Snippets, Writing

there is magic in this world

It has been a long while since I’ve written a snippets post so I thought I would allure you with the seduction of language.

bd6cf32e6b56b4bfb976867d93d472e4“There is a magic at work in this world beyond what the eyes of Man, Elf, or Dwarf can see. Darkness is birthed in death.” Alborand spoke in near silence. “Perhaps the Dark Prince is dead. Think on this, though: Darkness born of shadow is darker still. Could it be that the Dark Prince’s death awakened something… worse?”


“Jack… are you sure you heard gunshots?” the first guy said, a hint of annoyance laced his words.

            “Positive, boss! And I seen the lesbian and her friend too,” came a second voice. Hillbilly.

            Lesbian? Natasha’s fingers lifted to the shaved side of her hair. She scowled.

In the Nevermore

    “Shut up,” she said as she took his head in her hands and pulled her to him. She kissed him, long and hard.

    His heart roiled, a sea of crashing waves as every nerve awoke, alert, his synapses as canon fire. Eternity engrossed them as their bodies moved of one accord. With each kiss, he breathed her in, breathed her out. She was his oxygen, his heartbeat, the fire that burned inside. And in that moment of contact chaos no longer held dominion.


“You started out as my one last adventure,” he paused. “And you became my ever after.”

The Existence of Us

“See? The lesbian. I told ya!” the hillbilly said.

Natasha fired. A bullet sank into his forehead. His body levitated for a moment, his dead eyes remained wide in shock for just a moment longer. Then, as if his soul had finally finished detaching itself from his body, it crumpled to the ground in a second.

The first guy cursed as he stared down at the body of his friend.

“The cliché alone was worth killing him twice over,” Natasha smirked.

In the Nevermore

    “The stars whispered to me, Majesty. Until last night, that is. The gods have stolen their voice and I fear we are forsaken to redeem their light ourselves.” A deep sadness pressed itself into the lines of the stargazer’s face. “A day is coming when a red dawn rises over fields of the dead. The fates of Man and Mage are written in blood magic. As well you know, blood magic can never be undone.”

    Horatio’s blood ran cold.

    “What is our fate?”

    “That is for you to decide, Majesty.”

Songs of Starlight

    “I want you to write. Poems, thoughts, love letters, I don’t care,” Daddy said when he gave me the notebook.

    “Why?” I asked. I wasn’t much of a writer.

    He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled. God, I miss that smile. “To write is to release your soul. So, write. Don’t let yourself be bound by the mundaneness and the unfairness of life. You owe yourself that much.”

Running With Wolves