Silver James

As I mentioned on Monday, I didn’t really write last week because I was judging the Thursday Threads challenge. I’m also going to admit that I cheated a little. More about that in a moment. First, the prompt is: *He hated these games.* As to my cheat, the following snippet is a scene I’d roughly sketched out and planned to get back to and “fill in the blanks” so to speak. As it turned out, the prompt fit in fairly well, with only the addition of a letter to the phrase. And also, it’s longer than 250 words. Good thing I’m not being judged for the challenge, right? Anyway, I’mma just gonna drop this here and let y’all play with what you think might be going on. I’d waggle my brows and look smug but y’all can’t see me.

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Aisling lay still, but for her eyes as she searched the darkness for what woke her. She heard it again—a sharp tap of something hard on glass. Someone—or something—was at one of the turret windows. She slipped out of bed and crept closer. A misshapen shadow was silhouetted against the curtains. She inched closer and pressed her cheek against the wall so she could peek from behind the drapery. A huge black bird sat on the roof. Was that a crow? Her eyes widened. Not crow, raven. Poe’s poem almost spilled out of her mouth but she caught herself, as did the raven apparently. He turned his head and beady black eyes stared at her. He all but glowed in the soft halo the street light cast.

The bird’s beak moved and words came out. She gasped, then covered her mouth with her hand as she strained to hear.

“Beware,” the raven said. “The Wild Hunt is looking for you.” The bird cocked its head, looking away. A moment later, it vaulted into the air on a powerful downsweep of its wings.

Aisling pulled back the curtain but could see nothing—not in the sky nor along the street. She glanced at the clock next to her bed. It flashed 3:33 at her, like there had been a power outage. Dropping the curtain, she scurried back to bed, crawled in and pulled the covers over her head. Birds did not speak with human voices. Nor did ravens fly at night. At least she didn’t think so. She’d have to look that up when she got to work in…no. She would not look at the clock again. She closed her eyes. She hated these games, had ever since they’d haunted her childhood.
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So there it is. I have every intention of filling in some more blanks this week. Next scene up is a dream that Aisling is going to have. But…is actually a dream? Or…something else? *bwahaha* Writers, if you feel inspired by the prompt, write. Readers, how do you feel about dream sequences in books? Are they a yay or a nay? Inquiring writers want to know!

Here it is Wednesday. Again. Wasn’t it just Wednesday like…yesterday? Time is blowing by so fast. January is almost over. Winter is just starting–at least weather wise. Some wag once said, “Time waits for no man–or woman.” We still have snow. At the rate the temps are going, we’ll have it until like…April. All that aside, I do have new words to share, aaaand they are award-winning. I took the “blue ribbon” in last week’s Thursday Threads challenge. This was the 691 week of the challenge and I’ve won 81 times. (I didn’t get into it until it was around 300 weeks.) Anyway, since I also won the time before, the prompt came from my snippet and is: *”Do not get in my way.”* I’ll leave the set-up for this scene to your imaginations.

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Ariel sprawled on the boulder, the very essence of insouciance. This was a role he knew well, having played it at court for hundreds of years. The dark fae stared at him. His only response was to arch one brow—a sure invitation to challenge him

Bran sighed inwardly. He hated these games. “Stand down, Orin.” The other fae did not respond so Bran cuffed him across the back of his head. The gesture earned him a growl.

“What’s the matter, Bran Fox? Mutiny in the ranks of the Queen’s Ravens?” Ariel drawled out the taunt, sarcasm evident in his tone.

“No more than usual. I do, however, find it interesting that the King’s Seducer has been reduced to a mere errand boy—and one who has failed to retrieve his target.”

Orin snarled at both of them. “Let me kill him and then we will be done with this.”

Ariel’s laughter rang out, as sweet as steeple bells chiming the hour. “You can try, Odhran Carragh, but I’ll not be caught in your trap so easily.”

Bran took a mental step back. How did Ariel know Orin’s true name? He grabbed the back of Orin’s leather jacket just as the man lunged toward Ariel. He flexed his magic and Orin stilled.

Sliding off the boulder, Ariel faced them, his face expressionless though power reverberated in his words. “Do not get in my way. And tell Mab her time is coming.”

“Tell Oberon the same. My queen is indeed coming, whether her time or not.”
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I think the gauntlet has been thrown. What happens next will be interesting. At least I hope so becaue honestly? I haven’t figured that part out yet. Ah, the joys of being a closet pantser under the guise of being a puzzler. Time–and words–will tell. In the meantime, writers, write should that be your desire. I will not get in your way. Readers, what would you like to get out of the way so you can just sit and read?