyhold or at camp in the middle of nowhere – she’ll be up before anyone else, sometimes even long before the sun.

Patterns? Well it’s either a very short sentence, or sudden, uncontrollable word vomit (I don’t know if I have a concept of something in between?). Since my narrative focuses on character perspective there’s also no surprise that it’s very often about someone doing something or the other (running, aching, fretting and looming on the edges of roofs). I also love making statements, apparently. And I like to write about women.