On the Make (Yet Again)
This pretty well works for me, I suppose.
Fifty sentences, one character, the only character I ever bother much with (see icon omg shocker), but I hope to come up with a few tricks the readers haven't seen before.
#01 - Hood
It's better than nothing, and anything is preferable to that damned veil.
#02 - Buzz
She's not drunk enough, but that doesn't always matter; the mirror ripples toward her and she laughs, throws the bottle in its face.
#03 - Wish
And in that moment, she wants nothing more than to be seen wearing this gown, to be adored wearing this gown, to have the gentlemen making a racket over her.
#04 - Seasons
Winter should suit her--she always wanted it to--but it's only in the heat and dust of high summer that she's warm enough, languid and hot, a little less uncomfortable in her own skin.
#05 - Threat
This, this she's good at, this she's best at; she'll rip every last one of them open and arrange their heads on his wall, and father will smile at her at last.
#06 - Portrait
Why she agreed to pose for this is beyond her, but the little sidewalk artist is dead pale, hands quaking as he reaches for his brush, and she knows this is the power Damocles felt; her smile is genuine.
#07 - Loud
It's not a thing she's had much practice being--seen and not heard, and not seen, if possible--but Baraka tends to bring it out in her.
#08 - Energy
When she gets going, she can run for miles; the ground is nothing under her feet, the suns are blurred daggers and the whole world is her own breath and heartbeat.
#09 - Purge
Now and again there's a little something wrong with her, and on such nights she orders up boiling water and does not wait for it to still before getting in and scrubbing until there's blood.
#10 - Mouse
It's in her hand, in her mouth, down her throat before she can think about it, tail and all, still alive; if she were a real lady she would throw up right this minute, but as it is, she's too frightened of the damn things.
#11 - Attic
She's never seen one--there isn't one, at the palace, and the rabble's taste runs to lofts and single stories--but she thinks they must be nice to have, stuffy, sultry nooks filled with dusty air and old trinkets.
#12 - Second-Rate
When the matches on the roster are changed that morning and she sees her own name next to her sister's, it's a revelation: no matter how she tries, this is all she will ever be.
#13 - Dash
To her it's a sprint, it's nothing--behind her their breath is heaving and ragged, a chorus of coughing--and she knows first prize is hers again.
#14 - Attitude
When she says, "At once, Sire," there are barbs in it; she hopes he chokes on them.
#15 - Wisdom
She felt sure she must have some by now--she was not afraid of death; she lived to learn things for their own sake, though this she kept to herself as much as she was able.
#16 - Sight
She was confused by most colors--red was piercing, overwhelming, but blue and green registered as mud and charcoal, which did nothing to improve her opinion of her companions.
#17 - Address
If only she could get out of here, leave this blasted palace and its cursed city, go feral somewhere in a cave and achieve divine madness; no one would look for her then.
Keeps me writing, at least. *Shrug.*
Fifty sentences, one character, the only character I ever bother much with (see icon omg shocker), but I hope to come up with a few tricks the readers haven't seen before.
#01 - Hood
It's better than nothing, and anything is preferable to that damned veil.
#02 - Buzz
She's not drunk enough, but that doesn't always matter; the mirror ripples toward her and she laughs, throws the bottle in its face.
#03 - Wish
And in that moment, she wants nothing more than to be seen wearing this gown, to be adored wearing this gown, to have the gentlemen making a racket over her.
#04 - Seasons
Winter should suit her--she always wanted it to--but it's only in the heat and dust of high summer that she's warm enough, languid and hot, a little less uncomfortable in her own skin.
#05 - Threat
This, this she's good at, this she's best at; she'll rip every last one of them open and arrange their heads on his wall, and father will smile at her at last.
#06 - Portrait
Why she agreed to pose for this is beyond her, but the little sidewalk artist is dead pale, hands quaking as he reaches for his brush, and she knows this is the power Damocles felt; her smile is genuine.
#07 - Loud
It's not a thing she's had much practice being--seen and not heard, and not seen, if possible--but Baraka tends to bring it out in her.
#08 - Energy
When she gets going, she can run for miles; the ground is nothing under her feet, the suns are blurred daggers and the whole world is her own breath and heartbeat.
#09 - Purge
Now and again there's a little something wrong with her, and on such nights she orders up boiling water and does not wait for it to still before getting in and scrubbing until there's blood.
#10 - Mouse
It's in her hand, in her mouth, down her throat before she can think about it, tail and all, still alive; if she were a real lady she would throw up right this minute, but as it is, she's too frightened of the damn things.
#11 - Attic
She's never seen one--there isn't one, at the palace, and the rabble's taste runs to lofts and single stories--but she thinks they must be nice to have, stuffy, sultry nooks filled with dusty air and old trinkets.
#12 - Second-Rate
When the matches on the roster are changed that morning and she sees her own name next to her sister's, it's a revelation: no matter how she tries, this is all she will ever be.
#13 - Dash
To her it's a sprint, it's nothing--behind her their breath is heaving and ragged, a chorus of coughing--and she knows first prize is hers again.
#14 - Attitude
When she says, "At once, Sire," there are barbs in it; she hopes he chokes on them.
#15 - Wisdom
She felt sure she must have some by now--she was not afraid of death; she lived to learn things for their own sake, though this she kept to herself as much as she was able.
#16 - Sight
She was confused by most colors--red was piercing, overwhelming, but blue and green registered as mud and charcoal, which did nothing to improve her opinion of her companions.
#17 - Address
If only she could get out of here, leave this blasted palace and its cursed city, go feral somewhere in a cave and achieve divine madness; no one would look for her then.
Keeps me writing, at least. *Shrug.*