Writing work in progress
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Thread Topic: Writing work in progress
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One Thousand Years of Sleep
Prologue: Butterflies and Roses
He was cold, like a breath of frozen air, that stung your lungs and wrapped your face in the red of a scarlet blush. He was undoubtedly handsome, but in the way that a sword was undoubtedly sharp. His eyes were a lake of embers flickering with fire, and his hair was the color of ash drifting in the morning wind, the remembrance of the burning night before. The beginning of laugh lines showed around the edge of his lips, the corner of his eyes, his dimples deep and beautiful, more so when he smiled. And he smiled often.
The dark colors of the kingdom had never suited him, and Rosemary wouldn't stand to see him dressed in them. Instead, she preferred the light blue and gold that graced the wings of butterflies. She liked to think that he was of their kind, turned human by some retched curse. He was as beautiful as one, however, nowhere as free or fragile. He was kind, but the kind of kind that was covering something deep and dangerous. Like the shallow water in a lake before it opened into an abyss of a drop. She had known this from the first day she had seen them, only being thirteen then, still amused by the violence of the boys on the streets. He wasn't like them, though. He didn't take the kicks of the rich, nor did he lash them upon the poor. Nor did he stand silently at the sidelines and watch. He never did like the way the noble's children treated those of lesser families, and he made it clear when he sent a boy home with two black eyes and a broken arm. He was called to the castle, and sentenced to a beating that would have been much worse, had Rosemary's father not met him.
He became one of their best knights within a month, only being a year older than Rose, twice as set in his ways, and three times as unreadable. It took her years to figure him out, and when she did, it was with a poison covered kiss that broke every bone in her body and turned her mind to mud. It was that night that she fell in love with him, and he her. It was also that night that Rosemary's parent's announced the news. The news that broke every bone in her body, and turned her mind to mud once again, only this time, everything was edged with pain. She was to marry the sorceresses son, a man a full seven years older than her, someone she had never even met.
And her parents had seemed so happy, hardly noticing their daughter's absence at the dinner table that night, as she dined in the stables among the servants, wetting her meat with the saltiness of her tears. Rosemary dreaded telling her butterfly boy, fearing that she would be, in a way, ripping off his wings, killing him. She also feared that he wouldn't care- And, in that way, he would be ripping off her petals, killing her. So she didn't, until the night before her fiance was due to arrive.
"You are... Engaged to him? For how long, Rose?" His face was already falling, the fire in his eyes dying quickly, his hand on her's trembling with the news of what couldn't be.
"Two weeks. The wedding is next month. I wish-"
He cut her off, drawing her close to him, his hands holding her to his chest. "Run away with me." It wasn't a suggestion, but, rather a command. One Rosemary immediately wished to follow. However, as much as she wanted to, and as much as it twinged her heart with pain to turn down, she knew she couldn't.
"His mother, Alexander," She reasoned, using the knight's name as she rarely did, "Would kill my family. Your's, the whole kingdom. And, she wouldn't stop until she found us and killed you. I wish, I wish we could, Alexander, but we cannot," Rosemary felt his chest rise and fall in the silence of minutes that felt like hours, and seconds that felt like days.
Finally, he breathed out a simple, "You are my family, and so as long as I have you, I care not about others." Again, her heart twinged, swinging violently against her rib cage, bringing tears to her eyes as she refused her deepest desires. "I cannot," Rosemary repeated, with a bit more force, though it pained her deeply. "The kingdom is my responsibility, just as much as I am your's. Please, understand." It was a longer silence this time, and she thought that, at any moment, he would pull away. Instead, he pulled her closer yet, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, swaying gently.
"You are," He began, with a voice so low she could hardly hear him, his lips still brushing her hair, "The most beautiful rose I have ever had the joy of seeing. I suppose this is your thorn? Because, it certainly feels as if I am being stabbed, right in my heart," There was a pause, and one of his hands slipped under her chin, tilting her face up. His lips fluttered across her nose, and down to her own, kissing her gently, reminding her of the way a butterfly's wings brushed just barley against things. "Rosemary, I swear upon my life, that I love you, and I will find a way to make you you mine." -
I NEED MORE
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I read the title.
This book sounds like a really good place to be. -
Well s---, the Prologue's actually good. I could stand the entire book, probably. You've my vote.
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For the next week, they met in secret, whenever they could. Dark circles began to form under the princess's eyes, showing up from lack of sleep. Alexander, however, was accustom to sleepless nights, and adapted easily, enjoying their time together, even though she was endlessly drifting off in his arms.
Rosemary saw more of him than she did her fiance, who she quickly concluded to be a kind, but, distant man, who wanted to marry her as much as she wanted to be wed to him. He was alright looking, with black hair that he wore slicked back, golden-brown eyes, and fair skin. His name was Meur, and he was a man of silence, who Rosemary found difficult to talk to. However, it would be okay, she thought, since they would be staying here, with Alexander.
But then it happened. Her love had gotten done with his rounds, and was waiting for her behind the kitchen, with a woven basket full of food and a bottle of wine, ready for a picnic under the stars. Only tonight would be different. He had borrowed clothes from his father. Though they weren't that of a nobles, they were nice- A dark blue button down, gray pants, and black boots. He knew what Rosemary would be wearing, what she always wore on the third night of the week. A pale purple sleeping gown, and a simple cover up to guard against the cold. He would lend her his jacket, he already suspected, though she would resist it at first.
It didn't matter, though. Tonight, at the bottom of the basket, wrapped in a napkin, was a ring with a gold band, and a small green jewel. It had been his father's mother's, and then his mother's, before she had passed away. And now, it would be Rosemary's. He knew she had refused him before, but this time it was different. He would explain how he had bought passage for them on a ship, and how they could take their families with them. And them he would ask her to marry him, and she would say yes, and-
And then she was out of the kitchen, carrying two wine glasses in her hand, her honey-gold hair white in the moonlight. Rosemary greeted him with a kiss, wove her free hand into his, and allowed herself to be lead into the meadows behind the castle. It wasn't long before they were done with the food, and on their third glass of wine, Rosemary perched dangerously on Alexander's knee, on of his arms around her waist, holding her steady as she laughed about the thought of Meur's mother turning some of the servants into rats because they had bought the wrong flowers.
"She is such a total bi-"
"That is not a word that belongs in a princess's mouth, my love," He mumbled, pressing his lips against hers for a quick kiss, before he swallowed the rest of his wine, sat the glass aside, along with Rosemary. "And, I have something to ask you." He was digging in the picnic basket while talking. "I talked to a guy, and.. He said he would take us to another land. Somewhere out of the sorceress's reach, Rose. And, we can take are family with us. Just hush," He warned, when she began to cut him off, "And listen. I love you, Rosemary, More than I have ever loved anyone. And I want to be with you, and I know damn well that you want to be with me. So, please.." He didn't bend in his voice as he dipped down onto one knee, holding the ring out to her. "Rosemary, will you marry me?"
The sound of shattering glass surprised Alexander, who had been focusing on Rosemary's face, and not the wine slipping from her hand. She didn't bother to clean it up, but rather leaned forward, her arms encircling Alexander's neck as she kissed him, removing Meur's ring, and putting on the one that felt like it was supposed to be there. Without breaking the kiss, she muttered a soft, "Yes," and made up her mind to never let go of the man she was holding so tightly.
The next hour was a complete blur. Rosemary knew she was drunk, and that Alexander wouldn't allow her to have any more of the wine, regardless of her begging. Instead, he held her to his chest, and counted the stars above them, pointing out patterns as he kissed her cheeks, and her nose, and her forehead, until her face was covered with the lingering heat of his lips. At some point, Rosemary ended up laying on her chest on top of him, her legs between him, face hidden in the crook of his neck as he muttered nonsense nothings about how much he loved her, and Rosemary giggled at his attempts of convincing her to get off him and go to bed, knowing that he didn't want her to leave.
With the sun almost rising, though, Alexander finally made her get up, as he packed their things away, and picked his jacket off the ground. He leaned in for a goodbye kiss, right as someone cleared their throat.
Standing on the rise of the hill was Meur, one hand on his hip, his head tilted, a little smirk on his face.
"I suspected as much. I don't blame you, really. I haven't much interest in you. Sadly, though, we are betrothed. And, giving yourself to another man cannot, and will not be tolerated. Not from my bride. Come, Rosemary. You need not watch this."
She started to protest, but was silenced when Alexander stood up, looming over her like a dangerously gray cloud. "Rose, go. Please." Though her eyes were glued to her lover's face, his own were looking at where two of the older knights rode at the top of the hill, rope and swords in hand. Rosemary only saw them when he shoved her away, moving to put him back to the tree. "Go." And she did, though every step sent burning pain through her heart, knowing what would happen.
Meur met her, grabbing her arm tightly, turning her away as her butterfly boy was forced onto his knees, and the glimmer of light reflecting off the blade of a sword blinded her eye. Rosemary's knees gave out at the sound of that same blade slashing through the air. And she broke, grabbing for the sword that hung loosely around Meur's hip, driving it through his chest.
(I'm not even done with the prologue yet sigh) -
I don't think I want to continue this..
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Keno Joyous NewbieI honestly must say, I really like it. It's descriptive with vibrant colors and I can clearly understand both the setting and the plot (save for some times I can't clearly see what the characters are doing but that's rare), and it has great potential.
Also, you have me (sort of) on the edge of my seat about "butterfly boy". Was he decapitated? Or other-wise killed, because it seems like it. And also, what will happen to Rosemary.
And since this is a prologue, will Alexander and Rosemary be important characters in the main book? As if ghosts? Or will they essentially be important morals in the book? Or will they not be dug into the book at all?
Far better than almost all the "stories" I've been saddened to see here.
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