I Just Realized How Much I Love Editing My Work. Like Just Reading Through And Changing Things. Maybe

I just realized how much I love editing my work. Like just reading through and changing things. Maybe there’s something about making a story exactly the way I want it to be, but I just love it. 

21 21 Tag Game

Thanks @pennedin for tagging me, I really appreciate it.

Nickname: Divine

Zodiac Sign: Ares (doesn't really fit though)

Height: 5"1

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Last thing googled : how tall were old people in the middle ages

Favorite Musicians : Imagine Dragons, Twenty One Pilots, Billie Elish

Song that's been stuck in my head: Nothing in particular

Following: The list is too long to list (bu dum chis)

Followers : Getting tag :)

Do you get asks: Nope, and I feel like I wouldn't be qualified to answer any questions

Amount of sleep: Way too much honestly I should get more actual work done

Lucky Number: 3

Wearing: Black workout pants, black t-shirt

Dream job: investigative journalist/fantasy novel author

Dream Trip: I want to go back to New York City and really explore.

Instruments: I am a tone-deaf fool

Languages: English and I study French, because my parents speak it.

Favorite Song : Even though five minutes ago I could have told you, I suddenly can not name any song I have ever listened to.

Random fact about me: I love debating.

Aesthetic: Night, faded purple, explosions of cool colors into a black background.

Tags: @azawrites @eloquuentsilence

First Draft of Poem #1

This is about my social anxiety 

my skin is on fire

I would blush if I could

Nothing I say matters

 No one will ever listen to me

I have so much many thoughts

but nothing to say

My words are like syrup

stuck in the back of my throught

I want to scream

but I can’t talk

That’s it. This is really personally by the way.  

The Island Chapter 1

Today I might not get to eat.

           Melissa shivered as the rain continued to soak her to the bone. The howling wind whipped around her and plastered her short, brown hair to her face. She glanced up at the clouds, but from the rumbling in the distance the downpour wouldn’t stop anytime soon. Melissa glared upward, scowling as rain dripped off her nose and formed a puddle at her feet. Above her, a handful of skyscrapers rose to the touch the clouds. Lightning crackled in the sky and illuminated buildings in a blue glow. Most of the massive structures had been stripped away until they revealed their iron support beams, now covered in plant life. To Melissa, they looked like the rotting bones of an ancient beast. With a heavy sigh, Melissa scrambled through ditches and cracks carved into the sidewalk. At least I can try to make a bit of headway or at least find somewhere dry to wait out the storm. If it even ends.

           Unfortunately, this was Melissa’s morning routine every day for the past three years. After waking up, she would scarf down the cold remains of what little dog meat was left from the night before. The rest of the day would be devoted to hunting for more prey and stocking up on supplies. If she was lucky, Melissa would have multiple kills. She would be able to dry some meat for when the weather was bad and save some for the winter. Other times she would trade the food for goods, like duct tape and twine. On a day like today however, she had just run out of dog meat.

           Water soaked through Melissa’s black leather boots and numbed her toes. Her stomach cramped and she winced. It felt like someone has twisted a knife into her gut. How many hours has it been since my last meal? One? Three? Five? I didn’t eat anything last night, so it’s probably been longer than that. With no one else to check double-check her stash, Melissa had miscalculated. One of the disadvantages of living alone, she supposed.

           Occasionally, on either side of the street, were people who had probably miscalculated their own food stash as well. Most were leaning up against buildings or slumped over in alleyways. Broken legs and puffy, puss-filled wounds were common here. They stared blankly at the sky with glossy eyes and hair as frail as straw. Some scooped filthy water from mud puddles and pressed it to their cracked lips. Dirt and muck coated every inch of their skin and they reeked of rotting flesh. Not one of them moved or stretched out a hand to beg. They knew they were dying. Even if they got food now, their digestive systems had already consumed themselves and killed off almost all the vital organs. They couldn’t absorb food even if they tried. Melissa winced each time she passed one of the starving children. Just looking at the gaunt faces made her stomach hurt, and she prayed that she wouldn’t share the same fate.

            Hands pressed stiffly to her sides, Melissa hurried onward, looking for prey. A few dogs loped past, looking miserable with their rain-soaked fur, but they were all large breeds. Unless the dogs were old or diseased, they were too big for one person to take down without serious injury. There has to be a few smaller stray dogs around here. Hell, at this point I’d settle for a half-dead rat. Melissa glanced in the doorways of graffiti-covered buildings. Many of them were crumbling with the bricks turning to red dirt. Any metal on the doorways were caked with rust. Vines and other plants swallowed most of structure; a handful of tendrils were starting to invade the inside of the rooms. White flowers bloomed near the roof. It filled the air with the scent of rotting wood and corroded iron. All-in-all it was pretty typical.

           In Irongate, many of the remaining homes had gaping holes in the roofs or sides. Most had been hastily patched with rotting cardboard, which often had to be replaced after storms. For those who were lucky, sheets of plastic and duct tape patched up their homes. Every single building, however, had plants growing through them like half-built greenhouses. Vines curled over the sides. Moss and mold consumed the singles. Even a few skyscrapers in the more northern half of the city had started to become infected with moss and fungi.

           Once-in-a-while, a house would bend under the weight of the foliage. The support beams, now green and rotting, would snap in half like toothpicks. With a horrible groan, the shingles would slide inward as the house folded in on itself. More beams would snap and then the home would be a pile of rubble. When that happened, dozens of bystanders would gather around to stop and stare as the collapse began. It was even worse if someone was trapped inside. It would take hours, sometimes even days to die. The victim’s screams would drift from the pile, if their lungs weren’t already crushed. More often than not, a handful of people in the crowd had always attempted to run forward and help. Even if they knew, just like the others, that it was already too late. If the victims were rescued, they would pass away days later when their lungs filled up with fluid. Better to leave them under the rubble than waste the manpower trying to get them out.

           One gray house up ahead had a massive oak tree sprouting through a yawning hole in the roof. The thick branches overshadowed mold clinging onto the tiles, providing a natural cover for whoever lived there. Melissa squinted through the rain and tried to tell if the home was empty. Unlucky for her, there was already a shivering bundle of blankets inside. Next to the figure, a warm fire crackled. Over the flames was a hunk of meat that rotated on a spit. Melissa gritted her teeth with a pang of jealousy and pulled her soaked black windbreaker tighter around her shoulders. It didn’t help.

           Melissa inwardly cursed. She gripped the handle of her Bowie knife in right hand until her knuckles turned white. This was so stupid. I should’ve known better than to push my luck, especially in this maze. Maybe I can find an abandoned car to sleep in with no skeletons inside. Or at least somewhere to start a fire and dry off. Melissa kicked chunk of cement, her stomach growling. It’s not like I asked to be stuck in this city. Stupid earthquake.

           Tch, tch, tch. Nails clicked on the asphalt.

           Melissa spun around, heart pounding. A terrier was squeezing out of a hole in the brick wall. The dog shook the rain from its fur and let out a few yips. It tottered on short legs and sniffed the ground until it reached a dirty puddle. The mutt lapped up water, its back turned on Melissa. Ribs jutted out from its side and it wasn’t even the size of a small chicken. Even if Melissa ate every last bit of meat from its bones her stomach would start growling by mid-afternoon. It was the most beautiful thing Melissa had ever seen.

           Saliva flooded Melissa’s mouth. She could almost taste the red, fatty meat. Keeping her breathing as quiet as possible, her stomach in a knot, Melissa crept toward the dog. Inch-by-inch she slid her feet over broken chunks of concrete. Her breath grew short. She was so close that she could see every hair on the dog’s flea-ridden, matted pelt. Hands trembling, Melissa drew her Bowie knife from the leather sheath on her side. She raised it and aimed for the terrier’s spine. Even if the blow didn’t kill the dog, it would be too wounded to fight back. The perfect strike.

           Suddenly, a sheet of asphalt slid out from her foot. Melissa stumbled back with a yell. The dog’s head jerked up. White showed around its brown eyes. Shit.

           The terrier bolt down the street, yipping in alarm. Melissa raced after it, blood roaring in her ears. “Get back here!” Mud splashed onto her ragged, blue jeans. Ice filled Melissa’s lungs with every breath. Her backpack thumped painfully against her spine. With the screech of metal, the dog scrambled under a rusty truck. Thinking quickly, Melissa grabbed the roof of the van. She swung herself into the hollowed-out interior. Teeth bared, she swiped at the terrier. Her knife clipped the dog’s back-left leg. The mutt yelped. Drops of blood stained its fur. It struggled out from the other side of the vehicle, near the tailpipe.

           Wham! Melissa bashed the driver’s door open with her shoulder. She tumbled out in tangle of limbs. Her elbows stung when she scraped them. The taste of iron filled her mouth from where she had bit her tongue. Melissa sprung to her feet and darted after her prey, which was now slightly limping. The dog darted ahead, wheezing. Nails scrabbling on the sidewalk, it bolted into the dense underbrush lining several buildings. Melissa followed it. Roots snagged at her shoes and tangled her feet together. Razor-sharp thorns sliced her clothes and skin to ribbons. Hot blood mixed with rain and Melissa gritted her teeth, shutting out the small stabs of pain. She burst of out the bushes, lungs aching. The terrier was just a few steps ahead.

           The dog took a sharp left, heading toward a hole in an abandoned building. Melissa cursed and lunged forward, reaching for the terrier’s scruff. Her hands closed on empty air as the dog squeezed through the opening. Oh, come on! Melissa ground her teeth and blood boiled in her veins.

           Running around the main entrance, she tugged open the metal door and darted inside. Rainwater dripped from Melissa’s sodden clothes and formed a puddle at her feet. Her teeth chattered, and she shivered violently, freezing but grateful to be out of the storm. Rubbing her hands together to warm them, Melissa looked around the room.

           Dim light flooded into the building from the open door, illuminating the metal vats and artificial half-filled waterways inside. Rust coated every inch of the equipment and dust stirred around her feet. Two of the walls were singed black and the entire building reeked of decayed fish. Melissa gagged and clapped a hand over her nose. This must’ve been an old fish farm. She brushed her hand across the side of a vat, smearing the grim. Maybe I can find some tools here to trade or stash some items here. Melissa shook her head. Stop daydreaming, idiot! Focus. You can come back here later. Just find the dog.

           Melissa squinted, peering into the darkness. Crouching down, she peered under the vats and waterways. Nothing. The dog’s fur must’ve blended in with the shadows too well. However, there were no pawprints in the dust, so it couldn’t have gone far or escaped. Gripping her Bowie knife, Melissa rammed the butt of the handle into a metal vat. Wham! The hollow sound rang through the factory. The skittering of paws shorty followed.

           There! Melissa sprang to her feet and whipped around. A small, dark shape moved among the equipment, heading toward another crack in the wall. Turning around, Melissa ran out the door and around the side of the building. The dog wriggled out onto the street just as she turned the corner. The terrier bolted, leading her down several alleyways and streets. Melissa staggered after it. Rain and sweat dripped down her face. Her hands shook, sore from a death-grip on her Bowie knife. Finally, the dog turned right, toward a row of houses.

           With a jolt, Melissa realized that it was headed toward a white house. If the people inside got the dog first, Melissa would never get it back. Her entire morning would’ve been wasted. Worst of all, there would be no more dogs out because of the rain. Melissa would have to go hungry. Legs shaking and lungs burning, she closed the distance. Knife gleaming, she struck down toward the mutt’s skull, aiming for where it met the spine. This time I won’t miss.

           Bristling, the terrier suddenly turned on her. Its muzzle creased into a snarl as it lunged. Rotten, yellow teeth sunk in Melissa’s hand.

           “Ow!” Melissa yanked her arm back. Crimson splattered the sidewalk. She lashed out, her right foot catching the mutt in the ribs. The dog squealed. Thump! The animal flew a few feet, over a picket fence, and slammed against the side of the white house. Crack! The terrier slumped to the ground, unmoving.

           Gasping, Melissa skidded to a stop. She re-sheathed her knife and rolled up her shirt sleeve, surveying the damage to her left hand. The dog’s teeth had torn past her plaid shirt and into her peach-colored skin. Just past her wrist, near her thumb, were several tiny puncture marks. Blood welled from the wound, streaming down her arm. Melissa clenched her teeth and flexed her hand. White-hot fire shot through her arm and she winced. Steeling herself, Melissa twisted her wrist, feeling for any lumps. She let out a sigh of relief. Good. No broken bones. It was just bruised. However, there was still the matter of infection. With no doctors in Irongate, even a small wound like this could take her life if it became infected enough. Melissa supposed that she could wash the wound out with the small bottle whiskey she kept at home for emergencies. For now, the most she could do was roll up her sleeve and let the rain clean the shallow bite. Then again, if the storm came from the polluted lake the surrounded the city, maybe it was best if she covered the injury with bandages instead.

           Setting her black backpack on the ground, Melissa fished out the medical kit from a side pocket. She tore it open. Needles, tweezers, and other instruments clattered to the ground, along with a tiny blue drawstring bag. Grabbing the bag, Melissa pulled out her makeshift Band-Aids, which were nothing more than cotton balls and masking tape. After applying them, Melissa rotated her wrist once more. The tape would hold. Now, to claim her breakfast. With a grunt, she struggled over the fence, landing in a heap on the other side.

           Melissa’s mouth watered as she stepped toward the unmoving dog. Soon, it would be cooking over a fire, the juicy, fatty meat sizzling. The terrier had fallen onto top of a cellar door, its black eyes rolled toward the sky. As Melissa moved closer, she realized that its neck was at an unnatural angle. The bone jutted out, bleach-white against the dark pelt. Melissa leaned over, elbows resting on the platform, ready to scoop her prey up.

           Crack! The rotten wood of the door buckled. Melissa screamed as she plunged head-first into the dark basement below. Whack! Her hip caught on a pipe. The motion twisted her body, so she landed on her side, driving all the air from her lungs. Melissa gasped, and her vision went black around the edges.

           Groaning, Melissa rolled over, the cement cold on her back. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Her ribs ached, and each breath felt like being struck in the chest with a hammer. She slowly got her to feet, spitting out a string of Italian curses while pressing her arm against her right side. Slowly, she stripped off her windbreaker, the material clinging to her skin. Next, she took off her second layer of clothing, an unbuttoned plaid shirt, and lifted the gray undershirt underneath. Thankfully, there were no signs of dark-red, growing spots. Good. No internal bleeding. Her ribs must just be bruised. Melissa prodded them and grimaced. Yep. Definitely bruised. Hopefully it won’t take long to heal. Maybe I should bind them with tape when I get home. Melissa shook her head, angry. Great. First the dog bite and now this. Getting home will be a nightmare.

           Melissa rubbed her eyes, letting them adjust to the dark. The empty basement reeked of mothballs, and the only dim light was from the storm outside. Her prey had landed just a few feet away, near the end of the room close to the stairs. The dog’s throat must’ve caught onto a sharp piece of wood on the way down, because the wall behind it was speckled with blood. As she went to retrieve the terrier however, Melissa noticed something off. The blood stain stopped abruptly at a seam in the wall, but continued past it. Melissa narrowed her eyes. What the hell?

           Hooking the seam with her nails, Melissa tugged. Wooden slats scraped against cement. Melissa glanced at the ceiling, listening for the sound of footsteps. Nothing. Bit-by-bit she continued to widen the gap, stopping to check for noise each time. Finally, the space was wide enough for Melissa to fit both arms inside. Using her shoulder, Melissa shoved the rest of the fake wall aside.

           Her jaw dropped.

           Rows and rows of dried dog meat packed in plastic bags were stowed on metal shelves. Each bag was vacuum-sealed, and from the dates scrawled on with marker, were only a few weeks old. Melissa’s hands trembled with excitement as she picked up a package. It weighed about two pounds! There was enough here to feed her for six months. If she played her cards right, the dried meat may even last slightly into the fall. Fresh prey forgotten, Melissa tore open her backpack and began to stuff as many packets of dog meat as it could hold.

           Melissa filled her bag to close to bursting. The fabric strained against the seams, barely able to contain all the food. Melissa would have to carry the dead terrier home. Her stomach growled. This is the best day ever! I never have to hunt again. If she remembered the house next time, she could even get more. Surely the owners wouldn’t notice one or two packs of meat go missing from time to time. Plus, it wasn’t fair that they kept all this excess food hidden while people like Melissa starved. Now I can finally start repairing my house. She zipped her backpack shut, grinning from ear-to-ear. Heaving the heavy pack over her shoulder, Melissa turned toward the window well.

           Click.

           Melissa froze. Her stomach filled her ice. A cold, hard metal circle was pressed against her back.  

           A gun.

           “D-drop the backpack. Turn a-around s-slowly, h-hands in the air.” A female voice with an American accent came from behind Melissa.

           Licking her dry lips, Melissa gingerly set the bag down. The owner of the gun was obviously nervous. At any point, the woman could accidently pull the trigger and fire a bullet directly into Melissa’s lower spine. If the bullet was filthy, it would poison her blood. If that happened, Melissa would be paralyzed and suffer the same slow death as the starving children on the streets. Melissa lifted her arms up to the sides of her body, and her elbows locked. She shuffled around to face her attacker, the muscles on her legs taught.

           A dark-skinned woman pointed a shotgun at Melissa’s chest. The weapon rattled as the woman’s hands trembled. “W-What are you doing here?” she snapped.

           “It was an accident. I fell in here while I was hunting.” Melissa pointed to the dead dog. “I sorry.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “Please don’t shoot.”

           “Why are you stealing from my stash? You clearly have your own food.”

           “Not until right now. Besides, all that meat might go bad before you eat it.” When the women remained unmoved Melissa added, “I promise I will not come back here. Let me go, please.”

           “No. We need that meat for trading purposes. Only half of it is for emergencies.” The woman’s piercing gray eyes narrowed. “You’re going to put the food back, and then you’re going to help me repair the cellar door. After that, I’ll decide what to do with you.”

           Despite her position, Melissa gritted her teeth. Her hands curled into fists. It’s not my fault I fell into the basement. The door was ready to collapse at any second. Why should I have to fix it? She studied the gun. The barrel was rusty, along with the trigger. Would it even fire? The person holding the rifle was also standing with her feet not lined up properly, with one further out than the other. If anything, the shot would probably hurt her more than it did Melissa. A smile flickered across Melissa’s face as she formed a plan.

           “Well?” The woman jerked the gun over toward the splintered remains of the cellar door. “Are you going to get started or not? I don’t have all day.”

           Melissa snickered. Her grin got wider and wider until she roared with laughter. She doubled-over, body shaking. “Are you kidding me?” she gasped in-between fits. “You could not hit me even if you pressed the gun to my skull.”

           “W-what?” The woman took a step back, eyes clouded with confusion. She glanced the shotgun over, turning it around and weighing it in her hands. “But I have to have everything correct!”

           Melissa snorted. “Really? You have the gun at your hip, not your shoulders. You are not even looking down to the bead. From the way you shaking it obvious that you never held a rifle before.” She strode forward and reached for the gun. “Here, let me help you.”

           “No!” The woman yanked the weapon away and pressed it her chest. Her voice was a growl. Her gray eyes flashed. “Stay back! Or I’ll shoot. Why would you suggest assisting me?”

           Melissa halted. She rolled her eyes and sighed, attempting to appear nonchalant. “I want to help because otherwise you get hurt. From the way you standing, you just shoot your own foot off. In return, I get to keep half the meat in my backpack. Fair?” The woman didn’t reply. “I take that as a yes.” Melissa crept toward the woman, arms at her sides. Carefully, she slid her hand alongside the barrel of the gun. It was slick with sweat. Melissa walked until she was right beside the woman, facing the same direction. The woman flinched but didn’t pull away.

           “What is your name?” Melissa asked. This is too easy.

           The woman swallowed hard, beads of sweat trickling down her face. “Athena Sanna. What’s yours?”

           “Melissa Moretti.”

           Athena took a deep breath. The gun stopped rattling as her arms relaxed. “Okay, Melissa. Just tell me what I need to do. If you try to trick me, I will turn around and shoot you.”

           “Alright.” Forehead damp with sweat, Melissa grabbed the shotgun and raised it up to Athena’s shoulder. “Do not ever shoot from the hip. It be less straight and not accurate.” Second, she placed her hands on Athena’s shoulders, turning them. “Do not blade your body. Level your shoulders. It provide less kick-back.”

           “Kick-back. Right.” Athena muttered more words under her breath. “Get into an athletic stance, got that.” She shifted her body until her feet her shoulder-width apart. Her left foot slid back behind her right foot, lining up heel to toe.

           Melissa’s grip on Athena’s shoulders tightened. Shit. She does know a little about guns. I better hurry. “Your stance looks fine. But you’re not holding the shotgun right.” She raised Athena’s arms until they were straight. “Lock your elbows.” Melissa moved the butt of the shotgun as far away from Athena’s shoulder as possible.

           Athena was still mumbling to herself, checking everything over.

           Melissa turned sideways until she was out of the way of the shotgun. “Last step. Now to aim, look at that little bump on the end of your gun. Line that up to the center. Make sure there nothing in the background that you do not want to shoot. Also, pull the trigger gently. Do not jerk it.” She put her finger on the trigger. “Now aim—”

           Athena’s eyes widened. “Wait, the recoil—”

           “Fire!”

           Bang!

           A white flash erupted from the shotgun barrel. The deer slug spun in the air, striking the wall. Bits of cement sprayed onto Athena and Melissa, coating them in gray dust. Melissa stumbled back, coughing and ears ringing.

           Whack! The shotgun slammed into Athena’s arm. “Argh!” She dropped the weapon and crashed to the floor. Athena clutched her now-limp right shoulder with her left hand. Tear welled in eyes. She sat up, wincing, and glared at Melissa. “What the hell did you do?” she snarled through clenched teeth.

           Melissa shrugged. “I gave you the most kick-back possible. It was simple.” She walked toward the shelves, where her backpack sat, still stuffed with dog meat.

           “You dislocated my shoulder, you bitch.” Athena attempted to stand, but her knees buckled and she pitched backwards. A scream tore from her throat as her bad arm bashed on the cement.

           “You were stupid enough to trust me.” Melissa slung her stuffed pack over her shoulders. “If you dumb enough to fault for a trick like that, then it a miracle that you lived for this long and have only gotten robbed once.” She grinned. “Who knows? With a target this easy, I might come back here tomorrow.” As she spoke, a stab of guilt filled her chest, but she shoved it back. Don’t be weak. The Thief would’ve done much worse. You let Athena off easy.

           “I panicked. It’s not every day that a thief offers to help you shoot them.” Athena struggled to sit up again. Her chest heaved, and she swiped tears away from her cheeks. “I’m more used to using a spear. The shotgun was the only weapon around when I heard you downstairs.”

           Lifting her chin, Melissa sneered. Her blue-gray eyes glinted. “That not my problem, now is it? Survival of the fittest here, dumbass.” She scooped up the dead terrier and draped it over her back. Grabbing the heavy backpack with her good hand, Melissa threw it out the window well. It landed on the soaked grass outside with a thump.

           Using the chunks of wood that were still attached to the door frame outside, Melissa heaved herself up and out of the basement. The wood was slick with rain. Her injured hand stung and her aching ribs screamed from the strain. Melissa clutched her teeth, determined not to scream while Athena was watching.

Don’t be so weak, idiot.

As her feet landed safely on the grass, she turned to look over her shoulder. Athena was still struggling to gain her footing. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, much less going to chase after someone. Grinning, Melissa called out to Athena one last time. “Make sure to put ice on that shoulder, or you not be able to fire a gun for at least a week.”

Descriptive Writing Exercise

I want to get better at descriptions so I decided to vividly describe something in my room. I choose this teddy bear that I keep on my desk. Her name is Cranberry and I got her at a flea market when I was ten.

Warm tan fur covers a soft, huggable body. Her sweater is a bright inviting red, layered with strips of crisp white. The fur on her face hides her mouth but rest assured, she is smiling. Pin-point brown eyes stare at you with a shine of mischief in their non-existent pupils. Her open arms invite you.

Squeeze her and you will feel the mixture of soft stuffing and jittering bean bags that fill up her form. She smells of ocean scented dryer sheets and sunny days. If you spend some time with her you find that she has many stories to tell about her many friends. Even though the long slightly matted fur on her face obscures her vision she has seen much. But never try to make her divulge her numerous secrets, I have not seen the inside of her mouth often but when I do I find that her teeth are wicked sharp.

As you can see I got sort of into it. Please is there is anything that can help me improve my descriptions please tell me. Have a great day!

The Mine |Part One|

Here you go, guys. New week, new story. A full 1,183 words. Hope you like this, have an amazing day! 

Airwyn gently touched the skin on her wrist. It was red and swollen, every time she touched it her body screamed out in pain. She sighed, it had gotten worse since the day before. If Sir Faus didn’t take off her bindings soon, then she would have to go back to Miss Marrow for some ointment. Speaking of Sir Faus she could hear him coming now. Airwyn giggled at his feeble attempt to sneak up on her. She had been with him for six months now, how did he still no realize that her hearing was much better than hers. Airwyn laid down on the cold fabric floor closed her eyes. If he couldn’t realize it on his own, she wouldn’t help him get there.

“Get up!” he spat as he stomped into the tent, “My guests need entertaining.”

Airwyn got up off the floor and pretended to yawn. Her kind were nocturnal by nature and she spent her days dozing, just to prepare for her usually nightly escapades. Either way, she needed to pretend to be tired, if Sir Faus ever got wind of her adventures he would have her chained to a post throughout the night. Speaking of chains Sir Faus was busy getting hers. From a simple wooden chest, he pulled out the dreaded iron chains. Airwyn shuddered and took an involuntary step backward.

“Now don’t get cold feet on me now,” he grinned wickedly as he stalked towards her, “It’s not so bad. Just a little reassurance, for my guests.”

Airwyn tried to keep her pulse still as Sir Faus moved the first chain toward the deliberate hole in her shirt. She groaned in pain as he clipped it to the heavy iron band that already sat under her shirt, next to her skin. She tried to keep her knees from buckling as the weight from the pure iron settled on her chest. She braced as her magic was pulled from her chest and into the iron. She repeated this process twice more. As the second and third chains were attached to the iron shackles on her wrists. First the right then the left. She felt more magic being pulled from her. As each chain was attached she felt herself getting weaker and weaker. Three chains, three shackles sitting right next to her skin, the three things that bound her to this place.

Sir Faus has a short little tug on her chains and smiled, “Come now, my pet, “ he smiled, “They are waiting for us.”

Airwyn was pulled from the tent and into the setting desert sun. The magic leaving her had left her head aching, her ears ringing, and her vision blurry. She kept her head down and tried to focus on the heat radiating from the fine, yellow sand under the flimsy, leather sandals. Whenever she left the tent she always kept her head down, the better to avoid the stares. It was evening now, most of the other laborers were eating their stale bread and leathery meat in their overcrowded, overheated tents. She knew they were jealous of her. Compared to spending hours on end in the dark, slimy cavernous mines and sleeping three to a bed in a flimsy tent, her life must seem luxurious.

She must have stopped because Sir Faus gave a sharp tug on her chains. She stumbled and fell, sand burning and scraping on her already thin skin. She winced in pain as Sir Faus yanked her unceremoniously off the ground. A chorus of laughs erupted out of the crowd. Her face prickled, her kinds version of a blush.

“Little princess ain't even know ‘ow to walk,” she heard one of them yell.

“Aw,” Sir Faus cooed at her, “Ain’t you popular.”

Airwyn steeled herself as she walked the rest of the way toward the only non-tent building in the entire camp. Sir Faus’s house a relatively small worn sandstone converted stable. To anyone else, it might not have seen much, but to the people of the camp, it seemed like a castle.

Airwyn stepped into the building and felt the cool sandstone floors under her sandals. She smelled something cooking, maybe soup or something. She sniffed the pleasant air again, no it was chicken, meat! It smelled juicy and tender. How long it had been since she had had real meat. Sir Faus must have noticed her smelling because he smiled at her, showing off a mouth of canary yellow teeth.

“You like that, pet?” he asked her, “Listen if your tricks impress my guests, you can lick the meat off the carcass.”

Airwyn bristled at the suggestion. He wanted her to do some magic tricks and for what? Some scraps of meat! Airwyn would rather just have her usual soup, but if she could save the meat it would be useful for her plan tonight.

“Alright,” she finally agreed, “But only if I can eat it in my tent.”

“You got a deal, pet,” he said giving a short jingle on her chains.  

Airwyn was led into parlor were three tired looking men suddenly shot out of there expensive looking velvet chairs. They talked excitedly to Sir Faus in a language Airwyn didn’t know, but judging from their clothes which were too heavy for the desert climate, they were from the north. Airwyn didn’t pay them much mind, she was struggling just to stay standing. Sooner than she would have liked they were done asking Sir Faus questions and were looking at her expectantly.

Sir Faus smiled at her, took out a key from his pocket, and removed one of her armbands. Airwyn smiled as she felt some her magic flow back into her. She closed her eyes and tried to savor it while it lasted because she knew from experience that it never lasted long enough. Sir Faus attached a different shackle to her wrist. This one was midnight blue and smooth. Airwyn didn’t know exactly what it was made of but her best guess was that it was made of a mixture of different jewels and crystals its purpose was to give Sir Faus control of her magic. Instead of draining like she felt with iron, these shackled felt like they froze her magic inside of her. Try as she might she couldn’t even muster out the simplest spell. She shivered, these shackles always felt like ice on her wrist.

By this time both the northerners and Sir Faus had sitten down on the plush velvet chairs and Airwyn was left standing in the middle of the room, chains still attached to one of her wrist shackles and the heavy iron band on her chest. One of the northerners shouted something out and Sir Faus repeated his order.

“Fairy!” Sir Faus shouted rigidly, “Make his chair float!”  

Airwyn hated him calling her fairy even more than she hated him calling her pet. She had a name, she had told him what it was. Either way, try as she might she could not disobey an order while she had the blue shackle on her wrist.

Part two is coming either Wednesday or Thursday, depending on how apathetic I feel tomorrow. Have a magnificent day!