Riven Wight

Melodramatic Deities and an Ageless Taste for Pizza

Okay. Sorry, but my Grammar Nazi self has been begging me to mention this:

It's spelled "Melodramatic Deities," not "Melodromatic Diety's."
xD

Melodramatic Deities and an Ageless Taste for Pizza

Anora gave a relieved sigh when Pahn joined her at the sidewalk, allowing the building traffic to speed on its way, though not without its fair share of rude shouts and a last barrage of angered honks.
She shifted her weight awkwardly when she noticed the grin still on his face aimed toward her. It was a much better expression for him, one that mysteriously made further relief flood through her. He seemed... content, unhurried, as if the world was his, that it revolved at his command, instead of the other way around. Between the aura he radiated and his show of power, of turning a destroyed city into one oblivious of the destruction that had occurred, that did not feel too far-fetched.
Anora followed Pahn, her gaze not staying in one place for long. She cast his back frequent glances as they made the short trip down the street toward Dino’s Italian Eatery. She dared not look from him for long, fearful that, if he got too far ahead or she diverted her gaze for too long, he would vanish and she would wake up back home in bed.
She thought about talking to him, of throwing the questions running around her skull at him, but decided against it; they could wait until the two of them were no longer out in the open. She walked behind him in silence, her tongue itching to speak as her reeling head tried to make sense of the senseless.
“I’ve heard this place has good lasagna,” she commented distractedly as Pahn opened the door of the restaurant.
She glanced up at the metallic chime of an old-fashioned bell attached to the doorway. Various types of sauces, spices, breads, and pizza filled the place with a welcoming, mouthwatering aroma.
In the short moment they waited to be seated, Anoram now standing at Pahn’s side, scanned the dining area, taking in the various decorations and resting on each of the few faces enjoying their meal.
“My boy!”
Her attention snapped up to see a plump, bearded man hurry toward them from the kitchen. She glanced between him and Pahn, her lips rising slightly in amusement at him being called ‘my boy.’
“Wait, what?” she said at the man’s comment, realizing what he thought. Before she could fully think on it, he laughed and guided them to a corner booth.
She looked at the man, surprised at their order being ‘on the house,’ gave a quick, “Thanks,” then slowly slipped into the long seat opposite Pahn. She cast the room another quick glance, her eyes stopping on the door just visible from where she sat.
Pahn’s voice drew her attention back to him, to the questions racing through her mind and the impossibility of everything that had happened.
Her brows rose and chin fell incredulously at him. “What am I... Well,” she began, her voice light and dripping with sarcasm, “I was just wondering whether their marinara or carbonara sauce would taste better.” She rolled her eyes. “I just--” realizing she was speaking a bit louder than she intended, she cast a quick glance around, then leaned forward and continued in a softer voice.
“I just killed a ghoul, met the reason people shouldn’t breed with reptiles, watched a man destroy half a city in a magic battle with a gray guy, then clean up and act as if it’s just another Monday in paradise!” She threw her hands up slightly and leaned back in her seat. “Not to mention this... this...” she moved her hands to gesture to herself and Pahn, unsure how to put the feeling, the connection she felt to him into words, “whatever’s going on here! What do you think I’m ‘curious’ about?” She struggled to keep her voice down, her tone slightly higher-pitched than normal. “Who--rather, what--in the world are you?” she repeated her earlier questions, now incapable of neither taking her eyes from Pahn, nor stopping the flow of questions. “What the freak did I just witness? Who was Mr. Gray, and what was he even doing here? What are you doing here, for that matter? And how did you...?” Instead of finishing the last, she motioned throwing bolts into the ceiling, then made a wiggling explosion motion with her fingers.

To Cure a Curse

When the animal’s fur bristled, Rayadell froze, not daring to get any closer for another couple moments. When the elk showed no further sign of mistrust, she inched forward, watching him cautiously, but approached his side all the same.
She watched Calanon mount the animal with an approving nod and impressed look. He seemed rather sprightly, even for an elf. She nodded when he spoke, then nimbly mounted the elk behind him, though with a bit less grace. She maneuvered her wings and cloak expertly, allowing her to sit easily on the animal without hindering its impending stride.
A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips, and she looked beyond Calanon at the mountains. They were riding into a place her kind often considered home, on the back of an animal she never thought she would be capable of even looking at without them fearing her again. She could not think of a better way of starting a journey.
“By your order, then, Calanon,” she said, her eyes still on the mountains.

Deleted

Izzy shifted her weight awkwardly as silence fell in the kitchen, only the sizzling of the butter melting filling the quiet. She opened the pack of bacon as Zach thought, and added a few slices to the pan, creating sizzling anew. When he finally gave his rather unexpected answer, she stared at him for a minute, until the smell of the bacon cooking reminded her to flip it.
“Well, that’s one to file away. Aren’t you a little young to be thinking like that already?” she asked, her brows raised.
After breakfast, she hurried back upstairs to change out of her pajamas, habitually adding a decorative camo-patterned scarf she had found shoved in the corner of her closet a few weeks back. With her usual jacket and its back-up out of commission, it killed two birds with one stone.
Not wanting to waste the mild weather, Izzy hurried from the house, her walking staff, as usual, in hand, and partially hoping her brothers would not burn down the house while she was gone. Izzy paid little attention to where she was going, letting her feet carry her wherever the streets may lead, confident that, no matter where she was in town, she would be capable of finding her way back home when she decided to return. She let her mind wander with her feet, her thoughts frequently falling to Trevor.
As if summoned by her thoughts, she glanced behind her, and caught sight of her only friend about a block away. Izzy turned and stopped, watching him and wondering where he was heading. She shook her head, deciding it might be a good idea to avoid him until she got herself sorted out, but he turned. She did a double take at the gauze on his cheek. But before she could dwell too long on it, he noticed her.
She returned his wave with her free hand, smiling warmly. She walked toward him to help close the distance. Her smile deepened at his greeting.
“Better than you, by the looks of it!” A mix of concern and curiosity replaced her smile, her gaze on the gauze. “What happened?”

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Drust

A Reference Picture

Image edits courtesy of @ImagineBaggins

A.K.A. the White Knight. Like all the White (and Black) Knights of the old Heart Palace, he has his own name.

Appearance: Like most of the Knights, he is quite tall, standing at nearly 6’10. His skin, including his lips, are alabaster white (thanks to effects of the curse, shifting from a solid white), making him look almost as if he was made of stone. Only a series of onyx lines branching out from the corners of his eyes shows color on his flesh.
His eyes themselves are a decent way to tell when the Curse is fighting against him, and winning. The Curse turned his irises red, veins of black streaking outward through them and over heir whites to meet up with those that streak from the outside corners of his eyes. But normally, this effects only his irises. When the Curse pushes against his control and resolve, that black-webbed red will consume the solid black of his pupils. The smaller his pupils, the more in control the Curse is.
He looks to be in his mid twenties, but Knights age differently, so it’s difficult to tell his true age. He has sharp features, and his irises are a glazed dark red webbed with black—a sign of the effects of the Curse. His hair, which he keeps short and usually a bit messy, is a contrasting blackish-brown.

Race: The Knights were never really given an official race name. So, he is simply one of the White Knights.

Actual Age: 35. Or 52, depending on how you look at it.

Appeared/Physical Age: Roughly 26. The Knights age significantly slower than most humans, physically aging approximately one year to every four that passes. HOWEVER, they don't start out as infants. When first born by magic, Drust was, technically speaking, created to be about seventeen. So, in a way, he's 52. But not.

Weapons: A katana. It’s blade is extra-long, tailored to better suit his height. It’s blade is kept sharper than most would think possible, and its handle is wrapped in white leather. The crossguard, made of a black metal, sports a pattern of ornate white hearts. It is a relic from when he still served the White Queen. When he is mostly in his right mind, you will never find him without it in quick reach. You'd pretty much have to pry it from his cold, dead hands.

Other/Notes: Despite the years and having the need to dispose of the heftier pieces of it, of his old armor, he still has his gauntlets. The metal a bit discolored from improper care, but he still has them.

A Snippet of History: While Drust was created in the same way as all the rest of his brothers (and sisters) in arms, he was always a tad bit different. While he loved training his body, just like the rest of his ilk, when all the other White and Black Knights would finish their training for the day and take the opportunity to relax, he was training his mind. He had a desire for knowledge that exceeded all his fellows. He could never get enough, delving into one book or scroll after the other on various forms of sciences and magics. Though he was not the best at magic, he learned enough of it for his knowledge to impress even Hatter.
This difference set him apart from the others. Hatter took a notice to him, and began teaching Drust what he knew. Soon, by Hatter's suggestion, Drust became the White Queen's personal guard. Wherever she went, he was likely close behind.
When the Red Sorceress attacked, he was there, fighting alongside the White Queen and Hatter. At least, until he was entrusted with the most important task of his life: to protect and train the young Ghent and Elayra. The children of two of the most powerful inhabitants of the world at the time. To secure Wonderland's future.

The White and Black Knights

What They Are/Were

The Knights of Heart Palace were more than just your average knight. While your normal knight is someone from a noble background who trains to become a knight, the White and Black Knights were born of magic and magic alone with the sole purpose of being defenders. Such a creation was not something simple. It took the powers of Hatter and six other powerful sorcerers to coax magic into creating a body with a warrior's soul. With this practice an ancient one stemming back to the creation of Heart Palace, before Hatter's time, it was the job of another vinifcium (ven-IF-cee-um) to lead the pleas for the world's magic to create these guards.
Since their initial creation, they were used to defend the palace and protect the White King or Queen of Wonderland. Over time, with their numbers growing, they also became the law enforcement in the royal city. The crime rate in the city was at its lowest just before the Era of Crimson Destruction thanks to their fair intolerance toward wrongdoers. Despite them being ruthless in the face of evil, they were also just, and never attacked unless unless absolutely necessary. They were greatly respected by those who would abide by the law, and feared by those who did not.
White and Black Knights, you see, were unnaturally fast, strong, and exceptionally skilled in fighting, which made up for their lack of abilities in magic--despite being created by it. They were a long-lived race, often far exceeding the rulers they protected so long as they did not die in battle. To top it off, they were neigh impossible to kill, even if you managed to get past their blades. The only thing that could bring a Knight down, was strong magic or enchanted weapons. Most wounds would only slow them down. Your average poisons would put them down for the count for a few days, at most, lest it was magically enhanced. This weakness occurs because of the general rule that the best and really only way to fight magic, is with magic, even if what it creates does not have such abilities of their own.
Despite being made from a similar manner, they were just like any other race; they had their own likes and dislikes, their own specialties and personalities. Because of this, no two were exactly alike, even in exact appearance. Though they mingled in their free time and for training, there was even a playful rivalry between the White and Black Knights. But they always managed to work together--with only a couple exceptions. No matter which group they fell under, they all acted like family, brothers and sisters bound together by heart and battle.
Alas, the Crimson Curse was the Knights undoing. Designed to block magic and attack creatures that relied heavily on it, once the Sorceress enacted the Curse, it obliterated what Knights remained in her wake. All, that is, but one.

Appearance

White Knights: There is a reason for their title of White Knights; these Knights had pure white skin, including their lips, and dark opalescent irises/pupils. In contrast to the rest of their appearance, their hair color ranged from a dark brown to black, the latter usually having tints of other colors to it. They were also taller than the average human, towering above them normally anywhere between six inches to a foot, but this differed between each individual, some falling closer to human height than others. Their armor was a brilliant, silvery white, and sported the Heart crest on their chest over their hearts.

Black Knights: Likewise well named, the Black Knights had pure black skin, which people often speculated was created from the dark itself. Even their teeth looked made from onyx. Their eyes were equally black, with only their pupils and irises a bright opalescent. As with the White Knights, their hair contrasted their overall color, ranging from a light blond to pure white. They, too, were just as tall as the White Knights. Their armor--which was thin, but effective for both groups--was black, and displayed the same crest.

For a picture reference of their armor, click here. Note: the armor was fitted specifically to each Knight, and often looked a bit more snug, fitting them almost like a second skin, so it did not always look exactly the same from one Knight to the next. Some knights were burly, while others were a bit leaner, but not lacking in musculature. The picture in question is colored for the White Knights, but the had the same general appearance for the Black Knights, only a different color.

Weapons

Since each often had their own specialty, the kinds of weapons they used and trained with were innumerable. Most trained to be capable of using more than just one weapon, and prided themselves in their hand-to-hand comb at skills despite favoring one form and/or weapon over the other. All the same, there were some similarities between weapons. Since the Knights were normally taller than most, their weapons were made to tailor to this height difference, as well as given a bit more weight to accommodate their strength.
Their battle-ready weapons had two enchantments on them: one to make them a bit more durable to be capable of enduring the excessive abuse they received, and another to be capable of bringing each other down in the unlikely event that one of their own turned against them or the White Queen/King. Their training weapons, though, lacked the second enchantment, allowing for more intense training.

White Knights' Weapons: The blades were normally a silvery white, and hilts and other accents black, with those in higher standing normally wrapping their hilts in white. They also always sported some form of the Heart crest or just intricate hearts in contrasting colors.

Black Knights' Weapons: The opposite of the White Knights. Blades were black, with hilts and accents done in silver or white. Again, those in higher standing would have black-wrapped hilts, and still have the silver or white accents.

The Red Sorceress

A.K.A.: Red Queen. True name unknown.

Appearance: Currently unknown.

Race: Depends on what rumors you want to believe. Some say she's a demon. Others that she is--or at least was--human. Then there's always the theory that she came straight from the Spiritayum itself.

Weapons: Currently unknown, besides the use of magic.

Hatter Madrail

Appearance currently in PROLOGUE STORY only. Not IC.

Real Name: Unknown

Race: Vinifcium

Actual Age: 46

Appeared/Physical Age: 34. Once a vinifcium reaches somewhere in their twenties, their aging slows. Approximately every two years that pass, they age one. Hatter's aging slowed when he was 21.

Appearance: Currently unknown. Besides that he has a hat. Or, at least, did.

Curse Status: Forsaken

Alias History: Given here. But, if you don't feel like clicking there... As a kid, he was never seen without a hat that his father, who was a hatter, made especially for him. Some time after being apprentiaced to the vinifcium of Heart Palace, one of the White King's advisers, Holeland Tweedle, began calling the boy Hatter, just because he thought it was "a cute name for a cute kid." Alas, the name caught on. Soon, most of Heart Palace was using it, and it ultimately spread into the royal city. By the time Hatter decided on his own official alias a couple years later, it was too late; "Hatter" stuck, and refused to be snuffed out. Though it took him a long while to get used to it, eventually, he did, and even started referring to himself as the Mad Hatter every now and again when he read one of the copies of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland that made its way into Wonderland, though mostly to mock its author.

Smaya

Race: Unknown in story. And likely won’t come into play. But if you really want to know, she’s a foranym. Which is essentially a mix of an elf, wrath, and nymph. They’re somewhere between physical and spirit, even by Spiritayian standards, have an ethereal beauty, a connection to the dead, and typically possess some extreme powers over some aspect of nature.

Age: Unknown

Spiritayum Status: Guardian

Domain: Hollow Forest

Job: Protect Harrow Hollow Hill and its portals, as well as to care for and keep the spirits trapped within Hollow Forest under control.

Powers: Known in-story, she has a certain amount of control over the trapped spirits of Hollow Forest. Not currently known, she controls the entire forest. It’s through her powers that Harrow Hollow Hill has been kept safe and guarded. She always knows what’s going on in her woods and who is in it, though she often lets the spirts deal with intruders. While the spirits do dictate how quickly someone can get into or out of the forest, Smaya’s really the one people should worry about. Though she does a perfect job of making the world think it’s all the spirits, she is the true threat of the forest. Though she can’t manifest herself in a human-esque form beyond the Betwixt of Hollow Forest, she can make the trees, vines, and other plants do her bidding. She can become one—or multiple—of the plants in the forest and infuse them directly with her existence, becoming the plant. The only people who she never bothers are Jumpers and vinifcium. And, of course, any traveling with them. Unless called on by a vinifcium, she will typically not draw near to these travelers or their entourage, leaving their fate entirely up to the spirits. She is also capable of traveling to any part of the Betwixt of Hollow Forest, traveling in an instant in a mist of glittering emerald green.

Appearance: The first thing one would notice about her is her aura of pure sorrow. Sadness radiates from her as if every broken heart of the spirits of the forest and beyond radiates through her. Going beyond the aura, Smaya possesses an ethereal beauty in part because of being a being Spiritayian, and part from her overall race. Standing at around six feet tall, she has a curvy, elegant build. Nearly everything about her is slender and dainty. She typically keeps the front part of her hair up in a braid tied around her head, its strands nearly glowing with the fiery colors of autumn. She has white, powdery-looking skin and eyes greener “than a spring’s fresh buds.” Her ears have a slight point to them, but it is difficult to notice unless you’re looking for it, and looking closely. Also, her voice is quiet, yet it will carry over even the noisiest of spirits.

Clothes Wear: A flowing green dress that hugs her body. It has long, draping sleeves, and its hem swirls and shimmers about her feet. Just the right lighting will reveal a hidden pattern of vines wrapping around the fabric. With everything in the woods holding a respect for her—mud refuses to stick to her clothes, the moon won’t drain her of her color, etc.—she is almost always seen barefoot.

Personality: Despite—or perhaps because of—the air of compete sorrow about her, she tends to be a rather understanding individual. Though she is constantly in a state of mourning, every ounce of her overcome with the grief of those she protects—and even a smidgen of the overall sadness of the world—she feels for others. She is an honest woman filled with kindness toward those with who show a decent enough heart, and is not a stickler for formalities. Having possessed the power of empathy—something not common among her race—she has always had a good understanding and respect for the emotions of others. As long as those others weren’t trying to harm her or anything/one she cared about.

Bio: Not discussed in RP, but here just for the fun of it. Being turned into the Guardian of Hollow Forest was an act somewhere between praise, punishment, and pure selflessness. Praise for her bravery and overall show of powers, which excelled above any others of her race. Praise for having such a caring heart toward those of Wonderland, no matter which realm they resided in. But it was punishment for breaking one of the main laws of the Spiritayum: never directly interfere with major events of the living.
Smaya was one of the only Spiritayians who chose to take a side and participate in the battle that cursed the land of Hollow Forest. Fighting to protect the portals from the evil sorcerer, she played a great part in keeping the sorcerer’s forces at bay and helped pave the way to his downfall.
When everything was over, she knew someone would need to help protect the portals from threats to come. Knowing she would be punished for her involvement, she offered herself to the duty, no matter what it meant. Long story short, she was granted her wish and made the Guardian of Hollow Forest, but in the process, she lost her ability to manifest in a physical form outside of the Betwixt or Spiritayum. She is incapable of leaving the bounds of Hollow Forest for an eternity, able to travel to the Spiritayum only on rare, important occasions.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

Okay, longest post yet. xD I REALLY wanted to get them through the portal this post. Do you mind that I keep making them kinda fancy? I won’t do it as much once we get into close character interaction. Only as necessary. Let me know, though, if I guestimated the time on Earth with Ghent close to correctly. I assumed it was evening-ish and that small bookstores like that might close somewhere between five and six. Want the times to line up, here, since my guys have world-jumped! And because I can get a little OCD with details. xD

Edit away, my friend! Honestly, I’m likely to be tweaking story and world aspects along the way, just as much as character traits. And thank you for the compliment! :-D By the way, do you care that I’ve taken point with the plot? It just kind of ended up happening that way. I can’t recall if I’ve asked that or not already. Also, what would you say to a couple sort of mini-adventures toward a quest to retrieve parts of something they would need to either bring down or just get to the Sorceress?

Muhahaha! It’s going to be so much fun trying to get Ghent to go back with them, as well as introducing him to this dark Wonderland. I’m excited about getting to some of the other iconic characters.

Bit of feedback for you, if you’re up for it! One joy of practically writing chapters per post: you can potentially get a feel for someone’s writing style in fewer posts than with shorter ones.

Writing Feedback

> I like the description of the apartment complex. Negatively positive. Or, uh, positively negative?

> Oh my gosh. The neighborhood gossip, combined with the crazy cat lady. That’s just wonderful, there! And so stinking true!

> Ooo, Axel. Unusual, yet normalish at the same time. Love it! And his description being compared to Finn. I also like his light-hearted personality.

> You do really well with personalities in general, from what I’ve seen! Frank, the random bookstore customer... You can tell that Elise is a caring, loving woman from the first paragraph you see her in. Wonderful!

> Another mention of the past with Wonderland. Creating connections wherever you go!

> One thing to keep an eye out for, is clarity. For example, it took me a minute to figure out that Miles was a person, and then that Ghent was greeting him. At first, I thought you were saying that something rested miles underneath an awning, and not that Miles, a middle-aged man, stood under the awning.

> Don’t be afraid to start new paragraphs! Dialogue is a good time to start a new one. Every time a new character speaks, or you switch from some mix with descriptions in it into dialogue, their dialogue goes in a new paragraph, which helps immediately tell that there’s a new speaker. The only exceptions I know and can think of right now are if a speaker’s words are interrupted by action, then continued (e.g. “‘You’ve got to be joking!’ Jake threw his hands in the air, and began to pace, Clair’s eyes following him. ‘There’s no way that’ll ever happen!’” It’s still obvious that Jake’s the one speaking, even though Clair was mentioned), or if you put who speaks and their actions prior to the dialogue itself (e.g. “Jake glared at Clair for a short moment, his thoughts reeling with one question after the other. ‘How could he let that happen? It’s his job to protect them! What was he thinking?’” The subject of the paragraph is Jake, and Clair is a passing mention, so again it’s clear that Jake’s the speaker, and what he says is connected with the narration statement of having questions, connecting narration to dialogue). Hope that made as much sense outside my head as it did inside...

> Last suggestion for now! When you’re dealing with multiple characters, especially of the same gender, I would suggest using their names a bit more instead of pronouns. Within reason, of course, and only for the sake of clarity when it would be otherwise unclear. Placing dialogue and separate actions of different characters in new paragraphs more would also help a with that as well. In all honestly, I probably overuse names. Heh.

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

There was no mistaking the moment they entered Hollow Forest. The dry, decaying bark of trees of the Twisted Forest ended in a defined line, each bent over as if frozen trying to flee what lay inches past its boarder. The trees beyond the dark line grew tall and thick, and vines wrapped over everything, threatening to strangle the vegetation. Crimson sap seeped from a few of the richly brown trunks like blood. Dense foliage a shade of green that looked impossibly deeper and more real than any reality spread above, casting the ground below in an unnerving patchwork of shadows and brilliant rays of sunlight. An unnatural silence saturated the forest, as if even the insects feared to disturb what lurked between the trunks. Dust motes glittered and floated lazily in the early afternoon light, the sight as inviting as a spider’s sweet call to a fly.
As soon as Elayra’s foot fell on the ground of Hollow Forest, a shiver ran down her spine. The cold feeling of emptiness and despair brushed lightly against her consciousness, begging for her to let it in. A gentle, phantom wind blew through the trees, caressing her and Drust in its icy arms as it passed by in sporadic spurts.
She quickened her pace, trying to keep closer to Drust. Her concentration turned from watching for any threats to keeping the emotions trapped between dirt and foliage at bay.
Though the journey into the outskirts of Hollow Forest had taken only near an hour, if that, Drust led the way at a near run for neigh six more, stopping only when Elayra forced him to take a break. Outside his irritated complaints about having to stop, Drust said little. His head twitched every few minutes, and the black lines at his eyes pulsated vulnerably with his mood and the persistence of amassed misery held captive in the forest. The further in they went, the more intoxicating the sensation of hollow desolation became.
“How much further?” Elayra asked in a quiet whisper. She winced at the sound of her voice shattering the sinister silence that clung between the trees in a dark reverence. She swallowed hard and took a couple leaping steps forward so she was only inches behind Drust. The hem of a pant leg caught and ripped on a thorny vine as it snaked its way across the ground of its own volition.
Drust stopped, and she bumped into him. He snarled and turned his head to glare down at her as she gave a mumbled apology, then looked forward again with an exceptionally violent twitch, one following the other. “We’re here,” he hissed, his voice strained.
Elayra looked up, confused, then stepped to his side. A wall of trees stood in front of them, each growing so close to the next that bark grew into one large mass. Vines lapped at the base of the trees, desperately trying in vain to climb them.
She gasped and took a slight step back as whispers tickled her ears. Mocking, pained, and desperate whispers, sickly sweet tones of a time long past all talking over each other to form a jumbled, disorientating mess of echoic voices and cackles:

“I’ll have his bones to grind my bread!”
“To die will be an awfully big adventure.”
“All the better to eat you with!”
“She shall prick her finger with a spindle, and she shall die!”
“Mirror, Mirror on the wall...”

Elayra, breathing heavily through her mouth and eyes locked on the wall of trees, lifted a hand to an ear as if it would silence the whispers.
Drust cast a sideways glance to her, his face tight and voice clipped. “You hear it.”
She swallowed, incapable of tearing her gaze from the trees that felt eerily familiar, as if they belonged in a dream of a dream. “What is that?” she breathed.
“Voices of other worlds.” Drust stepped toward the natural wall, offering no further explanation. “Ignore them. Come here.” He removed one of his gloves, revealing the stark white skin beneath, his opaque nails broken and uneven.
Elayra hesitated, glancing between him and the wall.
“I said,” Drust turned his infuriated gaze to her, the red in his eyes threatening to overpower his pupils. “Come. Here.”
Not wanting to risk the Curse taking over in such an environment, Elayra scurried to the wall. The whispers grew louder, more frantic, making it impossible to tell one from the other.
“Would it kill you to say ‘please’ every once in a while?” Elayra muttered in a poor attempt at lightening the atmosphere. She hesitantly placed a palm to the trees. A tingle spread down her arm, making her hairs stand up and goosebumps form. Beneath her palm, the bark felt soft and warm. It felt alive.
Drust snorted, but otherwise ignored her. “I want you to repeat after me. Word for word. Deviate even slightly, and this place will become our tomb. Understood?” His eyes shifted toward her.
Holding her breath, she nodded.
Drust bent his head for a short moment, his eyes closed. He took a deep breath, and muttered something Elayra could not hear, making panic flood through her. But his head snapped up, stared at the wall of trees with an intensity new to her, and began to speak in a loud, clear voice. The power and strength in it reverberated through Elayra, and she felt the trees shudder. Drust paused after each line, giving her the time to repeat it before moving on:

“Wind and rain, lightning and thunder,
Hear the cries of a world asunder.
Seek we entrance to the worlds beyond
To heal the terror that has been spawned.”

As their voices faded, absorbed by the surrounding forest, a creaking moan erupted from the trees. The jumble of whispers intensified, making Elayra feel dizzy as they seemed to come from everywhere yet nowhere all at once. Laughs and sobs. Screams and groans. Words and phrases in every conceivable--and inconceivable--language.
She felt suddenly sick, and wobbled slightly on her feet. Drust’s firm hand gripped her shoulder, before the other gently wrapped her wrist and removed her palm from the tree. With one arm draped around her protectively, he guided her quickly back from the trees and their wooden groans.
Elayra took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, her jaw setting and back straightening in the effort. All the same, she was thankful for the White Knight’s presence.
The wall of trees morphed together, forming a giant wad of formless browns and greens. A final dark, screeching laugh blew by them. A laugh that sounded disturbingly familiar and threatened to bring her to her knees from a mix of fear and sheer volume. A triumphant laugh that had woven through her nightmares for as long as she could remember. The cruel laugh of the Red Queen.
The glob of color that had become of the trees melted into the earth with a bubbling squelch, then vanished in a gentle cloud of dirt. Behind where the wall had been, a zigzagging cobblestone path wove through the forest. Various types of trees, from pine to weeping willows, lined the path in multifarious shades of green that glimmered in the evening light. But the awe- and fear-inspiring beauty, and peaceful quiet that fell was not what caught Elayra’s attention.
She strode forward, trance-like. Her feet carried her slowly toward the end of the path, Drust close behind her.
Two stone pillars rose on either side of an ornate gate, flanked by two massive, plant-covered hills reaching high into the sky. An arch connected the two pillars. Embedded at the crest of the arch was a red stone in the shape of a heart, a gentle pink light pulsating at its center like the heartbeat of a man on his deathbed. Behind the gate, an inexplicable light glowed softly despite the sinking sun.
Though the stone looked weathered, and vines and moss hung from it and two heart-shaped statues flanking the path, a memory of an archway made of pristine, glittering white marble flashed through her mind.
Elayra closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to dispel the long-ago recollection. She needed her head in the present, in what was, not what once had been.
She looked up as Drust strode by her and onward to the gate. She took a deep breath, glad the whispers had at last fallen silent, and followed his lead.
The rusted gates slowly jerked open inward, their hinges squealing in protest.
Another memory flashed through her head, one of a strong, dark-haired boy beside her, her hand clutching his for dear life as they passed beneath the archway and beyond the once silvery gates. It was the hand of her best friend. A friend she lost before she could form more than snippets of foggy memories of.
Elayra growled, closed her eyes, and gripped her head with both hands, willing herself to focus on the present.
“Elayra.”
The gentleness in Drust’s tone made her eyes snap open. Not realizing she had stopped, she blinked at the cracked cobblestone of the path, then looked up to him. For a fleeting second, an opalescent shimmer glinted over his irises, and a kind understanding flashed over his features. It had been far too long since she had seen even a glimpse of that, of who he once was so long ago in a time she dared not dwell on. Alas, as quickly as it had come, it faded away, as all good things tended to do in her world.
“Get changed.” The demanding stoniness in his voice had returned.
Elayra groaned.
Drust’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “We know little of Earth. We must--”
“Try to fit in, as much as we can,” she interrupted. She ran a hand grumpily through her hair. “I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
He smirked, then turned his back and removed his own pack from his shoulders as Elayra did the same.
A few minutes later, the two continued down the path, Elayra now in a long, worn red dress adorned with a thick, brown leather corset belt, her sword, dagger, and quiver of arrows hanging from her own belt situated just beneath it. Drust sported a simple pair of knickerbockers, a vest over a white shirt, and a black hooded cape, his katana still slung over his back.
The two emerged into a large, bowl-like clearing surrounded by hills stretching to the sky. A gentle, golden-green glow radiated from an orb floating high above the center of the clearing. Massive oak trees lined the clearing in even intervals. Exposed roots at the base of each outlined a large circular hole leading into the ground. Darkness waited in the depths of each hole, save for one; a blueish-white light rose from the hole of a tree to their right.
“The... portals.” Elayra strode toward the center of the clearing, the grass beneath her feet lush and springy. The sensation of magic hung thickly in the air. Unlike what she had grown used to, here, it felt comforting, as if it was welcoming her and Drust with open arms. It seemed to speak of better times, of a period before the Era of Crimson Destruction. “Was this...” she started, but stopped herself from asking the question running through her head: was this what Wonderland had been like before the Red Sorceress? Carpeted with grass so soft you could sleep comfortably on it, and filled with an air of hope and wonder?
She snorted angrily at herself. “We’re wasting time,” she growled. She adjusted her pack and bow slung over her chest, then strode toward the open portal.
She paused in front of it, the buzzing feeling of magic intensifying. A circle with a plus sign inside it was carved into the tree trunk near her eye level, its form glowing faintly with the same light as the portal.
“Have you forgotten how to move?” Drust thumped her hard between her shoulder blades, making her turn a scowl to him. “Simply jump through.” He nodded toward the glowing root-lined hole. “Focus on whatever you can remember about Ghent. It’ll guide us, and, in theory, deposit us through the portal opening closest to him.”
“In theory?” Elayra groaned.
Drust snarled. “We haven’t tried it, have we? Now go. I’ll be right behind you.”
Elayra nodded, then looked to the hole at her feet.
This is it. She took a deep breath, bent her legs, then jumped into the glowing portal. We’re coming for you, Ghent Madrail. Wherever you are, we’re coming.

Deleted

A scowl still pulled at Izzy’s lips when Zach pulled away. She eyed him as she returned to the stove, brandishing the spatula between the two of them as if it would shield her from another sweaty hug.
She glanced to him as she turned the stove burner on, and sighed. She had already gotten the view of her situation from the younger of the two. There would be little harm in bringing it up with Zach.
“So,” she began slowly, flicking a spoonful of butter into the skillet. “I’ve already gotten the Love Doctor’s thoughts on this. Thought you might like to put your two cents in.” She paused, bracing herself for his answer and potentially a barrage of teasing. “How do you tell when you’re in love, or if the feeling’s mutual?”

Mystery Inc: No Trace Left Behind { Angel & Siaya }

“Good luck, Sassafras!” Nate watched her go for a moment. He followed behind her, his pace slightly slower than Maggie’s and the strong beam of his flashlight shifting from one side of the corridor to the other.
“If we’re really on the same side here,” he called as she bumped into a small table, his gaze moving with his flashlight, “meet back in the front room in, say, half-an-hour to compare notes. Shout if you need anything.” He cast her another suspicious glance, still not entirely sure if he should trust her pretty face. She seemed trustworthy enough at first glance, but first impressions were deceiving things. Even serial killers looked normal at first.
What’ve I got to lose? he thought with an inward shrug as they reached a stairway leading to the rooms on the upper floor. When he reached the landing above, Nate turned, gave Maggie a quick two-fingered salute should she still be nearby, then moseyed down one end of the hall beyond, trying to remember which of the doors led to Fred’s room.
Unsure, he started cracking each door open, peered inside, then moved on to the next.

Schooled in Magic

@OfWindAndRain

Just a note to say happy Friday! :-D