So, folks, this is a super quick update before I go finish those last 274 words.
I’d lowered my wordcount to 26000 words (due to school and life and invading planets and all that), but I’m happy to say that I’m planning to finish the story at about 60000 words.
Dare I give you a snippet? Again?
I’ve added alternating chapters from Ophira’s point of view, so I’ll give you the one I’d just finished. It’s pretty good, for me, so I’ll leave you with it, and you can find out what kind of complicated triangular relationship I have brewing up.
25
Ophira
Trembling, I pushed my palms against the barred window of the chamber. It was cold, but I didn’t feel anything despite the thin material of my grey dress.
He was in pain.
I watched, as if suspended in time, his anguished, contorted in agony, as the hot coals were pressed to his back, ablaze.
“ORIK!” I screamed.
I screamed my heart out, but it did nothing, nothing at all, to stop him from hurting.
My body wept, bled and wanted to die. I wanted to die instead of him.
Kill me instead.
I looked into his beautiful black eyes, and I wanted to imagine that it was not real. It was not real. An illusion on my part.
But there he was, chained to the walls, his chest bare and slashed with whip marks.
I relived all of it a thousand times, caught in that frail, fatal loop in time, nearly escaping that infinite bound, but then thrown back into the continuous circle, forced to watch him suffer.
The whips didn’t hit him only. They hit me in unison, the pain increased a thousand fold. The coals scorched my back, too, the fire dancing across my back, clear and snarling at me for what I did.
My knuckles bled from hitting the bars, but all that happened was the scream drumming its way painstakingly into my brain.
I couldn’t hold it in. I couldn’t believe it. The truth laid thread bare and ugly in front of me.
No embellishments, not gold trimmings, and definitely no powdering over the bruises.
Didn’t I love him? Didn’t I love him? Would I not willingly give my life to exchange for his? Would I not take my life if he asked that of me?
I slid down to the icy stone floor. I wanted to blame myself.
Perhaps it was my true nature, or that my heart was too frail for anyone to condemn, even myself, but I couldn’t stop that name stepping up to take my blame.
Merewen.
Oh, oh, dear Merewen, what have you done with our hearts?
Our lives?
What did you think??? Can you guess the triangle? I’m introducing a fourth point right now, so it’ll be waaaaayyyy more complicated in future, with all sorts of witchy, romantic, brotherly, sisterly, killer-moody plots.
Criticise to Pluto (which is where I live) and back!!! I’m looking for improvement 🙂
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