scorched Writing Sample
The stories - the stories that started with ‘once upon a time’ and ended in ‘and they all lived happily ever after’ - were always set in a faraway land. The bards and the storytellers probably hadn’t had Anatole in mind, although the dead city, a maze of ruinous buildings and tangled vegetation, reminded Talia inexorably of what was likely to remain of her childhood home. The desert winds were harsh. The bricks had started to deteriorate long before she’d opened her eyes. In another hundred years would a crumbling castle, a thicket of dead thorns and a tale told so many times that nobody remembered where it had started be all that remained of the Malak-el-Dashat legacy?
Talia pushed the unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind. It was what she always did, but, at the moment, she had a better excuse than she’d ever had in Lorindar. The present was proving to be difficult enough. She didn’t have time to dwell on the past.
It had been a week since she’d found herself stumbling through the door and into Anatole. The shock had passed quickly enough - nothing could ever be worse than the first time she’d woken up from an enchanted sleep and she’d had no choice but to recover quickly then - but the anger lingered. She hadn’t heard from any of her allies - her friends - on the other side of the door. The mirrored bracelet on her wrist remained stubbornly silent.
It didn’t occur to her for a moment that her friends wouldn’t be trying to find her. Danielle - too sweet for her own good, but ferociously loyal when it came to her loved ones - had made it abundantly clear that she considered Talia to be part of her family. And Snow White was a lot of things - maddeningly flirtatious and overly fond of bad puns and terrible jokes, for a start - but she wasn’t the sort of person to abandon her closest friend when she needed her the most.
No, they were definitely searching for her. They just weren’t succeeding.
In an attempt to keep herself occupied and find a weakness that she could exploit to speed up the rescue, Talia spent most of her time exploring the city. The hunting grounds were pleasant enough. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she might even have enjoyed spending time there. The carnival was a riot of colour and noise and, although it wasn’t to Talia’s taste, it was the sort of place that made Anatole seem less like a prison. (And Snow - why did her thoughts so often stray back to her? - would have loved it. Just like she would have loved the vast collection of books in the Folkehaven Library.) The market could have been anywhere in any world. While exploring the stalls, she’d found the sort of spices that she’d missed in Lorindar. The palace food was rich but bland. For a moment or two, the discovery had actually made her smile.
It was the infamous Door - just a stone archway, but with impossible power and reach - that kept most of her attention, however. It made Talia’s skin crawl and the hair on the back of her neck stand up. How had it managed to snatch her from Lorindar? And how could she get back through? Nobody seemed to have the answers and the fact that everyone else in the city was as helpless as she felt wasn’t particularly comforting.
At times - usually at night, when everyone else in the city had retired to bed - Talia found herself sitting in front of it, watching the rippling surface for any sign of a familiar world or a familiar face.
Nothing.
Talia wasn’t a patient person, but she’d wait. She had no choice.
Talia pushed the unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind. It was what she always did, but, at the moment, she had a better excuse than she’d ever had in Lorindar. The present was proving to be difficult enough. She didn’t have time to dwell on the past.
It had been a week since she’d found herself stumbling through the door and into Anatole. The shock had passed quickly enough - nothing could ever be worse than the first time she’d woken up from an enchanted sleep and she’d had no choice but to recover quickly then - but the anger lingered. She hadn’t heard from any of her allies - her friends - on the other side of the door. The mirrored bracelet on her wrist remained stubbornly silent.
It didn’t occur to her for a moment that her friends wouldn’t be trying to find her. Danielle - too sweet for her own good, but ferociously loyal when it came to her loved ones - had made it abundantly clear that she considered Talia to be part of her family. And Snow White was a lot of things - maddeningly flirtatious and overly fond of bad puns and terrible jokes, for a start - but she wasn’t the sort of person to abandon her closest friend when she needed her the most.
No, they were definitely searching for her. They just weren’t succeeding.
In an attempt to keep herself occupied and find a weakness that she could exploit to speed up the rescue, Talia spent most of her time exploring the city. The hunting grounds were pleasant enough. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she might even have enjoyed spending time there. The carnival was a riot of colour and noise and, although it wasn’t to Talia’s taste, it was the sort of place that made Anatole seem less like a prison. (And Snow - why did her thoughts so often stray back to her? - would have loved it. Just like she would have loved the vast collection of books in the Folkehaven Library.) The market could have been anywhere in any world. While exploring the stalls, she’d found the sort of spices that she’d missed in Lorindar. The palace food was rich but bland. For a moment or two, the discovery had actually made her smile.
It was the infamous Door - just a stone archway, but with impossible power and reach - that kept most of her attention, however. It made Talia’s skin crawl and the hair on the back of her neck stand up. How had it managed to snatch her from Lorindar? And how could she get back through? Nobody seemed to have the answers and the fact that everyone else in the city was as helpless as she felt wasn’t particularly comforting.
At times - usually at night, when everyone else in the city had retired to bed - Talia found herself sitting in front of it, watching the rippling surface for any sign of a familiar world or a familiar face.
Nothing.
Talia wasn’t a patient person, but she’d wait. She had no choice.