With Love, Haven ☪

Excerpt 1: what do you do with a broken heart 12/2019 Tonight, Dorothea shares that moonlit jealousy as she wallows alone, beneath the whispering willows that line the abandoned courtyard outside the classrooms. She believes this to be an enormous waste of an entire month spent in excitement for the only event that mattered in the entire school year. Earlier that day, she had spent countless hours combing through Edelgard’s snow hair and choosing which shade of crimson could frame her eyes so that only the most confident of men would dare to ask for a dance. Edelgard could hardly imagine why Dorothea would place such excruciatingly meticulous detail into something as trivial as a ball. 

12/2020 A moonlit haze sighs over the aching spires of Garreg Mach. Willows line a widowed courtyard below the bow windows of empty second-story classrooms. The monastery is still: students do not stroll through the halls with whispered rumors of the disgraced heir to Minerva’s court. Teachers do not peer over homeroom door frames to check for familiar stragglers when the church bell chimes five minutes before the hour, its echo reverberating through the iron bones of the belfry. Remnants of weathered bronze statues, eroded green through acidic years are reduced to dead company for the dead hour of the night. 

But if the monastery is dead, the main hall bursts to life with festivities of the school’s annual ball. Students evolve into nobles under Garland Moon’s midnight spell. They have traded their pressed uniforms for crisp suits and glittering gowns, emeralds and pearls and silver crests lilting in time with the waltz. Ruched curtains waterfall from the high ceiling into a spray of gold spun into lace. 

Dorothea had spent the entirety of the Red Wolf Moon combing through fabrics in the local seamshop at the center of town. Velvet is for the elderly. Sequins are for children. Would a red number send the wrong message? At her dorm room, makeup gifted over the years by a multitude of naïve suitors splays across the floor, the desk, the bed. 

The vibrations of the live orchestra swell inside, a crescendo brimming through aired walkways as couples arm-in-arm flutter in and out of the hall from the steps leading under the main arch where she sits alone. She should be inside, dancing until her heels bleed and she’s forced to abandon all decorum for the sake of entertainment. Now, she can hardly remember why.

Additional Notes:

Some context: the original paragraph was supposed to function as the opener, so expanding it was warranted imo

The original was basically telling where the revised version is showing. If this paragraph wasn’t supposed to function as the opener, the original would have sufficed

I attempted to juxtapose the “dead” monastery with the “liveliness” of the ball

The “acidic years” descriptor was my attempt at improving my prose by having descriptors hold a double meaning ie. instead of saying “years weathered by acid rain”

I noticed that lists were a strong point in my newer writing so I incorporated that in the part where Dorothea searches for dress fabrics.

Excerpt 2: where my faith is without borders 12/2019 The cobblestone lined streets of Garreg Mach are broken and divided. In the distance, The day sets over the church’s steeple and is, split down by its spire into a spiral that fractures the sunlit rays. Fleeting memories of high school days strolling down these very same halls with books in hand are far-flung now, bBut even within this familiar ghost of a place, there are some things left to unearth.

12/12/2020 The cobblestoned streets that once contained Garreg Mach are broken and divided. The high point of the church’s steeple splits the last drops of day with its spire. Beside it, the belfry’s silhouette halos against the light, fracturing it into rays. High strung silence currents through the livewire air and could shatter at the perch of a dragonfly. Rigor mortis paralyzes the bones of the monastery. Garreg Mach is dead. 

But Dimitri keeps its memory alive. He remembers more than he would prefer of the juvenile memories that steep within these broken walls: midnight dining hall duties, tea-tinted secrets shared under the gazebo, unlikely friendships forged under the fire of field mock battles. A far-flung time with long-lost innocence.

Spring wind breathes beneath his cape. Even within this familiar ghost of a town, there are troves of forgotten moments that remain to be unearthed.

Additional Notes:

“tea-tinted” is also another attempt to have double meaning in the prose. For context, they drink alot of tea in FE3H under that gazebo

Also tried to juxtapose the “dead” monastery with Dimitri’s attempts to keep it “alive”

Ray is my absolute favorite character from The Promised Neverland. As a fellow INTJ, I empathize with his rational (and almost heartless) tendencies but also with his extreme desire for control. I could go on about specific examples in canon but that would warrant a separate post (oops lol). 

With Tethered, I wanted to explore Ray’s inner turmoil and how he handles guilt, which I think was a big character development point that the canon missed out on. He’s definitely the darkest character out of the three and continues to serve as the antithesis to Norman and Emma’s character in this piece. 

✧ Character Bios ✧

This is a post-canon fic exploring how the three main characters of TPN adjust to the human world. Very “coming of age”-esque. I currently have published up to Chapter 7 on AO3 and aim to upload weekly with a minimum goal of 50k words (novel). I’m outlining as I go and just need to tie up Act III. I’ll upload themes and additional tags once I’ve finished the entire outline. Honestly, I haven’t even decided if there’s going to be romance haha