Story . . . which apparently has tarot cards for chapter titles.
Wrote a bit on that story I was talking about in the last entry, almost 1000 words! (Believe me, that's a lot for me in one sitting now, sad . . . I used to be able to crunch out more like 5000 no problem >:).
Anyway, dunno if I'll end up picking this back up after I sleep or not. Depends on if it's still going as strong for me. I have, however, wrote notes on where I had the story planned to go . . . you know, in case I do one of those grand forget everything plot-related after passing out things . . . . That's happened with a few stories.
Can't tell you what they were, though, because I don't remember them except a vague sense of me thinking they were epic at the time. They probably weren't though (I'm usually sleep deprived when those happen), so it's just as well I forgot them.
And just in case anyone really needs this warning . . . though, uh, I think my FL is pretty much cool: YES THERE IS HOMOSEXUALITY IN THIS (well not yet, but there will be), RAMPANT GAYNESS :o
I. Five of Cups
If he listened closely he could hear the faint lilt of one of the more popular waltzes coming from the ballroom. It surrounded him, sounding melancholy, or perhaps that was only his mood. The soft breeze coming in from the sea felt like it was trying to comfort him, and for the first time in his twenty years he found himself wanting to cry. If he was honest, he had always known it would come down to politics. There was very little room for passion if you were royal, except for the very rare occasion. Somehow, Ardin did not think that fairy godmothers or any other sort of intervening enchantment were likely to cross his path in the future.
If anything, he supposed that he should be happy he was not being forced into a match with some simpering fool of a princess. Truth be told, he should probably cut his losses and be content with the fact that instead he was matched with a prince, considering his tastes leaned that way. But he could not help but be offended that he was given no choice in the matter, no more than he could help breathing. This was why he was currently out on a balcony, avoiding the ball in honor of his engagement and all the congratulatory speeches that went with it.
It was a cold comfort, but he was relieved that his fiancé would be the one moving away from his home. Ardin was deeply attached to the old castle and ancient land in which he had grown up. He could not even imagine leaving it behind, he would miss it too dearly. His entire life was invested in these lands, he belonged to them, he belonged here.
At some point it had started to rain, a light mist that left him damp rather than soaked. The wind picked up, catching his hair and playing with it. Alone on the balcony he gave into his weaknesses for once, allowing the tears to slip down his face because he knew that no one else would see them. His fiancé was arriving in a few days, and then there would be no more time for tears. He would not disgrace himself in front of a foreign prince who certainly would not understand.
Some said it was the last vestige of some ancient curse which marked his family line. Others said it was the remnants of an ancient power which had permeated the land long ago. Whichever was the case the royal family had an intimate tie to the lands they ruled, the land influenced their emotions while their emotions influenced the land. Ardin was not even sure if it was his own instincts or that of the land that had him in tears now.
For centuries his family had married those who they protected. Those who understood the strange tie, and even shared it to a lesser degree. The people of his kingdom loved the land with a depth they might extend to their mother or their father, it was not merely a place to live for any of them, it lived along side them, protected them, nourished them. He shook his head, wondering just what it would mean to break such a tradition. To allow an outsider into their kingdom. An outsider who could not begin to comprehend the balance of things. He supposed he was expected to make his fiancé understand.
He wished someone would explain to him what his father was thinking.
If, perhaps, Prince Shoin was spoken of for his wisdom, for his courage, for his compassion, or perhaps for any other particular merit then Ardin might not feel so hopeless. The only thing spoken of about Shoin, however, was that he was extremely unremarkable. This was a marriage of convenience, Ardin knew, an attempt for Shoin's father to gain any advantage from a son who simply had nothing remarkable to contribute. He wondered if the prince would even be capable of understanding, or if he would just choose not to.
Ardin stepped away from the balcony, deciding that he needed to go see the Tree. It was an ancient oak that had been in the central courtyard for as long as any one could remember. Some of the scholars even speculated that the courtyard and the castle had been designed around it, the oak was certainly older than any historical record in the palace's library. It was comforting to the average person, like a mother welcoming a child home, and to the royal family it almost seemed to speak at times. It was to the Tree he went whenever he felt insecure or out of sorts. His mother said she had often found him asleep tucked into its ancient roots when he was a small child.
He ignored the rain, even though it fell a bit harder now. His hair was soon drenched, darkening from it usual ash blond to something nearly brown. It would curl as it dried, he knew, it was always a curled mess when it went untamed. The interesting part was that no two curls every seemed to be the same.
Under the branches of the ancient oak he found shelter from the rain. It dripped through the branches slowly, but most of it ran off to the outside. The steps were familiar to him and he did not even notice as he approached the Tree, settling down between its roots in one of the worn spots where hundreds, even thousands, of people had sat down before him. Where thousands would sit down after he had turned to ash.
Yeah, it's really kinda lame, but it's good practice for me to keep writing instead of chucking it. No idea what to call it overall, though.
And if you're wondering, the Five of Cups generally has this meaning:
Suffering a loss, feeling bereft, feeling regret
Anyway, dunno if I'll end up picking this back up after I sleep or not. Depends on if it's still going as strong for me. I have, however, wrote notes on where I had the story planned to go . . . you know, in case I do one of those grand forget everything plot-related after passing out things . . . . That's happened with a few stories.
Can't tell you what they were, though, because I don't remember them except a vague sense of me thinking they were epic at the time. They probably weren't though (I'm usually sleep deprived when those happen), so it's just as well I forgot them.
And just in case anyone really needs this warning . . . though, uh, I think my FL is pretty much cool: YES THERE IS HOMOSEXUALITY IN THIS (well not yet, but there will be), RAMPANT GAYNESS :o
I. Five of Cups
If he listened closely he could hear the faint lilt of one of the more popular waltzes coming from the ballroom. It surrounded him, sounding melancholy, or perhaps that was only his mood. The soft breeze coming in from the sea felt like it was trying to comfort him, and for the first time in his twenty years he found himself wanting to cry. If he was honest, he had always known it would come down to politics. There was very little room for passion if you were royal, except for the very rare occasion. Somehow, Ardin did not think that fairy godmothers or any other sort of intervening enchantment were likely to cross his path in the future.
If anything, he supposed that he should be happy he was not being forced into a match with some simpering fool of a princess. Truth be told, he should probably cut his losses and be content with the fact that instead he was matched with a prince, considering his tastes leaned that way. But he could not help but be offended that he was given no choice in the matter, no more than he could help breathing. This was why he was currently out on a balcony, avoiding the ball in honor of his engagement and all the congratulatory speeches that went with it.
It was a cold comfort, but he was relieved that his fiancé would be the one moving away from his home. Ardin was deeply attached to the old castle and ancient land in which he had grown up. He could not even imagine leaving it behind, he would miss it too dearly. His entire life was invested in these lands, he belonged to them, he belonged here.
At some point it had started to rain, a light mist that left him damp rather than soaked. The wind picked up, catching his hair and playing with it. Alone on the balcony he gave into his weaknesses for once, allowing the tears to slip down his face because he knew that no one else would see them. His fiancé was arriving in a few days, and then there would be no more time for tears. He would not disgrace himself in front of a foreign prince who certainly would not understand.
Some said it was the last vestige of some ancient curse which marked his family line. Others said it was the remnants of an ancient power which had permeated the land long ago. Whichever was the case the royal family had an intimate tie to the lands they ruled, the land influenced their emotions while their emotions influenced the land. Ardin was not even sure if it was his own instincts or that of the land that had him in tears now.
For centuries his family had married those who they protected. Those who understood the strange tie, and even shared it to a lesser degree. The people of his kingdom loved the land with a depth they might extend to their mother or their father, it was not merely a place to live for any of them, it lived along side them, protected them, nourished them. He shook his head, wondering just what it would mean to break such a tradition. To allow an outsider into their kingdom. An outsider who could not begin to comprehend the balance of things. He supposed he was expected to make his fiancé understand.
He wished someone would explain to him what his father was thinking.
If, perhaps, Prince Shoin was spoken of for his wisdom, for his courage, for his compassion, or perhaps for any other particular merit then Ardin might not feel so hopeless. The only thing spoken of about Shoin, however, was that he was extremely unremarkable. This was a marriage of convenience, Ardin knew, an attempt for Shoin's father to gain any advantage from a son who simply had nothing remarkable to contribute. He wondered if the prince would even be capable of understanding, or if he would just choose not to.
Ardin stepped away from the balcony, deciding that he needed to go see the Tree. It was an ancient oak that had been in the central courtyard for as long as any one could remember. Some of the scholars even speculated that the courtyard and the castle had been designed around it, the oak was certainly older than any historical record in the palace's library. It was comforting to the average person, like a mother welcoming a child home, and to the royal family it almost seemed to speak at times. It was to the Tree he went whenever he felt insecure or out of sorts. His mother said she had often found him asleep tucked into its ancient roots when he was a small child.
He ignored the rain, even though it fell a bit harder now. His hair was soon drenched, darkening from it usual ash blond to something nearly brown. It would curl as it dried, he knew, it was always a curled mess when it went untamed. The interesting part was that no two curls every seemed to be the same.
Under the branches of the ancient oak he found shelter from the rain. It dripped through the branches slowly, but most of it ran off to the outside. The steps were familiar to him and he did not even notice as he approached the Tree, settling down between its roots in one of the worn spots where hundreds, even thousands, of people had sat down before him. Where thousands would sit down after he had turned to ash.
Yeah, it's really kinda lame, but it's good practice for me to keep writing instead of chucking it. No idea what to call it overall, though.
And if you're wondering, the Five of Cups generally has this meaning:
Suffering a loss, feeling bereft, feeling regret