As y'all know, this is part of a repost project of mine to share my pieces from last year's Writemas Challenge! I hope y'all enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them last year!!
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for hosting and inviting me to this wonderful event!! My Day 2 prompts are listed here, and here’s the invitation post and rules.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! Have a nice holiday drink today!
My prompts: “You did this…for me?” | A library | Their eyes met, and it felt better than anything else in the world, it felt right | The strength of a hug
“Where are you taking me?” Lettie laughed, barely avoiding tripping on the uneven cobblestones as Donovan pulled her through the busy streets by the hand.
“I already told you, you’ll see!”
“Not if you don’t give me back my glasses!”
Donovan chuckled, his free hand patting the pocket housing the round glasses he’d stashed there for the time being. “How else am I to ensure it remains a surprise? Worry not, I shall return them once we reach our destination.”
Lettie chuckled and rolled her eyes as she allowed him to lead her through the maze of streets and shops. After another moment, Donovan stopped, turning to face her and giving her hand a light squeeze.
“We’re here!”
Lettie squinted her eyes, trying to decipher the blurry splotches of color into something legible.
“And where is here?”
“Patience. Close your eyes.”
“Why bother when you’ve already blinded me?” Her brow quirked upwards playfully.
“Humor me.”
Lettie shook her head with a fond smile. She could hear the excitement in his voice, and obediently shut her eyes.
“Follow me. Mind your step.” Donovan guided her up the steps and opened the door, a bell ringing as they stepped through the threshold and Lettie found herself grinning in anticipation. Donovan momentarily released her hand before appearing behind her and she felt him gently set her glasses to rest comfortably on her nose.
“Alright. Open your eyes.” She did. She looked around in awe as her eyes eagerly scanned her surroundings: Shelves upon shelves stuffed with books. Maps and various artifacts covering every wall and surface. The smell of ink and parchment and leather. A bookshop. He’d brought her to a bookshop.
She immediately rushed forward, examining the spines of the books up close, flipping through pages of poetry, history, and science. She knew she could spend hours, if not days here.
Lettie felt her grin widen as she turned to look at him. Their eyes met, and it felt better than anything else in the world. It felt right.
“How did you find this place? We’ve barely been here a day”
Donovan’s grin matched her own. “It’s the first real town we’ve come across in a while. I knew you’d want some new reading material, so I asked around to find the best bookshop in town.”
“You did that…for me?” Her eyes sparkled and she threw her arms around him. “It’s wonderful! Thank you!”
Donovan paused only a brief moment before returning the hug, resting his cheek on the top of her head with a smile. He’d really missed this.
Seconds later, Lettie pulled away. She had a giddy smile on her face as she took his hand and pulled him through the shop and the two began exploring the shop together.
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@agirlandherquill came up with this event I just found out, and how I love to keep things tidy and organized, here I will log my daily participation if this ever goes beyond just today spur.
Event: Every day until Christmas, there should be a brand new post with fresh prompts to write from on https://www.tumblr.com/agirlandherquill. Write if you want, share if your heart desires.
I do not know what I'm doing, I just know I (so far) am doing it. Enjoy?
As some of y'all know, my old blog was deactivated over the summer but I've returned and to celebrate the Christmas season and also to get my more of writing back on here, I've decided to remake and release my posts for @agirlandherquill's Writemas Challenge from last year!!
The post links here will go live (i hope) as each day's piece is posted at about 1pm CST for the next 24 days!
As y'all know, this is part of a repost project of mine to share my pieces from last year's Writemas Challenge! I hope y'all enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them last year!!
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for hosting and inviting me to this wonderful event!! My Day 13 prompts are listed here, and here’s the invitation post and rules.
this piece is a loose continuation to my Day 10 piece!
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! jam out to your favorite Christmas music! :D
My prompts: “I wished on my beating, broken heart for a way out of this. I wished, and my salvation never came.” | a rooftop | The damage was done, the ruin irreparable. It would leave scars and plenty of them, but at least, along with the pain, there remained a story to tell. | The ache of longing
Aurora was awake before the dawn. She slid out of bed and crept to the room’s small window. Unlatching it, she pushed it open and climbed out onto the roof of the inn. The cool air brushed against her skin as she paused, catching sight of the dark-haired boy already lying there, arms behind his head as he stared at the fading night sky.
“…Donovan?”
He turned his head sharply, his midnight blue eyes briefly meeting hers before widening in surprise.
“Oh…Aurora,” He sat up quickly, as though he’d been caught. “You’re up early.”
“You’re up late,” she countered, folding her arms as she climbed the rest of the way onto the roof. Her retort earned a dry, humorless chuckle from him.
She hesitated before sitting down beside him, her movements awkward, unsure. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint rustling of trees and the distant calls of early birds. Both pretended to study the horizon, neither willing to shatter the fragile peace with the weight of their unspoken words.
“Hey, I—”
“Uh, I—”
They both spoke at the same time and paused, glancing at one another before sharing a strained laugh.
“You go first,” Donovan offered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Aurora stared at her hands. “I…I just wanted to say thank you again for saving me and getting us out of there today,”
“You’re welcome,” Donovan replied flatly.
Aurora glanced at him, frustration and longing flickering across her face. Finally, she couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Why did you leave, Donovan? And why didn’t you ever come back?”
Donovan’s head snapped up as he turned to look at her. Guilt flashed across his features before he turned away.
“I…I couldn’t,” he muttered.
“Why?” Her voice cracked. “Donovan I—”
“I just couldn’t, alright?” he snapped, before flinching as she recoiled, hurt. He exhaled heavily, dragging a hand across his face. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, tinged with a tiredness far deeper than the result of one sleepless night.
“Look, it’s…complicated. I didn’t want to come back. It’s not that I didn’t miss you—I did—but…I couldn’t keep living like that. Every second of my life was planned out, every breath measured against expectations that I could never hope to meet. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. I needed to get away, to prove that…that I was more than a means to an end…And it’s not like anyone wanted me around anyway.”
“That’s not true!”
“Isn’t it?” His gaze darkened as he gestured to the scar slicing across his left eye. “Or have you already forgotten who gave me this?”
Aurora’s breath hitched, and she turned away, her hands shaking as the memory flashed through her mind.
“Do you think you were the only one under pressure?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you have any idea what you left me with when you ran away? It wasn’t just your life, Donovan. It was mine, too. Ours. Everyone expected us to be heroes. That’s what we were born to be—heroes. The both of us. Together. But you left me to bear that responsibility alone. You left me to pick up the pieces of a broken family. Mother hasn’t been the same since you left. Nobody has.
“We never had the chance at normal childhoods, but we had each other. Or at least, I thought we did. I thought that no matter how impossible things became, we’d face it all together. But you left and I…” Her voice broke, trembling with years of suppressed pain. “Every night, for years I wished on my beating, broken heart for a way out. For a way to find you, to not have to live with the weight of whether or not my actions would save or condemn the world. I wished, and my salvation never came, and neither did you…”
Donovan stared at her, his hands trembling in his lap. He wanted to say everything he couldn’t, but the truth was a bitter blade he couldn’t wield, not yet.
“I’m sorry, Aurora,” Donovan said, his voice rough but sincere. “I never meant to hurt you.”
He leaned towards her, letting their shoulders lightly press together. It was a small gesture, but in that moment it felt monumental.
“I can’t change the past…But I’m here now, and I want to fix this. Fix us. I want to help you stop Taranis and maybe, when this is over…” His words caught in his throat, the lie bitter on his tongue, and he swallowed hard. “Maybe we can finally figure out what real life looks like. Together.”
Aurora turned to face him, studying his face with quiet intensity. For the first time in years, she felt a sense of genuine hope that wasn’t merely for the sake of others. She gave him a small smile.
“Together,” she echoed.
The sky began to lighten, the soft hues of dawn spilling over the horizon. For a moment, they simply sat there, shoulder to shoulder on the roof of the inn, watching the world wake up. The damage was done, the ruin irreparable. It would leave scars and plenty of them, but at least, along with the pain, there remained a story to tell, or so they dared to hope.
As y'all know, this is part of a repost project of mine to share my pieces from last year's Writemas Challenge! I hope y'all enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them last year!!
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for hosting and inviting me to this wonderful event!! My Day 17 prompts are listed here, and here’s the invitation post and rules.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! get a peppermint mocha! or if you don’t drink coffee (how dare you /j) then throw a candy cane into your hot cocoa!! <3
My prompts: “I wish we were enough to fight this, I wish this was all it took, but as I’ve told you darling, a dozen times before, love can never win.” | A temple | The pull toward one another was inescapable, no matter how hard they fought it, they still drew closer, closer until their breaths mingled together. | The sparkle of stars.
“Ah, yes, an ancient, crumbling temple. The perfect place for a date, wouldn’t you say? I must admit, I’ve truly outdone myself this time.” Cronan’s voice echoed faintly against the stone walls as they approached the decaying entrance, his tone exuding a playfully sarcastic blend of pride and mockery.
The night sky stretched wide and endless above them. Stars scattered across the vast expanse, glittering like shards of shattered glass on inky velvet. Pale light spilled down through gaps in the temple’s fractured roof and walls. The air here felt old—heavy with silence and expectation—as if the ruin itself was holding its breath.
Yvaine shot him a flat look, though a spark of amusement flickered behind her eyes. “Oh hush up, you,” she said, rolling her shoulders as if to shake off his words. “This is serious.”
Cronan only chuckled in response—a low, wry sound that filled the heavy silence surrounding them. “What’s the matter, dear?” he teased, his steps slowing as he reached for her, a hand snaking around her waist with infuriating ease. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what day it is.”
She turned and slid effortlessly out of his grip, a dance they’d done a thousand times before. “I know full well what day it is,” Yvaine replied coolly, though the corners of her lips curled up in a smirk. “I, unlike you, simply have higher priorities.”
“‘Higher priorities’?” Cronan arched a brow, his grin sharp, though his eyes searched hers with an unsettling level of clarity and intention. “Sounds to me like you’re avoiding me.”
“Not everything is about you, darling,” she quipped, her words quick and sharp as a knife.
He laughed again, though the sound was rather humorless, lacking any real warmth. “You wound me, dear.”
Her gaze briefly darted to him, lingering for just a beat too long. It was always there, it seemed, hanging in the silences between them: the knowledge that, given the right circumstances, both of them would sacrifice the other without hesitation. It wasn’t personal. It couldn’t be. And yet they still danced dangerously close to one another, daring to toe the fine line between desire and destruction, as if testing to see which would consume them first.
The walls of the temple loomed around them, its once-magnificent arches now crooked and draped with ivy. Stars peeked through the shattered ceiling, their light pooling in ghostly puddles on the stone floor. Dust swirled in the air like flakes of silver as the faint breeze stirred the ruin’s slumber.
Cronan broke the silence first. “Surely you can spare me a kiss on our anniversary,” he murmured, catching her wrist with deliberate slowness, as if to test whether or not she’d slip away again.
Yvaine huffed dramatically, but her smirk betrayed her. “You sentimental fool,” she said, half-heartedly pulling against his hold before letting her arm rest in his grip. “You act as if we’re married.”
“Considering how much time we spend together, we might as well be,” Cronan replied with a shrug, seemingly unbothered as ever. “Therefore it’s only fair you treat me as such. I think I quite deserve it, don’t you?”
“Oh please.” Yvaine turned her back to him again, though not before he caught a flush of warmth coloring her tanned cheeks. She stalked forward into the gloom of the temple, her steps deliberately quick and self-assured against the uneven stones beneath her feet.
Cronan followed, his smirk widening as he matched her pace, letting his voice drop to a low murmur. “Never once have you denied it outright.”
She tossed him a glance over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed but gleaming with a hidden smirk. “I don’t dignify foolishness with an answer.”
“Ah, but you dignify me, don’t you?” he shot back, his voice all mockery and charm.
It was always this same game with them; glances traded, quick and sharp as blades, words sharpened to a point. Cronan let his fingers just barely ghost over hers as they walked, but Yvaine stubbornly refused to look at him. She knew his game. She played it too.
Silence stretched between them as they moved deeper into the ruins. The light from the stars followed them, spilling through cracks and openings in the crumbling stone, forming their own constellations of light across the floor as if the heavens themselves were watching their every move.
Another moment, and Cronan reached out again. Against his better judgement—against both their better judgements—he caught hold of her wrist again, spinning her to face him and pulling her close with an arm wrapped around her waist. This time, she didn’t fight him, though her breath hitched.
“Cronan…” she said warningly.
“Don’t,” he whispered. His voice, for once, lacked its usual teasing lilt. It was softer, rougher, as if the words scraped against his throat on their way past his lips. The pull toward one another was inescapable, no matter how hard they fought it, they still drew closer, closer until their breaths mingled together. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel this. That you don’t want this.”
Yvaine’s face was a mask of defiance, though her eyes didn’t meet his for fear of betraying any further weakness. Above them, a single shaft of starlight poured in through a crack in the ceiling, bathing them both in a celestial spotlight.
“It doesn’t matter what I feel,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know it as well as I do. We can’t afford this. There’s too much at stake. He comes first.”
“I know,” Cronan murmured, one hand idly playing with a strand of her dark hair, “And yet…”
Her eyes closed for slightly longer than necessary. When they opened again, her gaze searched his as if looking for an answer, though her own eyes had become distant, unreadable. “I wish we were enough,” she whispered, the almost-true words bitter on her tongue, “I wish this was all it took, but as I’ve told you, darling, a dozen times before: love can never win.”
“Perhaps not,” Cronan replied. His lips were so close to hers that her resolve almost wavered. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, consequences be damned.
Instead, he pulled back, just enough to make her resist chasing after him in the space he had vacated. This game was dangerous, but neither of them seemed quite willing to abandon it.
“We’ll continue this later,” Cronan said, his tone once again turned playful, though something raw lingered beneath it. “For now, dear, I believe we have work to do.”
Yvaine tilted her chin up at him pointedly, her composure instantly snapping back into place. “By all means lead the way, then.”
With one last smirk, Cronan turned on his heel and strode deeper into the temple. The shadows swallowed him quickly, but the faint starlight filtering in through the roof clung to his silhouette.
Yvaine paused for half a breath before following, her gaze lingering on the light above. The stars had watched her for years—now-silent witnesses to her ambition and foolish games. If they had answers, she knew they wouldn’t share.
It was always this game of cat and mouse. Of pursuit and retreat, of wanting and refusing. Someday, they knew, one could let the other get too close, let them too far into their heart, and everything would fall apart.
ty for reading loves!! I’ve wanted to write these two together for a hot minute now but none of the prompts quite lined up but today I decided to go for it!! did I go a little overkill on the imagery? ah well
this is my first time writing something like this so I hope I got the idea across!
have a nice day/night friends! <3
taglist under the cut! If you’d like to be tagged in future works, interact with this post!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
As y'all know, this is part of a repost project of mine to share my pieces from last year's Writemas Challenge! I hope y'all enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them last year!!
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for hosting and inviting me to this wonderful event!! My Day 4 prompts are listed here, and here’s the invitation post and rules.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! Go watch your favorite Christmas movie!
My prompts: “Do not fear me. Fear yourself.” | A tower | The wind was her only friend, and the only thing to catch her as she fell | the chill of raindrops
Quick TW, not overly graphic but just in case: animal in distress & animal cruelty/death (of a bird)
“I don’t care what you do to me, to any of us! I’m not afraid of you!” The wind around them grew stronger, howling around the small girl like a raging beast, mirroring the barely-contained fury surging through Zee’s veins.
Those two spheres of ice grew colder still.
“You misunderstand, Zephira. It’s not me you should fear. You should be far more afraid of yourself.”
She faltered. “…What?”
The imposing figure stepped forward and began slowly pacing around her, circling around her like a predator would its prey.
“Your problem, Zephira, is your delusion of control. You’ve convinced yourself that you have control over your power. You fail to recognize just how dangerous you really are.”
“I-I’m not…” The words died in her throat as she caught sight of a mockingbird gliding through the air nearby.
She felt it—that cold pair of eyes leaving her and following her line of sight, noticing the bird. The very air around them suddenly felt colder, and she realized her mistake.
Before she could blink, a dart whizzed through the air and sprouted from the bird’s breast and the bird instantly dropped from the sky, landing at her feet.
Zee’s breath hitches. A pair of black leather gloves reach down to pick up the bird and pluck the dart from its chest, holding its limp form with detached interest. Those cold, unfeeling eyes idly study the seemingly lifeless creature as though examining a tool, before shifting back up to meet Zee’s wide eyes with icy intensity.
“W-what are you—”
“Perhaps you need a demonstration” One gloved hand began pulling the outermost feathers from the mockingbird’s wings one by one. The bird woke from its stunned state, its normally sweet song turning shrill and frantic as it struggled to escape.
“Wait, stop!” Zee lunged forward, but an icy glare froze her mid-step. Her fingers hovered inches from the bird before curling into fists and dropping to her sides. She gritted her teeth, trembling as she realized that fighting back and intervening would only make things worse. Helpless, the girl stared at her feet, unable to face the pitiful creature and its panicked cries. That arctic gaze bored into her, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Seeing as you claim to have unparalleled control over your abilities” the cold voice continued, “let’s test how well you handle yourself under pressure. This bird no longer has its primary or secondary feathers. Do you know what that means for this little creature?”
“He…He can’t fly…” Her voice is hollow. Her fingernails bite into her palms, threatening to draw blood.
“Precisely. If this creature were to, say, drop from the edge of this tower, it would be completely unable to save itself. It will die. After all, there’s nothing but air between it and the ground below.”
She squeezes her eyes shut. How did this happen? What has she done?
The gloved hand extended outward, holding the frantically twittering bird over the edge of the tower with an indifference that made her stomach churn.
“Fortunately for it, you have the ability to manipulate the wind. Do you want to save this pathetic little creature, Zephira?”
Her head snapped up, eyes darting between the frantic bird and those cold, unyielding spheres of ice. “O-of course I do! Please I—”
“Then prove it. Prove to me that you have complete and total control over your power.”
The bird dropped.
Zee froze as the creature fell, desperately flapping it’s now-useless wings. Its high-pitched chirps pierced her ears like screams. What do I do? What do I do? What am I doing? Her heart pounded, her breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Do something! Save it! Save it!
Throwing out her hand, she desperately willed the wind to obey. A sudden gust caught the newly-flightless bird, halting its fall as it hovered, caught up in the precarious gale. Zee releases a shaky breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She did it. She saved it.
But the wind didn’t stop.
The gust grew stronger, forming an unstable vortex. The bird’s distressed cries only grew louder as it was flung about helplessly. No. No no no, too much. Too strong.
Nononono—stop! STOP!
Another powerful gust slammed the bird into the side of the tower. A single, shrill note pierces through the air, cut short by a small, sharp crack.
Zee stood, paralyzed. The bird, now limp and silent, plummets to the ground along with her heart before vanishing in the haze below. A soft, dull thud follows, muted by distance but reverberating through her like the beat of a drum. I killed it. I killed it.
She barely noticed the rain beginning to fall, cold droplets pattering across her skin. Somewhere behind her, that icy voice returned, sharper than the wind.
“Zephira.”
Her body went rigid. She turned slowly, her face damp with rain—or was it tears? She couldn’t tell. She didn’t care.
“The bird is dead. You killed it.”
“I-I didn’t mean to, I—”
“I thought you could control yourself.”
Her hands trembled at her sides. Was she cold, or was it shock?
“I didn’t mean—”
“You were wrong. Until you have complete and total control over yourself and your power, you are dangerous. Next time it could very well be a person rather than a mere bird. Now, you’ve wasted enough time. Compose yourself and get back to your training. We’re not done here.”
Zee didn’t move. Her legs felt as if they might collapse beneath her and she stared blankly into the storm. The image of the dead bird had etched itself into her mind, an unrelenting reminder of her failure.
Somewhere deep in her mind, she was grateful for the rain—it hid her tears. The last thing she wanted was to let them see her cry.
A voice, colder than the wind, pierced through her haze. “I will not repeat myself, Zephira. Either you learn, or people get hurt. It’s your choice.”
Her shaking fists clenched tighter, her nails digging bloody crescents into her palms. She bit back a sob, her head bowed under the weight of her guilt.
Never again. Zephira silently vowed to herself, No matter what it takes. I will never let this happen again.
—
Her training ended when the storm did, long after the sun had set. The entire time, she didn’t speak a word. Those cold eyes watched her with clear satisfaction. The wind was no longer wild. The tempest had finally been tamed.
Try as she might, sleep evaded her. She tossed and turned; every time Zephira closed her eyes she saw the mockingbird plummeting lifelessly to the ground. Its wings, once a symbol of freedom, were now little more than shattered remnants of defiance.
After three sleepless nights, she found herself drawn back to the training tower. The moon was nowhere to be found. Lingering clouds veiled the stars, and the night was heavy with silence. It was so dark, she couldn’t see the ground below from where she stood at the edge of the tower, but she knew full well that the body of the bird remained where it had fallen three days prior. A reminder.
A natural breeze ruffled Zephira’s hair, carrying with it the scent of rain and distant pines. Her lips quirked upwards in a sad smile. She stretched her arms wide, allowing the wind to envelop her, feeling its gentle currents embrace her as if it were alive.
The wind was her only friend, and the only thing to catch her as she fell.
Closing her eyes, she leaned forward—not to fall, but to feel. The winds surged in response, rushing past her ears and whipping through her hair like a thousand whispers. Zee tilted her head back to face the dark night sky, laughing softly at the feeling of weightlessness without her feet ever leaving the floor.
This is what they didn’t understand. The wind wasn’t a weapon. It wasn’t something to conquer or wield; it was alive, untamed, and fiercely loyal to those who respected it. She could feel it once again, an unspoken promise of kinship.
She stepped back from the edge, the breeze still swirling around her like a dance partner unwilling to let go. Her gaze shifted to the horizon, where the sky began to lighten with the coming dawn.
The mockingbird had died, but Zee had never felt more alive.
As y'all know, this is part of a repost project of mine to share my pieces from last year's Writemas Challenge! I hope y'all enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them last year!!
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for hosting and inviting me to this wonderful event!! My Day 3 prompts are listed here, and here’s the invitation post and rules.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! Go outside and enjoy the fresh air today! <3
My prompts: “Help me.” | A dungeon | His knuckles were bruised and bloody | Burning
“I-I can’t control it!” Flint’s hands shook. The smell of smoke, singed hair and smoldering fabric stung his nostrils and filled his lungs, making it hard to breathe. His knuckles were bruised and bloody, the result of him pounding at the floor in a poor earlier attempt to beat out the flames that erupted from seemingly every surface.
He turned to look up at the imposing figure standing on the balcony high above him. A pair of cold, emotionless eyes pierced through the searing heat. Control yourself.
The boy squeezed his eyes shut, tears stinging at his already-irritated eyes. Control it. Control it. If anything, the flames around him seemed to grow, a vicious illustration of Flint’s increasing panic.
Flames licked at his skin like a whip, searing hot yet not quite burning him. Not yet. He knew how long he would last. They knew it too. This wouldn’t end until he learned to control it (or until he was pushed beyond his limit and he was burned by his own fire). Control it! Control it!
He tried to concentrate, desperately sucking in shallow breaths of scorching hot air. Stop the spread. Calm the flames. Snuff out the sparks. Control it! Control it! CONTROL IT!
The air was so hot, so thick, he felt as if he were suffocating. Perhaps he was. The fire was consuming all of the oxygen down here. It would consume him next. CONTROL IT!
“Please…please…please…” The boy begged the flames to go out, to disappear. They did not listen. Instead, they only roared back at him. It was as if the very stones around him were on fire. He couldn’t control it.
Flint coughed, feeling his skin beginning to burn just from the heat of the air alone. His hair was singed again. His clothes were reduced to little more than smoldering scraps clinging to his thin, sweat-soaked frame. He couldn’t control it.
“Help me!” Flint turned back to the balcony, his wide, frantic eyes desperately meeting two orbs of pure ice. The figure shook their head, taking a step back. They instantly disappeared, their silhouette no longer visible through the wall of smoke. No. Come back. Come back!
Flint’s vision blurred, the heat so intense it began to feel cold. The dungeon tilted as if on an axis he was unaware of and he was unconscious before he hit the floor. He’d failed. Again.
As y'all know, this is part of a repost project of mine to share my pieces from last year's Writemas Challenge! I hope y'all enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed writing them last year!!
Thank you to @agirlandherquill for hosting and inviting me to this wonderful event!! My Day 21 prompts are listed here, and here’s the invitation post and rules.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! deck the halls with some holly, a wreath, or some mistletoe! ;)
My prompts: “When will you finally understand?” | Ashes | He swallowed the silence until he was full, until his tongue was in knots no-one could undo. | The hum of a song.
Just when Flint thought he had control, the flames surged and hissed, wild and unruly, and control slipped out of his grasp. The flames scorched the molten glass in the furnace, sending a sickening crackle and pop through the room. Master Cyrus had to douse the whole room in water yet again, soaking the floor and their tools, thus all but wasting the last dregs of their daily water ration.
Angry tears welled up in young Flint’s eyes as he knelt in the ashes at his mentor’s feet, his voice trembling as he stammered. “I-I’m so sorry! I almost had it! I didn’t mean to! Really I didn’t I—“
A gentle hand came to rest atop his head, halting his frantic words. Flint looked up to see Cyrus kneeling down, a soft groan escaping him as his joints creaked in protest of the action. The older man’s face, lined with age and the wisdom of experience, was calm. He tilted Flint’s chin up gently, lifting the boy’s tear-streaked face until their eyes met.
“When will you finally understand, child? There is no need for apologies or tears,” Cyrus said, his voice warm and steady. “Accidents happen. Do not forget how far you have already come.”
Flint tried to look away, shame coiling in his chest. “B-but I ruined it again…” he whispered, his fingers twisting in his lap.
Cyrus chuckled softly, the sound deep and soothing. “Worry not, child. It was merely surplus—nothing more. You’ll learn to tame your power, and when you do, you will become the finest craftsman this town has ever known. Mark my words.” He gave Flint’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Now, let’s not dwell on what’s done. We have work to do, don’t we?”
Flint hesitated for a moment, the weight of his newest failure pressing down on him, before silently nodding as he reached out to steady Cyrus as he stood.
Together, they began to tidy the workshop, sweeping up the ashes and shards of the now-cool glass and drying the soaked tools. A silence stretched between them, heavy but not unkind. He swallowed the silence until he was full, until his tongue was tied in knots no-one could undo. The shame lingered, still smoldering in the pit of his stomach.
Taking note of the boy’s quiet, Cyrus began humming a low, lilting tune that rose and fell like waves lapping at a distant shore, a small candlelight swaying in the warm air. The melody wrapped around him, filling the space with something gentle and unspoken. Flint found himself humming along, working in time with the dips and swells of the song as the tension in his chest eased bit by bit.
As they worked, Cyrus hummed on, the melody shifting into something more intricate, a story told without a single word passed between them. Flint listened intently, his hands no longer trembling and instead moving steadily as he worked. For the first time that day, Flint began to believe his mentor’s words and dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, he was right; maybe he would learn to master the flames after all.
