The second Wednesday of March. How can that be? Daylight Savings Time hits this weekend. St. Patrick’s Day is a week from today. Spring is in the air but I’m seeing swirls of dead leaves rather than new buds. Anyway. Another Wednesday, another #1lineWed theme. This week, it’s all about the swirls. I suppos you could add some twirls to the mix if you’d like. This is a snippet from the WIP. It’s not part of a chapter yet, though I have a vague idea of where it appears in the timeline. Still, I like this scene. I will only say, as background, that Sade’s life is in something of an upheaval at the moment and yes, it does have something to do with Sinjen. 😉
Sade stood on the bridge over the Seine leading to the island where Notre Dame Cathedral stood encased in a steel skeleton, it’s steeple lying where it’d crashed. The fire, while devastating, hadn’t been catastrophic—at least not to the gargoyles. Roman, gargoyle sentinel, stood on her right. Nikos, Drakon of the Kholikikos Dragons stood on her left. One gave off the chill of carved granite, the other the heat of a volcano.
“Magic is a fragile thing,” Roman said. “Like a human life.”
“But Magicks aren’t.” Bitterness shaded Sade’s voice.
Nikos glanced her way. “You are formed by the fires of your desires and longings, Sade.”
“You aren’t exactly human.”
She opened her mouth to scald him, but Roman’s soft admonition stopped her, “He’s right, Lady Sade. Because you were marked by Fae and vampire, you carry a touch of magic.” She scowled at him but he continued unfazed. “As to the rest, you are driven by your viewpoint, by perceived injustices. You ingest it, push it deep, and then, when nothing makes sense and you are going under, drowning in the swirling brew of emotions, you explode.”
Excited shouting and laughter and what sounded like cannon fire captured their attention. A mob tumbled down the Qual de Conti and cascaded around the corner to dance along the Boulevard Saint-Michel toward the Eiffel Tower. A cannon fired again, the shell exploding above the crowd, raining pink powder down on them.
“Yes.” Nikos pointed to the throng. “You look just like them when you detonate, all pretty in pink.”
“You take that back!”
Nikos never saw her fist. Through a busted lip, he said, “I rest my case.”
There it is, for better or worse. I have a few other swirls twirling through some scenes but this is the one that caught my eye. Maybe I’ll play true to my Puzzler claim by starting and finishing out the chapter this scene is a part of. or not. I’ve been writing rather linearly lately and it’s working. New words on the page. So, writers, any twirling swirls to share with us? Readers, what flavors would you swirl in your ice cream?